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Precision  /prɪˈsɪʒ(ə)n/

n.  the quality, condition, or fact of being exact and accurate. M arked by or adapted for accuracy and exactness.

Summary: A year before the supposed fated meeting with the Symbol of Peace, Midoriya Izuku unlocks his quirk and discovers that the world is vastly different when one is deemed gifted. With an ability grants absolute precision in all of one's endeavors, the lines of good and evil slowly start to blur.

A Precise Note

He only understood after getting his quirk.

"Come down Mr. Sniffles! Come down! Please?"

The cat on the tree clung to the branches. Feline claws dug into wood at acute angles to keep it stable. The girl at the bottom was young. Older than him. Her middle-school uniform was neatly ironed. She appeared mundane, lacking exotic mutant type features that would give away her quirk.

"D-d-do you need some help?"

No, stupid – heroes don't ask – they just do! What – what if she says no? What if she laughs? She's going to laugh! Maybe I shouldn't have –

She was prettier than he thought. She was closer to his face than he realized. His heartbeat was racing. It was fast. Too fast. Close. Too close. His cheeks were burning. He wanted to step back. He couldn't step back.

What – what would Kacchan do?

"Um – you're… a bit… um… too close… and – and –"

"Can you get Mr. Sniffles down?" She pointed to the tree. "It's pretty high up, and you're pretty small."

I'm still growing. I'm not short – I – I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet.

"That's cute."

His face burned. I said that out loud. Oh my god why did I say that out loud? She was smiling at him. And she was close to him.

"I – I can help. My… my quirk. It can help."

"It can?" her eyes widened. "What can it do? Is it telekinesis? Oh = oh, you're going to grow vines from your hair?"

"U-um, no – it… well…" There wasn't any easy way to explain it. "I… can do this."

Two steps, and he was up the tree in a flip. The world blurred into a rush of air as he spun, latching his fingers lightly unto the stomach of the cat. The feline purred. Its claws raked away at the tree. He spun his body, rolled with the cat safely secure in his arms held to his chest. He landed, bleeding off the momentum with a tiny cartwheel, planting his feet unto the ground.

Mr. Sniffles was smaller, now that it was in his arms. A kitten. A cute one. He couldn't resist himself from rubbing the feline's stomach. Soft purrs escaped Mr. Sniffles. The kitten stretched out in his arms, like a toddler trying to sleep.

"How –"

The girl was staring at him. Her eyes were wide. Her smile was even wider. He found himself taking a step back on instinct. "U-um – I – er – got Mr. Sniffles down –"

"That was amazing!"

"Oh, no – it – it wasn't – I just…"

"You jumped up that huge tree without even having a running start! And that flip – oh, don't tell me, your quirk – it lets you do parkour moves?!"

"Um… kind of."

"That's soooo cool!"

He was smiling, but his smile was awkward. He hoped she didn't notice how awkward his smile was. "Um… can you… take Mr. Sniffles?"

"Hm? Oh! Right, right!"

The dark-furred bundle left his hands. He watched the way she cared for it. His eyes trailed her hands, the position in which she kept the cat. Almost immediately, he wanted to clear his throat and say something. It's not my place – I mean – I shouldn't… I – should I? What if I she thinks –

Mr. Sniffles jerked awake. The kitten swiped its claws at the girl's hands. He was moving before her hand left it. His hands launched out, catching the kitten mid fall.

"Ouch!" she said. "Damn it Mr. Sniffles!"

"Y-you… um… you shouldn't be holding him… like that."

She glared at him, holding her scratched hand. "What do you mean?"

"Um… you're… holding him by his neck. It… it probably hurts."

He extended his hands. "Y-you should hold him more gently. Like… like a baby."

"Hey what's your deal kid? You think just because you got Mr. Sniffles down from a tree, you think you're better than me at treating him?"

"No! No – I – I was just –" I – I just wanted to help –

The girl snickered, before laughing. "Relax. I'm joking."

"Oh." He said. A joke. She's just joking. You can take a joke.

"So, Kid Parkour, you said I should hold Mr. Sniffles like this –"

There was some trial and error to the process. Enough so that she was holding the cat comfortably. Enough so that Mr. Sniffles did not protest at her hands. A decent method. But she could be holding him more securely. If she were to space out her fingers and hug him closer to her chest – oh, no, that wouldn't work because her chest is um… ah – but if she were to properly make use of her biceps and brachialis to support Mr. Sniffle's weight, she could comfortably carry him and at the same time ease the tension on his spine. But if she didn't want to hold him, she could securely place him over her shoulder and prevent him from slipping by using her backpack as a makeshift cat-belt and keeping him at an angle that'll allow for three-dimensional movement without unnecessary jostling –

"Well, thanks for the help Kid Parkour."

"Izuku." He said without thinking. "Midoriya Izuku."

"Tsuchikawa." She responded in turn. "Tsuchikawa Emiko."

Tsuchikawa? Midoriya's brow furrowed. Isn't that – no, no, that's a leap. Just because she has the same last name and has a cat doesn't mean anything. But what if it did? No, it doesn't mean anything still. Even if they're related, I can't randomly ask her to get me an autograph – but if I did, would that be creepy? What if it upsets her? I don't know if I'd like it if everyone badgered me just because I have a relative who's a pro-hero – but wait – what if she's not, and she's just someone who has the same name? Won't that be worse? If she –

A finger moved in his direction. His body moved as well. His hand was up, holding something before his mind caught up.

"Wow," said Emiko. "Good reflexes."

He was holding her hand. Oh my god I'm holding a girl's hand. He let go of her as if he'd been burned from the impact. "Um – ah – sorry –"

"You're in your head a lot, aren't you?"

He tried to smile. I'm smiling awkwardly. Why am I smiling so awkwardly? "I… guess."

"I guess I'll be seeing you around, Midoriya-chan." She said, turning around. "Thanks for helping me with Mr. Sniffles! Bye!"

She waved, once, and she was gone. Izuku rose his right hand, muttering softly, "Bye…"

He wished he could do that. Do what Tsuchikawa did. Just leave a conversation without making it look awkward or wondering if the person has finished talking or caring if the person felt you were just trying to get away –

Had she been trying to get away from him? Was it because he was too quiet? Was that creepy? He knew that some people found it creepy. He didn't want to be creepy. He hoped he wasn't creepy. He hoped he hadn't ruined the interaction by being too quiet. He wanted to talk, too. Be outspoken, too. Maybe even compliment her? She was pretty. He'd have liked to tell her, that he thought she was pretty. That he liked how cute she looked in that school uniform.

Wait – school uniform?

Midoriya glanced at his own clothing. The uniform of Aldera Junior High was clean and crisp. Ironed to a point in which the creases could be mistaken for blades. His left hand went up, the time on the digital clock glaring at him.

"Nonononono!"

Midoriya Izuku's feet began moving as soon as his mind caught up with the information registered on his watch.

"I'm late!"

The streets were a blur as he raced through. Dodging and ducking and weaving past obstacles and people like he was on an obstacle course of doom. His body moved first, and his mind followed second. Shortcut – need a shortcut –

His feet skidded to a stop in an alley. He ran, jumping off a dumpster, spinning into the air, and running up the side of a wall until he flipped off it and landed on the rooftops. Faster. Sprinting across obstacles on the rooftop was easier than he anticipated. Sliding underneath a line meant for clothes, dodging and weaving through the occasional heaters and miscellaneous vents, the biggest challenge came in leaping from one rooftop to another.

Now!

The distance between gaps was covered with effective timing. Landing required him to roll to bleed off momentum, but each roll was used to increase his speed rather than reduce it, furthering himself forward, faster, and faster –

This was something he understood only after getting his own quirk. The tiny ways in which having a quirk made life amazing. The little things in which contributed to a larger experience. The wind rushing in his face. The adrenaline pumping in his system. The excitement and thrills as he dodged obstacle after obstacle, climbed building after building, hopped rooftop after rooftop, ran on walls, flipped, cartwheeled, turned and tumbled –

A Quirk was not some esoteric, odd, foreign part of a person which was only meant to be used when given the green light. It was a part of him. It was him. It was like a limb he always had but never fully utilized. An arm he'd been missing. A realm of experience he'd been locked from. In every conceivable way, having a quirk changed his life, and to not have a quirk – it was like being crippled.

"There!"

The school was within his sights. He leapt from the nearest building unto the street, careful to avoid pedestrians, and getting a few surprised shouts from his seemingly sudden appearance. With each breath he took, he timed himself, calculated the fastest route and headed for it simultaneously. He ran through the gates, past the gates, ran through the main doors, and past the main doors. He ran, pushing behind his exertion and only skidding to a stop once the familiar doorway was in sight.

Exhausted, he tried to catch his breath before opening the door.

"Midoriya-kun, you're late."

His teacher's voice came from behind him. Stern. Focused. Midoriya felt as if his heart was going to burst from the pressure.

"I – I didn't mean to! But – but there was this girl, and – and Mr. Sniffles – her – her cat – kitten – there was a tree and – and –"

"You were helping a girl get her cat out of a tree?"

His teacher's voice was rich with amusement. He doesn't believe me.

"Y-yes – I –"

"No need to explain at all, Midoriya-kun. I understand you must be itching to use your recently discovered quirk to do some heroics."

"I – well – no, it's not like I –"

"Shhh." His teacher said, waving his hand. "There's nothing to explain at all. These things happen. And I can turn a blind eye to one of this school's finest young students. After all, you and Bakugo-kun are the ones planning on applying to U.A. aren't you? Yes, yes – there's no reason to mar your perfect attendance records."

The teacher didn't listen to him. No, it's not that he's not listening… he's… he's… just letting me off?

"Now, come on, let's enter. Class should have started already."

Izuku pushed open the door, forcing the usual smile on his cheeks as he entered the classroom. Immediately he was greeted by friendly smiles, cheers and waves. "Hey, Izuku! There you are!"

"Izuku, buddy, we were wondering what kept you."

"Izuku-kun, I've kept a seat right beside me. It's warm."

"Alright, quiet down! Class is in session!" The teacher barked. "Izuku, go on and take your seat."

He felt numb. Numb, even as he moved to the back of the class. No one attempted to put out their legs to trip him. No one snickered and whispered 'quirkless' or 'useless' as he passed. That girl who used to stare at him like an insect was looking at him with disturbing, predatory eyes. The two boys who used to toss spitballs in his ear were treating him like royalty.

He took his seat, quietly, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. It pounded so much that it felt like it was going to burst. Pounded so much that he was worried others could actually hear it.

"Oi." A voice came from his side. "You're fucking late Deku. What took you?"

Blonde-haired and perpetually scowling, Katsuki Bakugo was the only one acting… normal.

"I don't understand."

Bakugo snorted. "You make it sound like that's supposed to be something new."

He bit down on his lip. "Everyone is… acting different."

"You mean how everyone is suddenly kissing your ass?" Bakugo scoffed.

They weren't the words he would use, but they were not wrong. He nodded his head, slowly.

"Congratu-fucking-lations," said Kacchan, twirling his index finger in the air. "Now that everyone knows you've got a quirk and it's one that fucking blows theirs out of the water, you've graduated from mob trash to side character."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're fucking better than them, and they know it." Kacchan pointed to two boys. Deku knew them. They were Bakugo's cronies. The ones who followed him everywhere. "They'll stick beside you like white on fucking rice, because the morons believe that if they stand in front of a light bulb long enough, they'll start to glow."

Was that true? People would want to become his friend now, simply because he'd finally unlocked his quirk? They would give him special privileges, simply because his quirk was good? They'd turn a blind eye to the minor slip-ups he made, because of a power he was born with? An ability he himself had no choice in choosing?

"That's… that's wrong."

"What, are you fucking complaining?" Bakugo said. "Like you're any fucking different."

His chest burned. "I'm not like that."

"Then why the fuck are you even talking to me?"

"W-what?"

"I'm not an idiot, Deku. You were trash without a quirk. I let you know this every day. In your fucking face, every day. Yet you'd follow me with this stupid look on your face no matter what. That stupid look – you never stopped having it for one fucking day." Bakugou snorted. "At least, with the hangers-on I knew they were getting something out of hanging out around me cause they made it obvious. With you, it's like you felt chasing after my fucking shadow could make you more than trash."

"How does that make you any fucking different from them?"

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell Kacchan that they were friends. That they had been friends since before Kacchan got his quirk. He couldn't. He couldn't, because Kacchan was right about one thing. He had been chasing after Bakugo. He'd been chasing after him, desperately. He looked up to him. He admired his confidence. His ability. His sure-fire cockiness and self-assured ways of doing things. His ability to not care about the opinions and thoughts of others and say whatever he felt was on his mind.

Was it a friendship, then, if all one person did, was admire and look up to the other? If one person, merely put the other on a pedestal, and placed them as a goal? Friendships were supposed to be give and take, supposed to be equal and reciprocal, but if all he did, was look up to Kacchan, if all he did, was get his inspiration and confidence from Kacchan without ever giving back anything in return… could it even be called a friendship?

Were they, actually ever friends?

Have I ever done anything for Kacchan… as a friend?

Something gnawed at his stomach. Gnawed at him. They were friends, weren't they? He should have, at least once, done something to help Kacchan. Something that Kacchan couldn't have done without him. Some sort of assistance, that he provided, or maybe, maybe a gift? Or – or –

Kacchan's pride won't let him accept help. Or advice. It won't let him ask for it either. The only way he'd do that is if he saw me as an equal. But he won't, because I've been the one chasing after him for so long. If I beat him in a fight, it'll hurt his pride even worse. If I hold back, he'll know I did and things'll go sour. So… how?

"Kacchan."

"What is it Deku?"

"After school… can you," No, don't ask. He tried again. "I… want you… to show me, some stuff, you think we can do… with our quirks."

"No."

Izuku deflated. "Oh."

Don't just… take no! What – what would Kacchan do?

"I'm… I'm not taking no for an answer."

"What was that bastard?" Bakugo's face lit up, tiny sparks emitting from his hand.

Don't be afraid. Don't be – you – you don't have anything to fear from Kacchan. "You – you heard me." Izuku forced out. "We – we're going to do stuff. Have fun. Like… friends. Good friends."

"I said I'm not interested Deku."

"I said I won't take no for an answer." I didn't stutter! I didn't stutter that time!

"Do you have a death wish?"

"N-no," damn it, he stuttered. "You have a death wish."

"That doesn't even make any fucking sense."

"You don't make any f-fucking sense."

Oh my god I just swore. He could feel the mortification from dropping the f-word so casually. He could feel some sort of… thrill from dropping the f-word so casually. He observed Kacchan's momentarily stunned face, keyed in to his body language, his facial expressions, recalled his extensive vocabulary, and his subtle peculiarities.

Then, he fed everything into his quirk.

"You heard me," he said, his voice oscillating in tone until it reached the deepness and octave that matched Katsuki Bakugo phoneme for phoneme. "We're going to fucking have a blast with our quirks, and you're going to come along, sit down, and have fun, or my name isn't Izuku fucking Midoriya."

Too little, too late, he realized that he had been slightly louder than he intended to be. The gaze of the entire classroom was in their direction, in his direction. Jaws were slack, mouths were opened, eyes were wide, and a piece of chalk dropped from the teacher's hand.

Midoriya Izuku, when faced with such an awkward situation, would have shrunk back in on himself, praying for a random blanket to appear and hide his mortification. However, at that exact moment, Midoriya Izuku wasn't the one present. Rather, it was Midoriya Izuku using his quirk to mimic Katsuki Bakugo. Of course, there was only ever one response Katsuku Bakugo possessed when faced with such a situation.

"What the fuck are you all looking at? Do we look like we invited you to sit down, drink tea and listen in on our private fucking conversation? HUH?"

Like clockwork, the student's gazes snapped forward on instinct. Only two individuals were left staring. The teacher, and Katsuki Bakugo himself.

"Ah… Midoriya-kun –"

"What?"

The teacher cleared his throat. "Ah – er… that is an… interesting use of your quirk. But… er… do, keep it down, just a bit."

"Tch. Whatever."

The teacher returned to his board, the students gossiped, and, just as they believed the day could not have gotten any more ludicrous, a sound emerged from the back row that no one had ever heard, and no one ever believed they would hear.

It was the sound, of Katsuki Bakugo… laughing.

A ~ P ~ N

"Her, do her next."

Midoriya Izuku cleared his throat. "I do, surely believe, as an Oujo-sama of this distinguished family, that requesting me to perform such paltry tricks for your amusement is beneath someone of my station." The smooth, feminine voice flowed from his mouth with fluidity and grace.

Kacchan was amused, a fiendish grin on his face from the reaction of passersby when they heard the feminine voice, but failed to identify where it was coming from, or who was speaking.

"Try… All Might."

Izuku grinned. "HAVE NO FEAR, CITIZENS! FOR I AM HERE! NO EVILDOERS SHALL ESCAPE THE MIGHTY POWER OF JUSTICE!"

"All Might?"

"I heard All Might's voice just now!"

"All Might is here?"

Kacchan held his sides, covering his mouth with one hand as he tried not to bark in laughter. Izuku couldn't help but feel a little bit sad for the people who were now rapidly searching the area with their phones in hand to find the Symbol of Peace himself, muttering, whispering and conjuring theories about how All Might may have gained the power to turn invisible, or project his presence from a distance.

"Fine, I'll admit it," Kacchan said, regaining control of his laughter. "Your quirk isn't anywhere near as strong as mine… but it's fucking damn more entertaining."

"That's some really high praise coming from you Kacchan."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"I'll be sure to cherish the moment you praised my quirk forever, Katsuki-kun."

Kacchan's left eye twitched. "Alright. You sound more irritating than your usual fucking self. Who the fuck are you mimicking now?"

Izuku couldn't help himself. "The only person I'd ever want to mimic is you, Katsuki-kun."

"That's fucking creepy."

"But Katsuki-kun – I thought you liked it when people wore your ski – ouch!" Izuku rubbed the back of his head. "Fine – fine – I'll stop mimicking Hebimaru-sensei."

"That's who you were mimicking?" Kacchan shuddered. "No fucking wonder it sounded so gross. You know he's a slimy fucking bastard right?"

"Just because his quirk makes him part snake doesn't mean he's slimy."

"The fact that he's always loitering around the girl's bathroom makes him fucking slimy."

Izuku cringed. "I – I didn't know that."

Kacchan snorted. "Of course you didn't. You barely notice anything that happens around the school."

"I – I was always dealing with my own problems." Izuku admitted. "Not having a quirk. Not having any friends. Ka-chan stress eating. My own thoughts of how much I just wanted to give up. And you… Kacchan… you didn't make it any easier with your words and… I…"

Izuku bit his lip. "They… hurt. The words… more than the shoves or explosions in my face. Your words… hurt Kacchan."

"Why the fuck do you care so much about anything I say?"

"Because you're… my friend Kacchan. Or at least… the closest thing I have to a friend." Izuku said, awkwardly rubbing his hand. "Even though you berated me, and insulted me, and belittled my dream… we were friends before you got your quirk and left me in the dust. And I – I didn't want to lose that. I'd already lost my dream, lost my joy, lost my mom's peace of mind… and if – if I lost my only friend as well… it'd be like I lost everything. Everything. Just because I wasn't born with a quirk. I – I don't think I could have come back from that."

There was something off, about Kacchan. Izuku wasn't sure what he was. But… his fists were balled up. His expression was fierce. Fiercer than he'd ever seen.

"Ah – s-sorry, I didn't… I didn't mean to u-upset you –"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Izuku flinched from the sheer anger in his tone. "I – I don't understand –"

Kacchan didn't say another word. The boy stormed off, leaving in an arbitrary direction. Izuku wanted to follow him. He wanted to find out what he said, or did that was wrong. He wasn't trying to guilt trip Kacchan or anything like that.

I just… want us to be friends again.

He just wanted to have a friend, again.

He just wanted a friend.

A ~ P ~ N

Katsuki Bakugo needed something to vent on. He needed something solid, and sturdy, to bare the full brunt of his explosions. He needed to fucking unleash out the crushing sensation he was feeling in his chest otherwise he felt it just might explode.

Fucking Deku –

Contrary to what many would believe, Katsuki Bakugo was not incapable of empathy. He was not heartless, or empty, or cold, as many would believe. He understood emotions more than most, just that the emotion he understood the most was anger. Anger and rage. Right now, he felt those two things. He felt them, and they were eating him up inside, because the target of that anger and rage was one fucking annoying piece of shit.

A piece of shit named Katsuki Bakugo.

Fuck!

He kicked aside an aluminum beer can in his path as his teeth grinded against each other. It pissed him off. Pissed him off, listening to Deku. Listening to how someone he treated like trash, no, perhaps worse than trash, talk to him about them being friends. He wanted to call Deku delusional. Delusional and pathetic.

Yet, the real pathetic one was him.

Him, a person who desired to become a hero, to become the hero, not even able to realize when a person needed saving. Not even able to see the harm his words and actions were causing. Too blind to his own stupid temperament and ego.

Did Deku even know, how he looked, when he spoke? He doubted the boy did. He doubted he could see how he looked. How tired, he looked. How empty, he looked. Shattered. Broken. Worn. Desperate.

Bakugo was pissed. He was pissed at himself. He was pissed on Midoriya's behalf. He was pissed, because he knew that damned Deku wouldn't get mad at him. He knew, that damned Deku wouldn't even ask for an apology, wouldn't care if he never gave him an apology, would merely go on and continue acting like Bakugo's own words and actions had not been the final straw that broke the camel's back.

He hated that Midoriya wasn't upset with him. He would have taken that. It would have been easier, to handle that. To handle resentment. To handle rage and scorn. To take all of his hate. It was worse, that Midoriya wasn't upset with him. Didn't demand anything of him. Didn't make it easy, for him. Didn't provide a means or an out for him. All Deku wanted from him… was to be his friend, even after… everything.

Deku chose to forgive him.

And that made Bakugo unable to forgive himself.

It gnawed at him. Ate at him. Burned deep within him. A sense of overwhelming revulsion for himself. Of disgust, for himself. A nausea that struck every time he pictured Deku's face, Deku's empty, hollow face, as the boy narrated how he'd been struggling, and how, Bakugo, the only person in the world he saw as a friend, made those struggles worse.

Three seconds later, Bakugo stumbled into an alley and heaved the contents of his stomach into the nearest trash bin.

Fuck.

Katsuki Bakugo didn't want to be a piece of shit. He didn't want to be that sort of scum. That type of pathetic. Even villains and bastards didn't try to make life harder for their fucking henchmen. Yet alone friends. Yet alone someone who wanted to be a hero.

Some fucking hero you're going to turn out to be.

He'd make things right, somehow. He knew, he had to make things right, somehow.

He just wished he could figure out how.

A ~ P ~ N

"Here, kitty… I've brought some snacks for you."

The stray cats of Musutafu were wary of strangers. They did not approach most people, and were skittish around those with particularly intimidating mutant quirks. Izuku liked that the cats seemed to like him. Animals, seemed to like him. They were nice. He liked animals too. Though he wasn't sure about keeping an animal as a pet. It felt wrong, in some ways. He knew that there were pet owners who did the absolute best for their animal companions and treated them with love and care, but there were also a lot of pet owners who did the opposite. He didn't like those type of pet owners.

"Is it okay if I give you a name?"

The black tabby in question didn't seem to mind. It purred, rubbing it's face against Izuku's outstretched hand. It reminded him of that girl he met in the morning. Of her kitty, Mr. Sniffles who'd been stuck up a tree.

It felt good, to help people in need. It made him feel better about himself, whenever he could do something to make someone's day shine just a little bit brighter. He wanted to do that, to make people's day shine brighter, bit by bit. He wanted to be the type of person he wished he could have met.

"How's… Kuro?"

The cat purred, it's tail swaying from side to side.

"You don't like it? I guess it's kind of too common a name…"

"Shinigami."

The voice came from behind him. He didn't startle. He heard the footsteps, long before they had arrived. Though, they weren't his usual footsteps. They didn't seem to have the same level of confidence to them. The sound wasn't like he knew. Wasn't at all like he remembered.

"I don't think that's a good name for a cat Kacchan."

There was a moment's pause. Izuku looked at the cat. "What do you think, would you like to be called Shinigami?"

"You could add a title to it. Make it formal. Kickass. Like… Sir. Sir Shinigami. It'll let it know the other cats know not to fuck with him."

Izuku couldn't help his lips twitching. "How about, Sir Kuro the Shinigami?"

"It's a hell of a mouthful for a damn cat."

"Sir Kuro the Shinigami it is. We can call him Shin, or Gami, or Kuro – or just Sir. What do you think, Sir?"

"There's no fucking way I'm calling a cat, Sir."

Izuku picked up the newly minted Sir Kuro, holding him into the air. He spun on his feet, gesturing the cat forward. "Think fast!"

"Oi – Deku you –"

Kacchan had good reflexes. Enough to catch Sir Kuro. Enough to keep the cat at arm's length. Kuro purred, stretching out and rubbing his whiskers against Kacchan's palms. The blonde's eye twitched, and he shot a murderous glare at the cat.

Kuro ignored it and started to lick his fur.

"I think he likes you."

"He's fucking ignoring me."

"That's how you know he likes you."

Kacchan snorted. Izuku dusted his palms, and threw his head back. "I'm tired. I'm going to head home before Ka-san starts to get worried."

"Hey, De –" Kacchan stopped. "I...Izuku. Wait."

He couldn't remember the last time he heard Kacchan call him by his name. His actual name. Not Deku, or trash, or mob, or loser, or nerd – but his name. He couldn't remember the last time. The last time Kacchan stood, his face a cornucopia of emotions, his eyes averted to the side, his stance solemn… defeated.

"I –" Kacchan opened his mouth, but stopped. Izuku could hear the grinding of teeth. The dry licking of lips. The swallowing of saliva. He could see the accumulation of sweat. The shortness of breath. The slow, unsteady, shaking of hands.

"I –"

"Hey, Kacchan." Izuku said. "Do you want to come over to my place and play videogames?"

The tension left his shoulders. Izuku knew. Izuku could tell. He knew, because he understood what it was like, to have something eating at him from the inside. He didn't know what it was that was eating Kacchan up, but he knew, sometimes, the best way to get rid of that feeling – was to simply have someone around you.

"Video…games?" Kacchan repeated.

"I started playing, recently." He smiled awkwardly. "Ka-san bought me a console and several new games after I unlocked my quirk. I think she's trying to spoil me, you know, to make up for…" He trailed off. "We can play Heroes Smash V."

"That's… the new one… isn't it? With All Might?"

Izuku took Kuro out of his friend's hands. He reached into his back for one final treat, dropping it in front of the cat, and rubbing the creature's ears for good measure.

"Come on, Kacchan," Izuku said.

For once, he didn't look back, as he kept walking. He didn't agonize, if the conversation was over. He didn't ask, perhaps, if the boy had different thoughts. Izuku Midoriya wanted a friend, but he knew, and understood, that not everything was meant to be. So he walked, he walked, ignoring the tiny pit in his stomach when he didn't hear footsteps trailing behind him. He walked, ignoring the churning bitterness in his mouth when no footsteps followed. He walked, forcing down the lump in his throat at the silence.

And he walked.

"Oi! Izuku! Wait up damn it!"

And a sensation unlike any other rose from his chest. The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, and for the first time in what felt like eons –

Midoriya Izuku was happy.

Chapter Text

"You fucking can't."

He and Kacchan argued again. Izuku didn't like it when they argued. He liked it even less, when Kacchan said some of the things he said. When Kacchan was pessimistic about things in the world. When he reduced people to being only the weak and the strong. The user and the used. When he made it sound like everyone was terrible.

"I can!"

"Izuku – be fucking real."

"All Might does it."

"All Might never loses," Kacchan snarled. "He never fucking loses. But that doesn't mean he fucking saves everybody. Check the fucking listings. Endeavor has solved more bloody incidents than All Might – and even then, Endeavor has never, ever saved everyone."

"Then I'll be the type of hero that saves everyone."

"Stop saying such cheesy bullshit like this is one of those those stupid comic books and manga!" Kacchan yelled. "You're just going to fucking kill yourself if you try to save everyone. You're going to fuck yourself over if you try to please everyone. That's your problem Izuku – you're a fucking people pleaser. You want a world were everyone is your fucking friend and you can hold hands and sing kumbaya, but that shit doesn't happen. It can't happen. You'll make enemies just by breathing. Make enemies just by taking the last slice of pie on a tray that someone else wanted. The problem is, you'll be too fucking dense to even realize they're your enemies, and when you do – it'll be too late."

Midoriya didn't see things that way. There was good, and then there was evil. There were people, flawed people, but flawed people needed second chances, help, assistance. Then there were those who were beyond help. Those who used their flaws and troubles as an excuse to hurt others. As a justification for picking on the weak. He didn't like those kind of people. He liked it even less, that Kacchan was sometimes among those type of people.

Their entire argument had started over a game of Heroes Smash V. First, the discussion and pre-game banter. Then, the post-game swears from Kacchan as he lost, time and again. Then, he mentioned the type of hero he wanted to be. Kacchan followed and talked about the kind of hero he wanted to be as well.

They did not see eye-to-eye on the issue.

Kacchan wanted to be the strongest hero. The type of hero that never lost a single battle. The ones that villains would flee in terror from, because his presence evoked that sensation of fear and doom. A hero whose mere existence made evil cower, running with tail between legs.

Izuku wanted to be the kindest hero. The one who went out of his way to inspire hope and uphold justice. The everyday man's hero. A figure who would fight grand evil, but was never to busy to help a cat out of a tree, or an old lady across the street. The kind of hero that the people loved and adored, and a hero that would never fail at saving anyone who needed saving.

Kacchan took objection. He said, it wasn't possible to save everyone who needed saving. Izuku took objection. He believed it was. The argument snowballed from there.

"I'll prove you wrong."

"And how the fuck are you going to do that?"

Izuku bit his lip. "At school. I'll – I'll help everybody that needs help. I'll tell them, I AM HERE! So – so they know that they can always have someone to count on in their time of need. If – if I can help everyone, help everyone without issue – then you'll believe me when I say I can save everyone too."

Kacchan scoffed. "You'll fucking regret it Izuku."

"I won't. I love helping people."

"Izuku you're basically saying you're going to let yourself be a fucking doormat. It's like a lion choosing to cut off his claws, shave his mane and fucking expose his neck to a pack of hyenas. They'll slaughter you."

Izuku frowned. "People aren't as bad as you think they are Kacchan."

"You're right," Kacchan agreed. "They're fucking worse."

Kacchan was becoming more and more of a pessimist than Izuku remembered. He didn't know why that was. Why his friend was always quick to see the negatives. He'd always been foul-mouthed and hot-tempered, but he'd never had such little faith in other people. The fact that he wanted to be a hero, not to save people, but to stop villains, was already something that Izuku could not wrap his head around.

"You'll see Kacchan." Izuku said. "I'll show you what kind of hero I'm going to be."

|A Precise Note|

Aldera Junior High was abuzz the morning Izuku made his announcement to his class. Standing high on a table, forcing down the rapid beating of his own heart and his own lack of confidence, he channeled his inner Katsuki, and made his declaration.

"If there's anyone who needs help with anything at all, um – y-you can ask me, and I'll try my best to help you out!"

One lizard-eyed student narrowed his gaze. "What's the catch?"

"Um – there's no catch. I just… want to help out as many people as I can."

"With your quirk?" another student asked.

Izuku rubbed the side of his head. "Well… if it's something that my quirk can help with… then… yes?"

The whispers and murmurs travelled through the classroom at the speed of light. Izuku could feel his chest pounding even harder at the sudden rush of excitement that everyone seemed to have. Why exactly were they so excited?

He glanced at the back row, finding Kacchan scoffing while doing his best to act uninterested with the whole thing. Just wait, Kacchan – I'll show you –

Midoriya Izuku liked to help people. There was a satisfaction he got from helping others with their problems. He didn't even really want gratitude. He didn't need gratitude. He just wanted to be there for people. He wanted to be there for people, because there was no one who was there for him. And he knew how terrible that felt. He hated how horrible it felt. When there was no one in your corner. No one to smile and tell you to chin up. No one to believe in your dreams and tell you to never give up. When no one, not even your own mother, believed you could accomplish your dreams.

For the first few hours, class proceeded as normal, and no one asked him for anything. At least, until halfway through the third period, when the teacher called out a student to help clean the chalkboard. The student, grumbled, before suddenly jerking his head back.

"Hey, Izuku-kun, do you mind helping me with the blackboard?"

The eyes of everyone in the class was on him. "Um – oh – okay –"

The teacher rose an eyebrow, but said nothing. There were whispers, chortles and chuckles. Izuku stood, grabbed the duster, and in three precise, smooth movements, the board was wiped spotless. The entire process barely took two seconds.

The teacher whistled quietly. "My, Midoriya-san. That's impressive. Your quirk?"

"Y-yeah."

"Go on, back to your seat."

He dusted off his hands, taking his place beside Kacchan, who was trying his hardest not to stare at him. "Oi – Izuku. Better call it quits now."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't know these bastards like I do. You never got to know them because you were always dealing with your own shit. But if you don't call it quits now, it's going to get fucking worse."

"You're paranoid Kacchan."

Kacchan scoffed. "Don't say I didn't fucking warn you."

"Midoriya-san, hey, hey, my right hand is feeling kind of sore… can you help me copy the notes?" A pug-faced girl asked.

"Ah… well, I can help…"

"Thanks!"

She tossed her book over to him, leaned back in her chair and started subtly pressing her phone underneath her desk.

"Hey, Izuku – my hand's kind of sore too."

"Yeah, me too."

"Me as well – must be the weather."

The books piled, one after the other. One after the other, until half of the students in the class were snickering, and Izuku's table was overflowing with a dozen notebooks.

This is fine. He took a breath. A soft, long, deep breath, and he sent his two hands to work. The snickering stopped abruptly as everyone turned to stare. His left and right hands were blurring. Blurring from movement. Faster than the human eye could track, Midoriya Izuku's two hands moved in tandem. Words appeared upon pages in fluent, eloquent kanji. It was less of him writing and more of him printing, as his handwriting could effortlessly be mistaken for a computer-generated document.

The books slid, one after the other, circling and juggling in the air as he wrote them all, leaving no room for error, no margin for mistake. He copied the teacher's words on the board just as the man wrote them, and for him, a person whose goal was to be a hero that saved everyone, writing a dozen notes simultaneously was something he could manage.

"No way…"

"He's like a computer."

The bell rang. The teacher dropped his chalk, just at the exact moment Midoriya Izuku wrote the final characters and closed the books. With a flick of his wrists, the books spun in the air like shuriken, rushing to their appropriate owners.

"And that's all we have time for right now – and why are you all staring at Midoriya?"

"I was helping them out sensei. A lot of people's wrists seem to be sore for some reason, so I helped them out with the notes."

"Is… that so?" The teacher cleared his throat. "W-well – then, carry on."

No sooner did the teacher leave, did the class burst into excited cheers and mutterings. "Yo! Izuku that was fucking cool!"

"Your quirk is awesome!"

"Midoriya! The boys are going to shoot some hoops. We'd love for you to join us. You don't have anything doing right? Come on!"

"Er… sure. Why not?"

Kacchan was still skulking. Izuku gave him the peace sign. He knew he could do it. That he could help people. And the way their eyes all lit up at him, the way they were excited, happy with him –

"What's the hold up?"

"I'm coming!"

Lunch break wasn't all that long, so, he knew that once he'd helped the boys out with shooting hoops he'd go straight back to helping other people. The basketball court wasn't far off from the main playground and swings. It was, kind of, his first time ever, playing basketball. He wasn't sure of the rules. He didn't really know how to play.

Yet, the second the ball was tossed in his direction, he knew what to do. He bounced, once, twice, rose his arm, and –

"A three pointer?"

"Damn."

"Izuku… were you using your quirk?"

Izuku stared at his hands. "I… I wasn't."

"Huh. Make him go a bit farther – let's see how he fares. And no using your quirk."

The distance was such that he could barely make out the net. Yet, the second the ball entered his palms, his body moved on instinct. One, two, bounce and –

"Holy shit."

"He made the shot? How the hell did he make that?"

"You cheated. You used your quirk, didn't you?"

"No… I-I… didn't."

"There's no way you would have made that shot without your quirk."

"But – I –"

"Whatever. Come on, let's just have some fun."

There wasn't much fun to be had. He couldn't be dribbled. No matter what strategy they tried, no matter how they attempted to fool him, it didn't work. His eyes saw through it. His body moved on instinct. Reflexes activated on their own accord and prevented anyone from getting past him.

It was even worse when he was the one doing the dribbling. He bounced the ball at speeds most couldn't follow. He could stop his movements and spin on a dime. He could slip through the tiniest of spaces without being touched. If he didn't want to be touched, he couldn't be touched. His reflexes would activate on their own and prevent anyone from getting close to touching him. Preventing anyone from getting close to touching the ball.

"Hey, Izuku – I think… we think maybe you should go."

"Go?"

"Yeah. It's… no fun with you. You're too broken man. Like a cheat character. Seven us ganged up and we couldn't even touch you."

"Oh. Um – maybe, maybe we could play something else?"

"Like what?" One of the boys scoffed. "Every sport requires reflexes and timing and stuff. It'll just be a repeat of this."

"Yeah. Sorry, Izuku – but – we don't think you should participate in sports anymore."

"It wouldn't be fair to any side to have you on a team."

"Oh," he said, quietly. "Um… okay… but… if you need my help with anything else… I'll be here."

"Yeah, yeah whatever."

He made his way away from the court, but his ears didn't. They were more acute than most. Acute enough to catch their muffled conversation before he left.

"Ugh, Midoriya's a freak."

"I can't believe I preferred him when he was quirkless. Now he's got a quirk and he's fucking looking down on all of us. Getting payback for all the stuff we did to him."

"Is that what he's doing?"

No – it's – it's not –

"Come on. I mean, standing up in front of the class and saying he'll help out anyone who asks for his help? He's doing it to make us all look incompetent."

"Compared to him… we kind of are."

"It's not our fault he's got a freakish quirk. How's anyone supposed to compare to that?"

He wanted to march back and tell them that they were wrong. That he wasn't trying to upstage them. To make them look bad. He couldn't. He couldn't, not without revealing that his quirk augmented his hearing. Not without making himself appear even worse.

"Hey, Midoriya! There you are!"

Izuku's head snapped up. Another one of his classmates approached him, waving his hand eagerly. Matsuda, Izuku remembered his name. "Been looking all over for you dude. I need your help."

Something swelled in Izuku's chest."Sure! I-I'll help! What do you need?"

"Do you mind using your quirk to help me draw a portrait?"

Izuku blinked. It wasn't quite what he'd expected or anticipated, but it was still someone asking for his help. "Um… I haven't tried drawing with my quirk yet… but I-I'll see what I can do."

"Great! It has to be a portrait of Akari-chan!"

Akari? She was, arguably, one of the prettier girls in the class. Actually, the prettiest girl in the class. Although she was also known for being cold. He wants a portrait of Akari? "Er… I… I think I can do that."

"Great." The boy said. "Also, I need you to…" he leaned in, whispering the details of the portrait into his ear. With every word, Izuku's eyes grew wider, his face grew hotter, and he barely let the boy finished before pushing him away.

"I – I can't – that's… that's…"

"Of course you can!" The boy patted him on his back. "Your quirk lets you do anything you want with absolute precision doesn't it? This'll be nothing for you."

"I mean… I shouldn't. It's… wrong. She – she won't like that – it's – it's wrong –"

"Come on Midoriya-kun. It's just art. Art! Besides, didn't you say you'd help anyone who needed it? Why can't you help me with this?"

"It's… it's wrong! I – I can't do that!"

"So, you're saying you can't help me? Is that it? After standing up in front of the whole class and telling everyone you'd help them… in the end, you were just all talk?"

"No!" Izuku bit his lip. "I – I mean…" Could he? "Why d-do you even want s-something like that?"

Matsuda stared at him. "Are you… gay or something?"

"W-what?"

"I mean, you and Bakugo are kinda close, I didn't want to assume – not that there's anything wrong with it –"

Midoriya spluttered. "I'm not! We – we're not – we're just friends!"

"Then why're you asking what I want to do with the portrait? Obviously, I'm going to add it to my spank bank."

"Y-your… w-what?"

Matsuda stared harder. "Are you sure you're not gay? Wait, no, even gay people know what a spank bank is. You're not asexual or something are you?"

"A-asexual?"

"It means you don't get hard when watching porn."

Midoriya felt a new amount of heat rush to his face. "I – I don't –"

"You don't?"

"W-watch p-p-porn." he finished. "I – I don't watch –"

"Bullshit," Matsuda scoffed.

"I – I'm serious."

There were several seconds of terse silence before Matsuda's eyes widened in realization. "Holy shit. You're not pulling my leg?"

Midoriya nodded.

"Huh. I thought guys like you were only an urban legend, or a myth that self-righteous people spread to make the rest of us feel bad." Matsuda muttered under his breath. "So how do you get off? Don't tell me you use your imagination or something. That'd be one hell of an imagination."

"G-get… o-off?"

"You know?" Matsuda made several forward and back movements with his right hand. "Jack it off? Beat the chicken?" Midoriya stared, blinking in confusion. "Holy fucking shit, you can't tell me you've never heard of masturbation. Are you from the Sengoku era or something?"

How did this conversation get to this point? Midoriya coughed into his hand, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact. "I… don't d-do that…"

"So… what, you just go around ignoring the urges?" Matsuda rubbed his chin. "Or, is it that puberty hasn't kicked in yet for you?"

"U-um – I-I think w-we've gone o-off track –"

Matsuda waved his hand. "No, no, we're on the right track. I wanna know how it's like for other people – or maybe if it's just me."

"W-what?"

"My Quirk," Matsuda said. Midoriya looked even further confused. "You don't remember what my quirk is? We all had that class where we showed our – oh that's right. You were quirkless back then. You probably didn't show up."

Matsuda grunted, letting out a large, bear-like growl. In a manner of seconds, the boy's muscle definition grew. It grew and continued growing until his shirt was several sizes too small, on the verge of ripping, and his entire physical form was reminiscent to that of bodybuilders. The most notable difference, however, was his face and arms. His face was overridden with thick, bushy beards. His arms as well were incredibly hairy.

"My quirk is called Man Up." Matsuda's voice was deeper, far more baritone than before. "It makes my entire body flood with testosterone to develop muscles and tons of hair. It makes me pretty antsy for a fight, energized, a bit short tempered… and horny."

The boy's muscles deflated like a popped balloon. His facial hair receded back to whence they came, and his uniform was crumpled from the transformation.

"The thing is, as a side-effect, my quirk makes my body secrete at least five times more testosterone on average than most guys. I started puberty when I was six. I had a full beard when I was eleven. I constantly have to shave every morning, but the worst part is how hard it gets whenever I so much as get a glimpse of a girl's legs… or skirt… or thighs… or… well, any part, really."

"Oh."

Midoriya didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure, what to say. He'd heard of people's quirks having unintended consequences or issues that altered their biology and led to problems they themselves had no control over, but it was his first time actually realizing he knew someone like that.

"That's… hard."

"Was that supposed to be a pun?"

Izuku's eyes widened. "No – no – I was – I mean –"

"Relax," Matsuda chuckled. "You're not wrong. I wear three pairs of boxer shorts everyday, and sometimes, it's still not enough to hide it. The worst part is during P.E. classes – it's like they're trying to make my life more difficult."

"Um… have you tried, talking to specialist?"

Matsuda nodded, grimacing. "Put me on some treatment for hormone imbalance and what not. Tried to counter the testosterone production with estrogen. It… it didn't end well."

There was more to the story, but Midoriya couldn't find it in him to ask.

"So, yeah," Matsuda shrugged. "I watch a ton of porn. I read a lot of doujin and watch hentai too. I'm pretty sure there's no hentai on this planet you can name that I haven't watched. Kinda wish there was a trivia contest for that sort of thing – I'd take home the gold any day."

"S-so the reason you want a portrait of Akari-san –"

"I – I – kinda like her," Matsuda admitted. "Nah, that's an understatement. I'm head-over-heels for her. Just her looking at me makes me harder than porno of mutant-type girls hitting it with a guy with a tentacle quirk. I asked her out, you know. She says she's got a boyfriend who's in his second year in senior high. Going to one of the top hero academies to boot. And me? I'm just the guy whose quirk makes him always horny. I can't really compete with that can I?"

Matsuda clasped his hands in front of him. "So I just need a portrait, Midoriya. A picture. Something to have as a consolation. A cathartic object. I don't care if people think it's disgusting, or wrong or whatever. They haven't walked in my shoes. They don't know what it's like, to constantly feel like I feel. To have to jerk off five times a day on average just to think straight. It's not my fault I was born like this – but at least – at least I'm trying my hardest."

Midoriya Izuku's throat felt dry. This… It was more complicated than he thought. It would have been easier, if it was just a request from some sort of deviant, but Matsuda was… different.

What was the right thing to do? To draw porn of his own classmate to help a person with peculiar circumstances, or to refuse, and leave Matsuda to suffer on his own in silence? To condemn him for something that wasn't entirely in how own control – wouldn't that make Izuku like the very same people who looked down on him, simply because he'd been born without a quirk?

I'm… I'm not really hurting anyone… and… and if it's for a good cause –

"I – if… if you promise not to tell anyone, not to show anyone, not to mention it to anyone –"

The boy's face lit up. "You have my word – no one will know of Akari-chan's portrait but myself and my right hand."

Izuku cringed. "S-swear on it?"

Matsuda's hand rose to his chest. "I swear on my mutantgirl hentai collection."

His heart thumped heavily in his chest as they made their way over to a secluded corner. Littered with cigarette stubs and several empty cans of beer, it was an area the delinquents used. An area Izuku never believed he would have a reason to get near to.

He took a deep breath before grabbing the boy's drawing book, Matsuda-san, Izuku recalled his name, and reaching for his black pen.

"You're using a pen? To draw?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Why not a pencil? So you can erase mistakes?"

"My quirk… it's named Precision… it - it doesn't make mistakes."

"Pretty badass claim. Let's see if it's true."

The entire process started at once. The image was fueled from his mind. From the description of details Matsuda told him. To finding and finetuning his own mental image of Kobayashi Akari. His right hand dropped the pen upon the paper, and it moved.

The image from his mind fed directly into his hand. The drawing was not made conventionally, rather, his hand moved as though it were a printer, or typewriter, artificially printing out an image from right to left, and top to bottom. The entire process was a blur. His hand moved faster than his own brain could process. The pressure and speed of the pen on the paper was such that it felt as though the object was gliding. Skating across ice.

After a solid thirty full seconds, his hand came to a stop at the bottom, and Midoriya Izuku stared at what he had created.

"W-whoa. Fuck. It's… um… there's a word for this kind of art…. Realism? No, what was it?"

"Photorealism." Izuku whispered, staring at the portrait.

A portrait of a classmate. A portrait of a classmate so stunningly drawn it was indistinguishable from a photograph. Had Midoriya not been the one to draw it himself, he would not have believed someone actually drew it. He would have believed it was a picture with a filter applied on top. A portrait of a classmate, naked. A gag in her mouth. Her hands bound forward. An aroused, defiant look.

Each second he stared at the portrait, he felt something stir within him. An overwhelming heat rushed to his face at the realization that he drew this. I drew this.

"Yo, Midoriya, if the whole hero business doesn't pan out… you'd make a bloody fortune as an artist."

"A-h-hah…" Izuku's mind was not focusing on that. It was focusing on his art. The art he drew.

I drew this. How did I draw this?

He'd never seen a pair of female breasts before in his life, except in biology textbooks. Never accurately studied human art or anatomy. How did his quirk get all the details right, such as Akari-san's dual piercings, to her belly button being outward rather than inward?

"I don't think I've ever heard of anyone being stunned speechless by their own art before." Matsuda chuckled.

Izuku's attention came back to reality. His mind shifted gears, no longer focusing on the art, and more on the eroticism. He'd never watched porn before. It wasn't like he had the time to sit down and focus on such things like normal kids his age when he was too busy being quirkless. He'd never masturbated either as a result. Nor could he ever remember having a crush on anyone.

Was it… possible?

"Um… Matsuda-san… is it… is it possible for someone's quirk to affect them, like… have a side-effect on them, without them realizing it?"

"Well, yeah." Matsuda nodded. "I know of a girl in another school whose quirk kicked in and turned her completely invisible. Turned out she never realized it, and didn't understand why people were running away from the floating dress and shoes." The boy shook his head. "Stuff like that isn't uncommon. Why're you asking? You think your quirk has a side-effect you never noticed?"

"W-well… my quirk makes my reflexes and h-hand-eye-coordination precise. Like… r-really, really precise. I o-once caught a fly out of the air b-by its wings w-without killing it. A-another t-time, I d-dodged a baseball c-coming at m-me from b-behind without e-even knowing it was coming."

Matsuda shrugged. "Seems pretty standard."

"B-but… w-what if… my quirk also affects… m-my insides? Like r-regulating my b-blood, or – or s-stabilizing my h-heartbeat, o-or –"

"Affecting the secretion of hormones?"

Izuku nodded, slowly. "Making everything… p-precise."

"Woah. That'd be insane." Matsuda said. "Have you like… tested it out?"

"Tested?"

"Yeah. I mean, we know you can precisely mimic people's voices and body language like what you did with Bakugo in class… so that means your quirk affects your voice-box and affects your brain to be able to make you mimic someone's personality… and that means your quirk does affect your biology – so…" Matsuda hummed. "Try… making your teeth precise."

"My… teeth?"

"I mean, gotta start small. Worst case scenario you make them all fall out. Still better than messing with your stomach or brain or something."

Izuku closed his eyes. Making my teeth more precise? How would that work? How can someone's teeth be more precise?

He opened his eyes. "I-I don't think I can –" Matsuda was staring. "W-what?"

The boy wordlessly reached into his pocket, brought out a cellphone and opened the front camera. Izuku blinked, and he blinked again at his pearly white dentures. Shining dentures. More than that, the teeth were perfectly aligned. Upper and lower, all perfectly aligned when he closed his mouth.

"Wow."

"Did you feel anything happen in your mouth? Pain? Discomfort?"

"No – I – nothing."

Matsuda nodded. "Well, there's your answer. If your quirk can instantly make your teeth shine and make them perfect without you even noticing a difference… it's not hard to believe that your quirk is doing other things to your body that you have no idea is happening."

Izuku was not sure he liked that realization. He was highly uncomfortable with that realization. My quirk could be… affecting me without me realizing it?

"Anyway," Matsuda grabbed the portrait of Akari, rolling it up and slipping it into his bag. "Thanks a bunch for the help Midoriya."

"It's… it's nothing. I said I'd help anyone I could."

"Yeah, but everyone knows that words are cheap. It takes a real man to say something, and stick to it despite his reservations. And that's coming from a guy whose quirk is literally to become a manly man."

Matsuda gestured out his fist. Izuku stared for a few seconds. "Um…"

"It's a fist bump, man. Don't tell me you've never been fist-bumped."

I… haven't. I didn't have anyone to fist-bump with –

Midoriya Izuku's right hand stretched forward, his fist meeting Matsuda's on. A strange, foreign sense of exhilaration and excitement rushed through him. The fist-bump. A fist-bump. He fist-bumped someone.

Am I… making friends?

"If you ever need an expert on pornography and endocrinology, I'm your guy."

"Thanks… Matsuda-kun."

I'm making friends.

"Now on to more serious issues, how the hell have you never masturbated before?"

"U-uh, l-look at the t-time –"

"Oh, nononono – you're not going anywhere until I teach you about one of the finer aspects of being a man. So basically, there are different grip styles, but the standard version typically looks like this, and you'll need something to lubricate –"

Midoriya Izuku could feel his face burn up with each word that Matsuda spoke. His own inexperience and slight uncomfortableness with the subject matter at hand was prevalent, and he wanted to do nothing more than slam his hands over his ears and shut out the words and thoughts.

He didn't. He didn't, because he could see Matsuda's face. The excitement on it. The eagerness at which the boy narrated and talked, explaining lewd concepts and judging indecent material with the same flair as a wine connoisseur. There was fervor, and passion, and zest, the kind at which Izuku remembered having when he used to talk about heroes. The type he had when he talked about All Might.

"You…. You're really passionate about this… you Matsuda-kun?"

Matsuda scratched his chin, awkwardly. "Yeah… I guess. I haven't told anyone else this but… when I get older, I want to become an adult film star. There isn't much else I can see myself doing with my quirk. If I tried to take a normal office job or something… my libido would just get me into trouble. Rather than being the sleazy guy who everyone'd know can't keep it in his pants… I'd rather just take a job where I'd be praised for not keeping it in my pants."

Matsuda grinned, giving him a thumbs up. "So, if you haven't gotten laid when I make it big, I'll be sure to introduce you to tons of hot girls Midoriya."

Izuku, couldn't help it. His lips curled, softly into a smile. Then, they opened, and he laughed.

"Hey! I'm serious here!"

"I – I know. It's just…"

You – you've been looking for someone to talk to… about this, haven't you? Someone who'd listen… someone, who wouldn't judge you…

A person who'd be there for you.

Everyone… everyone deserved at least that, didn't they? Everyone deserved, at least one person, who'd root for them, no matter how odd, or how weird, or how unusual they were. No matter how crazy, or mad, or impossible their dreams –

Everyone deserved at least that.

"I'm… rooting for you, Matsuda-kun." Izuku said, gesturing his fist forward. "Y-you can do it. Go beyond… plus ultra."

Minoru Matsuda stared, eyes widening for several seconds. His lips, too, curled into a smile. "Thanks… Izuku."

Midoriya Izuku nodded, unable to stop himself from smiling. He knew, one day, Matsuda-kun would accomplish his dreams. Because ultimately, despite it all, Matsuda-kun wasn't a bad person. There were people in the world, who'd have done worse, much worse, with such a quirk. Who'd have used their quirk as a justification for their behavior. Matsuda-kun wasn't like those people.

To keep looking at the bright side despite getting a bad hand in life…

People like that, in Midoriya Izuku's opinion, were true heroes.

"Oh, yeah, you want to be a hero don't you Izuku? If that's the case, I gotta show you one of my favorites, it's a parody of the 18+ only hero Midnight in her debut outfit that created the regulation for how much skin hero costumes are allowed to show –"

True heroes indeed.

|A Precise Note|

"What's got you grinning so much?"

Class, for the most part, resumed as usual after the lunch break. Izuku couldn't keep still, smiling and humming softly underneath his breath.

"Kacchan, did you know there's porn for every single mutant-type quirk out there?"

Katsuki Bakugo choked on his own spit. Coughing out loud in the middle of class, before snapping his head to Izuku and staring at him as if he was looking at an alien lifeform.

"What the fuck?"

"It's kinda… nice? Don't you think? No one is left out, and – and everyone has something for them. Everyone has someone who likes something they do, and… won't judge them for liking it too."

Kacchan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Did you fucking hit your head or something?"

"I've… just been thinking, Kacchan." Izuku said. "You were wrong. Sure, some people… some people are mean… but it's because everyone has different stories. Everyone… has their own little problems. We don't see it… and – and so, a lot of times we think someone is angry or cruel… when they're simply just… sad... and lonely."

Katsuki Bakugo snorted. The boy's gaze didn't meet Izuku's own. Midoriya felt, strangely, that Kacchan was trying to avoid meeting his gaze.

"Hey, Izuku-kun, my hands getting kinda sore again –" the same pug faced girl, what was her name again, Rainu? "Do you mind?"

"Ah, s-sorry," Izuku managed to look sheepish. "But… I'll be helping you more by not helping you… I-I read that it's better for studying if you're reading your own notes than someone else. And, I – I don't want to be the reason your grades slip, Rainu-san."

"But – my sore hands –"

Izuku reached into his bag. "I-I g-got some hot packs y-you can use? And, um… I could h-help you massage your hands after class?"

The girl in question muttered under her breath. "Great."

Izuku beamed. He felt great, to think ahead and bring hot packs for everyone that'd had sore hands. That way, rather than taking care of the symptom, by helping them write their notes, he'd tackle the disease at its source, by making their hands better. That way, they'd still be able to do their homework once they got home.

Kacchan was staring at him oddly though. Izuku wondered why it was.

"Why the bloody hell are your teeth so shiny?"

Chapter Text

The living room was spotless. The remote was directly beneath the T.V. and the boxes for the game consoles were arranged top to bottom, color-coded from red to green to blue, and then sorted in alphabetical order.

"Izuku-kun… are… are you alright?"

Her son's nose was buried in a book. Advanced Anatomy. Beside him were numerous others, stacked, arranged and neat: Acupuncture for Acute Pains. Memory Palaces for the Mental Masters. Biological Diversities of a Superhuman Society. A Discourse on the Physiological Adaptations of Quirks and Its Ramifications on Human Civilization. An Essay of Quirk-Related Psychological Phenomena and the Argument of Determinism. The Quirk Genome and the Question of the Penultimate Stage of Human Evolution. Thick books. Heavy, dictionary-weight books. "Is something wrong ka-san?"

"No, nothing. Just..." You're making me worried. "H-how are things going with your Quirk?"

"Great."

"Has – has there been… anything odd? Or… do you feel… different?"

"No. Why?"

She swallowed the uneasy lump in her chest. "You… cleaned the house."

He nodded, never lifting his nose from the book.

"You did the laundry. Vacuumed the rug. Ironed the bedsheets. Mowed the lawn. Painted the fence."

Another nod came, his fingers idly turning the page.

"You also rearranged the living room," she said, her voice slowly increasing. "And the dining. And the bedrooms. I found a bag of our plates and silverware in the trash. Along with our old pillows. And old clothes. And – and – your things."

"They were wrong."

Midoriya Inko's heart started throbbing faster. "Wrong?"

The book her son was reading closed with a snap. She was reminded, slowly, upon seeing his face, just how much had changed in the past three months. She would never have called her son unattractive by any means, quite the contrary. Izuku had always been her bundle of joy, and as his mother, her son was always the most beautiful boy in the world. But she was bound to say that because she was his mother, and many would deny it being an objective statement.

Except, now, it wasn't merely motherly tendencies speaking. Her son was growing, and each day he appeared more handsome than the day that came before. The freckles he possessed seemed to have found a perfect way to appear on his face that did more to enhance his appearance than diminish it. The layer of baby-fat she'd loved so much to see had somehow vanished and flattened out, giving her son a more eloquent, angular look. His hair, which he'd kept a spiky mess for so long, somehow managed to smoothen on its own, and she knew, from washing it and putting it into the ponytail the boy now wore, just how unbelievably silky it was.

If Izuku woke up one morning and told her that he was going to become a male model, she wouldn't have any doubts as to whether or not he would succeed.

"Ka-san, we were wasting a lot of space with the rooms. Things weren't positioned in a way that made full use of the room while highlighting its aesthetics. I just put things in the proper order to make it look nicer and be more… precise."

"And the plates? And silverware?"

He grimaced. "I… I couldn't stand looking at them. They weren't… the method they were created with… it was… it's like…" Izuku stumbled over his words. "Like looking at something that doesn't… click. Bad designs? A square peg in a round hole or – or a chessboard with more white squares than black."

"They looked perfectly fine to me."

"One of the forks had a prong that was four centimeters shorter than the rest. And – and one of the butter knives was made with the edges facing the wrong side."

"And your… clothes?"

"They're no longer my size ka-san."

Midoriya Inko's heart was beating fast. "Even… even your All Might pajamas…?"

"You know I stopped sleeping with anything on after I got my quirk."

After he got his quirk. That was it. That was when everything started. The moment in which things had changed completely. She never brought up the event. She tried her best to not think about the event. About how her son's quirk hadn't just manifested while he slept. He hadn't just woken up one morning and realized that his ability allowed him to be impossibly precise in anything he did. He never told her, the full story, of why she'd caught him, doing what he did, when he realized he possessed an ability. She never brought it up. Sometimes, she wished it was something that was a figment of her imagination.

She'd felt, things would be different, after he got his quirk. She was right. She just had the wrong idea about what type of difference it was. She'd assumed, life would advance smoothly. Her son would go on to accomplish his dream of becoming a hero. To become an excellent hero. That they would grow closer, together. That the awkward air and long silent dinners would end. That he would talk to her more, laugh more, be open, more. That for once, they could be happy, together.

And for a short while, they were. He told her, everything. He talked more, was passionate, more. He mentioned how his days went, how his classes went, and what he did in school. They were growing closer, getting closer.

Then, one day, he'd confessed to her something he did. Something he did, and was proud of. And she'd been appalled. Incensed. She remembered the argument, remembered telling him, sternly, that he was wrong. That he should never do such a thing again.

She called the parents of the boy who'd made the repulsive request. The item in question was found and destroyed. The boy in question was punished harshly. She did it because she knew that the boy was taking advantage of her son's kindness. Making her son do the wrong things for the wrong reasons.

Izuku hadn't seen it that way. He'd been angry. Angrier than she'd ever seen him. He believed, with all his heart, that he was helping the boy. Trying his best to assist the boy. In the heat of the argument, some words had been spoken that could never be taken back. She remembered them, bitterly.

"He wouldn't have shown anyone! He had the portrait for weeks and never showed anyone! He was my friend! I believed in him! I believed in him like you could never believe in me!"

The words had stung. She'd cried herself, quietly to sleep. It stung worse because it was true. Because once she'd been told that her son was quirkless, she'd lost hope. She didn't believe. She'd broken down, knowing that her son was forever deprived from his dream. Even when he tried his hardest to aspire to be a hero in spite of his quirk, she'd looked on with hollow smiles and empty words of encouragement.

She never believed he'd be able to be a hero.

And it hurt her, it hurt, more than anything, the realization that she had never believed in her own son's dream.

Things hadn't been the same after the incident. Neither she nor Izuku had apologized. She, because she knew that no matter the motives, what Izuku did was wrong, and Izuku, firm on his belief that he did the right thing, and angry that she'd cost him his friendship.

For the most part, they both went forward, putting the entire incident behind them. But Izuku wasn't as close to her as before. He didn't tell her his thoughts anymore. He didn't talk about his day anymore. It was as if she was living with a stranger or guest than living with her own son.

Most of the time, he was either at the Katsuki Residence, or the local library. He only ever came home to cook, eat, sleep, and get a change of clothes. Midoriya Inko didn't know how she would be able to make her son get close to her again. How she would make her own son trust her again.

"I'm heading to Kacchan's place."

The boy bundled his books together into his bag and swung it over his shoulder. Inko bit down on her lip. "Oh – alright. You – you'll be home in time for dinner, right?"

"I will." He slipped on his shoes at the front of the door. Without so much as a 'goodbye', Midoriya Izuku opened the door, and closed it shut behind him. Midoriya Inko could only take a deep breath, bite down harder on her lower lip, and force back the dull, aching throb in her chest, as she asked herself, time and time again –

How?

XXXX

He hated this.

"Stand –" hated "fucking –" hated "still!"

He hated how the boy danced around his movements. How he did it with his nose buried in his fucking book. How he managed to weave out of the way of his explosions before the blasts could touch him. How he continued to ramble on about some stupid concept or some boring study about quirks he was reading about. How he never stumbled or slipped, even as his feet pirouetted and spun.

"So, Dr. Mashimoto proposed that it's possible for villains who use their quirk to not be held accountable for their crimes, due to certain quirks that trigger activities and impulses in the brain–"

He grit his teeth, roaring with all his might and slamming his two hands in front of him. "IZUKU!" The explosion was loud. It almost deafened him. But his body was strong. He'd trained his body for a long time, to get accustomed to the recoil of his blasts. His bones were stronger. His flesh was tougher. His ears were already used to the shockwaves. His hands did not care for the heat or the pressure, but he knew, if he pushed his quirk to utmost limit, his hand wouldn't be able to take it.

He did it anyway.

He planned this move to be his finisher. His coup de grace. He hadn't named it yet, but he was going for something like Howitzer. He didn't care for the name. He just wanted to win. He wanted to win.

The dust settled. The smoke cleared. The blasted green-haired ponytailed annoyance was nowhere in sight.

"There've also been incidents of people turning to villainy because of societal pressure and them being perceived that they have a villainous or evil quirk. Once the Pygmalion Effect kicks in, people who could have otherwise been heroes end up being shunned–"

"DAMN IT!" he spun around on instinct, palms already firing a blast into empty air. His eyes widened at the realization that no one was behind him. He'd fallen for it, again . Fucking Izuku and his fucking ventriloquist bullshit –

He spun back as quickly as he could with his palms ricocheting him, and a single finger stretched out, poking him in the forehead. "Kacchan, tag." The boy said. "So, anyway, I think there's more to this whole thing than we realized. It's not that I don't like getting special treatment for my quirk – I just don't like it when other people are - are you even listening?"

"What the fuck do you think?!" he snarled. He hated this feeling. Hated it. Hated it hated it hated it.

Both his arms were burnt. Aching. Throbbing. Sweat was dripping down his form. Soaking his shirt. Trailing from his forehead. He was panting, heavily. Exhausted. Tired. And yet – yet –

He hasn't even broken a fucking sweat.

Izuku's book closed with a snap. There was something, noticeably different, about him. It was the confidence. The fucking confidence. That was it. That was all that had changed between the past three months. With Izuku helping every fucking person that so much as asked for a dime or a penny, he did it with increasing flair and increasing gusto, he talked to more people, and reduced his muttering and stuttering, and the more people he helped, the more he talked to, the less he became worried about talking, the more confident he became.

Of course, Katsuki knew too well what it was like. To have an awesome quirk. To be born gifted. People adored Izuku now. They worshipped the fucking ground he walked on. He got discounts from shops. Free meals at the cafeteria. Invites to events. Of course, the green-haired idiot was the type of person who didn't want special treatment. He liked it, yes, but he didn't want it. He turned it down. And just because of that, he got slapped with the title of being 'humble' and it made people eat up whatever it was that he did even more, simply because the boy didn't have it in him to brag.

"That…" it took him a second to catch his breath. "That shit you mentioned… the pygmalion whatever. That's the self-fulfilling prophecy thing isn't it?"

Midoriya blinked twice. No matter how much the nerd's face had stopped looking nerdy and started looking too fucking pretty-boyish for Katsuki's tastes, there was no hiding that same stupid grin he always had.

"You were listening."

"Of course I fucking was," he muttered under his breath. "I can fucking kick your ass and still listen to your nerd-gibberish." He rose his partially burnt hands. "You explained that shit once. Something about how what we do to other people impacts what other people believe about us, and cause them to behave a fucking way to us, which reinforces our own beliefs about ourselves and go back full circle to influence the shit we do to other people."

Katsuki wasn't stupid. He could connect the dots between the stuff Izuku was always going off about and the shit that happened to him. He wasn't subtle at all in that regard. That self-fulfilling shit was what happened to Izuku. When he was quirkless and pathetic, he got told every day that he was quirkless and pathetic, and in return, he believed he was quirkless and pathetic, so he acted quirkless and pathetic, and that made others correctly believe he was quirkless and pathetic, and treat him like he was quirkless and pathetic.

Things had changed now. Now, he had a great quirk and went out of his way to help people with his quirk. Other people knew he had a great quirk, and treated him like he was great for it. Being treated great for his great quirk made him feel great. And cause he felt great… he acted it. And because he acted great, people believed he was great, so they treated him like he was great, and on and on the fucking cycle went.

Katsuki didn't mind. He fucking liked that Izuku was finally growing a pair of balls on his own. The problem he had was with the fucking annoying fact that Izuku would stop whatever he was fucking doing at any point to help someone in need. No matter fucking what, the nerd couldn't resist helping someone in need, even when he fucking knew that the person might be using him.

"So… what, you're saying that there's people out there who'd become villain scum just they're born with a shitty quirk that'd make them good at being fucking villain, and everyone treats 'em like villains cause of it?"

"Exactly!" Izuku nodded his head fervently. "It's wrong!"

Katsuki snorted. "It's how things are. If they don't have the guts to say fuck off to their haters, that's their problem."

"But things don't have to be that way, Kacchan! Don't you see?" Izuku said. "Being a villain is the symptom, not the disease! If – if we could find the disease at its heart, and stop villains before they even become villains –"

"Then what? You'd put heroes out of fucking business?" Katsuki snorted. "That whole idea has fucking holes. You're forgetting assholes that are assholes just because they want to be assholes. Not everyone has a fucking sob story to justify why they're an asshole."

"Then–then with those, we'd help them. Try to reform them."

"And what'll you do if they don't fucking want to be reformed?"

Izuku pursed his lips. "Then… we make them reformed."

Katsuki's brow rose. "Make… them? Like what… brainwash them?"

"It's, I mean, it's better than locking them up all for life and letting them rot away somewhere when their quirks can still be used to help people, or save lives, or make the world a better place..."

Katsuki's brow rose a bit further. "Oi, you need to stop reading those fucking books of yours Izuku."

"But –"

"If you really fucking think that brainwashing people to do shit you want them to do is a good fucking thing, then you're a bit more fucked up in the head than I thought."

Izuku frowned. "It's not like I'm suggesting to steal everyone's free-will... just villains who choose not to be reformed. Is making them rot away in a jail cell supposed to be better?"

"It's their fucking choice. They fucking chose, and it's not in your place to play god and tell 'em to choose differently."

Sometimes, Katsuki didn't want to admit it, but he fucking preferred Izuku before he got his quirk. Sometimes. The boy was mopey, and a crybaby, and pathetic, and a ton of different shit that got on his nerves… but at the very least, he didn't have so many fucking crazy ideas. He wanted to be a hero, and that was that. He didn't care much for being a hero. Or do much else outside of wanting to be a hero. That one-track mind on one goal was admittedly relatable.

Quirk-Izuku… was something else. He didn't like violence, but would beat you into shit if it meant protecting someone. He would kowtow his head to the whims of anyone so long as they had a good enough sob story. It wasn't that he wasn't kind – that was the boy's fucking problem, he was too kind. He related too much with every-fucking-one and every-fucking-thing. He wanted to be a hero because he wanted to save as many people as possible. He wanted to save everyone.

The problem was, quirk-Izuku was proactive.

Heroes were fucking reactive by nature, and Izuku didn't like it. They acted only in defense, they spoke up only after spoken too, they arrived to save the day once the disaster had happened and the villain had struck.

Izuku wanted to be a hero who prevented disasters. That stopped the villains before the villains even had time to fucking be villains. That intervened without being asked, and prevented evil before evil could happen.

Katsuki believed that was less of being a hero, and more of being a god.

And Midoriya Izuku was bull-headed enough to pursue that goal regardless.

"How'd you get out of the range of my attack?" he asked finally. "It's been fucking bugging me. Your quirk gives you super-reflexes and all, I fucking get that. But it doesn't give you super speed or let you fucking teleport. Your major weakness is widespread attacks that you can't dodge or evade. But you somehow fucking got out of range of it anyway."

Izuku blinked, as if remembering something. "I was never in range."

"What do you mean you were never in fucking range? You were right in front of me –"

"For the brief second when you charged your attack…" Izuku pursed his lips. "But there's about three seconds of delay before you activate a powerful move, Kacchan. Also, when you use stronger explosions, your blasts obstruct your view. I used those seconds between your wind-up and your attack to get behind you."

Katsuki's eyes slowly widened. "Wait, so when I fucking heard your voice behind me –"

"I was… actually behind you."

"But I turned around –"

"And I mimicked your movements and turned around with you," Izuku explained. "Like… a sleight of hand trick where you hide a card in between your fingers, and because of different angles perception, it isn't seen by people in front of you, but can be seen by those behind."

Fucking… hell…

Katsuki Bakugo grumbled underneath his breath, feeling his irritation grow even worse at the realization that he'd been tricked. Three seconds of fucking delay? How the fuck did you even –

"Next time… Izuku… I'll fucking kick your ass."

"I'm looking forward to it, Kacchan."

As it stood, Katsuki Bakugo had never beaten Midoriya Izuku in a fight. However, Midoriya Izuku had never actually beaten Bakugo in a fight either. That was because Midoriya never actually fought back, and all he did was dodge and evade. The fights ended whenever Midoriya touched him a certain number of times, which was designed to also help Bakugo's evasive abilities.

The first time they fought, Bakugo had been pissed at being unable to hit him, insisted that Midoriya fought back, and hadn't stopped attacking until Midoriya did something. Something that to this day, Katsuki Bakugo would take to his grave.

He… tickled him.

He tickled Bakugo.

No one in Bakugo's entire life had ever had the balls to attempt such a thing, and so, without ever having attained a resistance to it, Katsuki Bakugo was very, very ticklish. It was a weakness that Midoriya had exploited without a lick of guilt, tickling Bakugo until the boy passed out, wheezing from laughter.

He woke up pissed, and ready to fight--

And Midoriya tickled him into unconsciousness a second time.

Bakugo stopped trying to force Midoriya to fight back after that.

"It's getting pretty late. We should get back in time for dinner. I'll even help your mom cook –"

"You go anywhere near my kitchen again and I will gut you."

"We both know I have the better knife handling Kacchan."

"Every time you cook, your turn it into a bloody science experiment."

"I can't help it if I want to be precise when cooking."

"I caught you fucking counting the grains of salt Izuku! The fucking grains of salt!" Katsuki yelled. "And you were flicking away perfectly good rice with some bullshit that they weren't tall enough!"

"But – they weren't!"

"It's fucking rice! It's not supposed to be tall!"

"But it shouldn't be shorter than the other rice grains in the bowl!"

"Who the fuck cares?!"

"I care! My mouth would notice the difference if some rice grains were shorter than others!"

"Then tell your mouth to suck it up, and manage the uneven rice like everyone else!"

God damned fucking Izuku…

XXXX

It was a new week at Aldera Junior High, and Katsuki Bakugo walked down the hallways with his friend. As always, the boy was grinning, letting those stupidly shiny teeth out to blind unsuspecting people with them.

"Hey! Izuku-kun! Looking good man!"

"Thanks Natsu-san!"

"Hey, Midoriya-kun, good morning!"

"Morning Yatsuhara-san!"

"Hey, Izuku-kun, I – I've got to get these books to the teacher's office – mind giving me a hand!"

"Sure thing!"

Katsuki Bakugo shot a heated glare at the boy who gave the request. His right eye twitched, his right hand came up, tiny sparks and explosions dancing around his thumb and index finger. Then, with that thumb, he dragged it along his neck, and spun his neck to the side. The mob got the message immediately.

"A-ah – d-don't worry about it! I-I shouldn't r-really be b-bothering you –"

"It's not a bother at all."

"I mean it's t-training! Y-yeah! I'm… strength t-training! B-bye!"

The boy scurried off, moving through the halls with the books in hand, and leaving Midoriya scratching the back of his head. "That was weird, Kacchan. Why'd he ask for my help if he was training?"

Katsuki snorted. "Why the fuck does anyone do anything?" He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Whatever. Let's go."

Katsuki knew that class was dull for the most part. There wasn't much the teacher said that he already didn't know. And if there was something he fucking didn't know, the odds were 50-50 that Izuku knew it. Class had become Izuku's time for something else, which was, for the most part, bringing out his fucking encyclopedia-sized books and reading them. The teacher couldn't call him out on it, because Izuku was still taking fucking notes with his right hand to the side, and he was still listening to the teacher, so he could answer questions whenever he was asked.

Multitasking was something that Katsuki knew most people couldn't really fucking do. One way or another, one task would take more precedence over another, unless the person trying to do multiple shit at the same time possessed multiple limbs and a brain that could fucking control all of those limbs simultaneously.

Great… now even I'm fucking zoning out of class. The Explosion Quirk user found the teacher's lessons boring. Izuku was a better teacher, though he'd never fucking admit it to the boy's face. When Izuku explained a concept, he never needed to explain it twice. Somehow, it just clicked. Just… stuck. Of course, it was his shitty quirk working, and Katsuki knew it. His quirk could make Izuku the fucking best teacher in the world, because he knew exactly how to teach people at a pace and standard that was wholly, and completely unique to them.

So Katsuki found his mind wandering through class. Thinking about Izuku's stupid observations about stuff. One of those his books that he read, talked about how the difference in Quirks caused differences in physiology of people. Katsuki had never found himself wondering why only the sweat of his hands could secrete the nitroglycerin stuff he used to make his explosions until Izuku brought it up. He'd checked, of course, whether sweat from other parts of him could do it to, but there'd been no cigar. Just his hands. Which meant, just the sweat-glands in his hands. Which also, meant, if he ever lost his fucking hands – he'd be quirkless.

Mutant-type quirk users were fucking different. Their entire physiology was their quirk, and even though it sometimes made them into fugly looking bastards, they never had to worry about losing their quirks if they ever got disabled.

It wasn't that Katsuki believed such a thing would fucking happen, but he couldn't dismiss possibility. He wasn't going to become a wide-eyed bullshit naïve hero that'd believe everything would always work out and end well. He wanted to be the strongest hero, the fucking greatest hero, and you couldn't be the greatest hero if you didn't know your own weaknesses. Know your own weaknesses well enough that you'd have a fucking plan in case you faced off against someone who could figure it out too.

Thinking about weaknesses –

He glanced at Izuku from the corner of his eye. "Oi… Izuku."

"Hm?"

"If you wanted to take down Suzume…" he pointed to a girl in the front row. "How would you do it?"

The boy's eyes never left his book. "Easily…? Suzume-san's quirk lets her feel the emotions of other people around her. She's not really… good in combat. I'd just knock her out with a hit to the side of the head."

"And him," he pointed. "Natsu-san?"

"Natsu-san's quirk lets him absorb sunlight and make himself glow – it's not really combat oriented either–"

"How about sensei?"

Izuku's right hand stopped moving. He rose his head from the book, his pen lightly touching his lips in contemplation.

"Sensei's quirk is Stretchy Fingers isn't it? He can stretch his fingers up to eight meters… The best thing I could think of would be to restrict his movements by tying his fingers together when they stretch in my direction. I could also use them to tie him up, and he won't be able to untie them by himself…"

"Then," Katsuki said, "All Might."

"W-what?"

"If you wanted to beat All Might… how would you do it?"

"Why would I ever want to fight All Might?"

"Maybe he gets mind-controlled by a villain, or it's his evil clone, or whatever. Doesn't matter. How would you do it?"

Midoriya Izuku's fingers steepled in concentration. "I… would try to avoid fighting him. Or… use distractions to keep him busy."

Katsuki's brow rose sharply. "What do you mean, distractions?"

"All Might's speed, strength, and power is too high to overcome. His stamina is something else, too, so I can't win in any category."

All at once, Katsuki knew he'd gone too far once Izuku regained his atypical muttering.

"I could try to neutralize All Might with something that'd render him unconscious such as a gas – but – no, that won't work, All Might's resistance to most harmful chemicals is known, especially in that fight with Toxic Chainsaw… an alternative tactic would be to make All Might surrender on his own, but that would require a hostage-like situation, and if it's against an evil clone of All Might, he wouldn't care… So, the only way to stop All Might would be to be able to withstand the power and speed of his attacks and deliver them back in equal or superior quantities? A counter? Shock Absorption? No, Shock Nullification? A quirk that can reflect damage? But that's not taking into account All Might's own determination – so – it wouldn't work for too long – unless I can nullify All Might's quirk, but – that's not possible, not unless I have the Erasure Hero, Eraserhead on my side, but I don't see how I would – well, unless it's an Evil All Might we're talking about – but then – that wouldn't really be me stopping him –"

"Oi, Izuku, don't bother."

The boy stopped his muttering. "H-huh?"

"All Might… he's the strongest hero," Katsuki said, now more convinced than ever. "If even your bullshit quirk can't think of way to beat him on your own… then there's no fucking doubt about it."

It gave Katsuki a small amount of comfort. It lit a fire underneath him, as he realized just how much farther he had to go, to be able to reach that level. To stand at the top. To be unrivaled in strength, speed, and power. He'd get there someday. He knew he'd fucking get there.

He just had to work five times as fucking hard as he'd ever before. He'd been too complacent, up until now. Too self-assured, up until now. Izuku's Quirk had been the eyeopener. The bitter-fucking-pill that grounded him. So far, he'd been gifted, and so far, he'd never truly worked hard.

Now, though, Katsuki wasn't going to sit back. He was going to work himself into the ground, until he reached a point where he could bypass Izuku's bullshit reflexes. Make himself fast enough, to bypass a person whose reaction was faster than the speed of thought.

Wait… speed of thought?

"Oi… Izuku… do you think… you could dodge a bullet?"

"Er… I… might?" The boy scratched the back of his head. "I mean, I've never tried, but… I think I could?"

That was fine, Katsuki thought. Now all he needed to do was make himself faster than a speeding bullet.

A Precise Note

The school day came to a close, and Midoriya Izuku stretched his hands and slung his backpack across his bag to prepare to head home. For some odd reason, throughout the entire day, people had approached him for help, but then, they'd suddenly change their minds at the last minute and scurry away from him.

He'd asked Kacchan why it was happening, but Kacchan was his usual self and didn't seem to care one way or another. Izuku was trying to find what the outlier was today, and the only thing he could think of was that Kacchan had been with him throughout the entire day. Was it that people were naturally intimidated by Kacchan, so they wouldn't approach him as much as before?

No, it couldn't be that. Kacchan wasn't actually that scary at all. In fact, he was a bigger softie than he let on. So, what exactly was causing them to turn around and walk away?

He decided to test it out, telling Kacchan that he had somewhere to be. He actually did have somewhere to be, but there was no reason why Kacchan couldn't follow him.

"Where's that?"

"It's uh… kinda secret."

Kacchan's brows rose. "Secret?"

"I'm meeting up with Matsuda-san."

"Matsu –" Kacchan frowned. "That pervert that's always hiding his fucking boners in class? What the hell are you meeting him for?"

"He said he wanted to introduce me to some people he knows," Izuku said. "Fellow… comic book and manga enthusiasts. Y'know? It's an… a… club."

"A fucking Otaku Club?"

"Well…" Izuku scratched the side of his chin. He couldn't deny it at this point. "Yeah."

Kacchan rolled his eyes. "Nerds. Fine. Whatever. We'll meet up tomorrow."

"Sure. See you later Kacchan!"

Ever grumpily, Kacchan waved back and muttered a goodbye of his own. Ensuring he was out of sight and earshot, Izuku Midoriya gripped his fist, and allowed himself to smile. "First, let's see if anyone around the school needs my help."

Most of the students not in extracurricular clubs had already gone home for the day, and Izuku spent his time walking around the school to ensure there was no one in need of assistance. He found, in some empty classrooms, a jotter, a pen, some books, and rulers left behind by students. He made sure to pick them all up, check the registers for who was in what seat, and ensure that he'd give the missing items back to the owners the next morning.

Some classes were dirty with litter and packaging, and Izuki made sure to dispose of them in appropriate bins while cleaning out any dust and grime. He went from classroom to classroom, using the spare chalk he could find to leave encouraging messages for the first students who'd be in school in the morning. From things like "You can do it!" to "Try your hardest, everyone!" and "Go beyond! Plus ultra!" all accompanied by chibi-styled artworks of All Might grinning.

At the very least, the following morning, the first students in class would have something positive to start their day with.

"Ah… It's getting late."

Leaving the school premises, Izuku followed the long way around to get to the train station. He stopped a bit to help catch a child whose ice-cream had fallen out of his scoop, to assist a group of younger students cross the road, and took a detour through the park, where he met with his ever-favorite animal companion.

"Sir Kuro-kun, how's your day today?"

The cat purred, rubbing its cheeks against Izuku's legs.

"I can't stay and play with you for long, sorry. But I saved up some snacks from lunch. Takoyaki – your favorite."

Feeding and parting ways with Sir Kuro the Shinigami, Izuku found himself troubled when the cat kept following him long after leaving the park. "Sir Kuro… you know you're not being stealthy."

The cat meowed. Izuku sighed. "Fine, I guess you're coming along with me."

Sir Kuro fitted snugly inside his backpack, and Izuku ensured to leave the zipper open enough for the cat to peep his head out and get some oxygen. Taking the train from Musutafu to the Kamino Ward, Midoriya Izuku reached into his bag, careful not to disturb Sir Kuro, and reached for one of the books he was reading.

Acupuncture for Acute Pains.

Finding the bookmark where he stopped, he indulged himself in the contents.

… despite originating from Ancient Chinese Medicine, and often being underestimated by individuals of a science background as to having no perceived health benefits, the existence of quirks and the formation of a superhuman society provided the populace with the realization that things once originally thought and believed to be myth, possess deep roots entrenched in reality. The art of acupuncture is increasing in popularity, with numerous schools, such as the School of Apotheosis, formed by Master Tang-Li, a man whose quirk allows him mastery of the energy of Qi, enabling him to perform activities once believed to only exist in the realm of fictional Wuxia novels.

Master Tang-Li has proven, with his mastery of the Seven Inquiries, the benefits of acupuncture not only on relieving pain, but also on affecting other aspects of the body, such as chills and fever, perspiration, appetite, thirst and taste, defecation and urination, and sleep. The focus of this book, however, is on relieving, alleviating, and eliminating sensations of pain, but we shall also glimpse shortly into the other areas of the Seven Inquiries, and learn how Acupuncture can stop fevers, improve or regulate appetite, and even cure individuals of insomnia –

The train came to a stop at the designated station, and Midoriya Izuku bookmarked his page once more and slipped his book back into his bag. Hauling it over his shoulder carefully so as not to wake Sir Kuro, he made his way to his destination.

Matsuda-kun said it was a bookshop called The Hero's Jump…

Navigation of environments was easy, even in locations he'd never been to before, because once Izuku took a simple glimpse at a map through his phone, he didn't need to look at it a second time. A precise, accurate layout of it stuck in his head. He learned the technique from another book he had, called Memory Palaces for the Mental Masters. He needed to thank Matsuda for the recommendation.

Marsuda wasn't joking about memorizing the names of every single hentai doujin he'd ever read or watched. He hadn't been exaggerating. The boy had done so, and he'd learned memory techniques just to ensure that he would always remember them.

Izuku hated that people saw Matsuda as a bad person because of his hobbies and proclivities. He wasn't. He was just a person, like everyone else, doing his best with what he had. That was why it filled Izuku with guilt when he'd made the mistake of disclosing what he'd done for Matsuda to his mother.

His mother hadn't understood. She didn't know Matsuda. She didn't believe that Matsuda was not some deviant or some sort of horrible person.

The fault, Izuku knew, lay with him. It'd been his fault, for trying to tell and explain everything he did to his mother. To try and ignore the ache of the past and move forward with her. Yet, once more, a second time –

She didn't believe in him.

That was all he ever wanted, from her. To believe in him. Was it… too much to ask? Was it?

He'd expected Matsuda to be angry at him. Pissed at him. Genuinely upset at him. Instead, when they'd met in school, after he'd been punished at home, the boy had shrugged, shook his head, and said: "I'm already used to it."

It stung Midoriya. Stung that he'd betrayed someone's trust by trusting someone else. Not even Matsuda-kun's parents had any trust or belief in him, and for Izuku, a person who'd trusted him, to later do something that was akin to betrayal –

Izuku steeled his mind and his breathing as he approached his destination. The Hero's Jump was a comic shop, that was true, but it also seemed to double as some sort of… café, or library. Walking into the place, the bell chimed softly, and he could see rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with contents, collectible All Might, Endeavor, and Hawks action figures and posters on sale. There was, unsurprisingly, an 18+ section, which had a yawning teen in uniform sitting in front of it, most likely to deter younger people from entering.

"Hey, Izuku! Over here!"

Matsuda waved him over from a seat with three others.

Swallowing down his own hesitation and awkwardness, he approached the group.

"H-hey Matsuda-san."

He rolled his eyes. "Drop the -san already. Don't tell me you're still thinking about that stuff that happened?"

He was.

Matsuda waved him off. "Forget it. It's in the past. Parents will be parents. So," he hung his right hand over Izuku's shoulder. "Izuku-kun, allow me to introduce you to some of my friends! The Legion of Hentai Aficionados!"

There were two boys present and one girl. One of the boys seemed to have something like a speech bubble for a head. Another one was short, with purple hair that seemed to be curled into round balls. The third one, the girl, was the oddest one of the group. Odd, considering she looked distinguished. With pale skin, cat-like eyes, thick upper lashes, and straight, waist-length pale gray hair, she was, somehow, the most eye-catching of the group.

Is she wearing… a monocle?

She was. She was legitimately wearing a monocle over her right eye.

"Hey, hey hey Matsuda! Stop introducing us like 'WHAM', we're hentai readers! We read other stuff too, that goes like 'BAM' and 'KABOOM!'"

Izuku tilted his head. "Ka…boom?"

The speech-bubble boy nodded. "KABOOM!"

"Allow me to introduce you. Izuku, meet my friend Fukidashi Manga. You can probably tell, but he tends to love a lot of manga expressions and onomatopoeia." Matsuda pointed. "The idiot with the purple balls for hair trying to talk to the girl out of his league is my cousin, Minoru."

"There are no such things as leagues damn you!"

"And," Matsuda ignored him, "The ojou-sama over there is Intelli Saiko. She's wicked smart – but even if she didn't have an IQ of 150, she'd know never to give Minoru the time of day."

"Curse you, blood of my blood!"

"Dude, I keep telling you, the thirstier you appear, the lower your odds." Matusda shook his head. "Anyway, everyone, this is Midoriya Izuku. Aldera Junior High's ace student. I'm slowly inducting him into our world."

"Yo, yo, nice to meet you, Izuku! Let's have some 'POW' and "RA-TAT-TAT!'"

"He means let's have some fun," Matsuda translated.

"Ah…" Izuku managed to say.

Minoru stared at him, the boy's eyes narrowing sharply. "Matsuda… you didn't tell me your friend was a pretty-boy. I don't like pretty-boys. We don't like pretty boys. Pretty boys are bad news for the rest of us."

"Ah… I'm not, really –"

"You look like the sub in a yaoi manga."

"…Thanks? I think?"

Minoru harrumphed. "Fine. I'll test you. Boobs or Butts?"

Izuku blinked. "Um… w-what?"

"Which are more divine pretty-boy! Tits or Ass?"

"Ignore him," Matsuda said. "I've learned to."

"We have to know where he stands!"

"Um… boobs?"

Minoru nodded sagely. "A fellow man of culture."

Matsuda rubbed his palm down his face. Manga laughed at the cousins, but Saiko – Saiko seemed to be observing everything quietly.

"Now for the final test! Big titties or small titties?"

"Minoru –" Matsuda warned.

"Um… does size… even matter?"

"You're right!" Minoru slammed his hands on the table, rising up, with his fist in the air. "Titties are titties! Size, shape, it doesn't matter! All boobs are the best boobs! All boobs deserve tender love and care! To be squeezed! To be groped! For those wonderful nipples to grace eager lips and – ack!"

Matsuda put his smaller cousin into a choke hold with his right elbow, the boy's eyes twitching. "Excuse me for a moment, Izuku… my cousin and I need to have a… talk ."

"You can't suppress my gospel! The truth must be known! A prophet is always rejected by his own people! Izuku! Preach my gospel! Carry on my message! Do not let my demise be in vain!"

Izuku tried to suppress his nervous laughter at the sight. I never thought I'd meet someone more passionate than Matsuda…

"Midoriya-san, is it?"

It was the first time he'd heard Saiko speak. Her voice and Japanese were, as he'd expected, clearly high-class. Distinguished, at the very least, from what the rest of them used.

"Ah… yes, that's me."

She steepled her fingers. "I am a genius." She announced.

"That's… great?"

"You must certainly be wondering what someone of my station is doing in a place like this, must you not?"

"Well… no, not really." Midoriya rubbed the back of his head. "Different people have different interests… so… I can't really judge you or anything. If you like reading manga or hentai… then that's cool too. It's always nice to have hobbies… and people you can share them with."

Saiko hesitated on her next words. "I –" she pursed her lips. "Well, I was not expecting such… acceptance so easily."

"It's fine," Midoriya said. He turned to Manga. "So, how did you all meet?"

"A Comic Convention,"

"Comic Con, 'BOOM'!"

"Ah."

"We were all fans of a particular niche mangaka who only makes a certain type of… work. Manga-kun, Matsuda-kun, and I were the only three individuals who knew who she was and who requested signatures. We sat for a cup of tea and discussed our interests. Later on, Matsuda-kun introduced his… cousin." She said that word with no small amount of irritation.

Izuku had a feeling that Saiko was not exactly fond of Minoru.

"Regardless, Midoriya-san, Matsuda-kun mentioned that you were something of an artist yourself. Though, for some reason, he said he made a promise not to show or mention what it is you draw."

Midoriya's cheeks flushed. His heart pounded softly in his chest. "W-well… I'm not… I mean, I am, but it's… It's mostly because of my quirk."

Manga and Saiko leaned in, curious now.

"My quirk is called Precision. Basically, it lets me do anything in the world that requires even the tiniest bit of precision, and do it without error. It also makes me more precise… but I still haven't figured out by how much… or if there's more to it."

"Coooool," Manga said. "Very cool."

Saiko's head nodded along with the judgment. "That is a rather amazing quirk."

"Ah, that's true… what's yours?"

"My Quirk is called Comic. It lets me bring my words to life and sets my heart alight like 'BA-DUM, BA-DUM!'"

Izuku stared at the floating onomatopoeia, the characters doki-doki moving through the air from Manga, and landing softly on the table, making it vibrate twice, like a heart-beat.

"That's so cool!"

"Thanks, yo!"

Saiko cleared her throat. "My quirk isn't something as visual, unfortunately. It's called IQ. It lets me boost my intellect by drinking tea."

Izuku blinked at that bit of knowledge. Boost intellect? "Does the type of tea you drink matter?"

Saiko smiled. "It does. Astute observation, Midoriya-san."

"Wait, but… you're already a genius. Matsuda said you have an IQ of 150."

Saiko preened. "I am. And I do."

"And your quirk boosts that? "

"It does."

"That's… that's amazing!" Midoriya exclaimed. "I can't even imagine what that's like. Like… what goes through your mind and what you're always thinking about, or – or thoughts and ideas and concepts that you brainstorm must be –"

Saiko was staring at him oddly. Midoriya caught himself, feeling heat run to his cheeks. I'm rambling. I almost started rambling again. "Um…"

"Your Quirk is far more impressive, the way I see it. If you can be extremely precise, does that not mean you could do impossible things, such as master how to perform brain surgery in one day? Or engineer gadgets and devices with a mechanical intricacy that cannot be rivaled by machines?"

"I… suppose…"

Saiko hummed. "So I take it you're applying to a distinguished Medical School? Or perhaps a top-name Engineering Institution?"

"Ah… actually, I want to become a hero."

"A… hero? With… your quirk?" Saiko's lips thinned a bit. "Well, you could certainly succeed at such… but… wouldn't that be a waste?"

"What... what do you mean?"

"You could save a lot more lives and contribute a lot more to society as a doctor or surgeon. Or perhaps even an inventor. In comparison, there are only so many people you can save as a hero, and the risks and odds of injuries and death are exponentially higher for Pro Heroes than Surgeons."

"It's my dream to be a hero."

"And following your dreams is a nice advice that works great in manga and anime, but shouldn't be taken at face value in real life," she pointed to herself. "While I was younger, I also wanted to be a hero. Imagine that. With my IQ and a quirk that could multiply it, and the best way I thought I could contribute to society was to put my life on the line in a profession that addresses the symptoms of a disease and not the cause."

Izuku couldn't stop himself from flinching. Saiko noticed it immediately.

"Oh, so, you've also had that thought, too, haven't you? About how Pro Heroes are band-aids for a cancerous wound. The Symbol of Peace is the strongest deterrent to crime… but the Symbol of Peace isn't immortal. A day will come, perhaps not now, not tomorrow, but a day will come, when the Symbol of Peace is gone, and then, what exactly will become of society?"

"Woah… this er… kinda got heavy," Manga spoke up, clearing his throat.

Saiko frowned. "Did it? I apologize. As a side effect of both my quirk and my intellect, I have been told I am lacking severely in emotional intelligence and empathy. Spending more time with people is supposed to aid me in better understanding why people tend to default to emotions rather than logic… but I have not gained much success in that regard."

"Changing topics, Midoriya-san, may I see your quirk in action?"

Midoriya allowed himself to breathe, even as he tried to ignore the words, the dull, idle stab in his chest. "My… quirk?"

"Yeah! Let's see your drawing chops!"

Manga reached into his backpack, bringing out a sketchpad and pencil. The objects found themselves in Midoriya's hands.

"Do you take requests, Midoriya-san?"

"S-sure… what… what would you like?"

"Endeavor and All Might in a passionate lover's embrace."

"…ah… a-ah… w-well…" No! The All Might fanboy in him screamed. No! No! No! No! No! "A-any o-other requests?"

"Was something wrong with my original?"

Midoriya coughed into his hand, casting a silent glance at Manga. Help Me.

"Um… It's somewhat of a tall challenge for his first request, Saiko. Maybe someone less… muscly?"

Saiko frowned a bit, then nodded. "I understand."

Thank you! Midoriya mouthed.

"Best Jeanist and Hawks in a lover's embrace should be far easier."

"H-how about I just… draw you?" Midoriya offered.

"Me? I'm not so vain as to ask for a portrait of myself."

"Y-you should," Midoriya pressed. "You–you really should. You're beautiful. Y-you'd make an excellent muse."

"W-well," Saiko stuttered. "I appreciate the flattery. If – if you insist, then I suppose... I would not mind."

Midoriya and Izuku let out collective sighs of relief. Izuku did not hesitate, nor did he give Saiko time to change her mind about the matter. With his right hand, he spun the pencil between his fingers, and started to 'draw.' He focused, rather than on creating a simple picture, on creating something far more elegant, an ideal, a goal, tapping deep into what he felt about Intelli Saiko's aura. His right hand raced down the sketchpad, from left to right, printing out his vision.

Thirty seconds later, he breathed a sigh of relief at his finished work.

"Done."

"Woah," Manga said.

"Can I see it?"

The portrait was different. It was of Intelli Saiko, but it was of her, as a different person. She was smiling, expressive, in the portrait, dressed in an elegant business suit, staring straight into the eyes of those who would glance at the portrait, with a gaze of mischievous intelligence. He didn't focus much on the background, but the foreground, the tiny features, the curve of her nose, the arch of her chin, the number of lashes on her brow –

Drawn to exact, precise detail. Another portrait that could be mistaken for a photograph.

Saiko stared at it for several seconds in silent contemplation.

"Midoriya-san…"

"Um… y-yes?"

"Would you be willing to consider a Quirk Marriage with me?"

Midoriya Izuku choked on his saliva.

"We're back! What did we miss?"

The scene that Matsuda and Minoru returned to was Manga laughing, Saiko's eyes glistening in bliss at an exquisitely drawn portrait, and Midoriya Izuku, coughing and sputtering while asking for water.

"I'll take it we missed a lot."

Chapter Text

Time was something that Midoriya Izuku found himself consciously aware of. The seconds that unfolded into minutes, and minutes that unfolded into hours were always counted. Regardless of the evening progressing smoothly, with Manga providing his amazing collection of… Manga, and even displaying some mint-quality Comic Books from the Pre-Quirk Era that everyone found themselves engrossed in, Midoriya Izuku was always consciously aware of time.

“Did villains in the Pre-Quirk era really do such tacky things?" asked Matsuda. He tapped lightly on a comic book. "I mean, doomsday devices, plans for global domination, destroying the earth, leading armies of aliens to attack?"

“These books are fiction, Matsuda-kun. There weren't any villains or heroes in the Pre-Quirk era, because there were no Quirks. That's why we call it the Pre-Quirk era," Saiko explained.

Matsuda's lips formed into an 'o' as he stared back into his comic panel. “Huh. Makes sense. I mean, I guess no one would really know what a world with powers would look like, so they could only have guessed that some people would use their powers for crazy stuff like this."

He closed the comic, slowly. "At least one thing they got right is that the villains always lose and the heroes always win."

"I just like the costumes." Minoru giggled. "Look – look – skintight leotards! And here, her outfit has a boob-window! And look at this one! Red skin and barely wearing anything!"

“Damn it, Minoru, you know I can't—"

Midoriya grimaced for Matsuda's condition. It really didn't take much to set him off. Just a glimpse at the artistically drawn but somewhat questionable fashion choices of the female superheroes in the comics, and Matsuda muttered a silent apology under his breath as he stood and headed off to the bathroom. There was little doubt in Midoriya's mind that he would not be coming out for some time.

“T-that's not nice of you, Minoru-san."

The short, grape-haired boy scoffed. “Like hell it is! I wish I had a quirk that could let me get hard so easily. Lucky bastard'll be able to go a hundred rounds when he gets older… he'd be the Stud King of Stud Kings."

"It inconveniences his daily life. Makes things difficult."

Minoru lifted a comic book with a purple-faced, golden-gauntleted man, and quoted the words in the speech bubble. “A small price to pay for salvation."

Midoriya's lips thinned. Minoru couldn't be convinced. He couldn't see the bigger picture. All he saw were the positives of his cousin's quirk without realizing the negatives that came along with it. Or perhaps, it was the opposite. In Minoru's view, all of the negatives were still positives. That was the unfair nature of it all. Those with personalities ideal for certain quirks were rarely those who possessed those quirks. If anything, things were the opposite. A quirk ended up, directly or indirectly, affecting the personality of the individuals who possessed them. Their hobbies, their character, their life goals and their aspirations—

Your Quirk, ultimately, decided who you were.

That was why he shuddered, for those whose quirks inflicted upon them villainous roles. For those who possessed no quirks to speak of and found themselves resigned and limited to mundane lives, their goals hung before their faces like a dangling forbidden fruit presented before the inhabitants of God's garden.

Midoriya wasn't a religious person. Most people weren't, not in this day and age. Though a rather small few still followed the Church of the Illuminated. Those who worshipped the first human with a confirmed case of a quirk. The famed "Luminescent Baby" born in Qing-Qing City, China, who shone with unearthly light. The history books made reference to some people calling the child at the time as the Second Coming of a Western messiah. Many believed wholeheartedly, and the Church of the Illuminated grew in size. However, as quirks began to become more commonplace, the religious zeal died out. When everyone could walk on water or turn orange juice into liquor, glowing became less of an impressive feat, and the belief in the supernatural became subdued.

Instead, there were religious doctrines that ascribed to the belief in fate and destiny. The Cosmos' Chosen was one such religion. That it was fate, or destiny, to be born with a particular quirk. That you were given your quirk for a reason, and it was up to you to discover what that reason was.

That religion, too, died out, with the discovery of the Quirk Factor and how quirks used Mendelian principles of biological inheritance.

“Something on your mind, Midoriya-kun?"

Saiko's voice was soft. It drew him from his thoughts. Izuku tried to stop the heat rushing to his face as he remembered her offer. He remembered that he hadn't answered her. She was pretty. However, that wasn't new to Izuku. As far as he was concerned, all girls were pretty. Everyone was beautiful in their own unique way.

“J-just thinking about s-some s-stuff in a book I read."

“I'm a rather avid reader myself. Care to share?"

He bit his lip. “W-well, it's um… An Essay on Quirk-Related Psychological Phenomena and the Argument of Determinism." He cleared his throat. "It-it's not as dull as it sounds."

Manga didn't seem to react to the name, being engrossed in his comics. Minoru let out a scoff. “Uuuuugh. Neeeeeeeerd."

“By Hirohito Miyagi, isn't it?"

“Y-you've r-read it?"

“I have. Miyagi makes an interesting argument for the quirks overruling free will. Though Midoriya-kun," Saiko's voice went low. “You do realize that Miyagi's works are rather controversial, especially because he was a well-known supporter of Destro, and a suspected Follower of One?"

Izuku's breath hitched.

“Wait, a what now?" Minoru scratched his head. “What's all this nerd talk? Why is pretty boy looking like you said you're into pegging?"

Saiko, for her part, sighed. “The Followers of One. Surely even you should have heard of them?" Manga put down his comic book, and two pairs of blank eyes stared, and Saiko muttered. “What do they even teach in Middle School these days…"

“You make it sound like you're not a Middle School student."

“For once, Minoru-san, you make a correct deduction."

“You're in high school?" Minoru's eyes widened. "I've been talking to a High School Girl all this while? Holy shit I’ve gone up in life."

“I'm not in High School Minoru-san. I'm completing my Doctorate at a University which shall go unnamed because I do not trust you enough to know it."

The table was silent for several minutes. Izuku was never one to doubt people, nor was he one to believe people would tell a lie so bold-faced. As far as he knew, Saiko did not possess any reason to lie to them. Completing her Doctorate? She can't be that much older than me and she's already doing her Doctorate? That's…

"Amazing," Izuku whispered.

“Wait, wait, wait, you actually believe her?"

"I do."

Minoru crossed his arms. “Riiiight. There's no way that—"

“Minoru-san." Izuku found his lips moving. His body moved. His right arm landing, gently, softly on the smaller boy's shoulders. His lips were forced into a smile because he didn't know how to scowl or frown. The muscles in his hands were pressing down, with full knowledge as to where to apply the most pressure.

“I don't like it when people doubt others. I trust Saiko-san to be honest with us. If you don't believe her words… please keep your lack of belief to yourself. Please. "

“...Uh, sure. Right," Minoru whispered, his face contorting rapidly. “Y-your hand..."

Izuku blinked. “A-ah – s-sorry -!" he jerked his hand away from Minoru's shoulder as if he'd been burned. Slowly, he brought up his hand to stare at it, looking at it as though it were a foreign object. I – I hadn't meant to… I mean I had, but…

Saiko cleared her throat. “Thank you, Midoriya-kun, as unneeded as it was. I care very little if others do not believe me. Regardless, to educate those who are not aware," she made the gesture of focusing solely on Manga. “The Followers of One are a religious group. Or at least, they started out as one, but have increasingly become known worldwide as an S-Rank Terrorist organization."

“Terrorists?" Manga asked. "Like… villains?"

“Not quite," said Saiko. “Although finding concrete proof is difficult these days, a lot of journals and books of the past make mention of a person born in the age when quirks were fairly new, a person said to be able to give and take away quirks at will. He took away quirks from those who considered their powers a burden, and blessed those who were in need of quirks to make their lives better. As human nature tends to glorify and objectify things that are unknown or mystical, this individual was treated in the same light as the Luminescent Baby. Worshipped. Glorified. In a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, the man with the power to alter the status quo was… deified."

Saiko adjusted her monocle. “For the most part, he was simply referred to as 'The One.' The one whom all would bow before. The one who would change the world. The one who could either turn all of humanity into a supernatural society, or turn back the hands of evolution and leave us as we once were. Whether or not 'the One' is some messianic figure or not is irrelevant. The fact is that he possessed power, and people flocked to him for it. His followers numbered in the millions, and thus, a religion formed behind him…"

“The Followers of One," Izuku whispered.

“I've never heard of them," Manga said.

“The government does it's best to censor out news that includes activities of the Followers," Saiko explained. “'The One' himself is somewhat of an urban legend now, despite there being sufficient evidence to prove that he was real. Some historians theorize that 'the One' was killed in the First Quirk War that brought about the current status quo of heroes and villains. His Followers scattered to the winds, searching desperately for a person worthy to succeed him. Nowadays, they mostly conduct shock-and-awe tactics of bombings and arson, but are also suspected of a long trail of unsolved kidnappings and missing people."

The Followers of One. Izuku would admit he only knew about them from his quirkless days when he spent hours scouring the internet for any way for him to accomplish the dream. Reading article after article, site upon site, about whether or not it was possible for someone born without a quirk to attain one. He checked forums, delved into hateful, angry sites populated by those who'd been like him, those who hated the system of quirks because they'd been cursed to be without them. Through his searches, he's seen numerous references, at the time, to the Followers. Some people still believed that the One was still alive. Alive, but weakened – waiting for someone worthy enough to appear before him, and for him to grant that person his quirk – the power to giveth, and the power to taketh.

“Izuku-kun."

“Ah – y-yes?"

Saiko steepled her fingers. “You've read Miyagi's work. What did you think of it?"

What did he think? Izuku stopped himself from biting down on his lower lip. “It's…"

"Controversial, I know," Saiko waved her hand. "Especially the studies on Subject Nevermore."

“Er… mind filling us in?"

Izuku's gaze went from Saiko to Minoru and Manga, the duo looking lost. "Um… it's…" he fumbled his words. "T-there was a man, once… a good man… who was arrested for… having um… committed mass murder of everyone at a p-poultry farm…” 

Izuku quickly added, “B-but – well, in c-court, it was argued that it wasn't his fault… because of his quirk. He had a quirk… that allowed him to u-understand b-birds at a l-level better than he understood h-humans. H-his defense was… that the corvids, um… ravens and crows… approached him and told him that the b-birds were suffering… and they badgered him, and badgered him… until he went there himself… and… well—"

"The official report gotten from security camera footage said that he broke down in tears at the sight of the poultry, screaming ' why' over and over again, and in blind grief summoned an army of vultures and crows that feasted on all the humans, and let all the chickens go." Saiko finished. "He was given the villain name ‘Nevermore' for his ability. He did not fight back or protest at his arrest. Nevermore said, to him, birds were people. Each bird was a person, with personality, charm, soul, and character. He'd been an avid bird watcher and a docile office worker. Yet, in an instant, he became labeled an A-Class Villain and was sentenced to life in prison."

“Whoa. That's… Damn," Manga muttered.

“He had the backing of many fanatical animal rights activists who called him a hero, and the case brought a question as to whether or not he could truly be held accountable for his actions. His quirk, his ability to speak to and understand birds as he would humans, was the crux of the issue. The argument was, if you were to walk into a factory where humans were caged, treated in inhumane conditions, and butchered as we butcher livestock, would you have done any differently from what Nevermore did?" Saiko shrugged.

“The argument is still relevant today. As is the question of the true limits of animal, and even plant sapience. Of course, rather than bring these issues into light on the news, the government would rather shove down commercialized and propagandized images of heroes being a shining beacon for society down our throats."

Izuku couldn't help but flinch, just a little bit. He still admired heroes. He still wanted to be a hero. Yet, he asked himself whether, as a hero, he would have been able to do anything for Nevermore. Pro-Heroes, while they were allowed to have side jobs, were not allowed to participate in politics or legal matters. Their job was to arrest the villain, and that was that.

“I'm back! So…" Matsuda approached the group, before frowning. "…why is everyone looking like someone died?"

“That would be on me," said Saiko. “I find myself discussing a lot of sensitive, macabre issues without realizing it. I have been told that my real superpower is the ability to end parties and deprive people of joy."

“T-that's not true!"

Saiko allowed a small, ghost of a smile. “I appreciate the support, Midoriya-kun. Truly, I do. But I am not obtuse enough to fail to recognize the emotional drain I tend to leave on people. It's easier and more enjoyable to keep one's head in the sunlight than to wade through darkness with a faltering torch."

Saiko stood, sliding across her seat and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It's getting rather late, Matsuda-kun. Midoriya-kun. Manga-kun."

“H-hey what about me!"

Saiko gave one short glance to Minoru, before turning around and bowing politely to everyone but him. “I'll be taking my leave now. Thank you for entertaining me."

Something kicked Izuku in his chest as he watched Saiko turn around to leave. Time, as it was, for Izuku, felt slower. Each second stretched to encompass long agonizing minutes. The sway of her hair as she turned around. The rumple on her clothes. The momentum of her arm swinging, carrying along with it the force to shift her bag.

Something kicked his chest again, and Midoriya Izuku found his body moving before his mind could catch up.

“I-Intelli-san!"

She turned around, idly shifting strands of her pale grey hair behind her right ear. Something kicked in Midoriya's chest again.

“A-ah… y-you don't need to leave – I –" Izuku bit his lip. "I WAS REALLY ENJOYING YOUR—" The final word stuck in his throat. Presence. He wanted to say. Company. He could have used. He wasn't sure which one would be right, nor did he know which one would be appropriate.

“Midoriya-kun…" Saiko placed her hand into her chin. "It is getting late. I'm not leaving because I felt uncomfortable with ruining the atmosphere. I'm leaving because I have a lecture to attend tomorrow."

“O-oh." Midoriya's cheeks burned. “U-um… can…" You can do it! You can do it, Izuku! If you don't believe in yourself, no one will! “C-can Ihaveyourphonenumber?" he said in a rush. “I mean – if you – so we can – k-keep in touch – b-but if you don't w-want to—"

“Reconsidering my offer for a Quirk Marriage already?"

Izuku's cheeks burned. "M-maybe."

It took him 0.002 seconds to realise what he had said. His brows shot to the top of his head. Saiko, as well, had her brows raised.

“I – I mean – I meant—"

Saiko laughed, covering her mouth with her right hand. "It's fine, Midoriya-san. I was the one who started the teasing, it's only fair that I receive some as well." She reached into her bag, and a sleek, expensive-looking phone emerged. Midoriya held it diligently, his fingers steady even as his heart raced a thousand miles a minute, carefully inputting his contact details.

“It's been a pleasure, Midoriya-kun. Also, thank you for the portrait."

It was only minutes after Intelli Saiko left theHero's Jump that Midoriya realized she hadn't given him her number, but she'd collected his. There was an odd kick in his chest again. A weird, unfamiliar rumbling in his stomach. His feet felt lighter, somehow. The air, rich with her scent of lilac, sent a large, inexplicable smile to Midoriya Izuku's face.

That was when he remembered that there were three other guys present. One of which was staring at him with a large, Cheshire-cat grin.

“Hohoho…" Matsuda said. “Little Izuku-kun has his first crush."

Izuku could feel his entire face burning. "N-no – no – I just… I – it's not l-like that at all!"

"Riiiiight," Matsuda said with a rolling tongue. “Anyway, ignoring Izuku's not-crush on Saiko – who's ready for a good ol' fashioned tabletop game of Dungeons and Dragons?"

Midoriya Izuku would admit, he didn't pay much attention to the events that followed after Saiko left. Being left to his own devices because he always rolled a natural 20 and as such was a gamebreaker, he found his thoughts wandering to Saiko, and not only drawn to her intelligence, but to her arguments and criticism about the idealization and worship of heroes. To the topic of the Followers of One and their belief in a worthy successor. To Miyagi's studies and his increasing concerns.

He wanted to be the type of hero who supported everyone. Who was in the corner of those who entered the ring alone. But, to be a hero, controlled by the government, was to restrict his ability to do that. No one was in Nevermore's corner – not one hero spoke up in support of him. Of course, Nevermore killed people, and killing people was always wrong because you'd be hurting other people –

Is it… impossible… to really be there for everyone?

If he supported Nevermore, he would offend those who'd lost their families. If he supported those who lost their families, he would be against Nevermore. A man whose only crime was to view birds as people. So he had to pick a side. He had to choose a side. Make a stand between two grieving, hurt people.

How… how am I supposed to make such a cruel choice?

Quirks were the root of it. Quirks. The same power that turned around his life – and it was out there, making the lives of people like Matsuda and Nevermore miserable. What could he do for them? How could he help them live normal, fulfilled, and happy lives?

He glanced, subtly, at Matsuda, who had taken on the role of Dungeon Master. A person as smart and talented as Matsuda, believing the only thing he could become in life was an adult film star, all because he didn't want to inconvenience others with his quirk.

It wasn't right.

I need to find a way to make it right.

The only question was... how?

| A Precise Note|

Izuku hadn't kept track of time at all. In between games of Dungeons and Dragons, chatting with Manga, Minoru, and his cousin, and thinking about the conversation he’d had with Saiko, he had lost track of time.

It was the first time in his life that this had happened.

“Izuku! Izuku-kun! Where — where have you been?"

His mother stood outside the door, in her nightgown, waiting for him. It was a school night, although that meant increasingly less and less to him as his private studying was already far above and beyond the current curriculum. Even if he had only about four to five hours of sleep, he would still awaken feeling fully refreshed.

“I was meeting up with some friends and—"

“I already called Mitsuki! Katsuki tried to lie and claim you were sleeping over—" Izuku blinked. Kacchan did what? “Mitsuki overheard him and said you weren't there!"

“Kacchan isn't my only friend…" Izuku said, frowning.

His mother stopped mid-tirade. “You… have other friends?” 

There was surprise in her tone. He couldn’t mistake it for anything else. Why was she surprised? Why should she be surprised?

Had she known? Known, all along, that he had no other friends but Kacchan? Had she… watched him, be friendless, for years, and never, not once, not bring it up?

"Don't tell me it's that boy again?"

That boy. The newfound judgment and displeasure in her tone made Izuku grit his teeth. “Stop referring to him like that! You don't even know him!"

"He asked you to draw porn of your classmate! He has you come home by eleven pm on a school night! I don't need to know him to know that he's a bad influence on you, Izuku-kun! I know Kacchan has his temper, but he’s a good kid at heart, and he’d never allow you to go down the wrong—"

Izuku stopped listening. His hands balled into a fist. How can she…? His own mother, his own flesh and blood, how could she be so… unlike him? How could she judge someone whom she'd never met? Someone who was trying his hardest to be a good person? Someone who already had the world stacked upon them? And, without even knowing, or trying to understand anything about the situation—

“That’s not fair, Ka-san," he whispered.

“Izuku-kun, I'm trying my best to look out for you. Making friends with someone like that—"

Someone like that?

“STOP!"

It was the first time he'd ever raised his voice that high. High enough that it echoed throughout the silent street. The windows and glass shook from the force. His mother backed away, silently.

"Stop… judging people without knowing them," he croaked. "People are… more than you... more than what you believe them to be. More than you could ever believe them to be."

"I…Izuku-kun…"

"I always wondered… what would have happened if I never got my quirk," he rasped, his throat burning. "Would you have kept looking at me with those eyes? For the rest of my life… would you have kept looking at me, with pity? Without the tiniest shred of hope?”

Her slow, choked sobs filled the air. “I-Izuku – I... I never meant to..."

"All I've ever wanted… was to believe in me. To believe… in me… just once. Just once. I just wanted you to believe I could do it. That even if everyone else thought I couldn’t, even if no one else believed I could accomplish my dream… I thought… I hoped… you loved me enough… to believe."

His vision was blurry. There was a thick lump in his throat. One he didn't know how to solve. How to bite back. How to swallow down. His heart was beating quickly. Too quickly. He didn't know how to handle it. He didn't like how it hurt.

It hurt.

He wanted the ache in his chest to be gone. The pain, gone. The memory of him, as he pointed to All Might on the screen, his ears filled with tears, as he asked her, “Can I be a hero too?"

All he had wanted from her, then, was to say: 

“Yes.”

All he wanted from her, then, was to hear the words:

“You can do it! Even without a Quirk, you can become a Hero, too!”

All he wanted was to hear:

“No matter what, I’ll believe in you. My beloved son.”

Even if it was a lie. Even if it was fake. Even if her words were an empty comfort.

He just wanted to hear her say it.

But even that, even empty words and platitudes were things she could not offer. She had broken down in tears, and wept, and apologized, and hugged him close, as though it were her fault, as though she was the one to blame. As though being Quirkless was the greatest sin, and by being the one who had put him into this world as a Quirkless child, she was the greatest sinner.

It hurts.

Midoriya Izuku searched for the most precise way for it to stop hurting. For his soft heart to stop aching. For it to stop burning. The pain.

His Quirk answered.

The root of his emotional pain was his attachment and love for his mother. To stop the hurting, Precision was required to sever the root of the pain. To remove from him the sting of his mother's inability to believe in him. Yet, even with surgical precision , it was impossible to remove the pain because it was attached to his love. The more he loved his mother, the worse his pain.

It left only one unfortunate solution.

Midoriya Izuku swung his bag on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"I-Izuku-kun? Izuku! W-where – where are you going, Izuku?"

Izuku didn’t answer. He ran.

"Izuku-kun! Izuku-kun, please come back! Come back!"

He didn't look back. He couldn't look back. He sprinted until his lungs burned. He heard her voice, crying out behind him.

"Izuku-kun! IZUKU—!"

Midoriya Izuku vanished into the night, with the cries and pleas of a repentant mother echoing into the darkness.

Chapter Text

 |A Precise Note|

They were diseased. All of them were diseased. The children, walking down the roads with their eyes held up in wonder at the facetious lies told by society. The parents, who enabled the lies, further spread the disease from their lips with no care for the contagion, with no respect for the uninfected.

“And in the latest popularity poll, All Might remains the Number One—"

Diseased. It itched. He turned away from the billboards, from the moving crowd. They made a berth for him, parting as he walked. It was ironic. The diseased avoiding the uninfected. He cared little. Time was in his favor. He would bide his time, because the One Who Ruled was still present. The King of the Underworld. Perhaps, the most diseased one of all of them. A man who possessed within his power the vaccine to cure the illness that was hero society, yet chose to keep it from the world out of either amusement or apathy.

It mattered little. The time of the King would soon come to an end. He was not one for regicide, but he would not shy away from it if absolutely necessary. Those who had made a paradise of the darkness were far stronger than those who attempted to govern the light. The light knew this. They were terrified of this. Hence, they struggled, like frantic bees buzzing in the confusion of their destroyed hive, to ensure that those in the darkness never united as one.

The doors to the supermarket opened, and the clerk, as always, lowered her head in reverence. There was understanding, and there was respect. The knowledge of the old ways of the world before the disease called quirks came to upturn the proper order.

His phone buzzed. He didn't need to reach for it. Not when it was already within him. Part of him.

“Speak."

“It's your favorite broker speaking," came the voice on the other end. “How is Japan's most feared Yakuza boss doin’?"

“I don't have time for your jokes, Giran."

“Always ever so serious," the broker sighed. “And to think people said you'd mellowed out after adopting a daughter. How's little Eri-chan doing? I heard she's head over heels for you."

He didn't react. There was no reason for such a reaction. “And where did you hear that?"

“Tut. Tut. Come on Chisaki. You know how this song and dance goes."

“Don't test me."

“Oh! You gonna send Nemoto after me to make me spill my guts?" Giran laughed. “You know, your man's been making a hell of a reputation for himself. Know what they're calling him?"

"I don't care."

“Azrael," said Giran. “Means the Angel of Death. Funny, considering Nemoto doesn't even kill his victims, he just makes them spill their secrets. Though I suppose for those tight-lipped and cautious government and company types, spilling their guts out is pretty much guaranteeing their death."

“What do you want, Giran?"

“Well, as it stands… some bastards are getting close on my tail. Time to switch things up. Get a different look."

That was news. “The Pro-Heroes are closing in on you?"

Giran's loud laugh almost made him irritated. “Hah! As if. The heroes are as oblivious as ever. Too self-righteous to ever do the deeds needed to get in touch with me. No, I'm talking about another group. A more… troublesome group. You should have heard of them. Their leader is Chikara Yotsubashi’s descendant. He calls himself Re-Destro."

“Another group of the diseased. I know them. The Meta Liberation Army."

“As expected of the youngest Yakuza Boss in Japan. Always up to trend with potential contenders."

“What do they want with you?"

“What don't they want with me? I'm Giran. Once upon a time, I'd brag about how I'm the underworld's greatest broker, but it's pretty annoying now that everyone knows it. I'm the dame at the ball in the short dress and everyone's eager to take my hand and dance."

He muttered softly under his breath. “Have you decided on the look?"

“A girl. Eighteen or so. She's a cute one, too. Orphaned from hero parents, no real friends or family. Zero records in the system, and a quirk that lets her enter people's dreams. She's perfect. Aren't you perfect, darling?"

He heard the sound of frantic whimpers and groans.

“Yeah. She's perfect. Plus, no one ever suspects cute girls. It's why that serial-killer chick manages to escape the law every time. I'd have gone for her, cause word is her quirk lets her transform into other people, but it needs blood to do that, and I'd rather not catch something from drinking people's blood. God only knows what kind of shit is inside Stain's system."

There was a pause. “Speaking of viruses…"

“No, Giran."

“Come on, Chisaki! You were making a fortune! We were making a fortune!"

“Money isn't a concern of mine any longer."

“But you could always make more! The Americans loved your stuff! I heard it was so busted the government needed to call in the big blue herself to use her bullshit power to counter it. Besides, it's not like it costs you anything. Just grab a common pneumococcus bacterium, get a petri-dish of maybe some ebola here, some rabies there, slap 'em together with your quirk and upgrade the lethality, and viola! Instant bio-weapon! A hundred million dollars for a couple o' minutes of work."

“Giran, the more you speak, the less sure I am that I won't kill you when we meet."

“Fine, fine, no more creating extinction-level viruses. Not that it would work anyway, as long as the Americans have that big stripe-wearing nuke. I get it. I get it! Now you're all about that Trigger drug and, of course, your magnum opus—"

Slowly, he rubbed his thumb and index finger down his nose. “Giran, I understand you know my secrets. You have the means to leak them to the world. I'm not a fool. I don't have time for these games. Once you're ready for my services, call me."

“Tut-tut. That's so not fair Chisaki. You're making me out to be the bad guy here, dangling your juicy secrets in front of you," The Broker hummed. “To make things a bit fair, I'll give you some interesting information I picked up. Free of charge."

“What's the catch?"

“I like to call it a down-payment of good faith," Giran said. “Now, do you want to hear it or not?"

“Go on."

“I have reason to believe that the Symbol of Peace is on his last legs. A year, maybe, if he pushes it, two and the kingdom of light will lose their King."

Chisaki stopped. His gaze landed on the stocked supermarket shelves, cold air wafting from the refrigerators stocking yoghurt and milk.

"Where did you get this info?"

“I am a man of great generosity, Chisaki, but if I went around telling people how I got my info, I'd be a rather shitty information broker. Anyway, if you don't believe me, you can always send your 'Angel of Death' to confirm. His Confession quirk is the ultimate lie detector. All you need to do is send him to corner Chiyo Shuzenji and ask the truth from her."

"Who?"

“She's more commonly known as Recovery Girl."

“The Light's best healer."

“Exactly. A national treasure. It's rare enough for someone with a healing quirk to be a Pro-Hero instead of raking in the dough as a Doctor, and rarer for them to live so long. Of course, she's the greatest healer the Light has, so she's extremely well protected. About a dozen assassins try their luck to end her every month, but because the old bat lives in UA and the Demon Nezumi has marked that place as his kingdom, all who have tried have been caught and incarcerated. No one has broken into UA since its founding… but you're Kai Chisaki. If anyone could succeed, it just might be you."

“I have no interest in school children."

“Says the man who spends several hours every day in a dark room with a little girl strapped down."

“Giran…" Chisaki warned.

“Oh come on, where's your sense of humor? Ah, whatever. I've told you my piece."

“You're hiding something," said Chisaki. "You wouldn't tell me to send Nemoto after Recovery Girl if you didn't believe it was possible. You wouldn't suggest attacking UA either. Giran… what is your real intention?"

“A little birdie tells me All Might will be taking a teaching job at UA in the coming year."

"And?"

“Taking a teaching job… just as his time in the sun is about to expire? Come on. Even the Chinese and their martial art movies aren't that obvious."

“He's in search of a successor?"

“We all know Endeavor can't be the Symbol of Peace. He's covered his tracks well, but all it'd take would be to point out why his wife is confined to a psychiatric ward and why he’s one kid short to make his wax wings melt. Hawks is strong, but he doesn't have the same presence. Best Jeanist and Ryukyu aren't in the same stratosphere, yet alone league. That leaves finding someone young and moldable. A new player."

“You've given a lot of thought to this. What is your goal, Giran?"

“Tell me, Chisaki, do you watch Pro-Wrestling?"

“No."

“I do. I love it. The athletes are well-trained, and of course, I know they don't actually try to hurt each other, but the performances are still spectacular. Many hate it because they say it's fake. They miss the point. It never advertised itself as something real. The wrestlers are playing a role, they're characters, and the way they interact with the other wrestlers, the other characters, it's a beautiful performance. The ways a character can turn from face to heel or heel to face, or reach a famed 'Gold' status wherein they are never booed and always loved regardless of whatever they say or do… man do I love all of it."

“I assume there's a point, somewhere in there."

“The entire system of villains and heroes is just like Pro-Wrestling. But… It's real. The stakes are real. The consequences are real. Yet for the past several years, things have been at a stalemate. A boring equilibrium. Rarely do we hear of villains turning into heroes, and far, far more rarely do we hear of heroes turning into villains. Then there is the most famed impossibility, a person who is neither hero nor villain, yet the masses arise as one, and they cheer. They chant and celebrate whether this person kills dozens or saves people in a burning building and they cheer. A person whose existence is so controversial, so inexplicably unique that they are above the classifications of hero and villain… they are, unto their own right… a legend."

“Such a person can't exist."

“I know. That is why I will do everything in my power to make the next best thing."

“And that would be…?"

“You'll know it when you see it, Chisaki. You'll understand, only when you see it."

The famed Broker of the Underworld was a person who rarely shared his true goals with others. All knew that he was not after wealth, for the man was wealthy beyond reason. He was not after power, for the man had many chances to attain it, but turned it down. Yet, Chisaki could never have imagined that the reason Giran chose to be Giran was because of something like this.

He's diseased… just like the rest of them.

“Well, I've taken up far too much of your time already. You'll find me at Warehouse 9 in the Kamino Red Zone. It's been a pleasure as always."

The line went dead. Chisaki Kai scratched the bumps on the back of his hand.

Diseased. Just like everyone else.

| A Precise Note |

“You're fucked in the head, Izuku."

“It's just… just for a little while."

Katsuki Bakugo snarled. Explosions rocketed off his palms as the cool night breeze rushed in from the window. The idiot hanging from his window, looking like his puppy had been kicked a thousand times over, was easily the only person in the world who could have gotten him so riled up.

“No."

“Kacchan—"

"Go home, Izuku," he snarled. "Don't be a fucking idiot. You think UA is gonna let a fucking runaway apply to their school? I don't give a shit about what problems you and your mom have — work it out."

“I can't," Izuku gritted his teeth. “You—you don't understand, Kacchan. I can't. I can't stand to look at her. All I see when I look at her—"

"It's fucking two am in the middle of the night Izuku," Katsuki Bakugo growled. "Deal. With. Your. Shit."

“I — I-I'm not going back there."

“So, what, you're just gonna leave your mom to hang and dry, wondering where the fuck you are?" Bakugo didn't have the patience for this. “What happened to all that bullshit about always being in someone's corner? Not letting anyone feel fucking alone? What, it only applies to strangers and not your own goddamned family?"

“It's… It's different."

“How the fuck is it different?"

“I could accept it from you, or from some stranger, or from anyone else, from anyone else… but her… but… her…" Izuku's teeth ground against each other. And when I got my quirk, she tried to act as if all the years behind us hadn't happened. She was… so relieved… as if she'd done something right. As if it made up for it."

“What the fuck are you on about?"

“It's like… you had no faith that your crippled child would ever accomplish his dreams because he was crippled. But — but one day a miracle happens and he can walk again! He can walk… again! And all of a sudden, you expect him to just… ignore how you treated him when he couldn’t? To just throw his arms around you? Just like that? He's supposed to just… forget?"

Bakugo didn't have the words to say. He was tired. Sleepy. Irritable. At the same time, he knew that Izuku was annoyingly stubborn. Unlike him, Izuku's stubbornness wasn't apparent. It was a hidden facet of his personality. Once he made up his mind on something, committed to something, and believed something, it was difficult to force him to believe otherwise. Katsuki knew it well. Other people, after receiving the same words of discouragement and mockery, would have quit, chosen a different dream. They wouldn't stubbornly cling to one goal or one ideal, to one desire, to shun every and all other possibilities in pursuit of one thing.

Who knows what would have happened if the boy had remained quirkless? Katsuki didn't want to think of the grim possibilities. He didn't want to think of what someone, with that complete desperation and desire for an impossible dream, would have done upon realizing that dream was out of their grasp.

“I just… I just need a place to stay for tonight. J-just… one night, and then – then I'll find my own place. I—I'll get myself in order."

“You don't have any fucking money."

“I'll raise money. My quirk… It's good for that. I'll… I'll think of something."

Katsuki Bakugo hated troublesome situations. He hated family drama. He was glad that his family was the way it was. His mother was blunt and to the point. His father was a softy, but the man couldn't tell a lie or hide a secret to save his life. Secrets, lies, and having pent-up thoughts that you never let out, but just let them build up, were the reason drama like this happened.

“One fucking night."

“That's all I need, Kacchan."

“One night and you and your mom deal with your shit."

“I can't—"

“If you can't even do that, then don't ever fucking talk to me about wanting to be a hero that saves 'everyone.' That'll just be you being a bullshitting hypocrite."

He didn't give the boy the chance to respond. Bakugo opened the window fully, turning around. "I'll get the spare futon. Make too much noise and you're dead."

“Thanks, Kacchan."

“Whatever."

“Meow."

Both boys turned as one to the soft ruffling noises made from Izuku's backpack. The green-haired boy's eyes widened as he realized it. "Ah! Sir Kuro!"

Katsuki's brow twitched. “The cat?"

The black cat emerged from the bag, stretching its paws and feline body out. Katsuki could feel his irritation grow with each passing second. “Why the fuck is Shinigami in your bag?"

“I picked him up from the park… I forgot he was in there."

“So, what, I'm getting two fucking freeloaders for the price of one? I didn't ask for this shitty deal."

“Come on, Kacchan – Sir Kuro will be on his best behavior – he won't cause any trouble. Will you, Sir Kuro?"

“Meow."

Katsuki Bakugo found his brow twitching in further irritation. The damned blasted cat was somehow able to read the room stretching it's paws out in an attempt to act cute and innocent. Bakugo was no fool. He wasn't buying it for a second.

"If I wake up to find you in my bed – I'll murder you."

Izuku frowned. “I wouldn't –"

“I wasn't talking to you, Izuku."

“Meow."

“That's right. I'll fucking murder you."

| A Precise Note|

Midoriya Izuku couldn't sleep.

Each thought that came into his mind was preceded and followed by another one, each more turbulent than the last. He knew Kacchan was right, to a rather large degree. UA was a school that did background checks on its students. If he wanted to pursue his goal of becoming a hero, of entering UA, he couldn't do it without some sort of parental seal of approval.

But… is entering UA the right choice?

Of course it is! This – this is my dream!

He could become a hero by entering UA; that was true. That was his goal, his dream, for the longest time. So why… does it now feel so…?

Perhaps, because he now had other doors open. Other avenues he hadn't considered. Saiko herself told him that he could become a Surgeon or an Inventor with his quirk. Using it to help people in smaller, but more significant ways. He could, perhaps, solve problems by inventing some sort of device that helped people who had troublesome quirks live easier with their troublesome quirks.

I can't be the only person to have thought about something like this… can I?

It felt farfetched. Impossible to consider. The possibility that no one else in the entire world had thought about trying to help people with troublesome quirks. Schools did guidance counselling on how students were supposed to use their quirks respectfully, and the government placed bans on using quirks in public/official areas, with hefty fines and jail time given to offenders.

The only institutions in the world that taught you how to properly control your quirk and provided you with gear and equipment to maximize the benefit of their quirks and reduce the drawbacks… were Hero Academies. Yet, Pro-Heroes were basically public servants, and as public servants, they were entrenched within the system and could not save it. They could not change it, when they were a part of it.

His phone pinged, the bright light flashing in the darkness of Kacchan's room. Midoriya's eyes adjusted immediately as he checked the phone to see a new message from an unknown number.

?: Hello, Midoriya-kun.

Midoriya: Umm… hello.

Midoriya: Sorry, who is this?

?: Tell me, Midoriya-kun… did you think about our discussion today?

Their… discussion? Izuku's nose crumpled. The only person he discussed with…

Midoriya: Intelli-san?

?: Saiko-san is fine, Midoriya-kun.

Heat rushed to Midoriya's face. He remembered, now, that she'd collected his phone number.

Saiko: Midoriya-kun, I'll be upfront with you. I believe you may be of great use to me.

Midoriya: Use…?

Midoriya frowned.

Midoriya: Are you talking about that Quirk Marriage offer?

Saiko: That is one way, but no, I'm referring to something else.

Saiko: I'm going to send you a book, Midoriya-kun. If you wouldn't mind, I want you to read it, and tell me what you think of it when you're done.

Saiko: [File: Meta_Liberation_War]

The book Saiko sent him was one that sounded familiar. The Meta Liberation War, an autobiography, by Chikara Yotsubashi. Izuku knew he'd heard the name before. He was not entirely certain as to where.

Midoriya: Alright. I'll read it.

Saiko: Excellent, Midoriya-kun.

Saiko: Also, Midoriya-kun, I think it's best, for now, if you were to try and reconcile with your mother.

Izuku's heart froze.

Saiko: Goodnight, Midoriya-kun.

Midoriya: How did you know?

He waited. Seconds. Minutes. The agonizing passage of time eventually settled in his mind that Saiko wasn't going to give him a response. Midoriya's lips pressed tightly against each other as he stared at the phone in his hand. How did she know? That was uncanny. Disturbing, even.

Izuku wasn't willing to let it die. He wasn't willing for the matter to drop there. Swiftly entering into his browser, he immediately opened the search engine and typed in the name: Intelli Saiko.

“Two million results?"

Saiko Intelli  — Quirkipedia, the Free Encyclopedia.

Intelli Corporation officially completes Merger with the Detnerat Company — BusinessInsider.

President Yotsubashi of the Detnerat Company Praises Genius Intelli Heir, Claims Merger Will Strengthen Ties — QuirkDaily.

Intelligence-Based Quirk Start-Up Attempts to Re-ignite Fervor for Space Exploration — ScienceToday.

How Quirks Have Stalled Technological Advancement: A Twelve-Year-Old Valedictorian’s Controversial Graduation Speech — TheQuirklyPost.

Intelli Heiress crowned National Chess Champion at 6, sparks National Debate about fairness of allowing Intelligence Quirk Users in official tournaments — FIDE-Official.

Izuku stared at the results, his eyes growing larger with each one. The girl had said she was a genius, but she had not mentioned anything about being famous or influential. Izuku clicked on the first option that came up, directing himself to her biography on Quirkipedia.

S-should I…? He hesitated. Was it wrong to learn about Saiko from the internet like this? Wouldn't it be better, if he got to know her, for who she was, rather than what people said she was?

But how did she know I had a fight with my mother?

She was smart, and her Quirk doubled her intellect, but that didn't mean she was somehow all-knowing… did it? No, no, there had to be a simpler, more plausible explanation, than people's quirks somehow making them clairvoyant.

But there are people with clairvoyant quirks. All Might's former sidekick, Sir Nighteye… he has a quirk that lets him see into the future. Is it possible that Saiko's IQ Quirk can allow her something similar by boosting her IQ continuously? She never mentioned if it was possible to stack her Quirk and thus multiply her IQ by drinking different cups of tea, or several cups in a single sitting, and I can't know for sure what it's like to be someone with a four-digit IQ…

Izuku couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to be that smart. To have the correct answers to all the problems, to be able to form and conceive solutions to any challenge that comes your way as easily as one-two-three.

He couldn't even figure out how Saiko managed to know what she did. He couldn't figure out a way to help Matsuda with his quirk. Couldn't figure out a solution for all the people, suffering because of the absence, or presence, of an ability they did not choose. He couldn't even figure out if his goal, the only thing he'd ever wanted to be since he was a child, was the right way to go about accomplishing his desires.

What was it worth to be a hero when he could not save those who needed the most saving?

When ultimately, he would have to choose, to draw a line, pick a side, and rather than save the villains, he would grow satisfied with merely containing their damage, patting himself on the back as a hero, content with letting one person suffer as long as no one else suffered along with them?

“So, what, you're just gonna leave your mom to hang and dry, wondering where the fuck you are?"

Izuku felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Kacchan's words came reeling.

“If you can't even do that, then don't ever fucking talk to me about wanting to be a hero that saves 'everyone.' That'll just be you being a bullshitting hypocrite."

He ground his teeth against each other. Here he was, talking and thinking about saving the villains, about saving everyone… and… what had he done…? He couldn't even find it in himself to forgive his own mother for her mistakes. Was he supposed to expect the families and loved ones of those hurt by villains, to forgive a total stranger? Was he supposed to find room in his heart to accept people for their flaws and support them in their aspirations, when he couldn't even do the same for his own flesh and blood?

Why?

Izuku gritted his teeth.

Why am I… still so…

He had a quirk now. He had power, now. He wasn't the same. He shouldn't still feel like his goals were so far out of reach. Still feel so small. So weak. Feel as if he was still grasping at straws. As if he were still chasing something impossible to attain.

No. It's — it's not my quirk.

It wasn't his quirk that was the fault. His quirk was amazing. Had it landed in the hands of a doctor or a scientist, his quirk would be revolutionary. Yet, he couldn't see himself becoming a doctor or a scientist. There – that was the problem. He was the problem.

In the end, he wanted to be a hero, but he wanted to do it his way. His own selfish way, and that wasn't what a real hero did. The problem wasn't his quirk or his dream, it was him. He didn't have the right mindset, the right skillset, the right determination and confidence, the right ruthlessness and fervor to chase after his dream and make it a reality. Most people were willing to do anything it took to turn their dreams into reality, but for him, while he'd been quirkless, all he'd done was mope, sit around, browse the net in desperation, and convince himself that one way or another he'd still become a hero.

No more.

No, Midoriya Izuku decided. No more.

I need to be willing to do whatever it takes.

Midoriya Izuku closed his eyes. He wanted to be confident. He wanted to be smart. He wanted to stop having doubts and insecurities. He wanted… wanted to have a heart that could be big enough for everyone.

With a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. The Quirk called Precision was at the whim of its owner, and thus, to reshape an individual's personality, eliminate their doubt, allow for greater neuroplasticity, a lot of change needed to be made to the sole organ in the world that controlled directly who and what a person was.

The knowledge of anatomy he'd been studying for the past several months was used. Midoriya Izuku channeled his quirk, feeling for it, and, like instructing a computer to perform a given task, he ordered it to perform changes to himself.

Hypothalamus, controlling maintenance functions and the endocrine system. Precise.

Medulla, controlling heartbeat and breathing. Precise.

Cerebellum, controlling voluntary movement and balance. Precise.

Amygdala, affecting emotions. Precise.

Hippocampus, affecting memory. Precise.

Whatever it takes.

Chapter Text

“The Quirk Existence Threat Analysis," Professor Miyazaki wrote on the chalkboard. “Commonly referred to as the QETA Score. The system that enables us to rank Quirks based on their potential ability to disrupt the global economy, change or alter the nature of human existence, or bring about the extinction of all life on the planet."

The Professor adjusted his glasses, strands of his aged silver hair falling down his face. “Certain individuals, such as the Pro-Hero Thirteen, the Number One American Hero, Stars and Stripes, and the Villain Quasar, possess extremely volatile quirks that, if used improperly, could lead to widespread devastation of lives, property, and infrastructure. Others, such as the villain brother duo Goldfinger and Silvertooth, were capable of single-handedly causing the crash of the gold and silver markets, respectively."

The Professor reached for his chalk, proceeding to write out on the board: QETA Rankings.

D – Rank: (QETA 1) Minor, negligible impacts on society, economy, and/or human existence.

C – Rank: (QETA 2) Slightly noticeable impacts on society, economy, and/or human existence.

B – Rank: (QETA 3) Significant impacts on society, economy, and/or human existence.

A – Rank: (QETA 4) Severe impacts on society, economy, and/or human existence.

S – Rank: (QETA 5) Irreversible impacts on society, economy, and/or human existence.

Professor Miyazaki dropped the chalk, adjusting his glasses. “Any individual discovered to possess a quirk of QETA 3 or higher will be closely observed by the government, and, in some severe cases, as it was with Quasar's son, Supernova, who was deemed too dangerous to allow in human society."

The Professor placed his hand on his desk. “Kubo et al argued in The Quirk Factor: Man's Extinction by Man's Evolution about the ethicality of imprisoning individuals merely on the possibility of them utilizing their quirk to upheave society. Should we, as a society, continue to deprive individuals of their lives and freedom, if it means guaranteeing the safety of our existence? To condemn innocent men, women, and children to incarceration, because of what they might do?"

The sound of a ringing bell cut across the classroom.

“We will be discussing the argument in our next lecture. Class dismissed."

Arranging her books into her bag, she let out a soft, restrained yawn. She marched down the lecture theater, able to catch the Professor just as he finished packing up his things.

“Intelli-san," Professor Miyazaki’s voice was flat. "I take it you have some questions?"

“My grade on the last assignment. I believe there must have been some error."

She reached for the paper, holding it up to the Professor for scrutiny. “There's no error here."

“This is an A-Minus."

“Your highest grade in my class so far. You should be proud."

“I would rather you refrain from telling me what I should or should not feel, Professor, and instead explain why you deemed my paper unworthy of a perfect grade."

Professor Miyazaki shook his head. “Intelli-san, you're my youngest student—"

“Relevance?"

“You still have room to grow—"

“Depriving me of my well-earned score without reason is meant for me to grow?"

“Will you let me finish?"

The older man muttered a few choice words under his breath. He cleared the phlegm in his throat, turning his head to the board.

“Intelli-san, logic and rational thinking are excellent for several fields, but this is the Ethics and Philosophy of Quirks. A lot of your answers in my class are, frankly, disturbingly unethical. They are unapologetically utilitarian in some instances, and border on fanatically Machiavellian in others."

“I tackle the problems presented with suitable solutions, Professor."

“And I'm telling you that your solutions lack a shred of human empathy," Professor Miyazaki pointed to the board. “In the case of Subject Supernova, the prepubescent son of the villain Quasar, whose quirk allowed him to create and detonate miniature stars. What would you argue as being the right thing to do rather than incarceration?"

“Sedate and use him as a source of free energy. Acquire his sperm and impregnate women with complementary quirks, and use these individuals as vehicles to advance human civilization."

“Did you miss where I stated that the boy is barely old enough to have started puberty?"

“What is the life of one boy compared to the eventual prosperity of billions?"

“And you wonder why your highest grade in my class thus far is an A-Minus."

Her lips pressed tightly against each other as she watched the Professor depart from the lecture theater. Stubbornly, she marched onwards after him.

“Professor, I'm not quite sure I understand. Your reason for not giving me a perfect grade is that my arguments in your class are lacking in emotional predilections and unnecessary sentiment?"

“Sentiment? Is that what you believe it is, to not exploit an innocent child for the gain of others?"

“Yes," Saiko said. “What else could it be?"

Professor Miyazaki sighed. He aged, at least three times over, in a second. His right hand reached into his pocket, a cigarette appearing within his fingers. A lighter followed shortly. The known cancer-giving stick landed in his lips, a long, slow drag of smoke being his only response.

“I have another class, Intelli-san."

The man had no more words for her as he left. His failure to deem her with a response only further entrenched it in her mind that the Professor was just another person paying lip service to the supposed good inherent in human beings. Altruism, while being a necessary evolutionary feature of society, did not entail the deprivation of advantages to oneself because of perceived notions of what one believed were just or moral.

Her phone beeped twice. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the device, finding within it a message.

Midoriya: I figured it out. Saiko-san.

Her brows went high.

Saiko: Have you?

Midoriya: I found the backdoor application you installed on my phone.

Midoriya: When I gave you my phone to put in your number. You installed a backdoor app. That's how you listened in on my conversation. That's how you knew I had an argument with my mom.

Pressing her lips together, she thought about her response.

Saiko: You're right.

Saiko: I'm impressed.

Midoriya: I'm glad.

She blinked.

Saiko: You're not upset?

Midoriya: Should I be?

Saiko: Most would consider my actions as a gross invasion of privacy.

Midoriya: It was.

Saiko: And you're not upset?

Midoriya: No one has ever planted spyware on my phone to watch me before. So I'm flattered, I guess?

Flattered, the boy said. What a refreshingly unique perspective.

Midoriya: But if you feel I should be upset, I guess I could do something, and we could call it even.

She pressed her lips firmly together. Am I actually enjoying chatting with Midoriya Izuku?

Saiko: What did you have in mind?

Midoriya: I'll think of something.

Midoriya: Oh, I just remembered, I finished the book you sent me.

Saiko’s brow furrowed. That’s College-Level reading material. He’s finished it?

Midoriya: Do you have other recommendations?

Saiko: [Sending File: The Quirk Factor: Man's Extinction by Man's Evolution].

Midoriya: Thank you, Saiko-san.

Saiko: What did you think of Yotsuhashi's book?

Midoriya: Thought-provoking.

Saiko: Any thoughts provoked in particular?

Midoriya: Several.

He was being evasive.

Midoriya: We could discuss it over lunch.

Midoriya: That's if you're not too busy.

She blinked. My calculations said it would take at least six months for him to work up the courage. Another emotional deviation?

Her Quirk was capable of massively enhancing her intellect and calculating probabilities and creating complex plans, but it had a significantly irritating flaw: it could not calculate spontaneous, irrational, or emotionally driven actions. It functioned best if she assumed every individual in the world was a rational agent, who would make the most rational decision at every time.

Fortunately, she was not stupid enough to assume this was true. Her parents were the perfect examples of irrational agents, and she would argue that her Professor was one as well. Midoriya’s sudden decision to invite her to ‘discuss the book over lunch’ was an action she had not predicted or foreseen for at least another six months, and something she calculated would only come from Matsuda teasing the boy endlessly about his all-too-blatant crush. 

This meant it was either spontaneous, driven purely by emotion, or both. Saiko tapped her screen gently, pondering her response.

Like most in society, her Quirk affected her personality. Though she scoffed at the pseudoscientific nonsense phrase ‘EQ’ or ‘Emotional Quotient’, she subscribed to the more reputable five-factor model of personality. On it, while she scored incredibly high on ‘Openness to Experience’ and ‘Conscientiousness,’ she scored only average in ‘Extraversion’ but abysmally low in ‘Agreeableness’ and even lower in ‘Neuroticism.’

By the results of tests she conducted in private, she could be diagnosed as someone with Antisocial Personality Disorder. However, in an Era of Quirks, such things were no longer stigmatized. What threat did a person with ASPD truly hold compared to a random QETA 3 villain, such as Seismic, whose Quirk allowed him to create earthquakes with a sneeze? 

Even so, she understood, through her knowledge of pragmatics and semantics, that Midoriya's decision to invite her for lunch to discuss a book was a socially valid excuse to pursue an attempt at a social relationship.

Saiko: I believe I can free up my schedule.

Midoriya: That's great!

Midoriya: I'll text you the address.

Midoriya: Best of luck with your classes. Extend my greetings to Professor Miyazaki.

She stared at the final message on her phone. Both her brows shot up immediately.

She checked. A laugh escaped her lips. On her contact list, Midoriya's face lay with a large grin. On her specialized app, which should have connected her to Midoriya's front camera, there was only, instead, a portrait of her in her College Graduation gown.

|A Precise Note|

The sky was blue. Bluer than blue. Sky-blue was the term. The sky-blue skies were something to behold. Sitting on a roof, dangling his legs left and right, his phone sat beside him, idly providing him with a live feed of Intelli Saiko's university class.

His right hand dipped into a bag of chips. Salted. His fingers ruffled the contents. The right one was found. Smooth. His index and middle fingers picked it up. They tossed it into the air. His teeth caught it. No crunches. No cracks. He kept the chip aside, neatly in a pile. He inhaled the morning air. Exhaled carbon dioxide. Inhaled, again, and exhaled, again.

Be happy.

Two words. A mental command. An imperative given to himself. His body reacted instantly. His mind reacted instantly. Dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins flooded through his system at a single instance. His lips curled into a beautiful smile. His eyes brightened. Giddiness swirled through his entire body. He tossed his head back and let out a large, bellied laugh. Self-provided satisfaction tossed aside any negativity that crept in. Any questions as to the sanctity of whether or not it was proper to provide himself with such a fine-tuned level of precision over his own emotional states were forgotten and abandoned.

He was happy.

“I AM HERE!"

He screamed at the top of his voice, laughing as his voice reverberated across the wind. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, the rushing of his blood pulsed in his veins, as the absolute control of his endocrine system rushed him with the absolute sensation of satisfaction.

“Oi! Izuku! What the fuck are you doing on the roof?"

A mop of blonde hair and a scowling face appeared beneath him. Kacchan's sour expression couldn't do anything to put a damper on him.

Izuku couldn't help the happy grin that appeared on his face. “Morning Kacchan!"

“Get the fuck off my roof!"

With another laugh, he turned his body around. A leap of faith, as was common in that video game series about assassins. A backflip, a spin, latching on to the window with nimble fingers, and landing with all his limbs against the frame. Kacchan staggered back from the unexpected landing, scowling at him.

“What's got you in such a good fucking mood?"

“Nothing," he laughed. “Is it weird, being happy for no reason?"

“You really have to ask something that stupid?"

“I think it's weird, instead, that we need a reason to be happy."

“You on something?"

“On?"

“Drugs," Katsuki said. “You fuckin' usin'?"

Izuku laughed. “I don't need drugs, Kacchan."

“That wasn't a fucking no."

“I’m high on life, Kacchan."

“That still wasn’t a no," Katsuki scowled. “What’s got you looking like someone who’s got their balls fondled?”

"How would you know what someone who got their balls fondled looks like?"

“I wasn't being fucking literal."

Izuku raised both hands, smiling. “I didn't say you were." The boy chuckled. “Just a funny thought." He snickered. “Fondled." Izuku couldn't stop himself from sniggering. “Fondling."

“...It's too fucking early for your fucking brand of bullshit."

“Eh? H-hey, Kacchan, why're you using your quir–"

His body was always in motion. Moving before the explosion reached him. Leaping backwards off the Katsuki's window in a perfect, smooth movement, that left him laughing even harder. He landed perfectly and raised his hands up and into the air in mimicry of Olympic gymnasts bowing for the judges.

His body, once more, spun on instinct, latching onto the backpack that was tossed after him. His bag landed in his outstretched hand as he stared up at the window, to see Katsuki Bakugo's scowling face and extended middle finger.

“Get your fucking shit together."

That only made Midoriya smile. “You're not going to throw out Sir Kuro, too?"

“The cat isn't the one that's acting fucked in the head."

“You can just say you like cuddling him. I won't judge you, Kacchan."

The middle finger remained up for much longer, and Midoriya Izuku laughed.

|A Precise Note|

He was there. Standing in the kitchen area. The smell of eggs wafted from the kitchen, penetrating her nostrils. She pinched herself. She pinched herself a second time, longer, harder, just for good measure. He was there, in the kitchen, hair neatly tied behind him in a ponytail. Plus-Ultra-Chef apron tied across his waist. Dancing and humming a song she'd heard, but could not identify.

“I-Izuku?"

“Good morning, Ka-chan!"

A blinding smile with shining teeth stunned her.

“I-I-Izuku…" her voice cracked. "Is–is it really you?"

“I made breakfast!"

He approached her, lightly touching her hands and leading her into the dining room. She sat, delirious, unsure, her heart squeezing and burning inside her chest. Before her, a plate of bacon and eggs, smiling at her. A glass of orange juice landed beside her lightly, and Izuku leaned forward, landing a kiss on her right cheek.

“I-Izuku—"

“I've got to hurry or I'll be late for school."

“S-School?"

He was in his school uniform. Neat. Ironed.

“Izuku… a-about last night…"

“Ah, last night!" The boy scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Sorry about last night, Ka-chan. I wasn't really thinking things through."

He bowed. “I said some really hurtful things, and… I'm sorry."

Her son had his head formally bowed in apology. Her mouth opened, dry breath exhaling, and her lips pressed against each other silently once more.

“I — no, I should be the one… apologizing. I never—" 

The words were stuck in her throat.

“It’s fine, Ka-chan.”

Izuku's head went up. He smiled at her. Beamed at her. Her chest tightened. His smile was contagious.

“I'm going to make things up to you."

Midoriya slid a paper across the table, putting it underneath her tray. Her fingers, shaky, picked it up. Trepidation turned to confusion.

“A… flier?"

The flier read: Ultra Fitness Gym – Mother-Son, Father-Daughter Yoga Classes now in session! He handed her another flyer: Rockin' Music Stores! Family Discount on Music Classes! Come with a family member, get rockin' deals!

“Izuku, I-I don't understand."

The third flyer came: Oba-Chan's Bakeries! Bakin' with family is the best way to bake! Discounts available –

She put down the flyer. “What's this about?"

“Ways for us to spend some more time together."

“Spend… more time?"

The boy scratched his chin. “I realized, for years, I've always known what my dream was, and what I wanted to be. But I've never known what dreams you have. And what you want to be. And I realized, I never cared to ask."

His eyes were sparkling. “What… what brought this on?"

The boy shrugged. “I did some thinking. Organized my thoughts. I know what's really important."

“What's… really important?"

Izuku walked around the table. Her son walked behind her, as she was seated, and slowly, leisurely put his hands on her shoulders. The weight of the world vanished from her shoulders immediately. As if some unknown deity had arrived and drained her of all physical stress with a push of a button, she felt the soreness vanish from her muscles, the stiffness vanish from her joints. Her body was relaxed, more relaxed than she could remember. She couldn't remember being so relaxed in years.

“Your dreams, ka-chan," Her son said. “Tell me your dreams."

She felt as if she was floating. Weightless. On a soft, wandering cloud. Her worries melted like ice cubes on beach sand. The ministration of Izuku's soft, heavenly hands against her shoulders was enough to make her feel a decade younger.

“My dreams…?" Inko began. “I… I was never the office type or the ambitious type. My quirk wasn't suited for heroics, but it was amazing at awing children. I remember, before you were born, when I worked at a daycare. When the children got noisy, or loud, or couldn't sleep, I would hide and use my quirk on their toys, and I would make voices, and they would all go quiet and stare, oohing, and ahhing…" she laughed.

“Some of them went on to tell their parents that their toys came to life. It wasn't much, but… I enjoyed watching the happiness of young children… attracting toys around them and seeing the wonder in their eyes… and it made me love that. It… made me want that. I wanted to have a family like that, with happiness in the eyes of the children… with happiness, in everyone. So… I… It hurt, a lot more… when you didn't get your quirk… and I felt, I felt I'd failed… the one thing I wanted was to have a happy family, and yet… I couldn't even give my own son happiness."

Izuku's arms slowly embraced her.

“You didn't fail."

He knelt beside her, a brilliant smile on his face.

“You didn't fail."

“I…Izuku…"

Her son's smile grew.

“Does that mean you want tons and tons of smiling grandchildren?"

“Oh, Izuku!" Inko laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're a bit too young for that right now. I just want you to pursue your dreams first. Finish school. Become the hero you've always wanted to be. Shine brightly, and you'll make your mother the happiest mother in the world."

Midoriya Izuku gave a faux salute of attention, his sparkling teeth grinning. "Yes, Ma'am!"

“Oh, come off it."

“As you wish, Ma'am!"

Inko laughed as Izuku acted the role of a military soldier. He placed his right hand across his chest.

“Midoriya Izuku will accomplish that dream! Whatever it takes!"

His eyes sparkled as he made his declaration.

“Whatever it takes."

|A Precise Note|

“Thank you so much, Midoriya-kun! I don't know what I'd have done without my notebook."

“You're welcome!" Midoriya beamed.

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun!"

“You're welcome!" Midoriya bowed.

“Midoriya-kun! I saw your All Might drawings in my classroom! You're awesome!"

“Midoriya-kun found my missing pen! Isn't he thoughtful?"

“Midoriya-kun – could – could I get your help?"

“Midoriya-kun!"

“Midoriya-kun!"

Katsuki Bakugo stared, with one twitching eye, at the unbelievable change in class dynamics. The girls of the class hovered around Midoriya as if he were the Buddha giving tips to achieve enlightenment. He might as well fucking be at this point.

“Psst. Katsuki."

Bakugo turned a lazy eye to the side, growling under his breath as he noticed the classmate who was calling out to him.

“The fuck do you want, boner-face?"

The boy scowled. "My name is Matsuda."

“Don't remember fuckin' asking."

“Asshole. Just wanted to ask if you know what's up with Izuku."

“Fuck if I know."

It irked him. The sniveling, whining, always with his head-in-the-clouds Midoriya had gone to sleep on his floor last night after having some sort of fight with his mom, and woke up this morning, suddenly looking like he'd figured out the secret to immortality. Or at least, if not immortality, the secret to eternal happiness.

“Jealous that he's suddenly the class chick magnet?"

“The fuck cares about that?"

Matsuda pointed. "Most of the guys, for starters." There was a group of boys, glaring daggers in Midoriya's direction. “Who knew all Midoriya needed to be to become a chick magnet was to be happy?"

Katsuki gave a side-glance to the nerd in question. From the tone of his laughs, to the airy nature of his steps and enthusiastic movements of his limbs, it was plain to anyone with a pair of eyes that the boy wasn't faking it. Fake happiness was easy to sniff out.

Genuine happiness meant an absolute lack of care for his social anxiety and awkwardness. A disregard for his shyness and self-doubt. He didn't give a shit about anyone's opinions or perceived image. Whether someone hated him or loved him didn't add jack weight on their shoulders. By being happy, the nerd was stupidly self-confident. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell you that genuine self-confidence was attractive as fuck.

“Midoriya-kun!"

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch break. There were numerous sighs and complaints as girls from different classes had to leave, and Midoriya Izuku found himself back in his seat, humming a soft tune to himself. Katsuki gave him a side glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Something bothering you, Kacchan?"

“You deal with your shit?"

Izuku nodded. "Ka-chan and I are going for family music classes starting Saturday, then a family baking class on Sunday. We're trying to find some room for finger-painting and yoga—"

“Too much info," Katsuki snorted. “Just wanted to make sure you did what you needed to."

The bastard almost blinded him with his smile again. Fucking shiny teeth— “Fuck. Turn off your teeth, Izuku."

“You know, you and Mitsuki-san could join us—"

His mother? In a music class?

“Not a fucking chance."

Izuku placed his hands at the back of his head. “You ever wonder why we never hear about All Might's wife?"

“All Might doesn't have a fucking wife. What're you on about?"

“Yeah. We never hear of his kids either. Or family," Izuku smiled. “To be the greatest hero…" The boy's gaze went elsewhere. “I wonder how lonely you have to be."

…the fuck?

Izuku didn't bother him for the rest of class. He buried his nose instead, into books. New ones. Thick ones. Books that looked like medical textbooks. Katsuki, too, attempted to focus on class. To keep his attention on the words coming out of the teacher's mouth. To stop himself from thinking over those stupid eight words.

The profession of Professional Hero came with numerous risks. He fucking knew that. As the world knew your real name, birthday, and in some cases, where you fucking lived, ate and shat, there was always that chance of a villain choosing to hit you where it hurts the most. Many heroes had died due to this. Some of them were not even bigshots, just some up-and-comer who managed to take down one nameless villain, only for the nameless villain's buddies to take revenge by showing up at the hero's house unannounced and start fucking shit up.

For that reason, Pro Heroes married other Pro Heroes as protection, but it only meant the relationship had a higher chance of ending than normal. Death was part and parcel of the business, often as guaranteed as the corporate merchandising.

"…you said the music classes are on Saturday?"

Izuku's bullshit teeth blinded him for the second time that afternoon.

|A Precise Note|

He'd been waiting for biology class. Particularly, he'd been waiting for them to make use of the laboratory. The smell of bleach and the faint tinge of sterilized air tickled his nostrils as they trooped into the white-walled room. His ears picked up on the tiniest hints of conversation and gossip, twitching occasionally once he heard his name being mentioned.

His body was still creating serotonin and dopamine, creating and renewing them constantly. The cost of manipulating his body chemistry came with slightly restless fingers that rattled away at his sides and drummed incessantly to a note of their rhythm.

"Pair up. We're going to be doing some dissection today. The person to your left is your partner for this exercise."

The teacher's announcement came along with groans of complaint. He forced down the sensation of laughter that was bubbling in his throat. His partner was a girl in his class. Suzume, he believed her name was. She was avoiding eye contact. He noticed her hands, moving restlessly as she tapped them against the hem of her skirt.

"Remember, lab safety is always first!"

Washing his hands under cool water did little to stop him from breaking out into pleasant humming. He found himself slowly biting down on his lower lip, silently giving a mental command to reduce the production of serotonin in his system. Giddiness wasn't what he needed while in the laboratory. Granted, his quirk would still guarantee the precision of his cuts and incisions even if he were giddy.

The rubber gloves smacked onto his skin comfortably. His partner had hers in hand. "Suzume-san, are you ready?"

"Um… a-actually I think I should get a different partner."

"Something wrong?"

She rubbed her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing was uneven. He could hear her heartbeat from where he stood. Fast. Thrumming. Pulsating within her chest. Happy. Giddy. Excited. 

"Do—do you mind?"

It clicked. Suzume. A girl in his class who was always irritable when she sat next to Kacchan, and requested to be moved away from him. A girl who also vehemently hated Matsuda and avoided him like the plague. Her quirk let her feel the emotions of others. He cursed softly under his breath as he closed his eyes.

Stop Happiness.

The withdrawal of feel-good hormones made Izuku feel ill. 

He didn't have the motivation to continue the class anymore. 

What was the need? What was the point?

Apply a little dopamine.

The feeling of emptiness subsided. Not overdosed on happiness, but not completely deprived of it. The girl beside him breathed a sigh of relief. “H-how did you do that?"

“Sorry."

“People can't just… manipulate their emotions like that. They… shouldn’t be able to." She snapped her gloves on, turning her gaze onto the table and the rat specimen present on it. “It felt like my heart was going to explode. So much… happiness… It's like… being on drugs."

Izuku cringed. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

“Well— I-I didn't dislike it."

He tried to focus his attention on anything but the auburn-haired girl. The rat, pinned to the table. The white floor shone with his reflection. The fluorescent bulbs. The white ceiling. Anything, anywhere, but on her face.

The teacher went around the room, talking about the scientific method, narrating the proper mindset needed to conduct scientific research. He reprimanded some boys who were toying with their rats. Reprimanded some girls who handled the animal with less respect than feces. Izuku found the man's words blurring into one another. The room was continuously greyer. Darker. There was little color to it all. Without the flood of happiness, his mental state defaulted to something unusual.

He realized he cared little for the teacher's rants. Cared little for the students, who would most likely never reference this class for anything in the future. Cared little for the gathered white rodents, all of which would be sacrificed in the name of scientific discovery, used for nothing more than teaching a bunch of distracted children about the finer parts of rodent anatomy.

How useless.

This class would not matter to anyone here in ten, twenty years. The rats were being sacrificed for no reason other than that they were weak and they were powerless. The bottom rung of the food chain, it did not matter if a million of them died in Middle School Classrooms, toyed with by children.

He glanced at the rat on the table and pondered how easy it would be to end its life and suffering. Just a stab into its skull. Life was said to be precious, yet it was so, so very fragile. Not just the rat, even his classmates, every last one of them. All it would take would be a precise cut to a carotid artery, and there would be rapid exsanguination. Unconsciousness would follow within seconds due to a lack of cerebral perfusion, and death would follow in under a minute.

There were about twenty people here. How quickly would it take, with his quirk, Precision, to slice through every neck? Could they stop him? Would they be able to stop him?

He twirled the scalpel in his left hand. Just a tiny, simple cut…

"Go back."

Suzume's gloved hand grabbed his. With half-lidded eyes, he stared at her. There was something in her gaze. Concern? Curiosity? Care? No, terror. She was terrified. Strange. Why would she be so terrified?

“Back," She hissed, squeezing his hand. “Back! Please!”

“Back?" he drawled.

“To the happy you! You’ve messed with something in your head. It's scary. You're scaring me."

“Oh, look, in my hand," he gestured at his empty palm. “The fucks I forgot to give."

He was scaring her? Was it supposed to be his fault she was born with a quirk that enabled her to feel others' emotions? As it stood, he couldn't feel any emotions whatsoever. There was nothing particularly fearsome about his emotional state. He simply didn't care. He didn't care for her. Didn't care for his classmates. Didn't care too much about anything… or anyone.

He didn't even care about his drea—

BE HAPPY.

The floodgates of happiness burst open, and he banished the final stray thought before it arrived. Suzume, beside him, shuddered slightly, letting go of his hand as if she'd been burned.

What… what was… what was… I just —

“Sorry! I'm sorry, I—"

“Get some fucking help, Midoriya."

She took permission from the teacher, excusing herself from the class. Izuku meditated on his lack of a partner for a few seconds. He found himself unbothered by it. He would give a token of apology to Suzume later. She didn't understand why he needed to do what it was that he did. He couldn't fault her reaction.

The rodent lay on the table, waiting for dissection. Izuku picked up the scalpel again, and humming to himself a jaunty tune, he went to work.

His classmates and teacher would eventually gather, all focused on his procedure. Dissecting a rat was easy, primitive, but to open the skull of a rat without killing it, and test its motor reflexes by prodding its brain was a different task. Brain surgery was simpler on smaller creatures like rodents with their uncomplicated systems. His quirk guided his hands and filled in the gaps in his knowledge.

I could add some things here… remove some things…

Suturing the wounds and completing his surgery brought him the knowledge that he was the only one to dissect a rat and not kill it. His little white rat was still alive, though the modifications he made to the creature's brain wouldn't be noticeable until it was fully healed.

“Midoriya-kun…" his sensei cleared his throat. “What did you do to that rodent?"

“Just a minor surgery to tweak its parasympathetic nervous system, sensei." Izuku chirped.

“A surgery? With school equipment?"

"I'll come back to check up on him," Izuku said. “Do you mind, sensei?"

“…no, not at all. Do… as you will, Midoriya."

His classmates and his teacher were acting oddly after he'd finished his procedure. He could still hear the whispers of his name on their lips, but there was a difference in the tone by which they uttered it. Leaving the classroom, Midoriya hummed a soft tune to himself as he decided that it ultimately made no difference.

He was ecstatic instead, at the discovery that his quirk could enable him to perform complex tasks like surgery flawlessly. Although his quirk helped him with some areas where he was lacking knowledge, it couldn't, however, be used with zero knowledge whatsoever. His hands were guided, as if he were being possessed by an external force that lit his nerves with the muscle memory of performing a procedure he possessed only the basics of.

If he wanted to further gain expertise in the subject, he would need to read books, see illustrations, and watch videos and recordings of more complicated procedures so he could mimic them. The more he watched, the larger the reservoir of knowledge, and the faster his quirk evolved and grew.

He reached one of the school's water fountains, drinking from it while allowing his mind to expand and think further. Applying Precision to his brain had increased his neuroplasticity. His ability to learn, digest, and absorb information. More than that, he'd gained a form of subliminal pattern recognition which he was only beginning to discover. His brain was taking in the details of the world, memorizing and recording everything, and on its own, in the background, things which seemed to possess a connection were immediately grouped, with cause-and-effect playing out before him.

The hallway was a vast repertoire of information, and his brain was highlighting and predicting the possibilities of the next several minutes using nothing but that information. The student, with a stack full of papers, was marching blindly forward. The girls, filing their nails at the corner, were gossiping about the fashion choices of a female celebrity. The asthmatic student, puffing angrily at his empty inhaler, coughed while a boy with a smoke-emitting quirk laughed.

Midoriya Izuku's time slowed.

The boy opens the window. Heavy wind. Southbound. Papers fly into the air. Skirts, up. Blinded. Slips. Falls face-first.

Izuku blinked. He stared idly as the events played out. The asthmatic rushed to the windows, swinging them open. The girls squealed as they forced their skirts down. The boy with the paper stacks slipped, his papers soaring through the air. His landing trajectory—

“Oh my fucking god!"

Izuku closed one eye in a slight grimace.

“Whoa. And I thought shit like this only happened in ecchi manga."

The voice came from behind him. Matsuda whistled softly over the sound of heavy slaps being rendered to the lucky, or 'unlucky' pervert, as it were. "Nice panties, ladies!"

“Fuck off Mineta!"

Izuku blinked. “Move three inches to your left."

“Huh?"

“Now."

Matsuda did as he instructed. A baseball tore through the open window, tearing through the spot where his head had been, and smashing into a wall.

“What the fuck?"

The boy ducked his head low, making Izuku's lips twitch. “It's fine, Matsuda-san."

“Since when can you see the future?"

Izuku laughed. “I can't."

“Bullshit. What was that then?"

“Pattern recognition?" he said, smiling awkwardly. "I'm just figuring out the kinks of it myself."

Matsuda squinted at him. “You…" His eyes widened. “Don't tell me… You used your quirk on your brain?"

"I did."

Matsuda whistled. “You haven't gone psycho yet, so I'm assuming you did something right. What's it like?"

“I can change and set my emotional states at will,” he gushed. “My brain picks up on information faster. I have a perfect memory. I can remember being born, and I can't forget the odd pattern on a falling leaf I saw this morning because it landed on a crack that wasn't on the road before."

“Memories of — controlling emo – " Matsuda whistled again. “Damn." He smacked his hands together. “So that's why you've been in a good mood all day. And here I was thinking you got laid or something." Matsuda's eyes widened. “Oh, oh —  if you can control all aspects of your brain, doesn't that mean that when you sleep, you'll always have lucid dreams you can control?"

Izuku hadn’t thought of that. Controlling my lucid dreams? His eyes sparkled. The possibilities of being able to control his dreams meant he could study even while sleeping! He could practice all sorts of things while sleeping, from martial arts to surgery to engineering —

“I should be able to. I think,"

“Does that mean you can make yourself hallucinate on command?"

Izuku tilted his head. “Why would I want to make myself hallucinate?"

Matsuda's grin was dastardly. “Instant sexy daydream. If you could give yourself audio, visual, and tactile hallucinations, that would be epic. Go on, go on — test it out."

Self-induced hallucinations were something he was leery about experimenting on. “What am I supposed to hallucinate?"

“Try tactile hallucinations. Make yourself feel something that isn't happening. Like… like someone rubbing your hands."

Izuku closed his eyes. He envisioned it, just as Matsuda insisted. Just as he thought of it, he felt a hand reach out slowly to caress his arm.

“Are you rubbing my hand?"

"What?"

"I can feel you rubbing my arm."

“I'm not! Really!"

Izuku's eyes snapped open. Matsuda's hands were in the air in a gesture of innocence. Izuku stared at his hand, and he realized he could still feel the sensation of someone lightly, softly rubbing up and down his hand.

“That, Izuku-kun," Matsuda said, grinning. “Is the scary power of the human brain."

Matsuda’s ideas, though originally somewhat deviant in nature, were all extremely useful and practical, and things that Izuku had not considered himself. Though he was able to analyze the quirks of other people and theorize the best ways to use or incapacitate them, for whatever reason, Izuku could not do the same as easily for his own Quirk.

“Do you have any other ideas for things I could do?"

Matsuda hummed, tapping his chin with his index finger. “Well, you could turn Mind Palaces into actual palaces by throwing visual hallucinations into the mix. You could make yourself drunk or high on command, which'd be pretty cool for when you want to fool a girl into thinking you’re as wasted as she is… or you could close your eyes and imagine getting a blowjob and viola, your figment of your imagination arrives and starts to do the deed. Though if it feels real, is it still a figment of your imagination?"

“Any… um… useful ideas?"

Matsuda crossed his arms. “Prude. Whatever. How about you try giving yourself synesthesia?"

“Synesthesia?"

“You know. Smelling colors. Tasting sounds. That whole stuff," Matsuda shrugged. “I doubt it'll be all that useful, but it's a new experience," The boy sighed. "Man, I'm so freaking jealous. I wish I could rent your quirk for a day. All I can do is gain some muscle and facial hair and turn horny."

“Maybe you could try extending your quirk… outwards?" Izuku suggested.

“What do you mean?"

“Like… like Midnight. Maybe… you could make yourself secrete pheromones or a strong scent?" He offered. "I mean, I'm not sure it would work, but…"

The taller boy's face went blank. The expression of a man who'd been given groundbreaking news. "Secrete pheromones…" he muttered. “…that… that could work. Sorry, Midoriya… I need to… yeah. See you around."

Matsuda departed, muttering to himself in a manner reminiscent of Izuku's own habit.

Ah… well, I think I've given Matsuda some things to think over.

Izuku glanced at his wristwatch, making sure to check how many hours were left until the end of the day. His meeting with Saiko would take place, and he needed things to progress smoothly to pursue his goal.

Clenching his fist, Izuku steeled his mind.

“Whatever it takes."

|A Precise Note|

The restaurant was surprisingly high-end. Surprisingly, as apparently one needed a reservation to be able to get a seat, she almost doubted whether or not Midoriya Izuku had texted her the wrong address. Seeing him seated within, school uniform still in place, a smile on his face, as he politely gestured her over, made her realize that there was no error.

In a surprising display of chivalry, he rose, took her right hand, and delivered a soft, chaste kiss on her fingers.

“Intelli-san," he greeted.

She doubted, for several seconds, if she was meeting the same Midoriya Izuku she'd met a day prior. She doubted, further still, when the boy went through the motions of helping her with her seat.

There was an odd charm to him in that there was a pleasant, broad smile on his face throughout the proceedings of his traditional acts of chivalry. Traditional, and also highly unexpected and completely beyond even her wildest calculations.

“You've certainly gone to a great deal of effort to impress me."

“I want to change the system."

No preamble. No long-winded introduction. Midoriya Izuku's palms were steepled, and his polite smile was accompanied by a shiny veneer of professionalism. Saiko understood immediately that she'd miscalculated again. She misunderstood the reason he'd invited her here. This wasn't an attempt at establishing a romantic relationship.

This was a business meeting.

How unfortunate.

Saiko was disappointed. She had come prepared to entertain herself watching an awkward boy her age attempt a courtship ritual that she may or may not accept depending on his presentation and earnestness. She had not come to listen to an overeager, overambitious middle schooler pitch an idea to her that she would dismiss even if he was gray of hair and had an overflowing portfolio.

“Doesn't everyone?" 

She reached for the menu, opening it and taking a casual glance.

“Most people seem content with how things are. Heroes… villains… quirks that cause you misfortune or decide your destiny…" Midoriya's right hand clenched. “I can't accept it. I can't accept a world where my entire life is determined by an ability I didn't choose at birth. I hear it, everywhere, all the time. My mother wasn't born with a flashy quirk, and she chose a simple life for it. My friend, Katsuki, because he was born with a flashy quirk, everyone told him he'd make a great hero, and I don't think he's ever even considered that he could be anything else but that. Matsuda wants to become an adult film star because he's worried his quirk will get him into trouble if he tries to just take a normal job—"

“Even I…” he paused. “I never believed that I could do anything because I didn't have a quirk. The whole world, everyone has it in their heads that we are nothing but the sum of the abilities we are born with. I don't want that. I hate that. People are so much more than just their quirks."

She closed the menu. “What are you going to do about it?"

“Equal the playing field," He gestured with his palms. “If… if I could study more, learn more about the Quirk Factor… I'll think about how to create inhibitor devices, or – or something biological… like serums and medication."

“Serums that inhibit people's quirks?"

“As a stopgap, temporary measure," he explained. “To make life easier for people with troublesome quirks. If there was something, like over-the-counter medication that was globally available, people like Matsuda who are born with quirks that'd otherwise make them have difficult lives could live without fear or worry."

The waiter arrived, pen in hand. Without glancing at the waiter, she said, “Tea. Chamomile."

“Water will be fine, thank you," Midoriya said.

The waiter departed, and she began her cross-examination. “As inspiring as your motives are, Midoriya-kun, you're forgetting something. Quirks are a power status. With the end of Pre-Quirk society, a new arms race began: the superhuman arms race. Quirks and heroes are the nuclear armaments of society. Can you imagine a society where anti-nuclear devices can be found at every corner drugstore? Where all that is needed for a layman to take down a god is to purchase some pills from a pharmacy?"

“I'll make it work based on intent," Midoriya said.

Her brows raised. Is he delusional? “Surely you jest.”

“If the anti-quirk serum detects a strong resistance, it'll fail to take effect. So people can't abuse it. They can't use it on those who aren't willing."

Saiko laughed. “You want to invent drugs that require consent to work? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? Human biology isn't that convenient, Midoriya-kun."

He wasn't dissuaded. “There are quirks that allow people to manipulate forces like time, space, and gravity. Quirks that allow people to interfere with the laws of physics. Is a drug that works based on a person's willingness any less ridiculous than someone who can change the weather with a punch or create a black hole with a finger?"

She pursed her lips. That is a fallacy of faulty comparison. The situations could not be compared in the slightest. That there were Quirks that did indeed violate several previously established laws of physics did not mean it was possible to create a drug that violated several laws of basic biology. If his Quirk allowed him to manipulate molecules and atoms, she would be less skeptical. If he were similar to her old rival, the Yaoyorozu Heiress, and possessed a quirk that could create matter, she would have believed him capable of such a task without an iota of doubt. 

Of course, if he did have such a quirk, she would have disregarded her dignity and dragged him to the bathroom of the store they met to mate with him and ensured not a drop of his seed escaped from her womb.

As he did not possess any such means, all she had before her was a boy who knew far too little about the complexity of the task he was talking about.

How very unfortunate. 

Her disappointment grew. The little budding remnant of attraction she possessed for him died. At the end of the day, she was attracted to intelligence and brilliance. Midoriya’s words had proven he was nowhere near as smart as she’d previously estimated.

“Assuming you do somehow succeed in creating this anti-quirk medication…” she continued. “I assume you have other plans for Quirk Society?"

"Several," Midoriya nodded his head, excitedly. “I've been thinking of ways to abolish the entire hero and villain system entirely. Devices that can use algorithms to predict the likelihood of a crime occurring and prevent it before it does. An entire revamp of the country's architecture that'll increase efficiency and productivity. A method of highlighting and cultivating the individual talents in people and calculating the best ways for them to achieve happiness and satisfaction—"

Grand, impossible, unachievable plans, backed by nothing but pure, foolish ambition… 

Crass as it was to admit, Saiko felt herself get drier the more he spoke. Saying he had completely turned her off would be a vast understatement. She offered a polite smile. 

“It seems I underestimated your ambition, Midoriya-san."

“I've always been stubbornly ambitious. Just, for the most part, I focused my ambition on becoming a Hero."

“You make it sound like you've given up that ambition."

"I haven't."

Saiko's brow lifted. "You still want to be a Pro Hero?"

"Most of my plans won't work without public support and approval. The fastest way to get that is to be a hero, even if I do intend to make the system obsolete," he explained. "Also, there are Pro-Heroes who have part-time jobs, such as Cementoss and Best Jeanist. Being a Pro-Hero will also allow me access to amazing people and places… much better than if I tried to do it all alone."

The waiter arrived. On Midoriya's end, a glass of chilled water was placed. On her end, the tea she requested came in an elegant flower-patterned cup. Cube sugars and packet milk came in a smaller cup, for which she nodded appreciatively to the waiter.

"Tell me, Midoriya-san, seeing as you have your plans all figured out, what role exactly do I play in all of this?"

"You want to make things better, right?"

"I have my own goals, Midoriya-san. My own plans and my own methods. For the most part, none of your goals clash with mine, but that does not mean I'm interested in any form of sponsorship."

Midoriya's smile faltered. "You're… not?"

“From the standpoint of an investor, all you have are grand plans with no means to achieve them. Scientists are still researching and discovering new things about the quirk factor. So far, no one has discovered a breakthrough that'll allow them to create an anti-quirk serum. You expect me to believe that a boy who's still in middle school and has zero research experience will somehow crack the code within months? Years?"

"Those scientists aren't me. I can—"

She lifted her hand. “Are you saying you, Midoriya Izuku, Aldera Junior High Middle Schooler, are superior to the world's greatest scientists? The world’s brightest minds?"

Surely there’s a limit to your delusions? Saiko did not know why she had not walked out the door already.

“No—no. I'm not. But my quirk—"

“Precision, yes," Saiko slowly picked up her cup. “I'm telling you, even with your quirk, it'll take you several decades to be able to create the drug you're dreaming of. If at all you succeed, assuming your life isn't cut short by your insistence on becoming a Pro Hero or assuming you do not somehow arouse the ire of some villain that leaves you crippled or incapacitated."

"That won't happen."

"You're not clairvoyant. It's easy to fall prey to the survivorship bias, and believe you're special, that you won’t be the one that gets maimed or killed, but the numbers insist otherwise," Saiko waved her hand. “That aside, drugs typically require several years of testing and verification by the government. The government will bury it in bureaucratic red tape for years upon years, while utilizing it in military campaigns as a secret weapon against foreign powers. Even if by some inexplicable act of divine intervention, you create this miracle drug, it will never see the light of day."

Midoriya fell quiet. “What are you saying?"

"The status quo doesn't like to be changed," She gestured around.  “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down. While it's great to have such lofty ambitions, I can't invest in optimism and ambition. Perhaps if you had something tangible that proves you can create what you claim you can, I'd have considered it. Unfortunately, Midoriya-san, all you have for me are empty words."

There was a shift in his temperament. His eyes, she noticed immediately, became half-lidded. His body posture relaxed, dangerously so. There was a flicker of something in his half-lidded, semi-focused eyes that sent an unwilling shudder down her spine. The very air around him changed so much for a second that she felt he'd been replaced by a doppelganger.

"So," he drawled. "You're saying you don't believe I can do it?"

She pursed her lips. "Midoriya-san, are you… Altering your emotions?"

"You didn't answer my question."

He managed to figure out a way to alter his emotions with his Quirk? It explained how the shy, socially-awkward boy she met yesterday managed to gain the necessary confidence to perform acts of chivalry, and where he found the gall to seek her as a sponsor for his foolish ambitions.

This… Saiko soon realized a problem. If he can do this, it means I cannot make any plans surrounding him, I cannot calculate what he’s capable of, nor can I predict him at all.

A person who could alter their emotions as they wished could therefore also control their emotions as they wished, and while in theory, it would make them the most rational person, in reality, they would be the polar opposite of rational. It was rational, for instance, to cry upon losing a loved one, feel anger upon being insulted, or feel ashamed when caught in a compromising position.

Someone who could instead find glee in grief, feel prideful in disgrace, and feel love upon being slighted was a person who could not be predicted. Thus, even her best estimations of what he was capable of would entirely miss the mark.

He does not seem the sort of person who would stalk or attack a woman who dismissed him, but as I cannot predict him at all, it would be best to err on the side of caution.

“Listen, Midoriya-san. If there were, somehow, a person out there who managed to devise a serum that could inhibit or stop quirks, that person would be feared. Governments, society, and individuals with personal stakes would all be filled with dread at the existence of such a person and try to eliminate them. They would have created something which could completely upend society and civilization as we know it. They would become, simultaneously, the most powerful person and the most wanted person in the world. Do you believe you have what it takes to bear that burden?"

With unflinching eyes, the boy's head tilted forward.

“Whatever it takes."

She hadn't expected such an immediate answer.

“Forgive me, Midoriya-san, you don't strike me as the type of person willing to compromise his own beliefs for the sake of a goal. Sacrifice yourself, perhaps. But—?"

“That's the second time you've doubted me, Saiko-san."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Midoriya Izuku possessed a warped psyche that absolutely could not stomach someone's lack of faith or belief in another person. Expressing her doubt in his conviction was not the right play.

“Very well. If you believe you're up to the task of upending society, I'll send you in the right direction," She reached for her bag, bringing up her phone. She tapped several buttons while muttering under her breath. “I've just sent you the coordinates of a location I suspect to be the known trading spot of an individual that sells the black-market quirk enhancement drug commonly known as Trigger."

His brows rose. His temperament changed and softened all at once, as his face scrunched up in visible confusion. “W-what?"

“Trigger is a quirk-enhancing drug, but it comes with the downside of reducing higher brain function and intellect of those who use it, throwing them into a berserk, aggressive state. If you so believe yourself capable of divine alchemy, then analyze the substance and dilute it. Create a pure version of it that works without the mental drawbacks." 

“If you can't even manage this basic level of chemistry, you might as well give up on creating your 'consent drugs.'"

The boy didn't answer. His nose was furrowed. Brows furrowed. Hands, steepled in thought.

She would not mention that this was a task far above and beyond 'basic' chemistry. Trigger was a world-renowned drug with suspected origins in Japan, and different individuals had tried to analyze and crack the code as to what were the components of a liquid that could immediately enhance the quirk factor of individuals. Scientists in laboratories across the world were stumped and had failed, time and again, to isolate the quirk-factor boosting part of Trigger from the mind-altering aspects of it.

The person who invented the Trigger drug was a certified chemical genius, worthy of a Nobel Prize in Chemistry. A once-in-a-lifetime chemist that Saiko would compare to the pre-Quirk era Mendeleev or Fleming. There were theories that the person possessed a quirk that allowed them to alter chemical bonds at an atomic level, which was the only reason why the individual could create Trigger in the first place.

She was tasking Midoriya with an incredibly difficult task straight out of the gate.

Perhaps after seeing the difficulty of what awaits him, he’ll set his sights on more feasible objectives.

She rose from her seat, neatly patting herself down. "Once you've succeeded, Midoriya-san, I'll believe that you're serious about this. I'll invest all my family's fortune in you. Anything at all you want. But if you fail to succeed at this…"

She left the sentence hanging.

“I'll be seeing you, Midoriya-san. Extend my greetings to Matsuda-kun."

|A Precise Note|

The most powerful person and most wanted person in the world.

Izuku walked with his body on autopilot. Avoiding pedestrians and obstacles with his hands in his pockets, he replayed his meeting with Saiko in his head for the millionth time.

The odds are higher that the government will bury it in bureaucratic red tape…

He kicked a stone on the cobbled pavement. The long streets brought him no ease of mind. He could not tell if Saiko was being pessimistic or if it was that he had been too optimistic about the method he wanted to use to accomplish his goals. All he wanted was to help those whose quirks lingered on the dangerous end of extreme. Those whose quirks forced them into a particular lifestyle. Yet, just to be able to grant these people a brief reprieve from the harshness of daily life was a mission that would put him in the crosshairs of the entire world?

It doesn't matter! You've already decided. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes, Izuku! You're going to do this!

Izuku sighed as he scratched the back of his head. His body's serotonin and dopamine production had dipped while in the conversation. He'd been hurt, upset at Saiko's words. He could tell, from her tone, her minute microexpressions, that the more he spoke, the less she wanted anything to do with him. It was upsetting enough for him to default his emotional state to the lower range. That state in which he found it difficult to care about anyone or anything. 

The Apathy State was what he termed it. It was oddly relieving not to care sometimes. Though he couldn't stay in that state for too long, as the not-caring tended to be rather indiscriminate.

“Saiko-san said the alley on Hirohito Street is the location…"

Izuku's only experience with drugs was pain medication from the times when he was bullied. When he was younger, he got vaccinations against different viruses and diseases that were supposedly highly dangerous in the past. Aside from those two instances, he'd never had much to do with medicine or drugs. He'd never so much as bought over-the-counter supplements before, let alone antibiotics needed for a cold.

Now, he was stalking down the streets late in the evening, to try and buy a black-market quirk-enhancer. Trigger.

His brain filtered information and searched for any recollection or information he had regarding the topic. Newspaper snippets he'd glanced at. Idle conversations from a news report on the television. Talk shows on anti-drug campaigns on the radio. Every reference and every mention of the word Trigger was catalogued in his brain. Taking a deep breath, he commanded his brain to present the information before him in the form of a visual hallucination.

The hallucination was vivid. The screens in front of him, replaying images and memories of his encounter with the word Trigger, appeared as if he were using a high-tech holographic device. His body moved on autopilot as he began to sort through the snippets of data.

Newspaper articles mentioning the dangers of a new drug, Trigger…

Pop-up advertisements on Matsuda's porn sites for 'quirk-boosting' medication…

Talk show host discussing Trigger in the background TV of Kacchan's house…

He made a right turn, avoiding bumping into a couple on the street. Trigger is well-known for its ability to enhance the quirks of individuals, and is most commonly used by people who have quirks that are lacking in offensive capability… duration depends on strain, some variants lasting a few minutes, and others extending towards several hours… reason for difference in strain efficiency debated… arguments for prototype batches being mixed in with purer batches?

Muttering underneath his breath, Izuku rearranged the floating panels of information.

Arguments for why the drug boosts aggression. Correlation between quirk-factor and aggression in studies? Studies debunked… theories for Trigger being used as a super-serum, mass-produced for military purposes?

Dodging a lamppost and giving a cheery nod to a passing policeman, Izuku found himself scratching the back of his head as he sorted through more information.

Connections link Trigger to the Japanese Yakuza. Mentions of Japan's growing Yakuza force… news reports discuss reduction of gang-related violence, different organizations of Yakuza being submerged under one global force…

He stopped in the middle of the road, staring at the floating name that hovered in his vision. His brain, rewired for subconscious pattern recognition, all pointing directly at the floating name, telling him, somehow, someway, that the drug Trigger was related directly to it.

"Shie Hassaikai?"

Shie Hassaikai – Eight Precepts. The Eight, the Spider…  Dangerous. National Yakuza organization. Number of members: unknown, goals: unknown. Listed on villain watchlist, mentions appear on quarantined toxic internet forums…

Izuku rubbed the back of his head. "Relax, Izuku! R-relax!"

He just needed to purchase their product. That was all. It wasn't like he was going to fight them. He just wanted their product. Taking another right turn, he confirmed that he was, indeed, at one of the prescribed locations Saiko had sent to his phone. The alley was darker than most, littered with empty beer cans and snuffed cigarettes. Izuku groaned as he tried his hardest to avoid stepping on one or two used condoms, making his way further into the alley as he tried to search for someone.

I don't even know how much the drug is supposed to cost…

He still had his lunch money, at least. He hoped it would be enough.

“Hello?"

There was no one in the alley.

“Hello, Dealer-san?"

The further he went in, away from the light, the more he realized that there was a horrible stench originating from within. His eyes watered up immediately. His first instinct was to gag, but he managed to force down the instinct. The smell was disgusting, and it was certainly getting stronger as it mixed in with the scent of blood.

Izuku’s sensation of time slowed.

Blood. A lot of blood. Massive blood loss. Figure in the shadows. Beer can, tossed. Lunge. Left. Right. Toss.

His quirk blurred into life. He tilted his head, dodging the empty beer can tossed in his direction. With a brief spin, he evaded the knife that swung out of the shadows, aiming for his neck. He stepped to the right, dodging the left swing, and leaned to the left, to dodge the right swing.

The knife left his attacker's hand, and his right hand came up, plucking the object from the air seconds before impact.

He could hear his heart beating fast. The blade, inches away from his skull. The intent to kill was so overwhelming that it flooded his body with adrenaline. The overwhelming flood of adrenaline was something Midoriya didn't expect. So much of it that he found his lips spreading into a smile from just how hard his blood was pumping in his system. He couldn't remember the last time he did anything that made his heart beat fast.

“Are… are you the… dealer?"

His attacker was a girl who almost looked to be his age. Blood dripped freely from her chin, dropping onto her naked body. Naked? He forced his eyes to stay on her gaze. Yet, he did glimpse down, and a single glimpse was all it took for the sight to be burned permanently into his memory. He could tell from his body's production of a certain hormone that he liked what he saw. He forced down the thoughts and cleared his head.

The girl giggled, biting softly on her fingers as her face contorted into one that left Midoriya uncomfortable. “I'm going to kill you~"

“W-wait, you really shouldn't –"

She ran at him. She ran straight at him. Izuku sighed. He'd been sparring with Katsuki Bakugo for ages. Compared to someone who could augment his speed with explosions and change directions and actions on a dime, her movements were slow.

Slow and predictable.

Dodging underneath her first punch, he drew from images of martial arts movies he'd watched, and the brief scenes of wrestling and mixed martial arts he'd seen throughout his lifetime. The years of his experience being bullied, watching bullies, and understanding the necessary strength and strategy needed to bully someone.

His hand smacked away her pitiable defenses, and he went in close, spinning her around and slamming her into the ground with both hands behind her back. He placed his knee against her back for good measure, ensuring she couldn't escape.

“Sorry," he said sheepishly. “You're the first person who's tried to kill me. A lot of people will be sad if I die, and I have a lot of things I want to accomplish, so I can't hold back against someone who wants to take my life."

She tried to struggle. She tried to wriggle free. He didn't give her the opportunity.

“Um… can you… stop? This  is kind of awkward because you're not wearing any clothes, and if someone came along, they might think I was doing something… bad."

From the angle of an outside observer… No amount of explaining would come out quickly enough to justify why he pinned a naked girl covered in blood to the ground and was on top of her.

“My name's Izuku," He began. “Midoriya Izuku. What's yours?"

The girl didn't respond.

“Is there a problem you have?" Izuku asked. “I don't believe people just try to kill others without reason. Especially strangers. If you're in trouble or need any help, I can help you out."

The girl laughed. “You're so funny, Izuku-kun."

Izuku frowned. “Why did you try to kill me?"

“Let me go and I'll show you~"

“Does it have something to do with your quirk?"

“Izuku-kun says the funniest things."

“So it does have to do with your quirk," he scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Another one…"

People whose quirks made them different.

“Do you know where the Trigger dealer in this area is supposed to be?"

“He's gone."

“Gone?"

The girl sang. "Gone, gone, gone~!"

Izuku's gaze went into the darkness. He could make out a vaguely human outline on the floor. Human, and unmoving.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

Murder. Murderer.

Crime. Murder. Turn her in. Police. Arrest. Right thing.

The right thing to do. The right thing to do was to call the police immediately. To let the police arrest her. Take her away. She killed someone. Ended a human life. What justification could she have? None. None at all. It was inexcusable. There was no justification whatsoever for ending a human life.

If he called in the police now, they would take the body. They would also take away the Trigger that was on the body. More so, it would bring questions. Investigations. What was he doing in this secluded alleyway, so late at night? What would he tell them? He'd been going for a stroll? He'd lie? He'd tell them the truth, that he'd been here to buy drugs?

It'd be on his record. Something like that could be traced back to him. It was something minor, but it would affect him in the long run. What if it damages his odds of entering UA? What if it were brought up against him in the future as an argument?

Do the right thing.

The right thing. The right thing. The right thing to do would be to get a murderer off the streets. But at what cost? At the cost of his future? At the cost of the dozens of people suffering, the lives he would save, the lives he would improve? He needed that Trigger. He needed to analyze it, research it, and prove to Saiko he knew what he was doing. Prove that he had the conviction to do what he said he would.

Whatever it takes.

He regretted telling her his name, now. Had he not done so, he would have been able to absolve himself from the situation. Take the trigger, leave her tied up, and leave an anonymous tip to the police to come pick her up. He couldn't do that, now that she knew his name. She had no reason not to give his name to the police once they asked her how she got tied up.

“I'm going to let you go," Izuku began, slowly. “Please don't attack me. You've already killed someone. I might break your limbs if you attack me, if only so you can't use them to kill anyone ever again."

The girl shuddered from his words. Shuddered and let out a short, rasping breath.

He rose, cautiously, from her back. She spun around on a dime and lunged at him with her… lips?

His right hand blurred into motion, slamming his palm on the underside of her jaw. The light in her eyes faded. He stepped aside as she collapsed to the ground, out cold. Midoriya sighed, giving one last glance to the girl before approaching the body of the trigger dealer.

Whatever it takes.

Chapter Text

Red lights and yellow caution tape. Mutterings of a crowd, standing behind the cautionary lines, phones in the air and flashing with white lights. Already, he could see the sight of a black media van approaching from a distance, as he watched his fellow police officers order the crowd to disperse.

“This is an ongoing investigation, kindly please leave the premises and continue with your day-"

A young schoolboy sat at the side, shaken.

“Morning, True Man," his partner let out a yawn. His right hand slipped into his pocket, a silver lighter emerging from within. Two clicks and a flame emerged, singing one end of a white stick.

“Put that out, Tanuma."

“I'm not going to contaminate the crime scene."

Tanuma let out a puff of smoke into the air. Tsukauchi Naomasa waved his gloved hands, dispersing the stench of nicotine.

“Put it out."

“I need to take off the edge. Besides—"

Naomasa swiped the cigarette from his partner's hands, stubbing it underfoot. He ignored the idle glare the older man shot him, shooting a minor one of his own. Tanuma sighed, raising his hands in surrender.

“Fine. Fine," The older man snapped on his white rubber gloves. Officer Tamakawa approached them, the cat-headed female saluting immediately, “Detectives."

“What are we dealing with?" Tamuna fired off. "A murder in an alleyway hardly seems like something to call us over."

Officer Tamakawa tried to hide her grimace. “We believe it to be quirk-related."

Tamuna raised his brow. Naomasa furrowed his brow. The older detective gestured, and Officer Tamakawa led them down the alley. There was, as Tamakawa expected, everything that made alleyways unpalatable to the senses. Refuge bins, the occasional discarded beer can, and bottle. Snuffed cigarette butts. Two or three haphazardly disposed condoms.

At the end of the alley, they came to the sight of the corpse. The body. Naomasa almost stopped at the sight that lay before him. He'd seen dead bodies, several of them across his time as a Detective. Several distorted, broken bodies. Some bodies mangled, bashed, and grotesque. Whenever quirks became a factor in a murder, there was almost always a guarantee that the sight which awaited them was not going to be pleasant.

“I don't get it," Tamuna was the first to break the silence. “I thought this was a murder?"

“It… is."

“Then why is the guy standing?"

Naomasa had the exact same question. The murder ‘victim', if it were possible to classify him as such, remained standing in a pose that was reminiscent of a vampire sleeping in a coffin. His eyes were closed. His face was pale, and he was completely naked. The image of a spider and the kanji for ‘EIGHT’ was emblazoned on his chest, penned in blood. Naomasa's eyes could detect puncture wounds in his neck. No, there were several puncture marks and bloodied spots throughout his body — knife wounds.

There was no denying the fact that the man in front of them was, in fact, dead.

“How," Naomasa corrected. “How is the question you should be asking. How is he standing?"

“We… don't know," Officer Tamakawa said, grimacing further. “Some school children found him while attempting to use the alley as a shortcut. They made reports of a naked man doing something suspicious. It wasn't until we got here that we… well… met him."

Tamuna rubbed the back of his head and let out a groan. “Tsukauchi, what are your thoughts?"

“The Eight on his chest, do you think…?”

They fell silent. That particular organization was above their pay grade. Dangerous, brutal, and elusive did not even cover it. If this truly was something connected to the Shie Hassaikai, the Eight Precepts of Death, then they’d need to contact the Pro-Heroes as soon as possible. 

Naomasa glanced at the body from head to toe. “Has anyone tried touching him?"

Officer Tamakawa shook her head. “We weren't sure we should."

Naomasa examined the standing man. The posture was straight. Rigid. Perfect. The man's back was at a perfect angle, ninety degrees. His face, despite being closed, possessed an unreal, serene quality to it. Yet, despite that, it was clear that he had been deprived significantly of blood in the hours before his death.

With a single hand, a white-gloved finger, Naomasa tapped the forehead of the standing man. The effect was immediate. The man collapsed like a puppet with cut strings onto the ground. Naomasa released the breath he was unaware he was holding.

“Do we have a positive ID?"

Officer Tamakawa produced a small jotter from her pocket. “Otoko Yakubutsu, 24 years old. Quirk: Quick Buzz. A quirk that simulates the effects of narcotics, opioids and hallucinogens, and can be transmitted via physical touch. He has a few priors for public indecency, battery, and has been booked at least a dozen times for sexual assault, but, for whatever reason, the charges never stuck."

“So he’s the type of scum no one’s going to miss.” 

Tsukauchi's eyes immediately went to the man's fingers. His nails. Dried specks of blood were visible beyond the shrunken fingers and elongated digits.

“Prepare the body for autopsy. We need an approximate time of death, cause of death, and tests for bloodwork and foreign DNA."

“Yes, sir."

Tamuna walked up beside him, staring down at the body. “Tsukauchi, nothing was holding the body upright."

“So it seems."

“So they killed him, and then made his body upright…?" Tamuna's lips squeezed tight. The older man's right hand went up, scratching the back of his neck. “And the body remained standing for several hours, with nothing holding it up until something touched it?"

“Like a fly caught in the webs of a spider.”

Naomasa said nothing.

“You think it's meant to be some sort of message?"

Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi set his eyes on the environment.

“That's what we're here to find out."

|A Precise Note|

The warmth was unsettling.

Himiko was accustomed to the cold. She was no stranger to freezing, to biting and gnawing frost. She was no foreigner to fingers numbing and teeth clattering. Warmth was a false memory. She opened her eyes to cleanse it. A rotating ceiling fan she did not remember greeted her. An unfamiliar roof. A strange blanket, with a peculiar scent. Emblazoned upon the blue and yellow warmth-giver was an image of a muscled man with blond hair. Even though she knew who it was.

She sat, staring at the unfamiliar object. A whiff in the air, and she realized she, too, smelled unfamiliar. There was the scent of soap. Strong, scentless soap. Antiseptic blended within. A running shower echoed quietly.

She tossed aside the warmth giver. Rose to her feet, naturally. She stared once more, at odd, unfamiliar clothes. More of the yellow and blue, more of the blond-haired man who went about wearing American colors. The shirt she wore had the blond-haired man smiling with dazzling teeth on it. The boxers she wore had the blond-haired man raising his finger in a thumbs-up.

The entire room was an altar to the man of blue and yellow.

She searched her memory of the previous night. They were fuzzy. Unfocused. The harder she tried to remember, the more her head spun.

The sound of the showers stopped. Her gaze darted around the room. Sharp. Pointy. A clock on the wall. She leapt for it. The object crashed on the ground, glass shattering into large and small pieces. The largest one, she wielded steadily in her right hand.

The doors swung open. Green hair and a toned body. Water dripping down, a towel tied fastidiously on the waist. The memories came rushing.

The boy glanced at her, then at the wall, where the clock should have been. He turned his attention to the ground, where the broken glass fragments lay. His expression morphed, his shoulders sagging as he stared at the broken clock.

“That was an All Might Collector's original…"

“Izuku-kun~"

She remembered his name. His scent alone reminded her. No one had his scent. The scent was different from everyone she had ever met. Different from her former classmates, different from her parents, different from birds and cats and dogs.

There was something different about his blood. She was certain. She had gone about, tasting and tasting and killing and tasting ever since she left home. Her instincts towards this had sharpened. They couldn’t lie to her.

I want to taste him~!

She gripped the jagged glass harder. She brought it to her front, unable to stop the grin from spreading out on her face. What would it be like to wear his face? What would it be like, to be him? Swallowing his blood, feeling it settle in her stomach, feeling a part of him permanently become a part of her.

I want to taste him!

He smelled like he was a good person. A nice person. She wanted to be like him. She wanted to be him. A good person. A normal person. He was different from others. Different from that man in the alley, the man with the bad-tasting blood. The man had tried doing something to her with his Quirk. He thought she couldn’t defend herself. Thought she was just another schoolgirl. She hadn’t liked the way he pinned her down and tried to put his dick inside her. That was a big no-no. So she cut him. She cut and cut, and sliced and cut!

His blood tasted bad. He wasn't a good person. She didn’t want to taste the blood of bad people, and become a badder person. She was already too rotten. Her father said so. He smacked her and spat at her and said she was rotten to the core. Her mother wept and asked her why she couldn’t just be a good girl. So she couldn’t keep tasting bad people. She needed to taste good people! The more good people she tasted, the gooder she would become! She would know how to be good! She would be good! The goodest girl!

I… want to taste him~!

She giggled and held her cheeks. Glancing at Izuku, her heart was beating fast. Love. She felt. It must be love. It could only be love. Fire rushed through her body, her blood. Desire poured from her brain to her pumping heart, to the tip of her fingers. Like lightning, like electricity, it fired from nerve to nerve, neuron to neuron, synapse to synapse. Her breath came out in short, frantic breaths.

I WANT TO TASTE HIM~!

“I—Zu—Ku—Kun!" 

The boy scratched the back of his head, muttering soft words underneath his breath, before he gestured for his neck. “Go on."

Her eyes darted between his exposed neck and the boy's eyes. The boy tapped his right ear with his left index finger. “I can hear your heartbeat."

She could hear it as well. The rhythm, increasing, faster, beating at a tempo she was certain she'd never heard before. Never reached before. Her eyes landed on Izuku's form a second time. She drank in his form, fully, this time. His body, lacking in scars, was something she didn't truly like. His muscles, however toned, did not interest her. His physical form, however impressive, did not move her. There was only one thing that did.

I want to taste him~!

Taste, taste, taste~!

“I want to cut you up, Izuku-kun," she lifted the makeshift weapon. “I'm going to cut you up. And cut, and cut and cut and cut and cut, and taste, and taste and taste!"

Himiko rushed forward, squealing under her breath with glee. The makeshift blade high, laughing as she swung it down.

She was on the ground. 

She blinked. She didn't know how she got to the ground. Or how he pinned her to it, and knocked the weapon out of her hand. She hadn’t seen any of it. He was fast. Too fast. Inhumanly fast. He made her feel like she was a complete amateur. She didn't understand how she found herself underneath him, his sharp eyes locking down on her. She shivered from the intensity in his gaze.

His body, still wet and fresh from the shower, pressed her down. His toned stomach pressed against her. Warmth crept into her neck. Blood was flowing to different places than normal.

I want to taste him~!

He put his finger forward. Himiko was confused. She stared at the finger, and then stared back at the green-haired boy on top of her.

“I don’t mind giving you my blood to drink. As long as you promise not to attack me again. Or anyone! No attacking people! You have to promise.”

Her lips opened, then they closed. He was offering. Offering his finger. Offering to allow her to taste him.

No one had done that before.

She searched her memories. She thought hard. Try as she could, there was not a single person who had offered. Not her parents. Not her ‘friends.’ Not even that one boy that confessed his crush to her. They usually ran when she asked or looked at her with disgust and fear.

Suspicion filled her. “Why?”

Izuku scratched the back of his head. “I have a friend named Matsuda… his quirk also makes his life… hard. I understand what it’s like… well, no, I don’t. I don’t really. But I can sympathize.”

“Sympathize?”

What did it mean? What did that mean?

Himiko didn’t understand. Was it a good person thing? That couldn’t be right. Her parents were good people, but they didn’t let her taste them. No one did. Not her friends, not her teachers, not the people who said they liked her.

“If letting you taste my blood will help you, I don’t have a reason to refuse. You didn’t choose to be this way. But at the same time, your quirk is a part of you,” Izuku continued. “So the least I can do is accept that this is a part of you, and do what I can to help you.” 

There was an unfamiliar feeling bubbling in her stomach. Indigestion? No, she had not eaten. Heartburn? She rarely felt it. She didn’t know what this feeling was. She didn’t know why her chest was so tight. She couldn’t understand why there was a tightness in her throat.

Accept me?

I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand!

If I taste him will I understand?

Hesitantly, Himiko bit on his finger. 

Group O blood type. A universal donor. Why is it so —

Pure. 

The purest. 

The cleanest. 

The sweetest. 

She had not known blood could be so pure. She had not known blood could taste so sweet. She had not known. She had never known. No one had told her. All the blood she had ever tasted had been terrible. It was the difference between vomit and mochi, the difference between sewage and taiyaki. It made her dizzy.

“I’m not sure if you like the taste… but I can tweak it with my quirk to make it taste a bit better.”

Before she could speak up, the taste changed. Blood from his finger entered her mouth.

Her mind went blank. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

The entire world went black.

A Precise Note

Izuku hummed softly as he wiped the floor with a rag and controlled his emotions to prevent any feelings of discomfort or mortification. He was thankful for his ability to alter and control his emotional states, for if he didn’t have that ability, his face would have been burning red right now, and he’d have been a blubbering, blushing, incoherent mess, considering just what he was currently wiping off his floor.

Glancing at the unconscious young girl whose legs were still twitching, he had to change the old set of All Might boxers he’d put on her with a new, cleaner pair. The force of her release had rendered her unconscious, and Izuku couldn’t help but feel even worse for her. With a quirk that brought her so much sexual pleasure from drinking blood, was there really any hope she had of a ‘normal’ life?

A thought came to him. She drank the blood of the man she killed, but she didn’t have this reaction. Is this a result of my blood?

Controlling his body with his quirk was a task far easier than controlling his brain, and precisely altering the components of a few drops of his blood was fairly effortless. The main thing he did was to amplify the concentration of glucose and massively increase his blood sugar. The next thing he did was to control his blood as it left his body to act as a serotonin–norepinephrine–dopamine reuptake inhibitor. Roughly, his intention was for his blood to provide her with about one-tenth of the feeling of his “Happiness State.” 

Izuku was not willing to believe just one-tenth of that was what caused such a reaction. Suzume had been around him constantly with him at full “Happiness State”, and she didn’t pass out from a sensory overload. His theory was that the girl’s quirk altered her physiology and made it so it provided pleasure from consuming blood, which explained her… release.

Thankfully, I don’t have to sedate her. Fortunately, Ka-chan is a deep sleeper…

Bringing her to his home was not the smartest thing he’d done, Izuku felt. He was working on trying to mend his shaky relationship with his mother, and he couldn’t tell what would happen if Inko found out he’d brought back a girl from the streets into his room.

I’ll need to see about getting a place where I can work uninterrupted… 

He wound his arm twice, stretching his hand out before inhaling and exhaling. Three steps, and he reached for his bag, withdrawing from within it the books: Advanced Anatomy and Acupuncture of Acute Pains. The two books he kept aside, digging further within the bag for a smaller satchel.

The contents of the smaller satchel, he removed and arranged onto the floor. Corked translucent vials of red liquid arranged themselves on a vertical axis. Faded paper labels with TRG-42 attached to each vial.

“Alright, Izuku. You can do it."

The images began to appear before him. Snippets of his own personal hallucination, arranging and storing data from the memories and information he had acquired.

Trigger. Quirk Enhancing drug. Amplifies quirk factor by an estimated two to six times, thereby amplifying quirk ability. Variations and strains indicate the weakness or strength of the drug. Side effects of Trigger use include heightened aggression, irritability, and increased propensity for violence.

He closed his eyes. “What am I to do?"

Isolate the quirk-boosting effects of Trigger from the aggression-inducing effects. Create a version of Trigger that works without the disagreeable side effects.

He rubbed the side of his head. “Problems."

Modern methods have attempted and failed to distill a pure sample of Trigger. Speculations include that Trigger is made uniquely via the use of a quirk, and cannot be replicated through artificial or mechanical means.

Trigger is a drug designed specifically for humans with quirks, and thus, all forms of experimentation will require human test subjects.

His gaze flickered over to the unconscious girl. A murderer. She murdered someone. His mind argued. But it was out of her control. If her quirk was the one that caused her to become like this—

He idly slapped his cheeks. Focus, Midoriya! Focus! It's exactly this type of thing you want to stop! This type of thing you want to prevent from happening!

People who became criminals because their Quirks led them down the path of villainy. People who murdered others because their quirks compelled them to do so. The cycle would continue until it ended. Until he put an end to it. He wanted to help her, and he would, he would help her.

But first, she would have to help him.

She's a person! You can't experiment on people!

She's a murderer! She killed someone in cold blood! You’re already helping her by not turning her in! Using her as a test subject is the least she can do to make up for it!

But it's not her fault! Her quirk—

We know! That's why we need to do this, because we're doing it for her as well –

Are we?

Are we really doing this… for other people?

Izuku pressed his lips tightly together. He took a deep, long, quiet breath, inhaling until he felt his lungs too full with oxygen. 

At the end of the day, he'd covered up a murder.

He'd moved the body from the original location at Hirohito Street to another location entirely. He cleaned up the original crime scene, got rid of the man’s clothes, and defaced the man’s corpse to throw off the scent. Anyone who saw the body would not connect it to a crime of passion, but something closer to the activities of those in organized crime.

Pointing a finger at the Shie Hassaikai was dangerous, but, at the same time, Izuku didn’t believe anyone would connect it back to him. By all means and appearances, he was just a Middle Schooler. 

His right hand came up, and he flicked himself in the middle of his forehead.

Reduce Cortisol levels.

Increase Serotonin levels.

Cortisol was the hormone responsible for his stress. His anxiety over the decision. Serotonin was the happiness hormone. The one he needed to make his decision.

Relax.

Izuku took a long, silent breath.

What am I so worried about?

He laughed, his laughter echoing quietly in the room with cheer. Why was I agonizing over this? He hummed a jaunty tune. He hopped to his feet, stretching his arms and legs and taking an excellent breath of fresh air. He reached into his cupboard, checking his wristwatch for the time.

5:43 AM.

He moved over to the unconscious girl, picking her up and tossing her onto the bed. His eyes glanced over her unconscious form, a smile appearing on his face. Wow. She's pretty. When she was asleep, she was very pretty. Not as pretty as Saiko. He glanced over her body, fully etching her form to memory.

He did not know what the girl's quirk was. He knew it had to do with blood, but not much else. Testing Trigger on her would first require him to know exactly what her quirk did.

Izuku summoned his personal hallucinations. A whiteboard visible to him and only him appeared at the side, words appearing upon it with an equally imaginary black marker: Define purpose. Construct hypothesis. Test the hypothesis and collect data. Analyze data. Draw conclusions.

The first question he had was how Trigger boosted the innate Quirk Factors of different individuals. The quirk factor was a gene. If Trigger boosted the expression of the quirk gene itself beyond the regular capacity to which the individual could attain, did it not mean that the drug was capable of altering the genetic code of a person?

More than that, the human genetic code was far more complicated ever since the rise of quirks, as some individuals had completely different DNA structures from others, so much so that the classification of what it meant to have human DNA was in shambles. So, how then, did this one drug account for all the possible variations and then simply activate or bolster the quirk gene of different individuals when each individual's quirk gene varies so wildly from one another?

Midoriya felt the steam pouring out of his ears when his head snapped up. His eyes widened, slowly, and his breath hitched.

“Did she know?"

She knew. She had to have known. Saiko knew from the beginning. This was anything but an easy task. Simply understanding how Trigger did what it did would require extensive knowledge in quirk genomics, epigenetics, epidemiology, neuroscience, and pharmacogenomics.

A lot of big-sounding words and advanced concepts that a Middle Schooler like him would be hard pressed to master quickly.

“Months… years?"

For a normal person, decades of study would be required. Years of sweat, toil, and hardship needed to master the concepts. Years needed to access the academic knowledge and gather the understanding needed to begin to know where to even start looking for a solution.

She'd essentially tasked a first-year chemistry student with reverse-engineering methamphetamine using a crude sample and simultaneously removing the addictive element from it. Asking a high school biology student to perform a decompressive craniectomy after his first class.

He could feel his heart pounding faster and faster in his chest. His gaze landed upon the drugs, and then upon the sleeping murderer. The thumping of blood in his heart began to beat faster, and faster, and a sound unlike anything he'd heard followed from his lips.

Am I… laughing?

He clamped his hands over his mouth to stop the strange, unusual laugh. The effort was futile. Useless. His laughter continued, spurred on by adrenaline pumping into his system.

She doesn't believe I can do it.

Saiko was testing him. Telling him, in the most indirect way she could: this is out of the realm of your ability. Aim smaller.

His hands balled into a fist, and Izuku's entire body shuddered with a strange sensation he'd never felt before. A sensation he could not remember when he'd last felt before. He gnashed his teeth together to stop the sound that almost escaped his lips, to stop the fast beating in his chest and overwhelming flood of…

Dopamine? Adrenaline?

Izuku shuddered as he understood.

Excitement.

For the first time since he awoke his quirk, he was being challenged. He had a challenge presented before him. The dopamine that flooded his system was enough to leave him biting down on his hand to stop himself from laughing. Enough to squeeze his eyes shut to fully bathe in the wave upon wave of ineffable bliss.

Izuku sat on the floor, crossing his legs as he closed his eyes. His imagination worked on overdrive. The girl was before him, Saiko, her monocle shattering as she regarded him with admiration and respect. With envy and disbelief. The imaginary Saiko bowed, conceding her head to him, her loss. She would concede, to him, ultimately, that she underestimated him. Renege on her words, and offer her hand fully in partnership, and he—

You won't need her anymore.

The thought broke him from his imaginary world. His eyes snapped open as he stared, oddly, into the air.

“What?"

There was no one in the room but him and the unconscious girl. The thought had come from him. The thought had been his. He furrowed his brow, squeezing his eyes tight as he searched for the source of that thought. The origin of that stray, unusual thought.

You can make double her entire net worth in half a year. Triple, if you pushed yourself.

He shook his head. That couldn't be right—

“Of course it's right."

Another Midoriya sat across from him. A psychosomatic hallucination, born from within him. To him, the hallucination both felt and looked real. The second Midoriya had a blank, expressionless face.

“Saiko is smart, yes, but she does not understand people. She has her own goals to accomplish, but that weakness is going to end up stifling her. She does not understand illogical actions. She does not understand that a lack of good faith can have longer repercussions down the line."

Midoriya tilted his head. “Um… who are—"

“I'm just an audiovisual representation of your thoughts without the bullshit. The side of you that's inspired by Kacchan's frank bluntness, but never manages to embrace it."

“Oh," Midoriya said. “That's nice."

“Are you a perfect human?"

Izuku frowned. “What?"

“We both know you heard me. But since redundancy is in session, I'll ask again, are you, Midoriya Izuku, a perfect person? A paragon of human virtues and righteousness?"

“I… strive to be?"

His doppelganger nodded. “So it stands to reason, if you are not yet perfect, you are also capable of falling into the pitfalls of non-perfect beings. It stands to reason that you are equally capable of greed, pettiness, selfishness, and anger?"

He couldn't deny the logic.

“So…" he scratched his head. “After I complete Saiko's task, I'll refuse her help… out of pettiness?"

“You want her to realize that she missed a huge opportunity. You want her to realize that her lack of faith in you was a mistake. You want her to learn that lesson and strive to do anything to correct her error. Anything."

“I'm not — I'm not a petty person. Why would I ever want any of that?"

"Because you want her to want you."

His copy's eyes shone.

“The same way you want her."

Midoriya said nothing.

“You don't believe me?" The doppelganger raised his hands, images of Kacchan appearing on screens beside him. “You get satisfaction out of beating Kacchan. Only a year back, you could never dream of it. But now? Now he can't touch you even if he tries his hardest. You've never focused on it, but at the back of your mind, it's always there, that sense of satisfaction, that increased sense of self-worth from knowing how much you've changed from being Deku. Knowing how much better than him you are now."

“That's not—"

“You've never let him win," his clone said. “Don't lie. You know you can let him win and make it appear as if he won on his own merit. Precision allows us that. If we truly wanted to, we could fake it so convincingly that Kacchan would never have known that we let him win on purpose. You considered it once, but disregarded it. The truth is, Midoriya Izuku has spent his entire life chasing after and attempting to be like a boy who never wants to lose."

The clone's hair morphed until it was blonde.

“Did you think that once you finally caught up to him, you would ever let him regain his place?"

“I just… don't like to lose."

“You've phrased it wrong," He corrected. “You like to win."

He sighed, groaning as he rubbed his hands down his face.

“Talking to myself like this can't be healthy."

His doppelganger's hair returned to its regular green luster.

“Should have thought about that before using Precision to enhance your brain," his doppelganger pointed slowly to his skull. “You have a lot of hang-ups here you need to deal with. For starters, you've been suffering from an overwhelming lack of self-conceptualization."

“Is that bad?"

“You don't understand yourself fully. You don't know what you want, or why you want it."

He sat up straight. “I want to make the world a better place."

“Why?"

“Because it's the right thing to—"

“Bzzzt," his clone called. “Wrong answer. Try again."

He frowned. “Because I don't like seeing people suffer because of their quirks."

"Bzzzt. Wrong again. One more attempt," his copy rose a finger. “Here's a hint. You've spent your entire life being told by everyone in the world that you weren't needed. That you were useless. Your own mother felt so bad about your lack of a quirk that every time she looked at you, she fought down the urge to start weeping. Your entire life was spent in stubborn pursuit of a dream you were never sure you could attain, and your only friend was a bully who often told you to go kill yourself. So, what is the most likely reason this previously sad, lonely, bullied, socially stunted boy would decide to make the world a better place?"

“I…"

Memories of his past began to play all around him. The videos of Kacchan kicking him and putting him down when he was littler. He cringed at them, turning aside to more videos, of his mother's sad smile, of the teacher's ignoring his hands waved in class, of a class of students, laughing as he declared his dream to the world.

I wanna be a hero!

The videos grew in number, and became louder and louder and all the memories of his past failures came to him. Memories of him drinking scalding tea to test if he had a fire-breathing quirk, of straining his right arm as he stood still for several hours, just to see if he could make objects float to him. Of the many, many, many failures that came—

And then the memory of the day he activated his quirk. The knife in his hand. He remembered reading about the most precise way to cut. Not to cut horizontally, across the wrist, but vertically, all the way down.

He remembered lying in the bathtub filled with water. His clothes drenched, his body shaking as he exposed his wrist.

His hands had trembled. They shook. He lacked the will to go through with it. He had cursed himself. Swore at himself. Mocked himself. He hated himself. In the end, he clambered out of the tub, wet and covered with the stink of defeat. 

He slipped on his way to return the knife to the kitchen. Then came those seconds, where the knife soared in the air, and descended, edge first, directly toward the center of his forehead.

Then, two fingers, moving on pure instinct, caught it a millimeter from impact.

And his mother opened the bathroom door.

“…I hate it."

His clone was silent.

“You hate…?"

“I hate Quirks."

If there were no Quirks from the get-go, he would have had a different childhood. There would be no villains, no heroes. He would not have idolized All Might so much, so much that the thought of never being able to be like his idol would not have driven him to despair. Wouldn't have driven his mother to such sadness. Wouldn't have driven a wedge between him and Kacchan. Wouldn't have caused him to go to such great lengths, all just to prove himself worthy of admiration, love, and affection.

His gaze turned to the girl on the bed. If there were no quirks, perhaps she would have had a different life as well? Would she be happy, living with her family, instead of here, unconscious on a stranger's bed? Would she ever have murdered someone in cold blood and licked her lips as their blood dripped down her chin?

Someone like Matsuda would be able to live a life where he didn't have to worry about one day sexually harassing someone, all because of his quirk.

Someone like Suzume wouldn't have to feel the discomfort of other people's emotions just by being next to them.

“I really… wish… quirks didn't exist. Then maybe… maybe…"

Everyone could be much happier.

His hallucination smiled. It was odd, seeing the smile coming from a mirror image of himself. Odder still, seeing himself in full three-dimensions, and seeing himself stand, wiping off equally hallucinatory dust.

“I'll ask again, Izuku… what do you want?"

What did he want?

“I want to end the era of Quirks."

His hallucination chuckled. “There we go," The mirage faded. “Let's get to work, Midoriya Izuku."

Chapter Text

An empty aluminum can landed in the trash, letting out the dull ring of metal colliding with plastic. “I remember."

“How was it?" 

The girl beside him was tittering with enough excitement to send a flutter of discomfort down his stomach. The event hadn't started, and everyone was looking to pass the time. As always, the easiest ice-breaker was Quirks. Their functions, their abilities, and their origins. Interesting stories behind them, funny, relatable moments growing up, accidents, and mishaps. You were popular if you had a powerful quirk. Popular if you had a risqué quirk. Popular if you had a quirk that was simply aesthetically pleasing to the eyes or senses.

However, most of the people gathered here had done so for the very reason that they didn’t have Quirks that made them popular. So instead of a question of whose ability was the best or coolest, it became a competition of whose ability sucked the most, and who had the worst sob story.

People often sought to find someone more pitiable than themselves, so they could feel better about their own lamentable lives and circumstances.

“Fine," the word slipped from his lips. 

The excitement died from her brown eyes as he provided a simple, noncommittal, one-word answer to her question.

"Just fine?"

His mind made a scathing response, but his lips never had the chance. Another girl approached, identical to the disappointed one. A twin sister. 

“Ignore her," the objectively smarter twin said.

"Nee-san, come on, he’s—"

"One more word and I'm shaving our heads."

“Y-you wouldn't dare!"

“Keep talking, and those dreams of wild hair-pulling flings you keep having are going to remain just that."

The first girl groaned. “Ugh. I hate you." She stuck her tongue out. "Spoilsport."

The first girl wandered off, mingling with individuals in the crowd. She approached another boy, around his age. Awkwardly talking to a hamster on his shoulder, huddled quietly, he jumped out of his skin once the annoying girl snuck up on him. A small swarm of insects arrived with astounding speed, forming a protective barrier.

“That dolt…” the girl in front of him sighed. “Sorry about my sister. She's…" She searched for a word that would properly encapsulate all she wanted to say. She didn't succeed.

He tilted his head, slowly, in understanding. He lifted his brow, a second later, when the girl yelped and cursed under her breath. A small trail of marks appeared on her arm. Insect bites, he observed. Her twin had been the one bitten. On her, there were no insects in sight. 

He locked his gaze with her for a few seconds, and she caught it.

“Oh, this?" An awkward laugh escaped from her lips. “Don't worry, I'm used to it." She cleared her throat. “At least we aren't joined at the hip y'know? I heard it's a thing. Twins born with the same body. Conjoined twins, I think?" She shuddered. "Now that would be the real nightmare. As it is, we can still have our separate lives and do what we want. It’s just… things might get bad once we’re older, and plan to marry and… well… do things.”

She winked. “You know. Fun things."

She was trying to flirt with him, just as her sister had been not too long ago. Except, she was far less subtle about it. He wondered if that was also a result of their Quirk. If one twin felt every sensation the other one did, did that mean their preferences and proclivities were identical as well?

He let out a small, noncommittal snort.

“Wow, that’s way too much information,” she said dryly. “Slow down, lover boy, I think we’re moving too fast."

“What do you want?"

She crossed her arms. "Your name, for starters."

“You’re bothering me."

She recoiled. “Wow. I'm just asking for your name. Sour much?"

He stared at her for a few seconds. “Shinso," he said. "Shinso Hitoshi."

The recognition flashed in her eyes. She tried to hide it, just as she failed to hide the momentary flash of terror that followed. Her shoulders grew tense.

“S—see, that wasn't so hard?" She said, smiling, yet, at the same time, her feet had turned away from him, and her body language was primed to exit the conversation. “I—I didn’t think I would meet the infamous ‘Emperor of Nabu Middle School.'"

As it was, as it always had been, the fairer sex feared him more than those of his gender. When boys heard of him, they saw a challenge. They wanted to prove themselves. They wanted to be the ones to say ‘Hah! My willpower is amazing!’

When they failed, as they ultimately would, they would be sour about it and bitter about it, and the reality of their helplessness to resist would sink in. Once they had verified he could deprive them of their free will, that was when the fear came, that was when the discomfort and terror arrived.

With girls, it was the opposite. A consequence of the difference in gender realities. What they feared was deeper and more primal. His unwillingness to entertain the girl and her twin wasn’t because he did not wish to be social, but because he was aware there was no point in being social. As soon as a girl knew what his quirk was, she stopped talking to him.

After all, why tempt fate?

The girl's gaze darted to him, and then back to her sister. The tiny hamster on the boy with the rock-head gnawed on her sister's index finger, and he watched as an identical wound appeared on that of the girl. She gritted her teeth, giving him a faint, clearly displeased smile.

She sucked on her bleeding finger. “Sorry, I need to stop my sister from doing… stupid things."

The excuse was valid, but at the same time, there was a relief in her shoulders as she walked away. She punched her sister in the arm. Both girls flinched simultaneously. A small, odd bickering session of pinches and hard pats ensued, which ended abruptly as soon as one girl slapped the chest of the other. Then, they stalked off in the same direction immediately after, clutching their arms around their chests, and continuing to bicker.

He paid it no heed and thought about the question the younger of the twins had asked him.

“Do you remember when you first activated your quirk?"

As if he could forget.

The moment was burned into the back of his memory with laser-like precision. Whenever he closed his eyes, his mind could replay the imprint of that moment. Of those uncertain, dangerous few seconds.

He remembered the hospital, the Doctor's room, the nauseating stench of artificial cleanliness and bleach. The sterile air and silent, quiet tension.

“T-that — that can't be right," his mother had said. She clutched her purse, both hands shaking, as her eyes darted from his father to the doctor. “That — that can't be right at all. I'm – I – I – no, I don't believe it. His Quirk lets him… do… what? But… Quirks are hereditary, aren’t they? Neither of us…"

She'd stammered, repeating over her words. His father had placed his hands into a steeple. He was silent. Unnervingly, frighteningly silent.

The Doctor adjusted his round-brimmed spectacles, lightly brushing aside his comical mustache on his portly figure. “Surely you must have noticed something before now? Incidents that seemed to resolve themselves easily? Or perhaps certain requests being accepted more likely than not?"

“I—" his mother had licked her lips. “I assumed — I mean — I — I was always fairly attractive growing up – so – so I always just assumed—”

“Maruta-sensei," his father's voice had gone cold. “Are you certain of what you're saying?"

He remembered how the doctor had adjusted his spectacles with a single push of his index finger. “Absolutely."

“Honey, listen – believe me. I didn't know. I — I swear I didn't know!"

“Nine years," his father laughed. “For nine years. Since we met in High School. I always wondered… why I could never say no to you. Why I could never refuse you."

He remembered his mother's voice breaking. “I swear I didn't know—"

He remembered his father snarling. “How can you not fucking know you have a quirk?!"

It was the first time he'd heard Shinso Kagayaki swear. The first time his father rose to his feet, his eyes brimming with the flames of hatred. Love, easily, so ever easily, morphed into utter detestation.

It wasn't his fault. Nor was it his mother's fault. That lying bitch or that manipulative slut as were the names that his father had deemed her over the years. Somehow, his father failed to believe that his mother never knew about her quirk. Suggestion, the Doctor had termed it. It wasn't as overt as his own. A part of him remembered her innocent plea, the eyes that looked up at him, begging for support. Then, he'd heard her words, softly, slithering into his mind.

Believe me. Please.

Believe me.

Believe me.

"Did you know?"

It was a simple question. One question. One moment. One second. His mother's eyes changed. His father's breath stilled. The doctor twirled his mustache with above-average professional disinterest. The seconds that followed that single question he'd uttered had rippled across his life far faster and far more chaotically than he'd anticipated.

She never answered. At the time, his quirk couldn't do such a thing. She hadn't known that, then. She hadn’t known he couldn't make a person answer questions. He wondered if things would have gone differently had she known that fact. Had she not tried so desperately to avoid answering those three words. 

"Hallo, everyone!"

Two words uttered from the center stage broke him from his reverie. The lights in the hall finally flickered on, one by one, one after the other. The stage was elevated, and atop it, stood a weird, morphing wisp of purple-darkness in the form of a person. Dressed in an elegant suit, his gloved hands tapped and adjusted the microphone for the person who stood beside him, looking even far stranger than the man who was a purple wisp.

The man had an assortment of hands on his face and body. The hands obscured his face, leaving only shaggy grayish-blue hair visible. His lanky form leaned back casually against a metal chair. With long, lazy motions, the man moved forward, tapping the microphone.

“Harro, ah-vrey-wun," he said again, in rough, broken English. “Ne, ne, Kurogiri, can they hear me? Is this mic broken?"

The wispy shadow of a man, Kurogiri, took what seemed to be a bow. “I believe they can all hear you, Shigaraki-sama."

“Arru Raito!" he repeated, smacking his hands together. “Welcome!" the man known as Shigaraki announced. “I'm very, very happy that all of you here decided to accept my invitation. I knew the forum was large, but I didn't expect this many people!" 

He gave a large, hammy laugh. “See, see Kurogiri? The internet has its uses! I told you they'd show up. I told you."

“You said there'd be free food and drinks!" A girl shouted.

Shigaraki snapped his fingers. “That's right! Food and drinks!" He turned to the purple haze. “Oi! Kurogiri? Where are the refreshments?"

Thick, purple smoke emerged from different corners of the room. Tables appeared, stacked to the brim with boxes of pizza, fries, soda, and other western junk food. Shinso took note of the red cups that appeared to be labeled with paper tape and scrawled handwriting in English, ‘BOOZE'.

“Now we're talking!"

“Awesome!"

Several people made their way to the food stands with more quickness than Shinso had ever seen. Within minutes, almost everyone was chewing on something, had something in their hands or in their mouths, and the air in the room somehow lightened.

Shinso wasn't sure if it was the introduction of the free food. He wasn't sure if it was the seemingly amicable-sounding Shigaraki or the even further mysterious Kurogiri beside him. His eyes glanced to the room, and the change in atmosphere, and he forced himself to take deep, sharp breaths.

"Are you in control?"

The default question triggered his Quirk. He checked. He needed to know. He found himself still in control. He felt no outside influences slamming into his mind. He felt nothing out of the ordinary that would cause him to be on guard. He, like everyone else, was here because—

Because…

An uncomfortable sensation knotted in his stomach.

Why am I here?

The uncomfortable sensation became worse as another question popped into his mind.

How did I get here?

An invitation. He'd been invited. How…? Online? Yes. Online. One of the forums he frequented. An online forum that was often labeled as ‘toxic,' ‘hateful,' and ‘discriminatory.' It'd been taken down time and again, but kept resurfacing under different names. First it was I-hate-quirks-dot-com, then it was quirk-haters-anonymous-dot-com, then fuck-quirkies-dot-co-dot-jp.

There was a thread posted by a user called HelpingHands. A long narration about the consequences of forcing expectations of quirks on people. A heated rant from a person who wanted to be a hero but failed because of his quirk. Another heated, arguably toxic flood of replies from people who had terrible or outright villainous quirks, complaining about how much they hated others born better than them. There was another thread of a person complaining that he was laid off from his job because someone else with a better quirk arrived and could do the work cheaper and five times as fast.

He remembered commenting on the thread. Complaining, among the multitudes, about his own problems.

Then he remembered the strange link posted by HelpingHands. The question asked if they were willing to do what it takes to change things. Asking if they were sick of things.

He remembered clicking on the invite. Clicking on the invite. The invite had been a link. The next thing he remembered after that was tossing aside his drink in a waste bin, in a large hall filled with different people.

He broke out of his mental hold, eyes immediately snapping wide as they shot desperately around the room. His lips opened to speak, but he stopped immediately when he felt a presence behind him.

“I would kindly advise you to refrain from taking any unnecessary actions," the man, whom he believed was called Kurogiri, landed a gloved hand on his shoulder. “I am aware of how your quirk works, Shinso-san. And do believe I can teleport you a hundred thousand feet over the Pacific sooner than you can utter a single word."

He swallowed the saliva slowly budding in his throat.

“Truly, you are a rather paranoid child," Kurogiri said, with a hint of pity. “I suppose it is understandable, considering your family background."

Shinso flinched. He knows?

“I almost marvel, to think, what sort of individual you would be had you grown up with ambitionless parents," Kurogiri shook his head. “But then again, such a thing was never possible. Adults have power over children, and to be an adult with power over a child with the power to command other adults? Unless your parents were saints, unless they were Buddhas who transcended mortal concerns, there was only ever going to be one outcome as soon as your Quirk was discovered."

A soft sigh escaped the man's lips. “In the end, what are children, if not proof of one's selfish desire?"

Kurogiri moved in front of him. Shinso noticed, for the first time, how tall the man was. His eyes were nothing more than two yellow floating flames within the purple haze that obscured his face, yet there was a strange, rich amount of emotion portrayed through those eyes.

“Whether it is to alleviate loneliness, provide purpose and meaning, or to seek immortality through genetic transcendence… Everyone in this room only exists because someone else was selfish. No one brings a child into this world for its own sake."

He didn't trust himself to speak. Didn't trust any words to come out of his mouth. He did not doubt the man's speed. Did not doubt that he would be elsewhere, within seconds, the moment he tried to use his Quirk.

“Kuurrrooogiiiirrrrri!" Shigaraki's cry cut across the room. "We need to get started!"

The strange, wispy shadow of a man rose to full height before casually adjusting his necktie. “Of course, Shigaraki-sama." A final gaze struck Shinso. “I was just making sure there would be no distractions."

Shinso felt the sweat begin to drip from his brow. He understood, for a few seconds, that he was out of his league. Tremendously, significantly, and dangerously, out of his league.

“So," the man known as Shigaraki spoke up. “Who here loves videogames?"

Several hands, not occupied with food or drink, went up. Shigaraki clapped his hands. “Sweet! I'm a Gamer myself. HelpingHandsForAll is my handle. Feel free to add me up, and we’ll play Smash," he cleared his throat. “One of my favorite genres is RPGs. Roleplaying Games. I’ve always loved RPGs. Epic music. Hundreds of hours of lore. Character customization screens that let me make a looksmaxxed gigachad or the lovechild of Shrekella and The Thing. And the grind, the hours of grind is just so damned rewarding."

Shigaraki hopped to his feet. “But!"

The strange, hippy-looking hand-masked man began to scratch his neck.

“One thing I hate, one thing I really hate, is how the heroes always win."

There were some chuckles and murmurs in the crowd.

“Come on, we all know the villains are cooler, right?" Shigaraki said. “They mew. They sigma. They’ve got aura!” 

Shigaraki pointed at the audience, and more laughs followed. 

“Think of their origins! Dying of an incurable disease and can’t pay medical bills? Valid! Survived a mass genocide of your people, and want to stop a repeat of it? Valid! The order of peace-loving space-cops let your mom live as a slave even though they could have saved her? Valid! Valid reasons to crash out! Yet they still get beaten by some goody-two-shoes who had everything from wise old mentors to ancient prophecies playing sugar-mommy for them from the get-go!"

Shigaraki's voice grew louder. “But who supports the villains?! Where the hell are the evil old sages giving advice to the guy who wants to blow up the planet? Where’s the Tramp of the Lake offering up a cursed sword of evil that deals double damage when wielded by those with hearts of darkness? Where are the prophecies that herald the bringers of the end of days and the deus ex machina that shows up at the moment when they're about to be killed?"

"Excuse me," someone spoke up, a boy with a black, bird-like head. “I thought this meeting was about quirks? How does this have anything to do with most of us having negative-looking quirks or quirks we don't want?"

Shigaraki let out a laugh. “Don't tell me you don't see it, kid?" Shigaraki's hands spread outwards. “We’re the villains."

The murmurs grew exponentially, several of which were disgruntled.

“What the hell?"

“That's not funny."

“We're not villains!"

Shigaraki rose straight. His presence seemed to change. He towered over the room. So much that Kurogiri appeared like a backdrop beside him, despite the shadow-butler being physically taller.

“Stop me if any of this is incorrect," Shigaraki began. “From the start, you wanted to be a hero," he said. “You looked up to one hero or another, applied to a Hero School, and didn’t make the cut. You tried hard, you sweat, and bled, and cried, but, at the end, some guy in spandex said: ‘No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you are not good enough.’"

Shinso's lips dried as he saw several people turn their gazes downwards.

“Or maybe, all you ever wanted was to live a normal life,” Shigaraki continued. “Nothing’s wrong with just cruising by as a normie. But in class, your teacher’s too busy fawning over Biggus Dickus and Biggus Tittus with their quirks that make them A-Grade hero-material. The girl you like is blowing up his phone daily while she leaves your messages on ‘seen.’ The boy you like is buying her bathwater, but he touched your sweat once and said ‘ew.’ Doesn’t matter if he comes late to class, or if she shirks her homework, or if he’s rude or she’s a complete bitch. They’ve got a bright future ahead of them. Can’t you see? A future so bright, they deserve special privileges! So much for fairness! Hey! Society! A little bit of equality! Is that too much to ask? Is it too much?"

More people looked away, looking down, biting their lips, balling their fists, and cursing.

“Or maybe you're just tired of people who know your quirk crossing the other side of the street once they see you coming. Tired of being looked at like you’re the Big Bad Wolf just waiting to pounce on Little Red and her three little piggies. You’re not a bad guy, you tell them. Your quirk might be perfect for doing bad things, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, you insist. The fat good it does you. They suspect you. They avoid you. They fear you. They’re waiting, just waiting, for you to do something that proves them right, that proves, all along, you’re exactly the monster they thought you were.”

Shinso’s chest grew tight. His lips went dry. A lump formed in the back of his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl, one of the twins, shoot a guilty glance towards him before turning away.

“Or maybe you're someone who struck out entirely. Now, your first name is ‘show’ and your second name is ‘freak.’ Your quirk makes you different. The light dies in people's eyes once they see you, realize how lucky they were on the gene gacha. So you hate your quirk. You hate yourself. Worst of all, you  hate this world that determines your value on something decided before you were born and something you can't change."

Silence. Profound silence.

“Disadvantaged! Frustrated! Unfulfilled! Misunderstood! Mislabeled!"

For the first time, they were able to see Shigaraki's twisted smile.

“Like the villains."

Shinso gritted his teeth. “Heroes—" 

There was a blur of black. A blur so fast he barely noticed it.

“Let him speak, Kurogiri."

“Shigaraki, this boy—"

“I said.” Shigaraki frowned. “Let. Him. Speak."

The blur, he realized, was the world. He stood center stage. Stood in front of the man known as Shigaraki. His heart was beating, burning fast in his chest.

"Heroes…” His heart was racing. “Heroes also start, disadvantaged, frustrated, and unfulfilled." The words came out all at once. “There's no rule that says it only applies to villains."

Shigaraki remained silent. His right hand scratched at his neck. It itched, continuously, the only sound making its way across the entire room. “Heroes also start that way, you say?" A sound like a laugh emerged from his lips.

“You’re saying the heroes start with nerfs? No, no, no. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong! Got any examples? Huh? Examples?"

Shinso opened his mouth, but he found no words forthcoming.

“Perhaps the No. 3 Hero Hawks? Born with a versatile quirk that makes people think he’s a god-descended Angel. Nope, he's out. Maybe, maybe the No. 2 Hero, Endeavor?" Shigaraki laughed. "He's known as one of the strongest flame quirk users. Have you seen the man? Built as a truck, and can create fire so hot it melts steel in seconds. Where was his nerf? So, maybe, maybe, you're thinking about the No. 1 Hero, All Might?"

Mumbles traveled amidst the crowd. No one, in their right mind, would say or believe that All Might, of all people, fit the criteria.

Shigaraki turned to the hall.

“Think of your favorite stories and heroes in them! Maybe prophecy announced their forthcoming, maybe they came from families with good genes and bloodlines with deep histories, maybe their parents were rich or powerful, or maybe they were created to combat evil! It doesn’t matter. In the end, the heroes are all Chosen Ones.”

The man turned back to him. “There are no heroes — not one, who arose from absolutely nothing. Know why? Cause not everyone can be a hero."

Shigaraki turned back, once more to the room. “But anyone can be a villain."

“Why would anyone want to be a villain?" a girl shouted from the back.

At those words, Shigaraki snapped his fingers.

“Because it pays."

More purple portals opened from the ceiling. Money, thousands upon thousands of yen, flooded into the room.

“Because it's fun."

Toys. Games. Consoles. Jewelry. Gadgets. Wristwatches. More and more luxury items descended, and the room dissolved into chaos as people began to rush to grab item after item.

“Because you can do whatever you want."

He snapped his fingers once more, and another portal appeared, this one sporting a large, printed banner with words emblazoned:

The League of Villains

Membership Now Open!

Become a Professional Villain (Pro-Villain) Today!

“Shigaraki-sama… You still printed out that banner."

“We both know it'll work out for the best, Kurogiri."

Shinso wasn't sure what to say when he saw the rest of the words on the Banner.

THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS

Membership Benefits Outline

[Level 8+] Benefits Include:

— Black Membership Card

— Tax-Free Weekly “Royalties"

— Quirk Training and Optimization

— Quirk Removal/Bestowal

— Underworld Connections

— Full Medical Insurance

— Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card

[Level 5+] Benefits Include:

— Red Membership Card

— Tax-Free Monthly "Royalties"

— Quirk Counselling and Guidance

—  Public Record Erasure/Cleansing

— Entrance Exams Cheat Slips

[Level 3+]  Benefits Include:

— White Membership Card

— Tax-Free Yearly “Royalties"

— Quirk Problem Support

— “I Joined the V-League and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" Paraphernalia

— Untraceable Cell

Rounds of laughter made their way through the hall. 

“They're joking!"

“Are these guys really villains?"

“As if! No real villains would ever do something like this!"

“Hey, wait, tell me more about those Entrance Exams Cheat slips!"

“Can you really remove people's quirks? Is – is that possible?"

“There's no way it's possible! This whole thing is a scam!"

No one was taking it seriously. No one could take it seriously. Sated with food, hands gripping money, gadgets, and newfound pleasures, no one was asking the real hard questions. No one questioned the sheer lethality of the air that both Shigaraki and Kurogiri carried themselves with. No one had felt the same uneasy pressure as he had when standing directly in front of the man.

It was almost as if Shigaraki wanted them not to believe him.

“With the White Membership Card,” he announced. “You'll be able to order around any local thugs and mobs you see to do minor things like scare someone off, help you with groceries, yadda yadda…"

“With the Red Membership Card, you can do the above plus order gangsters and hoodlums to attack or mug people you don't like, but nothing too extreme. That’s above your subscription plan."

“With the Black Membership Card, though, you can go wild. Let loose the murderhobo in your heart. You can ask them to do anything you want. Murder, arson, kidnapping and even littering, you sickos. Go nuts!"

"There's no way that's possible."

"I told you, he's messing with us. This whole thing is probably some really elaborate prank."

“I'll grant you all one White Membership Card to use as you wish for the next twenty-four hours."

“To increase your Membership Level, you'll have to complete certain missions and tasks for the League, all of which will be delivered via untraceable cells…"

“Alternatively, recruiting more members will earn you more EXP so you can Level faster, and you gain more EXP every time your recruits go up in rank and recruit their own recruits…"

“Finally, and most importantly…” Shiragaki paused. “Kurogiri knows where every single one of you lives. Informing any Pro-Heroes or cops of anything that happened here will only end with you being dumped on some abandoned island to starve to death."

That was the one that stuck with people. The one that began to hint that maybe, just maybe, they weren't being pranked.

“Well," Shigaraki yawned. “My stamina bar is depleted. Thank you all for coming, and I hope you all choose to enjoy being in the Villain's party. If you have any questions, find me online. HelpingHands-senpai is always there to lend a helping hand."

Shigaraki, for the final time, clapped his hands. “Goodnight."

Shinso didn't know it then. He didn't think about it then, nor would he think about it, hours later, when he'd wake up in his room, on his bed, the entire events of the strange night being somewhat wispy in his memory. He would only find himself thinking about it once more when he would find a white aluminum card on his bedroom table, with the words "L-O-V" written on top.

He would find himself realizing that there was a villain out there, with the ability to open portals to seemingly any location in the world.

And that man knew where he lived

A Precise Note

“…why?"

“What now, Kurogiri?"

“You went ahead with that ridiculous plan, even after he said—"

“Sensei already has his cult group. Why does he care if I make my own?"

“The methods will garner attention."

“It doesn’t matter. If it fails, I'll try another method. And another, and another."

“We could have simply recruited normally."

“There's no point in recruiting mobs, Kurogiri. Mobs always get stomped by any halfway decent hero. The trick is to recruit potential heroes. Good guys falling to the darkness. Or innocent bystanders who are way in over their heads. That way, they're like essential NPCs. And heroes can't kill essential NPCs, no matter how much they want to."

“…"

"Play some videogames, Kurogiri. You'll learn something."

A Precise Note

The morning did not go as she pleased. Her coffee had been several degrees colder than she requested. One of the maids had slipped from the staircase and needed medical attention. Her chauffeur possessed unresolved feelings for the maid and had been too distracted to drive her efficiently.

She arrived late. Professor Harikawa used the opportunity to land a verbal slight. Her coursemates reveled quietly in the man's remarks. Their layers of self-doubt and jealousy manifested more unpleasantly in their inaudible gratification.

Fifteen years old and completing a Doctorate was enough to shatter no small number of egos of a lot of so-called high-minded individuals. She was female, as well, another strike against her record. A lot of Professors tied their intelligence to their ego and tied their accomplishments to their self-worth. She appeared, existed before them, a mockery of their decades of study and dedication. She was a permanent reminder that there was always someone better.

"Do you understand why you are here, Intelli-san?" Professor Miyazaki's hands were steepled. Her essay lay underneath. "Do you know why I've called you to my office?"

Professor Miyazaki was one of her favorites. Perhaps only because he did not view things the way the rest of them did. His ego was tied to something else. Her eyes landed on his desk, the picture of the man in a Hawaiian shirt and straw hat, his arms around a younger woman in a sundress, and a smaller, younger girl in-between them.

Young enough to be his daughter, and the child, younger still to be his grandchild. She knew it was not the case. The matching rings on his finger and hers explained the relationship.

"I assume it has something to do with my paper."

"It has everything to do with your paper," Raising the papers, he patted it with the back of his palm. "What is the meaning of this, Intelli-san?"

Her lips quirked. Her eyes stared idly at the papers. Red ink dotted them. Circles upon circles. "You'll have to be more specific, Professor."

Professor Miyazaki placed the papers back on the table. "The task was to discuss the ethicality of Quirk Marriages and highlight the potential long-term consequences on society."

"I know what the task was, Professor."

"Then tell me why," Professor Miyazaki raised his voice. “You submitted a paper arguing in favor of Quirk Eugenics?"

She felt her lips thin at the professor's tone. “I would kindly ask you to refrain from increasing your voice around me, Professor."

Professor Miyazaki, to his credit, took heed to her warning. He took a minute to collect himself, reaching for a cigarette, inhaling deeply, and exhaling loudly. “Explain yourself."

Explain yourself. 

How many times had she heard those words? Those instructions?

Explain this.

I don't understand this.

Can you tell me how this works?

How did you figure this out?

Her entire life was an agonizing task of rendering explanation upon explanation. It started with her parents, her mother and father, whom she’d first seen as holders of ultimate wisdom. They had encouraged her curiosity and inquisitiveness as a child, entertaining questions like why the sky was blue, why clouds floated in the air, why plants were green, and why the earth was brown. Yet as her knowledge grew and her intellect sharpened, and her questions went from basic curiosity to complex and abstract, she found them both lacking in answers, and saw how swiftly they would attempt to mask how little it was they truly knew. 

Soon, they were the ones asking her questions about things they did not know. Soon, she was the one tasked with explaining what appeared at first glance to be obvious. She was the one breaking down concepts that she understood at a glance, chewing them, swallowing, and regurgitating them as digestible material for others like a bird feeding young, helpless hatchlings.

“Eugenics is a set of beliefs and practices that aim to improve the genetic quality of a human population, typically excluding people and groups judged to be inferior, and promoting those judged to be superior."

"I know what Eugenics is, Intelli-san," Professor Miyazaki said calmly.

“Then," she began. “You should understand that Quirk Marriages are in line with that belief. Two individuals marry with the intention of producing offspring born with a mix of their favorable traits, or in this case, Quirk. This increases the genetic quality of that offspring, who can then engage in another Quirk Marriage, and further amplify their genetic quality further."

The Professor nodded, “Go on."

He was listening. He was truly listening. Saiko realized she may have underestimated her Professor.

“If you'd read my essay with an open mind," she said, “You would have seen where I advocated for the promotion of positive eugenic policies. The eugenics of the past was based on pseudoscientific, racist, and classist ideologies. However, Quirks are not pseudoscientific. A person whose ability allows them to manipulate gravity and grants them immunity to the harms of the vacuum of space is by all definitions, genetically superior to a person whose ability is to regurgitate feces.”

The Professor’s expression twisted. Her example was crude, but it was succinct enough to deliver her point.

“Whether we like it or not, Professor, the moment the era of Quirks began, whatever illusions we had about all men being equal at birth were shattered. There is a greater, larger, and more blatant genetic lottery played at birth. Some, like myself, are privileged to be born with advantageous quirks, but others are not.”

She lifted a finger.

“Case Exhibit A, Nevermore, whose ability allowed him to view birds as living sentient beings,” she lifted another. “Case Exhibit B, the Everlasting Naraka, a Monk in Tibet whose quirk is to experience the pain of every dying creature within a five-mile radius,” she lifted a third. “Case Exhibit C, Lot’s Wife. A little girl born in Jerusalem, whose touch turned all organic matter to salt.”

She put down all three fingers.

“These aren't ‘quirks.' They are curses. Is there truly anything wrong about protecting the gene pool from guaranteed, inescapable suffering?”

“Life itself has inherent value, independent of its utility or its perceived quality—” The Professor began, before he paused. “No, I see that attempting such an argument will get me nowhere with you. As you seem to speak only the language of cold efficiency, then, I will speak from a utilitarian standpoint. Even the lives of those who are ‘cursed’ as you put it, provide value to us all.”

Saiko raised her brow. “I fail to see how.”

Professor Miyazaki adjusted his glasses, “Nevermore’s existence led to public outcry and a crackdown on inhumane poultry farms, prompting the government to launch the Compassion For Birds Initiative, which has spread beyond mere poultry and reduced the risks of endangerment for all birds in Japan. The Monk you speak of was interviewed by various Pain Scientists, and his contributions and accounts of feeling varying degrees of pain and death led to the creation of the Naraka Pain Scale, which has been used to aid the diagnosis of those suffering from everything from kidney stones to endometriosis.”

“Those who live cursed lives see the world in methods and manners the average person cannot, and they can provide insights and knowledge that no one else can. In attempting to aid them, to help them, we solve problems we would have otherwise turned a blind eye to, or problems whose existence we were never aware of.”

The Professor tapped his desk. 

“The value that a person can contribute to this world is not negated, nor is it determined purely by the excellence of their Quirk. Rather, it is in our struggle with mediocrity and inferiority that we find the ways to advance human ingenuity.”

Saiko’s lips opened, then she closed them. Humans were never the fastest, strongest, or most agile animal. It was due to the very limitations in speed and strength and agility that humans necessitated the use and invention of tools. If humans had the strength of tigers, the speed of cheetahs, and never sought to solve problems by sharpening sticks and stones and cooking meals with fire—

She did not even wish to think of it.

“I — that —” Saiko found herself unexpectedly flustered. “Even if you make logical reasons to not outright prevent the proliferation of unwanted genes and bad quirks, there is no reason not to support my suggestion to advance Quirk Singularity Theory.”

She cleared her throat. “A society of individuals with highly complementary and advantageous quirks could be ‘incentivized' to reproduce over those without. Individuals with unique genetic compositions that make them immune to diseases, viruses, or those with increased longevity and greater neuroplasticity could be bred with others of equally advantageous genes. I fail to see the problem with that.” 

“Bred?”

“Surely you’re not about to get worked up over semantics, Professor,” Saiko sighed. “What are Quirk Marriages if not selective breeding? For countless generations, humans have used artificial selection to develop new organisms with desirable characteristics for our benefit. We've bred chickens to produce larger eggs, cows to produce more milk, plants to be softer, more digestible with greater yields, and even dogs — we've bred dogs for no reason except to remove or preserve physical characteristics or mental behaviors that work to our benefit."

She huffed. “I merely propose we do the same thing to ourselves that we have done to countless other species for thousands of years."

Professor Miyazaki fell silent, then asked, “Are you aware of the Pro-Hero Endeavor?”

“I am.”

“There are some rumors he attempted to create a child with a woman whose abilities would, in theory, negate the downsides of his Quirk. Assuming these rumors are true, how many children do you think he has? How many attempts do you think he made?”

Saiko frowned. “Relevance being?”

“It is as you said, you are rolling a genetic lottery. You are gambling, Intelli-san,” Professor Miyazaki shook his head. “Certainly, you could find a man whose quirk makes him immune to disease and have him marry a woman whose quirk grants her rapid regeneration, but you are just as likely to create a child with the sum of both quirks, as you are to create a child whose quirk makes him utterly unable to heal from injuries.” 

“Look no further than pugs and bulldogs,” he continued. “In the process of breeding, a genetic mutation arose that altered the gene crucial for normal facial development. The result is a creature whose throat and breathing passages are frequently undersized or flattened, obstructing their airflow, leaving them constantly gasping for air. Think of that, Intelli-san, but picture babies and children, hundreds of thousands of them, born with aberrant genetic mutations from your attempts at breeding.”

The man reached for a pen and wrote a big, red 'F' on her paper before he handed it to her.

Her heart was thumping fast as she collected it, and her hands were shaky. She stammered, “With sufficiently advanced technology and breakthroughs in gene editing and engineering, we can precisely know beforehand if a child inherited both positive aspects of a Quirk Factor during pregnancy, and we can—”

“Eliminate the failures?” Professor Miyazaki offered. “Cull them, perhaps, in the womb?”

Saiko did not answer. 

As much as she failed to understand emotions, even a complete psychopath would do a double-take if they were told of a plan that involved millions of abortions and mass infanticide.

“I made a copy of your paper, which I will be handing over to the Research and Ethics Committee,” Professor Miyazaki said, at last. “The ideas within it grossly violate our institutional values and code of conduct. Perhaps you have forgotten you agreed to oblige them when you were given a scholarship here, but I have not.”

A knot formed in her stomach. “That — that seems somewhat excessive, Professor.”

“You are young,” said Professor Miyazaki. “I said it once before. You possess the intelligence of a person ten times your age, but lack the wisdom of a person even half of it. I do not exaggerate when I say that my eight-year-old daughter would have pointed out the flaws in your essay. Not because she is as smart as you, but because she is far wiser than you.”

The man rubbed his brows and gently adjusted the picture on his table.

“Intelligence is a tool meant to solve problems for people. As you are, the best of your plans may appear perfect on paper, but they will fail in practice because you do not understand people. Perhaps a firm reprimand from the Committee and a temporary leave from the university will be the motivation you require to grow and change.”

Saiko pressed her lips tightly. “Professor—”

“That will be all, Intelli-san.”

Intelli Saiko left the office with an unsteady breath. It was the first time she had lost an argument in that manner.

I don’t understand. 

She was smarter than the man, of this she was certain, but even then, she could not provide a single rebuttal. The problems he mentioned and things he said were things that logically, she should have thought of, so why didn’t she? How could she be smart enough to think of such methods, but not see the problems with them? Why hadn’t she?

She clutched the essay in her hand, staring at the bright red ‘F’ stamped on it, and found it difficult to swallow. The Professor’s words lingered in her mind.

As you are, the best of your plans may appear perfect on paper, but they will fail in practice because you do not understand people.

All at once, Saiko began to doubt every single plan she had ever set in motion. Especially—

Her phone beeped in her bag. She reached for it, her lips thinning as she saw the words: UNKNOWN CALLER.

“Who is this?"

"How is the most annoying young heiress in the world doing?"

The voice was feminine. Young. She placed the tone, phrasing, and word choice. “The Broker."

“My, you're quick on the uptake. That's a little scary, Intelli-sama. Not even my own girlfriend could recognize me so quickly."

She rubbed her temples. “I’m not in the most pleasant of moods, but I have been expecting your call."

"Have you now, Intelli-sama? Then I suppose you are aware that you and I have a score to settle."

“Do we?"

"Those fools at the Meta Liberation Army wouldn't be able to deduce my location even if they had the bloody Oracle of Delphi in their possession. Well, maybe Curious could do it. I've always hated the nosy investigative journalist types like her. But as they don't have any person with Sir Nighteye powers, the only other way they'd know is if they went to their resident human quantum-computer."

She swiftly headed towards the ladies’ restroom. “Is this the so-called genius intuition of the Underworld's Greatest Broker?"

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Regardless of why you did it, ojou-sama, you've managed to piss me off. That's a mighty impressive thing to do, I admit."

She adjusted her monocle. “I take it you want financial compensation?"

“This isn't about the money. It's about reputation. I mean, now you've got me running around in a girl's body to avoid Re-Destro's goons. It worked well enough until so many annoying fuckers started walking up to me with bullshit pick-up lines. Do you know how stressful it is to be a young, beautiful woman?"

"I can only imagine what that must feel like."

“It's annoyingly stressful. The lesbian sex isn't all that either. Though the multiple orgasms are definitely worth it. Ah, I know, ojou-sama, how about we meet at a certain Love Hotel? Just two girls having fun together?"

“You do realize I'm underage?"

“You do realize I'm a criminal?"

“I'll be cutting the call now, Giran-san."

"Tsk. Tsk. Testy. Is it that time of the month already?"

"Was that the most original insult you could think of? Considering you are, as you claim, also in a girl's body?"

"Point. Alright ojou-sama. I'll come clean. You're a smart lass. There's no way you would have helped Re-Destro track me down without knowing it was going to come back and bite you in the ass. So that meant you did it to get my attention. I get that the Intelli Corporation and the Detnerat Company have a partnership, but you're not a villain. So, why does little Miss Smarty Pants need my attention so desperately?"

She pressed her lips together. “You know he's real. You have information on him."

“Information on who? God? Sorry, princess—"

“The One."

Giran went silent.

“You're joking," he hissed. "Ojou-sama, you have no fucking idea what you're dealing with."

“I know—"

“YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" 

Saiko had to remove the phone from her ear in response to the volume.

"I thought you were supposed to be smart? Were all the articles and headlines about your big brains just a psy-op? Do you instead have shit for brains? Listen and listen good ojou-sama, looking into this is asking yourself to be fucked, and I mean, the bad kind of fucked, the ‘tied up and left naked in a room with death row inmates’ fucked. Think of the worst experience you could imagine done to you, then double it, pass it on to twenty people, and take it back, and that’s how fucked you are. He's been in this game since before you were born, since before I was born. If you expect me to give you information on the bloody boogeyman himself, the King of the Underworld, you're not just stupid, you’re outright retarded."

“His name."

“Did you hear a single word I just said?"

"His name," she repeated firmly. “And then, I'll owe you two favors. One, for setting Re-Destro on you, and the other, for getting me his name."

The Broker was silent for several seconds. “Two favors, huh? Two favors from the heiress of the Intelli fortune. You think that's worth what you’re asking?"

“I believe it might be worth the consideration. Things are going to change in the upcoming months, and I believe you to be of the gambling sort. Money may not interest you, but information, secrets, and perhaps, quirks may."

"Quirks?" There was silence. “So that's what this is about. I thought the government scrapped that operation. Hahaha! That’s why you merged with the Detnerat Company!"

She said nothing. It was a risk, giving him so much information. A weighted gamble. The seconds ticked idly by. Each one was almost more agonizing than the last. She needed his name. Years of search and study, and she'd never come close to finding the slightest hints of it. All her intellect poured into the task, chasing and wispy trails and dead-end after dead-end. Rumors and myth had their limits, but a name, a name, would be all she needed to find him.

The broker laughed on the phone. “Alright, ojou-sama. You drive a hard bargain. But I'll tell you now that I don't know his name. No one is old enough to remember his real name."

Her lips furrowed. “That can't be—"

“I didn't finish," the voice continued. “What I do know is what he goes by. What he's called in his inner circle. It's a name that very few have heard and remain alive."

She felt her heart beat rise, faster and faster. "Yes?"

"All. For. One."

Something in her brain clicked. Unlocked. Like a hazy fog which was present and downcast on it abruptly cleared. She clenched her teeth, almost stumbling as she held the side of her head, an overwhelming dizziness hitting her.

W-what?

All. For. One.

The second time she thought of the name, a sharp pain struck her head. She staggered as if she'd been struck from behind by a heavy object. Her throat went dry immediately. Her lungs refused to draw in air.

“Hey… hey? You still alive, ojou-sama?"

She barely made out the words, the voice. She clenched the phone hard, forcing herself to rasp in a shaky breath.

“What… what was that?"

“Hahahaha!" The Broker laughed. An annoying, grating, obnoxious laugh.  “You're among a select group of people who know that name and still live. Congratulations, Ojou-sama."

“What. Was. That?" she repeated, harshly, forcing her voice to rise.

“You know what it was. You just can't accept it. Some people's quirks let them spit fireballs or amplify their intelligence. Others let them instantly detect people a continent away when they utter three words and have a specific idea in mind."

Her chest turned to ice. “That's… that's preposterous."

“For you and me, maybe. But for someone who has been collecting and combining quirks for more than seven generations?" He chuckled. “That's just Tuesday."

Her heart tightened as though it were about to burst.

“Considering you're still alive, it means you don't think of him as an enemy. That's good for me. I don't know what possessed you to go this far, but you're already balls-deep in this. He knows you know his name now, and you’ve entered his radar. Better hope he doesn’t decide your Quirk is worth having, or doesn't send you as a gift to his newest protégé. I hear he's currently recruiting." 

The air was suffocating. 

“Two favors, ojou-sama. I'll be calling to collect them. Try not to die before I do."

The call ended with a click.

Chapter Text

“How about this one, ka-chan?"

The boy lifted the instrument. The woman beside him shook her head.

“No?" He returned it. “Maybe something smaller?"

Estinto footsteps. It was the first time she had heard movements so silent. Footsteps that were so unbelievably tsundere to the floor. It was as though the boy’s feet were screaming, “I-I-It’s not l-like I like you, or a-a-anything, baka!” in a manner that wanted to make her rip her ears out. 

Behind the counter, she obscured her face with a magazine. She'd read the contents three weeks prior, when the magazine first came out.  Her eyes were stuck on the spaces between words as her earlobes dug into the ground beside her feet.

"Oh, Izuku-kun, I really don't know. It's been years since I picked up an instrument. Decades."

"Let's start with something small. Maybe this?"

He withdrew another instrument.

“A harmonica?"

He waved it. “It's small enough that you can use your quirk on it." He held it out. “You can also carry it around in your purse and play it wherever you go."

“People won't like that."

“Everybody likes good music," The boy wagged his finger. "Even Kacchan still plays the drums in his attic once in a while."

The woman suppressed a laugh, covering her mouth. “Does he know Mitsuki-chan was in a band, back in the day? She dyed her hair and had piercings and everything. She would grab a microphone and scream really loudly into it. She was all about the heavy iron music."

“Ka-chan, I think it's called Heavy Metal."

“They're the same thing, aren't they?"

She stopped herself from clearing her throat. Realizing she'd been staring too long at a single page, she flipped the magazine, plugging her ears deeper into the ground.

Estinto footsteps. Bisbigliando heartbeats. His heart whispered so softly she had almost thought a member of the walking dead had entered into her family’s music shop. She was fascinated by it. She had never heard such a heartbeat. A normal adult’s resting heart rate, like that of her father or mother, was between 60 to 100 beats per minute. Those who were extremely fit, trained, like the coach in the gym close by, had amazing cardiovascular health and possessed a heart rate of about 40 to 60 beats per minute. 

The boy’s heart rate was even lower.

Ten beats per minute, her mind raced. How is he doing that?

Her parents loved music, and they had her learning instruments since she was old enough to walk. Growing up, she thought that being a musician was a guarantee. It wasn’t until she noticed her English teacher, Miss Britta, a foreigner, had an irregular heartbeat, and suggested the woman go to the hospital to have it checked. 

The woman had followed her advice and discovered she possessed arrhythmia, and showed signs of a severe heart disease, which would have led to heart failure if left untreated.

“You saved my life, Kyoka-chan!” Miss Britta gushed over her. “Have you considered becoming a first responder? Or maybe even a Pro-Hero? You would be able to help so many people!”

At first, she dismissed it. Her, a Pro-Hero? She didn’t have a flashy quirk. Earphone Jack couldn’t compete with the abilities of the many other ‘hero-material’ quirks in her Middle School. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that someone like her could become a Hero. Besides, she didn’t have a passion for heroics or heroism.

What she did have a passion for was music. She adored instruments. Music was her life and her family. Yet, as the days passed, she could not ignore how she helped save her teacher’s life. Were there other lives she could save? Were there people who would be able to live another day if she became a Hero?

Out of curiosity, she began studying cardiology. Her Quirk was perfect for her to become a human heart rate monitor. The more hearts she listened to, the more she learned. She listened to varying hearts day after day, she indulged herself in the rhythm of the human heartbeat, and she came to realize that it was, at the end of the day, music.

And Kyoka loved music.

If the human heart was music, then saving people was no different from saving music. It was no different, from listening to a beautiful melody, and wishing, more than anything, that it would not end.

Her desire to be a hero and her wish to be a musician could coexist as one. So she studied hard, strived hard, and at the same time, she listened to as many, many hearts as she could.

It was why the heartbeat of the boy who had entered her family’s music store with his mother had completely astounded her. Her own heart was going accelerando just at the thought of it. 

The boy’s heart was at ten beats per minute.

10 beats per minute meant one beat every six seconds. It meant his heart was capable of pumping a massive stroke volume in one beat that moved as much blood as 6 to 8 beats in a normal person. It meant his arteries and capillaries were perfectly optimized, his blood oxygen saturation was nearly maxed out, with the most inhumanly efficient oxygen transfer to his tissues.

In a normal person, without deviations caused by a Quirk or Quirk Factor, lower than 30 beats per minute would lead to hypoxia or fainting, and there wouldn’t be enough blood and oxygen to the brain to function at all.

Her lower lip folded underneath her upper teeth. Her brows squeezed tight. Her thoughts raced with the possibilities and ramifications. What sort of Quirk could make such a thing possible? What sort of ability allowed for such an efficient heart? Could he blow on a trumpet continuously for hours without needing to stop to catch his breath? Would he be able to play a concerto for hours without feeling a hint of fatigue?

“The harmonica, you're getting one as well, aren't you?"

“Ah…"

“Izuku-kun!" The woman's voice was stern. "I thought the idea was for us to spend more time together and have more common interests?"

“It is!"

“Then why aren't you getting an instrument?"

Izuku, Kyoka promptly committed his name to memory. Izuku scratched his head. "I'll get one. Just, not yet."

“When?"

“After you've mastered that one."

“I don't understand Izuku-kun."

Izuku hesitated. “It's better if I show you."

His footsteps reached a certain area. She heard him sit. echoed throughout the music shop.

Then, he played.

There was no student of music who would not recognize the song he played. The first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata floated through the music shop. Each note struck a chord so accurately that her magazine slipped from her face, and her eyes, locked, for the first time, fully, on the boy who sat at the piano.

Green hair tied back in a ponytail. Sharp, beautiful features on a lithely muscled body. His form was immaculate. His fingers slowly danced atop the piano, gaining speed and momentum. Other customers in the shop had paused their activities to stare. Her father, carrying new boxes of drumsticks, stopped in his tracks as well.

The world froze, and day turned into night, and the only thing left visible in the world was a boy and a piano, alone, and underneath the brilliance of the moon. Moonlight draped his form, each ray landing on him like petals from flowers wilting in death. The world morphed into colors of black and white, as music had been made manifest. 

Only a boy played his piano under the light of the moon.

Then, he transitioned into the third movement.

Time sped up. Colors splashed back into reality. The moon danced. The moonlight sang. It split into spry figures, musical notes, that hovered around the boy’s head like a halo, spinning, pirouetting, dancing, and swaying with each press of the key.

The tempo increased. Her heart began to crescendo. The halo of musical notes flew over to her, extending a hand, as though asking her to dance.  The music guided her. They pushed her, urging her to move forward. Her throat was parched. Her left foot made an unconscious step forward, but her right resisted all calls to action. Two forces warred within her, and neither could overcome the other. 

Almost as suddenly as the virtuoso began his performance, he ended it, the tempo dropping, the song reaching its peak, the suddenness of the music coming to a climax.

Once the final chord was struck, a spell was lifted.

There was no halo of musical notes. There was no moon. There were no music notes pushing her forward, and there was no force holding her back. There was only a boy sitting in front of a piano in a shop, and there was only a monstrous preternatural silence.

A silence that died with ear-shattering applause.

Many moved over to the boy, congratulating him, eager to shake his hand and greet him. Her father moved amongst them, bellowing a loud, large laugh as he clapped his hands with more force than she'd heard in a long time.

She did not hear the praises and accolades heaped upon the boy, nor could she focus on them. She was too busy, too concerned, attempting to slow the frantic racing of her own heart. She had never seen such a musical performance before, and did not know if she would ever see such a performance again. Was this what it was like for those who sat in the audience, the first time Beethoven performed such a wondrous piece to be heard?

She wanted to move as well. She wanted to meet the boy who looked to be her age but could play the piano at a world-class level. A musician whose very heart beat with monstrous efficiency. But what would she say? What could she say that he hadn’t already heard?

He laughed off the praise and remained humble even as those about him set conflicting emotions burning in her chest. One side of her desired to smack him over the side of his head for his humility. The other couldn't help but marvel at said humility, and wonder if it was possible for a laugh to sound so beautiful.

She covered her face with her book once more, peeking over to glance at the boy's face. The beautiful boy. Her face burned as she realized where her thoughts had gone. Her heart thumped at an irregular rhythm the longer she sat, peeking over.

“…daughter your age! She'd love to meet you!"

No! Her heart beat several times faster. Stupid otou-san — I don't —

“Yoka-chan!"

Not the nickname! Tou-san!

She kept her breathing and heartbeat calm as her father, with his big annoying mug, waved over to her, smiling at her and gesturing her over. She tried and failed to keep her heartbeat agevole. Strolling over to the green-haired mother and son, and pretending as though she’d not been aware of them from the moment they entered the shop. Her father patted her on the back, making large, boisterous exclamations.

"This is my daughter, Kyoka. She's a musician herself! Kyoka-chan, Midoriya-kun here is your age! Can you believe it?"

Green hair, sparkling teeth, asymmetrical freckles, and a blinding smile, the boy extended his hand towards her. "I'm Midoriya Izuku."

Her heartbeat went fortissimo.

She took his hand. “I'm Kyoka. Jiro Kyoka."

The boy smiled, gently rubbing his thumb on the back of her palm. "Nice to meet you, Kyoka-san." His sharp green eyes landed on her earlobes, and he marveled. "You have lovely ears."

Her heartbeat went fortississimo.

The ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum was so loud that all other sounds she could hear went ritardando.

"I-er… t-thank you," she stuttered, jerking her hand out of his as quickly as she could. She could see her father, his gaze landing on her out of the corner of his eyes with a mischievous, knowing glint.

Don't you dare!

Her father looked at the boy’s mother, and his eyes beamed. “I noticed you have a harmonica on you. We have the diatonic, tremolo, and orchestral types available. We also have them in different color schemes and sizes, if you'll follow me—"

Oh, don't you dare!

“Oh, forgive me, I'm not too knowledgeable on instruments. Izuku-kun is the one who's helping me pick an instrument," the woman said, sounding dazed.

Izuku perked a smile at her. “Ka-chan, how about you pick one with your favorite color?" He regarded her father. “Do you have any with a nice green tint?"

“Certainly. Right this way."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the boy followed along, and she did as well. Her father's plans, all, fortuitously, one way or another, were foiled as the boy refused to leave his mother's side throughout their stay in the shop. She tried to probe for some questions, but she couldn't get them out fast enough, or she got them out too fast, or she barely got them out at all.

This seriously is so not fair. Kyoka wasn’t a shallow person. The boy could have been the most handsome teen alive for all she cared, and it wouldn’t have made her give it any more than a casual thought. The problem was he was both unreasonably hot and a god-sent musical prodigy. 

It was a killer combination, and a fatal combo. Being a great musician alone would have been enough for him to enter her radar, but those looks made it difficult for her to speak as normally as she usually did. The boy's attractiveness unnerved her. She didn't consider herself unattractive, but began to doubt that belief in the few seconds she spent in his presence. He had the type of beauty she'd believed could only be achieved through the lens of a camera assisted by heavy amounts of makeup and fervent digital editing. They walked past a mirror, and standing beside him, she looked plain. 

Forgettable and mundane.

It made her overly conscious of her every word and action. She found herself either stumbling over her words or mumbling them silently. It didn't help that his heartbeat and his feet were so silent that she'd accidentally bump into him because she was reliant on her sense of hearing as her major tool for navigation, rather than her eyesight.

“S-sorry!" 

Izuku smiled. “It's fine, Jiro-san."

Her unusual clumsiness only made her more self-conscious, to the point at which even the one topic of conversation she was certain they would both share, music, and she couldn't find herself in it to open her lips and say the words.

She blurted, “You have really quiet footsteps!" 

His head tilted. “I do?"

“T-they're almost inaudible," she added. “My quirk… I can hear things better than most people, but even with them… yours are really quiet. Like a cat.”

“I never noticed," he admitted. “Thank you.”

“W-what for?”

He smiled, but did not elaborate, and she could not ask him to. Navigating further through the bookstore, his gaze never strayed too far away from the woman with green hair.

“Are you worried about your mom?"

“A little."

"My dad's great at this stuff. He'll find her the right instrument."

"That isn't what worries me."

She crossed her arms. Her father was happily chatting it up with his mother. Somehow, the topic of conversation had strayed from instruments to children and parenting tactics.

“So…" she cleared her throat. “How did you learn how to play so well?"

His smile grew. “I practiced."

I practice, too, she wanted to say. Every day since I could walk, but I’m nowhere near that good. With skills like that, he could attend the world’s top music academies blindfolded. Kyoka wouldn’t say that out loud, though. She was somewhat self-aware enough to know that if Izuku were a girl instead of a boy, rather than her heart beating so fast that she thought it would explode, there would instead be a deep, gnawing pit in her stomach.

The only reason that the pit didn't exist currently was because her attraction to him overruled any feeling of jealousy regarding his musical talent.

If I could hear him play every day…

She noticed for the first time that he hadn't looked at her throughout their conversation. For the most part, his gaze was fixated on the woman with green hair. Is he the mama’s boy type? That’s so sweet…  Gah! Get it together, Kyoka!

She cleared her throat. “You-you love your mom, don’t you?”

“I do,” he admitted with a nod, not even missing a beat. “I love her more than anyone else.”

There was not a tinge of embarrassment in his tone. Wow. He owned it so brazenly that Kyoka couldn’t help but feel amazed, and at the same time, ashamed. She couldn’t say she would be able to so brazenly say the same thing about her dad if someone asked, no matter how true it was.

“Today is supposed to be about her."

“Birthday?" she wagered

“We fought a while back. I said some mean things. I'm trying to correct that. Find common interests between us, or at least make them. But I’m worried."

“Worried…?"

“I wonder if I'm just forcing things my way, again," He muttered under his breath that no one but her would be able to catch. “I've been doing a lot of that lately."

Clearing her throat, she made to give the boy a light tap on his shoulder. He weaved out of the way of her hand before she could touch him. The suddenness of it all threw her off balance, only for a hand to jerk out and grab hers and then stabilize her in moments.

“Are you okay?"

His face was close. So, so, so very close.

“Y-you have… great reflexes."

His lips went up. “I'm training to be a Pro Hero."

“Really?!" she blurted, before realizing she'd said that with far more enthusiasm than she needed to. “I–I mean… I'm applying to UA to become a hero…"

"That's great," he beamed a smile at her. “So am I," He said. “Well, Kacchan and I – he's my friend — we're both going to take the exam this Saturday. Maybe we'll meet at the venue?"

“That… that would be… nice."

Another brilliant, brightening smile disarmed her. “Best of luck, Jiro-san."

The mother and son departed with two harmonicas and a single flute. Her father, realizing she'd failed to converse with Izuku, was left to the task of inviting him to join his Record Label. He said he would consider it and collected her father's card.

“Thanks for visiting Rockin' Music Stores! Hope to see you again!"

He waved and cheered boisterously. She stood there, releasing an awkward breath she didn't know she was holding. Her father, beside her, turned, an annoying smirk on his face.

"What?" she bit out.

“My baby Yoka-chan has her first crush."

Her cheeks burned. “I do not!"

His hand landed on her hair, ruffling it. "I don't blame you. Such musical talent is rare. One-in-a-million, no, maybe one-in-a-billion. I don't think there’s anyone I’ve ever signed who could play that song as beautifully as he did." Her father raised a thumb up. “I approve of your taste. You have my blessing."

“B-b-bless—" she smacked his hand away. “Stop saying such embarrassing stuff, tou-san! Jeez!"

She ignored her father's continuous, merciless teasing, knowing in the end that it was simply his blunt way of doing things. Musicians were a lot simpler in many ways than most people, and in the Jiro family, where everyone loved music as much as they loved each other, the only real requirement they had to like someone was for that person to love music as much as they did.

She didn't know too much about Midoriya Izuku, but she could tell from the manner he played. Music had a way of translating feelings from the soul that couldn't be communicated with mere words or actions. It transcended barriers of language, age, and sex, and delivered the meaning with heart.

Midoriya Izuku's music was beautiful and haunting. 

However, recalling the Moonlight Sonata, recalling the initial timber and tone of his performance, Kyoka had an odd feeling. A feeling that lingered from his music.

Why did it sound so… bitter?

A Precise Note

UA Academy

Principal's Office

The tea was made exactly as he preferred it. A slight tang of bitterness, a hint of sweetness, some spiciness to round up the flavor. Not an inch of saltiness or sourness, but the faintest drops of honey around the edges of the mug made it all the better to drink with his accompanying cigarette.

The day was coming for the next set of valuable students and brilliant minds to join the institution that would reshape them as heroes of society. The ideal warriors of justice. Or at least, that was the marketed image the world needed to hear. Far more euphemistic than admitting that they were, in essence, training children to become frontline soldiers in a never-ending war against the enemies of the government.

Sipping lightly from his tea, he cracked his paws, placed his cigarette on an ashtray, and turned once more to his computer.

“My, so many promising children this year. So many."

Of course, he already knew who would be admitted and who wouldn't.

He already knew what classes they would be in, the connections they would make, the friendships and alliances that would be formed based on the data he accumulated from their school records and his own personal methods of information gathering.

He had already decided their seating arrangements, lunch plans, and class outlines. He'd already foreseen how they spent their off-hours, free time, and private moments. He knew how their child-brains, still underdeveloped but rushing with pre-adolescent overconfidence and hormones, would formulate reactions accompanying romantic or sexualized feelings for each other.

He could already see the dramas, heartbreaks, comedies, and anxieties in the hearts of the students as they placed being a teenager and aspiring to be a celebrity first-responder on a scale and performed a delicate, clown-like balancing act.

The Principal sipped his tea, slowly savoring the honey from the side of the mug. “Oh, it should be just about time…"

He turned to his phone, smiling at the device. He waited ten seconds. Five more seconds. His brows narrowed slightly in annoyance. Two seconds later, the device rang.

“Hello. Principal Nezu?"

“I've been expecting your call, Toshinori-kun," Two seconds earlier. “You have met and explained the situation to Mirio-kun, I believe?"

“Nothing ever slips by you, does it?"

Oh, how I wish. His meta-ability, a term which he preferred to the more euphemized ‘Quirk,’ could only do so much when there were others out there with similar, if not better, methods. High Specs was only amazing from the viewpoint of those who did not understand its limitations.

Thus, from the viewpoint of everyone but him.

Nezu let out a soft, quiet hum. “I believe he took it swimmingly well, yes?"

“He seems… determined. Strong. He has the heart of a true hero."

“And have you made up with Sasaki-kun yet?"

He hadn't. Nezu was already aware.

“I have to go, Principal. I just received word that there's a sludge villain at large."

Nezu hummed. “Go on then. Be safe, Toshinori-kun."

The call ended with a soft click. Nezu hummed again, reaching for his tea. Humans were so predictably irrational at times. Toshinori and Sasaki's relationship of hero and sidekick gone awry, with both being too stubborn to resolve it, was just another example. Nezu didn't mind. For now, there was no urgency in resolving their fractured relationship. He would continue to let the humans be as the humans were.

“A Sludge Villain, he says?"

The Sludge Villain would escape long before he got there. He would escape and escape again, before eventually being defeated by youthful, more nubile hands. Nezu wondered what Toshinori-kun would feel upon meeting the odd duo responsible for it, at a much later date.

Another chain series of events…

The major players of the city were coming out in full force. They were all making their moves and plans, placing their pieces on the board and gathering their strength. Nezu knew enough about nearly all the players. All but one.

That One. The One — the man with the most mysterious and dangerous nature of all. Any time he acted, any move he made, completely shattered the board and sent all of Nezu's plans and predictions traveling in entirely different directions.

If he could just account for that man in his calculations, just once…

He tried, once more, closing his eyes and concentrating—

He winced back from the tremendous headache. The sharp, piercing pain had him holding his head in discomfort.

“Well… that was deeply unpleasant, yes. Terribly, terribly unpleasant."

Nezu sighed. He really hated that human. To have given himself a Quirk that made him immune not only to precognitive abilities, but to prediction-based abilities was so terribly annoying and so deeply unfair. It was expected, however, that the greatest resource one could accumulate was simply time. Longevity guaranteed that one could accrue riches and power that put one far above others, starting the metaphorical and literal rat race.

Such a human, while problematic to handle, would not be as troubling as a human with several centuries of accumulated resources, experience, and methods.

“Unto lighter matters then…" he checked his wristwatch. “Is this thing running slow again?”

As he uttered those words, his phone rang.

“Principal Nezu."

“Good day, Intelli-san," he began cheerfully. “You made quite a sizable donation to the Academy’s research and development fund. The largest in the Academy’s history, even. With it, I should be more than enough to be able to spice up the usual Entrance Examinations and—"

“You are aware of what I want,” she interrupted him. “And I am aware you are aware of it.”

“You will find the time and location of the UA Recommended Exams delivered to your home in a confidential box by the end of the business day.”

The call ended with a sharp click. Nezu’s smile grew, but at the same time, the cup in his hand shook uneasily.

Ho, ho, this was a surprise.

He had not calculated that there would be an extra student, and the fact that he had not calculated this meant this was related to the only man his meta-ability could not account for. He attempted to calculate again and relaxed as the answer came to him.

My, my, human children these days really are fearless. Doing such a dangerous thing as asking for his name personally…? Nezu tutted.

Well, it is the goal of every educator to put children on the right path. Nezu sighed. Alas, all my previous calculations need to be redone. To think he did not even make a move himself, just someone else digging into his identity is capable of such vast changes…

Nezu really, really, really hated that human.

A Precise Note

He loathed it.

The handling of such minor tasks and matters should be handled by individuals in his organization of a lower caliber. His skin itched as he scratched his neck, his gloved hands raking against the breakout of hives in irritation.

“I hate this place."

“Why is that, onii-chan?"

He took a breath through his mask. The men in blue were an annoyance. The healthy kowtowing to the diseased. The worst of them, the fools, had given up both authority and autonomy to allow the diseased to do their job for them. Their competence and ability to do their jobs plummeted out of a misguided sense of efficacy and modernization.

The very building itself stood as a mockery. Their jobs were not to apprehend criminals and uphold the law; it was now to collect already apprehended criminals and uphold the interests of the government.

The interests of the government, or the interests of the Hero Public Safety Commission.

Diseased. Diseased.

He was aware of how the Commission utilized the playbook of organized crime, and yet claimed to keep their hands clean. The case of one of their hunting dogs that turned its hand on their master was already a perfect example.

“Ne, ne, onii-chan! Onii-chan! Stop ignoring me!"

The girl walking beside him pouted, her cheeks puffing up fully. He would deny that amusement entered his eyes. The dress she wore was of her own taste. A miniaturized yukata and elegant geta sandals. Despite the legacy skipping a generation with her ingrate of a mother and incompetent buffon of a father, she inherited the grace and predilections of a lady that came from the bloodline of those who followed the old ways.

“We have work to do."

She pouted again, crossing her arms. “You're gonna buy me ice cream for ignoring me, onii-chan."

“Chocolate or vanilla?"

“Chocolate!" She chirped.

He acquiesced, nodding his head. “An entire ice cream shop. Will that be enough?"

“Will I get to boss them around like Jiji and make them feed me ice cream?"

“If that's what you want."

“Yay!" she pumped her fist into the air. “You're the best niichan!"

“Work first," he said. “Then rewards after."

He walked with his hands in his pockets, approaching from the front door. Several of the men in blue spotted him immediately, their hands latching onto their belts in reflex. He snorted, paying them no heed as he continued his casual approach.

“H-halt! You –- you there –- you look suspicious!"

It was the mask. He knew it. Yet, he would not disregard it. He would not let himself breathe in the same air as such disgusting filth. He would not let their infection spread even further. He withdrew his hands from his pockets, raising them into the air.

“I'm no one suspicious," He said, casually. “I wanted to ask if you've seen my Eight-Legged friend. He likes to pretend to be a spider, but his heart is dark and inky, so we often say he's an octopus."

Both men flinched. Chisaki almost snorted. Perhaps it was his fault. Irinaka had told him time and again that he should make more appearances in order for people to know what he looked like. He'd disregarded it. His flesh was but a tool. His appearance, irrelevant. He could, and had, molded and changed it however he desired. Of what purpose was there for them to commit to memory a visage which was temporary?

The policemen bowed their heads immediately. “Oyabun… we weren't expecting you." Their eyes glanced at the girl beside him. "Nor were we expecting the Priestess herself—"

The girl swirled with pride. He refused, his eyes twitching with annoyance. Her insistence on traditional clothing and oftentimes Miko-style outfits had caused this. One besotted fool had addressed her as such once, and she refused to be addressed by anything else following that.

The Priestess of Death, they called her. 

It reminded him of how Shin had gotten the title of Azrael, the Angel of Death.

The penchant for such nicknames to stick about was something he never understood. 

“I’m told an Outer Web was killed," he said. “And he had our brand on his body."

The policeman on the right grimaced. “We heard about an unusual murder case."

The one on the left nodded. “I thought it was just a simple drug dealer. We didn't know he was—" the man cleared his throat. “Right this way, oyabun."

An entrance through the parking lot was used to draw less attention. The men walked at an unsteady gait, occasionally glancing back at him, but never making eye contact. He spied several cameras within the vicinity, slowly picking up and tracing their movements. He scratched his neck further, irritation slowly bubbling within him.

“Nii-chan."

She dragged the hem of his jacket. Her gaze was serious.

“I know."

The two men were not subtle at all in their attempts. Nor were the others, hiding behind pillars, beside cars, with their bulletproof vests and slow, unsteady breathing. His irritation grew further, because he was certain he had not made it clear to anyone that he was going to arrive at this police station today, at this aforementioned time, with this aforementioned purpose of collecting Otoko’s body.

That meant he was dealing with a B-Rank, QETA 3 or higher enemy. A Precog or Sherlock was the two top-most possibilities. For a moment, he considered that the Demon, Nezu, was behind it, but quickly disregarded the thought. The Demon was in his castle, and getting him to aid law enforcement was a task he did not do often.

Nezu was perhaps the greatest Sherlock in the country, bar none. Sir Nighteye may be the best Precog. Both of them were smart enough to know that he could never be detained by ordinary police officers, or the few low-tier diseased his senses could pick up in the area.

So then, a third party. A new player, perhaps, allying with the police?

The police officers broke into a sprint, running for cover, just as a dark blur rushed onto the scene.

"Uwah!" the girl beside him cheered. "Bunny! Look! Look! Nii-chan, it's a bunny-girl!"

"Whoo! Made it just in time!" the bunny spoke. Dark skinned, ferocious grin, with rabbit ears sticking out of the top of her head.

He reevaluated his assessment of the situation. Most likely a Sherlock. That was how they knew he was coming. It was a hunch. A guess. They calculated someone, but not him. For had they anticipated him, they would have known better than to send a melee combatant. The said melee combatant would have known better than to arrive at the last moment.

He'd seen enough. It was not yet time to unveil himself into the limelight. He removed the glove from his left hand, gesturing to the girl. “Eri. Your hand."

“Right niichan!"

The rabbit girl, Mirko, growled. “Hey, what do you think you're—"

In the younger days of training his quirk, he'd needed to fully disassemble and reassemble the individual atoms of a person into himself, and for him to use their quirk. Decades of practice and experience brought him to the point where it was only necessary to make physical contact and ensure that their atoms truly touched, making it so that they were, in a sense, one individual.

The King was said to be able to take away and give quirks at a single touch.

Chisaki Kai didn't need to take or give.

He just needed to borrow.

"Rewind."

Borrow he did.

The heroes vanished. The policemen vanished. Day returned to night. The hands on his watch spun backwards, spinning until it came to a sudden, final stop.

“Wha — what the hell?"

A police van screeched harshly to a stop, mere millimeters away from impact. The driver, a police officer, stared at him with wide eyes. His eyes latched onto the van. With his power, he deactivated the atomic bonds, making himself and Eri one organism, lightly holding the girl as she lost her balance.

“Mhhmm… Onichan… I'm… sleepy."

When he had first discovered Eri’s Quirk, Rewind, he learnt it could only function on people. It could revise a body towards its perfect state, devoid of flaws or injuries, but he had not believed this to be the limit of what the Quirk was capable of.

It took experimentation with Trigger, tweaking it, altering it, pushing it to the limit with his ability to create a perfect strain designed to work only when Eri’s DNA and his DNA were combined. A strain he eventually modified to become a unique genetic mutation that kept growing and needed to be stopped by his own quirk.

A Quirk Cancer. 

This Quirk Cancer was the key, and his ability, Overhaul, connecting them, was the lock. Thus, he, and only he, Chisaki Kai, possessed the means to make Eri’s Rewind affect time.

"Ice cream… you… promised… nichan."

He'd have her reward waiting for her once he was done. His attention turned back onto the policemen in the van. One of them approached, baton in hand. “Sir, I don't know how you and your child got into the police parking lot, but—"

A single grasp was all it took. The man was too slow to resist. His hand covered the man's head, and Chisaki closed his eyes as he focused. Brain matter was still matter. And he could manipulate matter as he wished. Finesse was needed for this task, as it had cost Chisaki a thousand lives, perhaps ten thousand lives, to master this art.

“Overhaul."

To overhaul the brain of a human being was to disassemble and then reassemble it instantaneously, but with significant differences. Creating new connections where none had existed previously, implanting neurons that would fire upon the utterance of certain codes, and refining it until it was but another pill in his hand to use against the diseased.

He let go of the man, and the man slumped down, blinking, before he immediately got on one knee. “Oyabun! I live to serve!"

“There is a corpse in the morgue I require. Otoko Yakubutsu. Bring it to me."

“As you command, Oyabun!"

“There should be vials of Trigger accompanying him as evidence. Bring those as well."

The new peon rushed to perform his duty, leaving Chisaki to his thoughts. Otoko Yakubutsu had been one of his Outer Webs. He was not lacking in skill by any means, and his role as a mere drug-dealer was simply a cover, intended to perform the true task of distributing and field-testing a special batch of Trigger.

TRG-42 was an experimental batch with fourteen times the potency of regular Trigger, and six times the likelihood of addiction. The drug was intended to cause irreversible changes in one's mental state. Otoko was the perfect facilitator due to his quirk.

Chisaki cared little for the batch, in one way or another. It was a side distraction, meant to be an experiment, to test the likelihood of the Quirk Burnout Theory. Having it waste away in a police evidence locker would not be much of a concern.

However, he desired to know who had killed the distributor. Otoko was a lecherous individual, prone to his vices, but he was by no means incapable in combat. His quirk, when properly utilized, could make him an extremely deadly opponent to face.

Someone had killed him, then marked him with a spider, and left him standing, seemingly held up by invisible strings, as a spider in a web.

The message to him could not be clearer. 

Upon getting access to the man’s corpse and accessing his memories, he would find out just who had dared send such a message, and he would kill them. If he failed once, he would try again, and if he failed thrice, he would try once more. With Eri by his side, he had all the time in the world.

“Hmm… Onii-chan… ice cream…”

Eri mumbled in her sleep. Chisaki slowly stroked her hair, landing a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead. She was truly his golden goose. Thus, he could not let anyone else have her. The power to rewind time was not a thing he could let any have, more so not the so-called King of the Underworld. So, he made safeguards.

His specially created Trigger-based Quirk Cancer ran in both his and Eri’s blood, and he, and only he, knew the correct means to suppress it. If anyone attempted to take him away from her, they would need to return her to him within twenty-four hours, or the cancer would spread rapidly and she would die. If he were ever imprisoned, the cancer would spread rapidly, and she would die. If his hands and his Quirk Factor were ever removed, the cancer would spread rapidly, and she would die.

Eri, to him, was the world, and the world was Eri.

They were both so very, very sick.

And only he had the cure.

Chapter Text

“You have a date."

Midoriya's head bobbed as he gulped down the bottle of water. He made a sound of relief and poured the rest of the contents down his head. “She's… very smart."

“I'm more surprised that she's fucking real."

“Thanks for believing in me, Kacchan."

Kacchan snorted. “Just…" He shook his head, scowling off at the rising sun. “Huh. You're right. Never believed you had it in you. Way to fucking go."

“What's that supposed to mean?"

“Figured you'd remain surrounded by girls who wanted to shag you, but never take 'em up on their offer cause you'd be too nice and too dense to buy what they’re selling."

“Saiko and I aren't going to—" he tossed the bottle of water, and Katsuki caught it without looking. “We're just meeting out for lunch," said Izuku, frowning. "Wait, there are girls who want to do what with me?"

“There, that's that fucking denseness I'm talking about."

“Kacchan—"

“You can pick out the bloody legs of an ant inside a bowl of murky soup, but can't even realize when a group of bimbos have the hots for you?"

“A group of—" Izuku coughed. “You're not talking about the girls in our class, are you? Kacchan,  I've told you, they just needed my help, and that was it."

“Yeah, they need your help, alright."

“I thought you didn't pay attention to these types of things… or care about them."

Kacchan's right eye twitched. “Do I look like I'm a fucking eunuch?"

“You never talked about girls before."

“Cause I haven’t found any girl fucking worth talking about."

“Oh."

The morning sun began to truly peak in the sky, the heat and light signaling the end of their morning run. Keeping in shape was a necessary habit for those whose aspirations leant towards the job of heroics… They needed to be firm, capable, and hardy. They needed to have the right stamina to outrun danger and dash in at a moment's notice to stop evil and villainy.

Kacchan had originally suggested the morning runs, and Izuku agreed to them. They started off the first week with one-kilometer sprints, running a full one-kilometer for seven days until they got a hang of the rhythm and boosted their stamina to be able to handle the task without issue. They doubled that number to two kilometers in the second week. Three in the third. Four in the fourth.

Next week, he and Kacchan would start running ten kilometers every morning, before school, and even on the weekends. Kacchan had started sleeping in class more often from the energy loss, but Izuku didn't have many issues with it and continued to use class time for his own personal experiments and study.

“So, this girl you're meeting—"

“Saiko."

"Saiko. Whatever. What do you like about her?"

“She's smart."

“Mentioned that."

“She's nice."

“That’s people's fucking default setting."

“Kacchan, why're you interested?"

“Because it's you, Izuku. I wouldn't put it past you to pity-date a girl you don't fucking like if you think it'll make her just a tiny bit fucking happier."

Izuku opened his mouth. Words of protest were meant to have come from them. Supposed to. He breathed into the cold morning air, seeing his breath appear before his face, before closing his lips. He couldn't exactly deny it, because it was something he was currently doing.

He’d managed to get Himiko an apartment and stocked her freezers with food and with several dozen bags of his blood.

The girl would take a sip of his blood, giggle endlessly, pass out, wake up, and drink some more, and the way she looked at him was more than obvious to Izuku. Even when it was time for him to draw samples of her blood and conduct experiments on her with Trigger, she was so eager that, were it not for his ability to control his emotions, it would have unnerved him.

Himiko was under the impression that they were an item now. It was partly his fault, as he never explicitly denied her assumptions, first, because it made her happy, and a happy Himiko was a cuter Himiko. Second, because it was harmless to play along, and he did not want to upset the mental state of his only test subject. Third, she was just so sad and lonely being kept in an apartment all day that he didn’t truly have the heart to tell her otherwise.

So Kacchan was right. Technically, he was ‘dating’ a girl out of ‘pity.’

“The fuck Izuku, you'd actually—"

“I mean… in the long run, it'll make her sadder if she realizes I only dated her because I felt bad for her. But if she doesn't mind that I dated her out of pity… It’s not too bad, right?"

“You're fucked up, Izuku."

“Is it wrong to want to make people happy?"

“Even if that happiness is a fucking lie?"

“Isn’t it a hero’s job to give people a happy lie, rather than a bitter truth?"

“The fucking hell it is,” Kacchan swore. “You’re. Fucked. Up."

Renting out an apartment complex was easier than he thought, as there were a lot of services that offered no-questions-asked places for people to live. He learned this was because of the Houses-for-Everyone Initiative launched by the Pro-Hero Cementoss, and supported by the Hero Public Safety Commission to combat homelessness. As long as one had the funds, a home could always be acquired.

The funds in question were obtained with Matsuda’s help, as the boy had unrestricted access to a credit card and bank account, and with an account balance topped up monthly for his quirk-related expenses. Though Izuku could easily have forged his mother’s signature and gotten himself a subsidiary account, he didn’t want to do so, nor did he want to give his mother any reason to worry.

Thus, Matsuda was his temporary go-between. The boy didn’t mind and considered himself ‘The Guy in the Chair’ who could help Izuku with more mundane things. He created an artist account for Izuku, and within days, they raked up close to four hundred thousand yen, courtesy of Izuku picking up a digital sketchpad and making a few ‘commissioned’ artworks of Pro-Heroes Midnight and Mt. Lady.

His artist profile ‘QuickDraw Goddess’ had gone viral on social media for being able to ‘draw any request you have in under twenty-four hours or you get a refund.’

Many had tested it out, requesting more and more outlandish requests, and Izuku had delivered as promised. When he asked Matsuda why he’d chosen a female avatar and female name for the artist profile, the boy’s answer was “So these virgin losers are willing to keep coming back in hopes of one day seeing real tits that don’t exist.”

Of course, he couldn't mention that to Kacchan. Kacchan wasn't ready to handle any of that information, be it his secret adult artist account or Himiko's existence. He probably never would be.

Kacchan was Kacchan, and he was the type of person who would rather tell a survivor of a shipwreck that their lover had drowned, bluntly, than he would attempt to give them false hope by saying they could still be found alive. 

Izuku differed from him in this regard. Spreading hope, even a false one, to the world was a good thing. Parents lied to their children about Santa Claus in order to make them happy and believe that a person brought them gifts. Churches and religions in the pre-Quirk era told unconfirmable tales about the existence of a reward for one's good deeds in an afterlife, and people believed it because it gave them the strength and conviction to keep marching forward and live, day by day.

Hope, even false hope, could move mountains.

If his mother had shown him hope, even just a tiny bit… 

No, let’s not think of that, Izuku. We’ve forgiven her already—

Of course, forgiving and forgetting were two different things.

“So, is that what you're doing to this Saiko girl?"

“What? No."

“You sure about that?"

“Saiko and I haven’t been in contact since we met a few months ago," Izuku said, pausing to gather his thoughts. “She challenged me to do something with my Quirk that she didn't think I was capable of doing… and we kinda non-verbally agreed to only meet after I'd done what she thought I couldn't do."

Kacchan snorted. “Sounds like a bitch."

Midoriya chuckled, “She's not all bad. She's just a bit too smart for her own good. I don't understand some of the stuff she talks about sometimes. She's kind of the type of person you'd need to do an internet search just to be able to follow her in conversation. She enjoys tea a lot. She likes Pre-Quirk Era fiction. Western Philosophy. Science Fiction books. She loves astrophysics. She's written a book on it."

Kacchan stared. “She's in high school and has a fucking book on astrophysics?"

“She never attended High School. She went from Middle School straight to University. Full scholarship. Then, she graduated as the Valedictorian. Then, she got a Masters. She’s working on a Doctorate now."

Kacchan's face scrunched up. Izuku shrugged, an awkward laugh slipping from his lips. “I told you she was smart."

“How'd you say you two meet again?"

“Matsuda-kun introduced us."

“…you met at your otaku club?"

“Yeah."

“Huh," Kacchan said, slowly. “You can meet girls at nerd gatherings now? What the hell is the world turning into…"

Izuku's lips quivered. “What kind of girl are you looking for, Kacchan?"

“I'm not looking," Kacchan said. "I'll know when I find her. And that'll be that. What matters most is becoming the No. 1 Hero. Getting a girlfriend is something any idiot can do. But not anyone can be No. 1."

"I dunno, Kacchan. I think you might scare off girls with your explosions."

Kacchan scoffed. "Better for me. If she can't handle a few explosions, what good is she? I need a partner, not a fucking burden."

The boy rounded his eyes on him.

“You'd also better not let some lovey-dovey shit get your eyes off the prize, Izuku. I'll fucking kill you if you end up failing the entrance exam because your head was in the clouds over some girl."

“Relax, Kacchan," Izuku hummed. “There's nothing in this world that's going to distract me from doing what it is that I set out to do."

Especially now that he’d cracked the code.

“You said she challenged you to do something with your quirk?" Kacchan asked. “What's that all about?"

“Oh, well, basically, she wanted me to solve this really complicated science problem regarding the Quirk Factor. Essentially, finding and isolating the Quirk Gene from neural connections and cerebral pathways, and identifying the core activation mechanism in organisms that enable the usage of quirks, along with exploring the limitations and why those limitations are in place. It's really quite interesting."

“…right," Kacchan said, his eyes darting around. “Interesting."

“So, the way I was able to solve this problem was—"

A large, billowing crash echoed in the street ahead. Kacchan had an expression on his face that almost said, thank god, and Izuku couldn't stop the smile on his lips. He'd never lied to Kacchan about what he did, or lied to anyone, truly, about some of his more… questionable activities. 

He was just fortunate enough that they didn't ever seem interested in learning how Midoriya Izuku managed to break down the complicated drug Trigger, and refine it into a serum which was capable of significantly enhancing quirks, without any drawback of hyper-aggression or mental instability.

“Let's check out what that was."

“We might make it late for class if we do that."

“We'll be taking and acing the entrance exam soon anyway. You really still give a shit about classes that we can breeze through in our sleep?"

Izuku's lips opene,d but Kacchan beat him to the punch, racing down the street. "Last one there is second place trash!"

“Damn it, Kacchan!"

XXXXXX

Move, move, move! Yasui Odei knew the risks he took. Get the hell out of my way! His internal turmoil didn't stop him from slamming civilians aside in his getaway. His form was never built for haste, and his maximum speed down a busy street on a school day was limited by how many people he barked to get the hell out of his way. The alarms were already blaring, and he knew, all it would take was one do-gooder bystander to ruin his day. Fuck, there they go –

“Villain!"

The cry was always the same. “There's a villain on the loose!" A busybody would yell. “Somebody call the Pro-Heroes!" another would scream. For the first time, they were correct, in that he was doing something villainous. Other times, even when they weren't, they'd simply just assume and immediately sound the cry. Fucking bastards wouldn't last a day…

The civilians probably thought to themselves, there goes a revolting-looking sludge-man! He must be a bad guy! Yasui scoffed. Bastards. They were all bastards. Did they think he chose to be a pile of puke-green sludge? That if he could be something else, he wouldn't? No, of course not. He wasn't bloody stupid. Nobody in their right mind would want to live their life as a formless, gelatinous blob monster.

“Halt there, villain!"

Damn it! Yasui hated them. He hated heroes. Heroes were everything he was not. It wasn't bad enough that they were born with better quirks; oh-no, they also had the adoration and support of the public. Some snobbish pricks who got lucky with great quirks and felt that they were better than everyone else because of it. Fucking bastard! GET OUT OF MY WAY!

Yasui didn't care to look where the bastard landed. He heard a sickening crunch from the landing, and equal parts vindication and terror swept through him.

Come on, a manhole! The nearest manhole damn it! Yasui frantically made his way down the streets as he looked for his escape route. Robbing a bank in daylight in a city filled with Pro Heroes was a suicidal deed. Villains who committed grand crimes in daylight were of two categories: the dangerously competent or the immensely idiotic.

Yasui was neither.

He was of a rare, third category: the incredibly desperate. He'd been pursuing the only type of honest, decent work that anyone born as an ugly gelatinous being could pursue. The world was a large place, filled with different people with different tastes, and as it turned out, a lot of people had this strange, inexplicable fantasy of getting thoroughly ravished by living gelatin.

Yasui didn't understand the fetish, but he didn't need to understand it to make money. His fellow co-actors were often less than eager to get down to business as he was. Yasui didn't take it personally when they puked after the taping was done, nor did he take personal the looks of disgust and revulsion they would shoot his way once the director told them what fetish it was they'd be catering to.

Sure, there were those who'd originally been enthusiastic, all of whom had immediately lost that enthusiasm once the camera started to roll and Yasui did as he was meant to. There was a reason a ‘fantasy' was meant to be just that, and that was the fact that Yasui didn't have any aphrodisiac-secreting magic-bullshit to make the ordeal better. If he were some kind of fantasy-slime, Yasui knew his life would have been far easier, but he wasn't that lucky.

Someone else was that lucky, some bastard named Rimu-something, and once that slime-guy with the magic feel-good juice showed up, Yasui found himself out of a job. He tried everything else. He tried firefighting, thinking he could use his quirk to extinguish flames, but was let go because a child was too scared to jump into his arms and would rather stay in a burning building. He tried construction work, but didn't have the necessary chops needed to do it. He went as low as sewage management, and even that was better served by some bitch whose Quirk could create black holes or something.

His landlady already barely tolerated him living in her apartment. He'd been rejected for tenancy in different places because the owners didn't want it known that a 'monster' lived in the vicinity. If he defaulted on his rent, even just once, that would be it – he would find himself on the streets, without anything to his name.

None of that was what drove Yasui to rob the bank that afternoon. Bad as it was, his decision to risk it all was spurned by something more than a desire for self-preservation.

"Surround him!"

More heroes. He didn't recognize any of them on sight. Cannon-fodder! If I can just, just get away… If he could get away from these ones before anyone really dangerous managed to show up, then he could make it. I can make it, he repeated. I can make it in time!

The heroes were rushing to clear the path, evacuate the civilians. Yasui saw it as an opportunity. He searched the area. School children were up and about. His eyes locked onto two boys, perhaps in middle school, who stood off in the distance. The blonde one had scary eyes, and Yasui felt it wasn't wise to choose someone who'd struggle. The one standing beside him—

A pretty boy, Yasui was disgusted. He was envious. The green-haired boy possessed a face that looked like it could be plastered on magazines and found in expensive catalogues. Someone like that most likely had never suffered in life. Someone like that would never be able to relate to him. If I was born that pretty, what would my life be like?

With simmering resentment, Yasui lunged for the boy. His gelatinous form swayed and swept past the attempts of the Pro-Heroes to stop him, as he inched ever closer to his target. He'd learned how to forcefully take over people's bodies from all the experience he had in the industry, and he was thankful for that at least. The boy was handsome, and handsome people usually had good quirks, because kami was an unfair, petty bastard.

“Oi."

A single word stopped him in his tracks. He hadn't been paying much attention to the blonde boy beside his target. The blonde kid with dangerous eyes. The kids' red eyes pierced into Yasui's form so sharply that for the first time in a long while, he remembered what fear was supposed to feel like.

"Kacchan," the pretty boy said. “Smash and Grab?"

“Tch. There are Pro-Heroes here."

“Quirk Restriction Law allows for exceptions under duress, in self-defense, or in defense of another."

Yasui was not a religious man. Yet, in that moment of gazing into the blonde boy's red eyes and terrifying grin, he could have sworn he saw the devil.

“Now we're talking."

Yasui didn't have time to question it. An earth-splitting explosion rattled him, the shockwaves dispersing and sending his liquid form into the air. His consciousness travelled from individual molecules, back and forth, attempting to reform as quickly as possible.

Except the pretty boy was moving. There was something in his hands, it seemed. A flask? Yasui was confused. What is he doing with a—

If there was, indeed, a kami up above, watching over humanity, Yasui would have cursed him. Yasui would have cursed his fate, his luck, his life, just as the last bit of his liquid form was sealed away into a school child's water bottle.

XXXXXX

What… Did I just… see?

"Let me out of here! Let me out! Let! Me! Out!"

Shinji Nishiya, better known as the Pro-Hero, Kamui Woods, could only stand and stare with the vast majority of the shell-shocked heroes and civilians. The rampaging villain they'd failed to stop screamed loudly from within an enamel flask, held in the hands of what appeared to be a middle-school student.

The two boys stood lackadaisically, as if somehow failing to grasp the enormity of their actions. Perhaps not failing, but rather, not caring, about the nature in which they incapacitated and captured a villain.

“Tch. You were slower than usual on your right swing."

"You're joking, Kacchan."

“I know what I saw. Why'd you hesitate?"

Hesitate? Kamui Woods couldn't understand. His own eyes had watched, barely able to keep up, when the green-haired boy leaped and captured each fragment of the blasted sludge in a motion so elegant it could rival ballet. Even as a Pro Hero, he barely made it out, but somehow, his friend could not only see all of it but also point out such minuscule lapses?

“Hey… Kamui…" Death Arms whispered to him. "Who… are these kids?"

The spellbound silence brought forth by the duo's performance wore off, and people immediately began firing the exact same questions.

“That was amazing!"

“Woah! They totally took out that villain like it was nothing!"

“I got it on my phone, look—look!"

Shinji scratched the back of his head, letting out a tired sigh. “I don't know… but I have a feeling we're going to be finding out soon."

He kept his gaze focused on the boy with the green hair. By default, he appeared to be the most approachable of the duo. Kamui tried to be the type of person who didn't immediately judge people by their appearance, but there was no denying it; standing side-by-side, the green-haired boy seemed more likely to be the respectful sort.

The boy's eyes lit with recognition the second he approached. “Ah, Pro Hero Kamui Woods-san," He tilted his head in a semi-formal bow. "Are we in trouble?"

He's very polite, too, Shinji noted. “No, not at all. Normally, interfering with the capture of a villain would be considered an act of vigilantism…" The boy's eyes did not possess an ounce of regret or concern. It was almost unnerving.

“But as the villain in question clearly attacked you with malicious intent, you were within your rights to defend yourself."

“And that was some mighty fine defense," Death Arms whistled. “Damn, you kids are good. You looking for work? You could come work with my agency."

Shinji rolled his eyes. “Death Arms, they're clearly still Junior High Students."

“We're applying to UA," the green-haired boy spoke up, a hearty smile plastered on his face. “So, maybe when we get our Provisional Licenses? What do you think, Kacchan?"

The blonde-haired boy glanced at the two men and then snorted. “I don't work for losers."

“Kacchan…"

Death Arms crossed his arms, barking a laugh. “Pretty sharp mouth you got on ya, don't you kid?"

“Forgive Kacchan, he gets grumpy when he hasn't eaten breakfast."

“Oi!"

The green-haired boy bowed a bit. “I'm Midoriya Izuku. This is my best friend, Katsuki Bakugo."

Shinji committed the names to memory. “A pleasure to meet you, Midoriya-san. If I may ask… what Quirk do you have?"

“Ah, well, that's –"

"Oi, Izuku." The blonde interrupted. “Hand them the villain and let's get going. We've got to get to school, remember?"

“Come on, Kacchan, they're Pro-Heroes."

“Pro Heroes that need us to do their jobs for them?" the boy, Katsuki, scoffed. “I could probably take them on and win. You could probably take both of them on at the same time and win."

Shinji wanted to interrupt and set the record straight. His pride, however, knew that he couldn't. For starters, there was no point in arguing with a Junior High School student over something as ridiculous as beating them in a fight, and second, the boy wasn't completely wrong in his assessment that he needed to capture the villain.

Shinji's quirk was ill-equipped for such a foe, as was Death Arms and Backdraft. Meaning, on their own, the best they would have done was to keep tabs on the villain and stop him from harming innocents, while waiting for someone more suited to the task of capturing it.

This was, of course, still rather important hero work. Minimizing casualties and holding down the fort was by no means any less of a job for a Pro Hero. However, as was in sports, while it was great to be the man with the most assists, you only ever got real attention for being the man to score the most goals.

“There's a lot more to hero work than merely catching the villains," Death Arms chided. “You got some real chops on you, kid, but you're not going to get far with that attitude. Not unless you're aiming to be an Endeavor-clone."

“Who the hell would want to be a copy of the guy forever stuck in second place?"

Shinji winced at that. The green-haired boy, Midoriya, merely shook his head, an expression on his face which clearly told him how he was used to his friend's rather abrasive attitude. The boy cleared his throat and, with a polite bow, handed over the flask containing the sludge villain.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Kamui Woods-san, Death Arms-san, but we really need to get to school before we're late."

“Tsk," The blonde boy clicked his tongue, before turning around. “Heroes don't fucking lose."

Shinji could tell that the Midoriya boy was making a hasty getaway for his friends' sake. Or at least, it was the impression he got. The two boys also didn't manage to get far before they were being swarmed by spectators asking them questions and giving them congratulatory pats on the back. The Pro Hero had a feeling that he knew what was going to be on the seven o'clock news tonight.

“Heh, the UA Festival is gonna be exciting this year." Death Arms chuckled.

“You think they'll make the cut?"

“You think they won't?"

Shinji shrugged. “Not many people can say that they've stopped a villain even before they entered a Hero Academy. It doesn't exactly mean they're hero material. Well, at least, not both of them."

“Now the blonde kid may be a bit rough around the edges—”

“No, not him," Shinji interrupted. “The other one."

“You're kidding, right?"

“He was amused," Shinji said. “The expression on his face when he asked whether or not he was in trouble. He looks and feels like a generally good kid, but…"

Shinji couldn't shake it off. The emotions and expressions did not match. When he'd brought up the fact that what they'd done could be considered vigilantism, he'd expected some sort of reaction, typically. Instead, there had been nothing. No, there'd been something, and that something was the fact that there was nothing. Aspiring applicants to a Hero Academy knew what it meant to have something as serious as a vigilantism charge on their record, and yet…

Midoriya Izuku was amused.

As if he was saying, Is that supposed to be a threat?

“Anyway," Shinji held the flask containing the sludge villain. "We might as well hand this guy over to the—" Shinji felt the flask. He shook it, once, twice, and sure enough, it was filled with something, but there were no longer any voices from within.

He was tempted to open it up, just to confirm that it really was the right flask, but he knew that if he did, and it was, then he'd merely let the villain loose. There was no reason to risk that, not right now, nor right here.

“Something wrong, Kamui?"

“No… Nothing."

Midoriya Izuku, the name came to mind. I’ll keep an eye on him.

~~~~~A Precise Note ~~~~~~~

“Do you have to antagonize everyone you meet, Kacchan?"

“They sucked and you know it," Kacchan pointed his fingers straight at him. "Say it wasn't us that sludge creep aimed for. He'd have grabbed some poor bastard while the 'heroes' were twiddling their thumbs."

“There wasn't much they could do," Izuku hummed. “Their quirks weren't equipped for the situation."

“Bullshit," Kacchan scoffed. "That's the problem. They were just thinking about their quirks. Do you know how much shit they could have done if they'd thought about solving shit without using their quirks? Woodface can't trap him with his vines, sure, but what the fuck is stopping him from busting the fire hydrant and hosing down the sludge to slow him down? What’s stopping tearing up the pavement and using it as a barrier?"

“You mean other than the repair fees and collateral damage fines?"

Kacchan pressed his lips together. “You're shitting me."

“Kacchan, Pro Heroes have to keep damages to a minimum, because it gets taken out of their paychecks, and gives a bad reputation for their Agency."

"So, what, your rep is more important than catching the bad guys?"

Izuku gave a sheepish grin. “You've got to remember that being a Pro Hero is also a business, Kacchan. You're a celebrity, and an authority figure, and a first responder, and… well… at times you've got to pick your priority.”

“That's… fucked."

Izuku didn't disagree.

The rest of the walk to Aldera Junior High was done in a disgruntled, but not uncomfortable, silence. It gave Izuku the time to think. He'd been doing that a lot, thinking.

His major problem right now was funding. Accruing the necessary funds to further the next stage of his plans. Utilizing school equipment was not going to cut it any further, and he needed a larger, more diverse group of people to experiment further on. Preferably, they needed to be willing test subjects.

Funding was another slight concern. While he was making a decent sum with his artist account, it wasn’t going to be enough to cover his expenses. The amount of money he needed would become too large and too noticeable, and even Matsuda’s father would start to ask questions to his son once he checked his account statement.

Hopefully, this was where a partnership with Saiko would show its worth. 

“Oi… Izuku, look alive."

Their usual pathway was blocked. Not by construction or by an immutable obstacle, but instead, by shabbily dressed hooligans, about four of them in total. One had red hair styled into a mohawk that gave him the impression of a rooster. He was the one in front of the gang of four, with the other three members sporting similar mutant-type physiology, such as an extended tongue or long, ape-like arms.

“He's the one, ain't he, Boss?" a man on the left side said. “Green hair, pretty face. Yeah, he's definitely the one."

“I can see that you idiot," the red-haired rooster man said. He gave a sneer before turning to face Izuku. “Hey, kid. Don't make this rough on yourself. We've got instructions not to hurt you,  so if you just come along quietly, this'll all go easier."

Izuku blinked. He turned to Kacchan with an incredulous expression. “Are we being mugged?”

“Didn’t you fucking hear him? You’re being kidnapped.”

“Wait, wait," the rooster-man held his hands up, “Before we get started, do either of you have a card?"

Izuku flicked his gaze to Kacchan. Kacchan's brows furrowed in a blend of annoyance and irritation. “The fuck are you talking about?"

“Even if all you've got is a White Membership Card, you can flash it and we'll be on our way. They made it clear that all kids with cards are off limits, even for other kids with cards. We can’t touch ‘em."

Cards? Izuku's brain started working. He searched for any connection or memory he possessed of the past few weeks with anything concerning cards or memberships. The only thing which came to mind was apparently some kids acting oddly suspicious, shifty, and flighty, and the one time a boy from his school had dropped a strange White plastic card with the letters “L.O.V" atop. He didn't have enough data to draw an accurate guess, but he felt he would get his answers another way.

“You mean the cards from the L.O.V.?” Izuku wagered. “We don’t have those.”

“Good, then, you’ll come along with us.”

Izuku nodded. “Sure.”

Kacchan snapped his gaze to him. “The fuck, Izuku?”

“Huh? You—” the red-haired rooster-man was confused. “You’re… not going to resist?”

“Why should I?” Izuku tilted his head in confusion. “Someone asked you to get me, didn’t they? I’d like to meet them.”

“He’s a reasonable one, boss!”

“That girl said this’d be hard, though? Why’d she—”

“Quiet idiot!”

Girl. A girl sent them. Izuku slowly began to consider the possibilities. Himiko? No, she would not need to send run-of-the-mill thugs to get my attention. Saiko? Even less likely. She has the wealth and resources to send a limousine and a butler if she wanted to fetch me somewhere. Are there any other girls I’ve encountered? Jiro-san? No, we only had one interaction.

“Oi, Izuku, you done messing around?” Kacchan was giving him a look that said he was going to beat the hell out of the thugs, and him, if he continued to play along.

He could have easily, quite easily, rushed forward and beaten them all without so much as batting an eyelash, but that wouldn’t give him the answers he wanted. Instead, Izuku merely smiled, then he controlled his emotions, and perfectly flooded himself with happiness and surprise.

“All Might! You’re here!”

The thugs looked at each other and snorted. “Kid, if you think we’re going to fall for the oldest trick in the book—”

“FEAR NOT CHILDREN! I AM HERE! HAHAHAHAHA!”

All the color drained from the faces of the thugs simultaneously. The bitter stink of urine filled the air, as one of the thugs pissed himself on the spot. From behind them, All Might’s voice, loud and boisterous, echoed as though it were directly in their ears.

“A—A—A—All M-M-M-Mi—”

“DO NOT LOOK BACK! I SHALL GIVE YOU A CHANCE TO SURRENDER. GET ON YOUR KNEES, AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD, VILLAIN!”

The three immediately dropped to their knees at once, their hands smacking the back of their heads. They were trembling, shaking like leaves in the wind.

Beside him, Kacchan was staring at him. His eyes were boring holes into him.. Izuku winked at him, continuing to vibrate his vocal cords.

“WHAT VILE, DASTARDLY PLOT ARE YOU UP TO? WHO SENT YOU TO TROUBLE THESE CHILDREN? SPEAK!”

Ventriloquism was one of the earliest utilizations he found for his quirk. Precisely altering his vocal tracts to change his voice, and also throwing his voice, was an elementary level utilization. Technically, using a Quirk in public spaces was illegal, but it was very difficult for someone to prove he was using his quirk to do what he was doing. Whereas other flashier, more visible quirks could clearly be seen, and thus, could more easily be penalized, a Quirk like his, which allowed him to do things that could also be done merely by practice and could be used more freely and readily with none being the wiser.

Of the three men, the one who had pissed himself at hearing All Might’s voice began to confess. 

“All Might, you have to believe us! We—We didn't want to do this either!  But the Hand and the Void threatened us!  We can't go against them! They — they made the decision. We have to do whatever the brats with the cards order us to do or else—"

“Or—or we'll vanish," the man with the mohawk stammered. “Like Aruta-san and Nize-san, our friends—! They’re gone. Gone!"

Izuku's mind was running a thousand miles a minute. The Hand and the Void?

“HAND AND VOID?”

“The League! They call themselves the League!" The rooster man bit his lip. “All I know is, a girl had a Black Membership card, so we gotta obey what she asked. Every thug on the street, every criminal in this city that isn't affiliated with the Eight or the MLA has to answer to the Hand! And — and the Hand gave out cards to a large group of kids, so we gotta do whatever those kids want us to do, depending on the card they got—"

“The girl, she — she wore the same uniform as those two," the long-armed thug spoke rapidly. “She said they’d be jogging down this road! Said she didn't want them hurt or nothin' but just wanted us to tie them up and bring them to her —"

The man didn't manage to let out another word. A pitch-black fog appeared, centered on the man speaking. Izuku could not move, nor react in time, before the thug suddenly disappeared. There was no sound to accompany his disappearance. Neither motion nor noise nor anticipation. One second, the thug was there, the next, he was gone.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! The Void! The Void! Fuck! All Might! Please! Save us! We—"

The second thug glanced behind him, freezing in place as he realized there was no one there. The thug snapped his head towards Izuku as he slowly understood what had happened.

“You— You— tell my daughter that I love—”

The thug vanished. A heavy, thick cloud of silence was left behind in his wake. The three thugs were gone, their path was left unobstructed, and an uncomfortable feeling lingered in Izuku’s throat.

Slowly, Kacchan said, “What the fuck just happened?"

Izuku found a new question he could not answer.

Chapter Text

Being one of the last days of school, and being two of Aldera Junior High's most promising students, neither of them got into trouble for getting to class significantly later than normal. A lot had happened in one morning, such that both boys found themselves retreating to their thoughts in lieu of the strange, somewhat unsettling experience they had.

“Izuku-kun, are you alright?"

“Izuku-kun, you look a bit tired. Can I help you with a massage?"

Katsuki Bakugo could barely restrain his irritation at the number of hanger-on leeches that swarmed Izuku's seat once they settled in for class. Soon enough, they would never see any of these deadbeats again, and the sooner it was, the better.

"Ah, it's nothing. I'm fine, thank you."

His irritated thoughts settled as he remembered the scene of those thugs. Whereas Katsuki had been getting ready to flare up a fight, Izuku completely demolished the need for a fight using only a gimmick.

If it fucking works, is it really a gimmick?

Just by throwing his voice, putting on a show, he had one guy instantly wet his pants, and had the rest bawling their hearts out. Could he do something similar? Katsuki couldn’t say for certain. 

His quirk, Explosion, was designed for combat use and capable of inflicting massive amounts of damage. Subtle wasn’t a fucking setting when explosions came into play. They were loud, they were dangerous, they went all in. His explosions could be lethal as well. His body had developed a ridiculous resistance and strength to be able to ensure he could withstand the kickback of his explosions without blowing his limbs off, but most humans weren't like him.

In situations where finesse was needed, or situations where he couldn’t solve things with large booms, would he be left useless then? Would he sit back and twiddle his thumbs like those loser heroes who needed he and Izuku’s help to take down some D-List fuck?

Fuck that.

That would put him in Second Place. That would put him behind Izuku.

And Izuku…

Izuku didn't seem obsessed or interested in becoming the No. 1 hero as he once did. He seemed less and less interested in that, and more and more interested in his bizarre research and studies of everything from biology and anatomy to physics and engineering. It was good, for Katsuki, good, because he knew, bitterly, that if Izuku decided he wanted to be the No. 1 Hero, with that bullshit quirk of his, Katsuku would have to settle for Second Place.

No. Fuck. That.

Katsuki decided he would need to train more versatile uses of his quirk to avoid being like those D-Listers, and to avoid chasing after Izuku’s shadow. 

The lunch bell rang not too long after, and Katsuki rolled his eyes as a group of girls all but practically dragged Izuku along with them, each coming with their homemade lunches that they'd feed him. The idiot could look straight into the eyes of thugs and bad guys and threaten them with death without breaking a sweat, yet he couldn't say no to a group of puppy-eyed bimbos thirsting after him.

“Tch."

Katsuki didn't care. He had questions that needed answering. For starters, what had those men been saying about the cards? How had they vanished like that? Was there someone out there, with a quirk, who could just make people disappear? Just like that?

How do you fight against that?

How do you defend… against that?

Training, the answer came to him. Just need to train harder.

Explosions not only contained heat, but also light and sound. If he could find a way to create explosions that were all light and no heat, or all sound and no light…

He'd keep working hard. Harder. Harder and harder and harder.

The UA Entrance Exams were in two days.

He'd be damned if he didn't make it to the top spot.

The rest of the school day passed by in a dull, unexciting blur. Katsuki barely remembered the names or details of his own classmates, and sometimes even his own teachers. His grades would still rank among the top. Behind Izuku, annoyingly, but he'd long since understood that Izuku's quirk was a cheat code, so he removed Izuku from the equation because no one could compete with that cheat code, and thus, technically, Katsuki was the no. 1 student.

It was a lot of mental gymnastics, but he was happy to make every turn and every tumble.

By the day's end, however, he couldn't find the boy. Or rather, he'd seen the boy be dragged off somewhere by some girl, and they'd disappeared together.

“Izuku, you'd better not be fucking doing what I think you're doing."

No, he was overthinking things. Izuku wasn't the same as before. There was no way he'd let a girl take advantage of him. He wasn't that much of a sap.

“Goddamnit."

A Precise Note

The teachers gave him free rein to use the science lab whenever he wanted, which was why Midoriya had chosen the science lab as a meeting spot. He'd never have been able to dilute the Trigger drug without the school's science equipment. He'd been fortunate enough that no one truly seemed to care about what he was doing, especially since he'd used descriptions and words that were way beyond what a Middle School student or an average Middle School chemistry teacher was capable of.

"Do you know how hard it is to get you alone, Midoriya?"

Kanjiru Suzume was his classmate. She was a year older than him, having been held back after activating her quirk for the first time and subsequently not being able to be around people until she gained a moderate level of control over it.

Despite that, her quirk still made her unable to sit next to Kacchan and/or Matsuda, one because she'd end up being incredibly irritable and annoyed, and the other because… well… It was Matsuda.

"Can I help you, Suzume-san?"

“I — I need you to take responsibility."

Izuku's brow raised. “I don't understand."

"In this same lab, months ago, I told you to get help," She said. “You—you were fluctuating and controlling your emotions like someone just flipping dials on a machine and choosing whatever they wanted to be at any moment."

Izuku did remember. Perfect memory meant he remembered every detail of his life. That was the day he'd confirmed that he could perform complex surgery with no prior experience by doing surgery on a frog. That was also the day he unlocked the ‘Apathy State.’

“My quirk," Suzume pointed at her chest. “You know what it is."

"It lets you feel the emotions of others."

“Empathy, that's the name,” She scoffed. “It's torture. I'm suppressing it, and yet, I still feel people's emotions around me as though they were my own. If I don't suppress it, I'm bombarded with emotions of hundreds of people all at once, so much pain and anger and lust and hate and—"

She stopped. “And you… you… You – that day, in this lab, you were happy. I felt happy. I felt happier than I'd ever felt in my entire life. I felt more joy and bliss from you in those moments than I'd ever felt in my entire life!"

Izuku grimaced. His ‘Happiness State’ massively overstimulated his brain with feel-good hormones that simulated the effects of certain substances. He could handle it because his brain was rewired to be able to do so. However, for Suzume…  

“I'm sorry. I didn’t know."

"I don't want your apology!" she spat. “I want to feel it again. I want to feel that happiness again. You set a new standard for what happiness feels like, and it's a standard that is impossible to achieve. Not without you."

Izuku shook his head. “I’m sorry, Suzume-san, truly, I am, but that’s not a good idea."

“This is your fault!" she snapped. “Yours! Yours! All I want is to feel that happiness again. Isn't that your thing? Isn't that your whole gimmick? Making people happy?"

“Doing this will make you sadder in the long run, Suzume-san."

“What do you know?” Suzume laughed. “I’m already miserable. I thought — I thought I could be a therapist, like my mother. She said it's not possible. My quirk, it more than just lets me feel what others feel. It prevents me from forgetting the emotion. It amplifies the emotion because I'm vividly aware of it. So no, I won't be consoling anyone suffering from grief and heartbreak, because I'll be too busy bawling my own eyes out. I won't be talking anyone down from ledges, because I'll be too busy preparing to jump myself."

Izuku ran his hand through his hair. Quirks again. It was always quirks. Quirks that brought disadvantages. Quirks that made people’s lives hard to live. Again and again, and again and again—

I hate Quirks.

His hatred of Quirks did not leak into his emotions. He controlled himself, putting himself in a slightly muted version of the “Apathy State.” 

He could already tell that doing such a thing was a bad idea. He'd become her drug, and she'd become his addict. He'd heavily modified his own brain with his quirk to be able to handle extremes of pumping himself full with feel-good hormones. She, however, didn't have his brain structure. She wasn't capable of bouncing back and forth between extreme highs and extreme lows on a dime.

He would permanently turn her into an addict.

“I can’t," Izuku shook his head. “It’ll do you more harm than good. If you can’t feel happy without me, you’ll keep needing me to feel happy.”

“What, you're saying I'll be addicted?"

“Yes."

“I don't care."

“I do."

She scoffed. “As if you would—" She stopped her sentence midway. She stared at him for five long, hard seconds in which her expression was one of disbelief. “You… actually…"

Her brows narrowed immediately. “No, it's a trick. You're tricking me. Bastard. You're manipulating your emotions to make me believe that you actually care."

Izuku shook his head. “I’m not."

Without a single word, she started unbuttoning her uniform. “What are you doing?"

She dropped her skirt, and he averted his eyes. “Suzume–san, please put your clothes back on."

“All men are the same," she said. “I know it. Cause I can feel it. I was nine when I first felt lust and sexual desire fired at me. Because of my quirk, I felt it back in turn. Things I didn't even understand. It's all most of you can think of. I feel it everyday in class, all the time, boys just want nothing more than to tear girls' clothes off and stick their dicks into them. Teachers aren't even immune. Most keep their boundaries and never act on it, but it's there all the same."

Izuku pressed his lips tightly together. “I’m sorry, you had to go through that. I really am. But not everyone is like that. There are good people, Suzume-san.”

“Then I guess I’ve got terrible luck, because I’ve never met any of them,” she laughed. “I'm not a bad person, Midoriya. I'm just like your friend, Matsuda. You help him out, don't you? He's a walking ball of sexual desire. All he ever feels is the desire to fuck something or someone and you don't judge him, do you?"

“That’s different," Izuku shook his head.

Matsuda’s request had been morally wrong, which was true. However, Matsuda had kept his word and never shown the image to anyone. Izuku did not doubt that had he not been the one to make the mistake by telling Inko of it, Matsuda would have carried that secret between them to his dying breath. 

Ultimately, one drawn porn image of a classmate did not make a difference to the boy’s personality, his character, his daily life or his brain. It would not change him in any way. Drawing porn of a classmate was worlds apart from making a classmate into an addict. The gravity and consequences of the former did not even come anywhere close to the fallout of the latter.

“Everyone is addicted to something, Izuku. Take it from me. Everyone. And many of us don't get to choose our addictions. Besides, it's not all bad to be addicted to happiness. I know you're not going to take advantage of me. So… will you? Please?"

Izuku stared straight into her pleading, desperate eyes. Were it the him of a few weeks ago, a few months ago,  or the him who had just awoken his quirk, he would have been conflicted. He would have been swayed to accept her request out of pity, or sympathy, or a misguided sense of responsibility.

However, he was no longer the same person. 

He was the Midoriya Izuku who had covered up a murder scene. He was the Midoriya Izuku who was harboring and had conducted illegal experiments on the runaway serial killer, Himiko Toga, who believed she was his girlfriend. He was the Midoriya Izuku who was making a profit off drawing the twisted sexual ideas in people’s minds and hearts. 

He was the Midoriya Izuku who had met Intelli Saiko and read several college-level textbooks on the responsible use of quirks, ethics, and morality. He was the Midoriya Izuku who could control his emotional state as he pleased, and shut off any feelings of remorse, guilt, pity, or sympathy that would have stirred him to act emotionally, rather than logically. 

He was the Midoriya Izuku who had done some self-introspection, conjuring versions of himself to ask what it was he truly wanted, what it was he needed to do to get it. He was the Midoriya Izuku who told himself he would do whatever it takes. 

More than that, he was Midoriya Izuku, who genuinely, truly wanted to help people. Giving a smoker a pack of cigarettes when they begged for it was not helping them.

It was destroying them.

“I’m sorry, Suzume-san,” Izuku said firmly. “I cannot do what you’re asking me.”

Suzume’s eyes widened. She stepped back, as if uncertain that she heard his words correctly. “Can’t?” she asked. “Or… won’t?”

Izuku politely, but firmly, shook his head. “I won’t.”

He made his way to the door of the lab. “If there is anything else you need me to help you with, Suzume-san… I can. If not…”

“W-wait!”

Suzume ground her teeth behind him.

“Do it — or —”

Suzume opened a drawer, grabbed a scalpel, and held it to her throat.

“I’ll kill myself."

The lab went silent. Izuku froze in his tracks.

The girl bit her lip, saying, “You want to get into UA, right? If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll— I’ll kill myself and — and everyone will know you had something to do with it.”

She pressed the scalpel dangerously close to her jugular.

“Even — even if you stop me here… I’ll — I’ll hang myself in my room, and write a suicide note, and mention you by name — and — and — I’ll say it’s because of what you did to me.”

Izuku’s brain came to a screeching halt. She could entirely be bluffing, but it was a chance he could not take. He absolutely would not allow her to die for something like this. It would eat away at his conscience for the rest of his life and scar his soul on a level he would not be able to return from. Knowing that he could have saved or stopped a person’s suicide but stubbornly refused to do so because he wanted to help her was a psychological burden he was not prepared to carry, the ability to control his emotions or not.

Then, a deeper, more astute part of him realized something worse. If she really did make a suicide attempt and wrote a note in that manner, the meanings and implications would change drastically. Most people’s thoughts would go in a much, much different direction if a girl attempted to kill herself because of what a boy ‘did’ to her. 

Even if he was innocent, he could not accept the consequences of such an accusation. Any form of police investigation or probe on him was the last thing he wanted.

Not just because he had skeletons in the closet, but because of his mother, Inko.

He did not want his mother to have to open the door to police officers looking for him, bringing up the topic of suicide. 

Inko still hadn’t asked him about that day. The day she opened the bathroom door and found him with the knife. They never spoke of it. They never mentioned it. It was a pink elephant in the room that was covered with a giant blanket, and they both chose to pretend it was a lamp. The joy of the fact that he had finally uncovered his quirk had pushed aside the uncomfortable questions and indefinitely postponed the bitter conversation that should have followed.

It was on hiatus, that realization, that knowledge, that had he not awoken his quirk, or had he found the willpower to go through with what he planned, she would have opened the door to a scene that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Izuku did not wish that fate on his mother. He did not wish for any mother to go through that. Not his, and not Suzume’s and not anyone else’s. Especially not because of him. They could never go through that.

Never.

Never, ever.

Never, ever, ever!

The bubbling feeling in his throat moved him into motion faster than his mind could follow. He embraced Suzume in a hug.

 “I—Izuku—”

“I’ll do what you want.”

He acquiesced, softly.

“But you have to promise… promise that you’ll never threaten to take your own life again.”

“I—”

"Promise,” Izuku pleaded. “Please.”

His voice was a whisper.

“Please have some more value, for your one and only life.”

The scalpel fell to the floor and rang out with a deep, heavy, metal clang. 

“I — I’m so… so sorry — I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

Suzume, with her Empathy quirk, felt his emotions. She felt what he felt. A thing that could not be said alone with words. She gripped the back of his shirt and began to sob.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I— so sorry—”

They stood, like that, for minutes, with her weeping into his arms. Izuku didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He waited until she stopped weeping, waited until she gathered herself and her wits, and, with her in his arms, she looked into his eyes with an emotion he could not place.

For the first time, Izuku's eyes were drawn to the fact that she was still topless and bottomless, and the fact that they had been hugging for so long. For the first time, he took note of the lacy bra she wore, of her moderate-sized D-cups, and the matching lacy black underwear. For the first time, Izuku felt a stirring he understood intellectually, but had never done so emotionally.

Then he remembered, he had agreed to her request. He closed his eyes and readied to flood himself with happiness—

“W—wait,” Suzume stopped him. “I don’t… need… that. T-there’s something else I want from you.” 

“Something el—”

She silenced him with her lips, claiming it in a deep, yearning kiss, and gently pushing him towards the ground. She straddled him, kissing deeply, and for the first time, Izuku felt a difference. A change he had never felt before. Something was… rising.

The question, all too abrupt, came as to why he had never felt this before. The more he thought about it, the deeper Suzume’s tongue went into his mouth, the more vigorous her hips straddled against him, the faster this series of thoughts came. He had never experienced ‘morning wood.’ He could not recall a time he felt truly, physical or sexual attraction. This was because his body… was precise, a well-oiled machine. This meant his testosterone levels had all along been self-regulated. Suppressed. Modulated.

Testosterone and libido were correlated. The hormone influenced not just sex drive, but also aggression, confidence, and motivation. A higher amount of testosterone meant higher baseline levels of desire. 

However, his body created everything in precise measures.

For a boy his age, the amount of testosterone he secreted… was frighteningly little. The result was a near non-existent sex drive, lower baseline aggression, and confidence.

“I-Izuku…?” Suzume pulled away from the kiss, hesitating. “If — if you don’t want to, then—” 

Izuku flooded his body with raw, pure testosterone.

An uncomfortable feeling suddenly sprang from down below. Suzume unzipped his pants. Her mouth went dry.

“...Oh. My. God.”

From there, things spiralled beyond his control.

XXXX

“The crazy hand guy called himself Shigaraki.”

The room smelled of cleaning solution and chemicals, courtesy of Izuku’s efforts to make it spotless and remove any evidence of what had happened here. Suzume sat on a table, her eyes glossy, and her cheeks flushed. Her legs were trembling like a long-distance runner who’d completed a marathon.

“There were at least a hundred kids, if not two hundred,” Suzume continued. “He gave this big speech, and said anyone could be a villain. That we could have anything we wanted. It was how… It got me thinking. I… wanted you. But, well, I didn’t know how to… and I didn’t think you would…”

She paused, moving her head behind her hair.  “The guy who could teleport us, who brought us there, was called Kurogiri. He was scary. I think he can teleport anywhere, as long as he knows the location.”

Suzume reached into her skirt pocket, and handed over a sleek, glossy black card politely. On the Black card were letters: “L.O.V.”

“With this, they say you can command any criminal or thug to do anything you want. I sent a few… um, thugs to get you. Not for anything bad! Just… I— well you know,” she cleared her throat. “I’ll be leaving for America soon, an All-Girls Private Boarding School. I won’t be needing this anymore, so…”

Izuku took the card, examining it closely, then, he turned back to Suzume, whose cheeks were still a faint rosy red, and whose eyes were still slightly glossy. More noticeably, there was a fairly noticeable limp when she walked. Her legs, likewise, were shaking and trembling terribly as she stood. She almost collapsed as she took a step forward, forcing Izuku to hold her steady.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“N—no, no, don’t apologize — I —” her face burned red all at once. “Izuku. Never apologize for that. I — I couldn’t have asked for a better last gift to remember home… I don’t… think I’ll be able to forget… any of that.”

Izuku sighed.

“...I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god, stop apologizing!” She covered her face with her hands. “It’s even more embarrassing when you look so remorseful about it!”

“That’s not what I’m apologizing for.”

“Oh. Oh! Uh… I’m on the pill, so you don’t have to worry about—”

“Not that either,” Izuku smiled. “You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed…?”

Suzume paused. Then, her eyes widened. “I can’t… feel anything. Your emotions. At all. It’s like you’re not… here. You — you figured out a way to block out my quirk?”

“I made myself immune to it.”

Suzume stared. “You — what? H—how?”

“During your twelfth orgasm, when I filled you with seminal fluid—”

“S—stop, stop!” Steam was coming out of her ears. “Izuku you can’t just say something like that! Just… summarize. You can make yourself immune to a person’s quirk after… filling them with your… juice?”

Izuku smiled. Though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Wait, really?”

The female reproductive tract typically would immediately begin an immune response to foreign substances. Sperm contained in the sperminal fluid and the potential embryo were considered invaders to the body, and seminal fluid had a task of modulating the female immune system to prevent its rejection.

It triggered a controlled response in the female genital tract, promoted the generation of regulatory T cells which would establish immune tolerance to the semen and, subsequently, to the embryo. This tolerance was essential for successful implantation and a healthy pregnancy.

Suzume did not know any of that. She did not know anything of the complex biological processes that went into fertilization, and Izuku did want to explain it, but as always, no one had the patience to listen to his explanations.

Sperm temporarily alters your biology to allow you to get pregnant. I can precisely manipulate my own biochemistry, and my own sperm. Once inside you, I used the ability of sperm to alter your biology as a ‘backdoor.’ 

With it, I stored a portion of my DNA into your Quirk Factor, which created a ‘false positive’ for me in your Quirk.

You can no longer feel my emotions, and because, to your quirk, I’m ‘you.’

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I used you to experiment. I—”

“No, no, it’s — it’s fine,” she waved her hand. “I mean… I also… wanted to use you. And I’m definitely not complaining… about… um… any of it.” She mumbled, “I didn’t even know it was possible to orgasm so many times…”

“There’ll be side effects,” Izuku said, slowly.

Suzume lifted a brow. “Anything dangerous?”

“You won’t be able to forget me.”

“Izuku, I don’t think I could forget you even if I tried,” she laughed. “If that’s it, then that’s not a problem.”

Is it? Is it really?

“So… um… I guess, this is… goodbye?”

Suzume twiddled her thumbs. 

“I’m not used to…” Suzume bit her lip. “I don’t know how to react or what to say to someone whose emotions I can't… feel.”

Izuku chuckled. “That’s how the rest of us live, Suzume-san.”

“It feels… terrible,” she confessed. “How do you all… live like this? Not able to understand if someone is mad at you, or angry at you, or furious at you or… or… or if they hate you or… care for you. I don’t know what you’re feeling and it… it’s kind of scary.”

“It can be,” Izuku said. “Emotions.”

Suzume made her way towards the door. As she did, she looked back, one last time.

“Hey, Izuku?”

She held the door to support her shaky legs.

“I believe you’ll make a great hero.”

She smiled, lifting one hand up, in a familiar salute.

“Go Beyond. Plus Ultra.”

Izuku’s chest tightened, as he said, “Plus Ultra.”

The door to the laboratory shut behind her, Izuku closed his eyes, taking a long, deep breath.

In ‘The Quirk Genome and the Question of the Penultimate Stage of Human Evolution’ there was a case study of a woman whose child had inherited the ‘slow-object’ quirk possessed by her ex-lover, rather than the fire quirk possessed by her husband. She had been accused of cheating, until the DNA tests confirmed the child was indeed her husband's son. Yet, somehow, he had inherited the Quirk not of his father, but of his mother’s ex-lover.

This was called Telegony. It was a theory that was once accepted as fact by the Ancient Greeks, before being dismissed due to directly contrasting against modern knowledge of genetics. The theory held that one’s offspring could inherit the characteristics of a previous mate of the female parent. Thus, the child of a woman could have genetic traits of a previous sexual partner.

Telegony was one of the many theories brought back during the rise of Quirks, and people questioned, whether or not the genes, and thus, the Quirk of a woman’s ex-lover, could instead remain in her body long enough for it to manifest in the child of herself and current husband.

Predictably, the theory caught favor by several conservative-leaning fringe groups, who used it to reinforce the societal value of a woman’s virginity. After all, what man would want their son to inherit the Quirk of their wife’s ex?

Izuku knew all of this theory and more. Saiko had never known that in the process of tasking him to refine Trigger, she had sent him down a rabbit hole, studying and consuming hundreds of books. All of which was done with a brain that was altered to have higher neuroplasticity, and an eidetic memory.

The result was that Izuku’s current knowledge of genetics, epigenetics, endocrinology, biology and biochemistry was long past Undergrad-level, and fairly close to Doctorate-level. When he narrowed his focus on Quirks and the Quirk Factor, his understanding of it was beyond anything many could fathom.

Telegony, though controversial and baseless in the pre-Quirk era, was now something he had preemptively manifested.

With that remnant of DNA he had left in Suzume’s Quirk Factor, it was guaranteed that her future child, even with a different man, would carry his genes. There would not be enough for her child to inherit his Quirk, but the child would have either his hair, or his eyes, or his facial structure or all of the above.

Thus, in this life, even if they never met again, dozens of years from now, when she finally settled down and married and lived to old age, she would look at her children…

And she would be reminded of Midoriya Izuku.

For that reason—

I’m sorry, Suzume.

Izuku pitied her.

A Precise Note

UA Academy

Day of the Entrance Exams

Izuku took steadying breaths as he approached the entrance center. He knew now that the reddening of cheeks were a result of physical attraction and the hushed whispers were either done in admiration or envy.

Perhaps before, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it, or he would have simply ignored it entirely. However, having started to pump himself with the proper amount of testosterone for a boy his age, Izuku’s mindset had changed.

He had already been ambitious, grandiosely so, when running at a testosterone deficit, and now?

He smiled at the girls who blushed, waved at the boys, who envied him, stood taller, and straighter, and fuller and freer. If he was attractive, so be it. It would allow him to leverage opportunities towards heroics and further his goals.

Some people were superficial, and cared only for attraction, but it was human to do so, and it was human to want beauty. If he could save more people, help more people, make the days of more people brighter, just by smiling, or existing, and just by being a pleasure to look on, it was not something he would shy away from.

“Oi… Izuku… you okay?"

Izuku turned his gaze to his friend. Kacchan, who was sipping on a small bottle of water beside him.

“I had sex with Suzume.”

Kacchan spat the water out of his mouth, coughing and hacking and sputtering. Izuku grinned. The difference an adequate level of testosterone made in feeling competition and drive truly could not be understated. The look of sheer bewilderment on Katsuki Bakugo’s face made it completely worth it.

“Guess getting laid is another thing you’ll be second place at, Kacchan,” Izuku teased. “Do your best in the exams! I’ll be rooting for you!”

“Fuck off! Die! Eat shit!"

The boy stormed off, leaving Izuku standing there, laughing softly to himself. Kacchan is still Kacchan after all. The best way to motivate him, in the end, was to spark that fire of comparison under him.

His instincts told him of an incoming person, and he swayed to the side, quickly catching a person before she stumbled to the ground.

“Are you okay?"

The brunette was fair-skinned with a perpetual blush on her cheeks. Her eyes were large and round, their irises a warm brown, with thick upper eyelashes, two longer and more prominent ones protruding outwards on either side and fewer but more individually pronounced lower eyelashes. Shoulder-length and about the same color as her eyes, her hair was bobbed and curved inwards at the ends, two longer clumps taking the same shape on either side of her face, with short bangs that reached roughly a quarter of the way down her forehead.

Izuku's gaze moved to her hand as she gestured it out. “Oh, thank you—"

On the top inner segment of each of her fingers, she had a small pink pad, somewhat resembling the toe of a cat or a dog's paw. Quirk related?

The girl's outstretched hand touched his, and she looked at him for the first time. Izuku smiled upon seeing how red her face had gotten.

“Do you like what you see?”

“N-No!” She sputtered.

“Ouch.”

“I meant yes! I mean -- I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Ah — um — y-yes, thank you —"

She let go of his hand quickly, as though she’d been burned, bowing her head repeatedly and rushing off. Then, she stopped, as if forgetting something.

“Um... sorry, I – I didn't get your name!"

“Midoriya," he said, with confidence. “Midoriya Izuku."

“I-I'm Uraraka," she replied, firmly. “Uraraka Ochako."

She has spirit, Izuku felt. Beautiful.

“Thank you for helping me, Midoriya-san," she bowed. “And, um…" she raised her fist in the air. “Do your best! Plus Ultra!"

Izuku smiled, as rose his fist into the air.

“You too, Uraraka-san.”

He raised his fist into the air.

“Plus Ultra."

Chapter Text

UA Entrance Exams

Written Test

The Uncanny Valley Effect, Izuku read, was proposed by the pre-Quirk era robotics professor, Masahiro Mori. Mori's original hypothesis was that as the appearance of a thing is made more human, an observer's emotional response to it becomes increasingly positive and empathetic, until it becomes almost human, at which point the response quickly becomes strong revulsion.

Izuku's eyes scanned furtively through the psychosomatic illusion. The words were from the book "Quirk Formism: On the Necessity of Distinction between Homo Illuminatus," authored by the controversial and renowned Quirk Formist, Dr. Alan Kay.

Fascinatingly, Izuku read on. Few initially had reason to create distinctions between the ‘Enlightened Man’, as the species was named following the discovery of the ‘Luminescent Baby’, until it was discovered that mere bioluminescence was not, at all, the limits of the biological difference between Illuminatus and Sapiens. As children with extra eyes and ears were born and became more commonplace, the sight of them became ‘uncanny’ and their forms were considered, by many, to be ‘inhuman.’ 

“Thirty minutes remaining!" A proctor called out. Not just any proctor, but a Pro Hero proctor, Present Mic. “In exactly thirty minutes, your pens go up!"

Groans cut across the room. Muffled comments and swears hit Izuku's ears, as did the sound of pens furiously scribbling faster and faster on paper. Izuku glanced down at his own paper. His handwriting, so neat and refined, would have mistaken it for a printed computer font. He'd finished the written exam ten minutes after he started, and spent the rest of his time idly perusing the pages of books he'd stored with his eidetic memory. There was no reason to leave the hall early.

Unlike those eager to prove themselves, Izuku didn't need to.

He turned his gaze back to the floating book in front of him, mentally flipping the next page. The Uncanny Valley Effect is considered a purely neurological reaction, rather than cultural or sociological. The strong cognitive dissonance felt between a thing that appears, at first glance, human, yet deviates strongly from humanity, is the primary argument for discrimination between the form-deviant of the Homo Iluminatus.

Etcoff et al argued in ‘Survival of the Most Similar’ that human preference for similarity is rooted in evolutionary instinct and that any attempt to combat this evolutionary instinct would be no different from attempting to combat the instinct to enjoy food. to partake in sex, to reproduce, or to live. Thus, they claim, such distinction is not a social evil, but an evolutionary necessity.

Izuku lifted a brow.

Rhodes and Cresap wrote, “The more human an organism looks, the stronger the aversion to its defects, perceived or otherwise, because defects indicate disease, because more human-looking organisms are more closely related to human beings genetically, and because the probability of contracting disease-causing bacteria, viruses, and other parasites increases with genetic similarity." The visual anomalies of form-deviant meta-ability holders cause reactions of alarm and revulsion, similar to corpses and visibly diseased individuals.

Distinction on such a basis cannot be faulted nor claimed to be a moral failing on the majority, but the fault falls upon the minority that deviates from the norm. This deviation in forms is the basis by which I propose ‘Quirk Formism’, and the necessity for clear lines to be made between the ‘form-normative’ and ‘form-deviant.’

Izuku stopped and scanned the room. There was, to no surprise, a variety of different individuals taking the exam to enter the top pro hero academy in the nation. Notably, he turned his gaze to the people whose appearances deviated in form.

There was a blonde boy with a large, seemingly prehensile tail, which, Izuku could tell, provided him with no small amount of discomfort in the generic seats that were provided and did not accommodate every anatomical peculiarity.

There was a girl, far off, from his side with striking pink skin, square-shaped eyes with black sclerae and yellow irises, and slightly darker pink hair. Horns also seemed to be attached to her head, giving Izuku pause. Bluntly speaking, she faintly resembled a devil from the Dungeons and Dragons games he, Manga, Matsuda, and Minoru played. She also, at the same time, resembled a succubus he’d seen in a few of Matsuda’s many, many doujin collections. He could not imagine the number of times she’d likely been told she was one or the other, and how she would be treated because of it.

“Twenty minutes!" Present Mic's voice echoed. “Twenty minutes remaining!"

Izuku glanced down at his paper, his answers. The written exam consisted of basic tests of mathematics, language, science, civics, and history. The history portions were the easiest, as they contained mostly topics regarding villain cases. There was a portion that consisted of true or false questions about heroics and civilian-level quirk law. Finally, there was the bit filled with ethics and morality questions, which were painfully obvious as to what the 'right' answer was in all situations.

Is this really an exam? It feels like a light quiz.

Then, he realized that given his current repertoire of knowledge was enough for him to be able to write a Doctorate-Level Thesis, the type of exam that he would consider challenging would be outright impossible for anyone here to understand.

He returned his attention to his book, mentally flipping through the pages.

This proposal should not be thought of as illogical or mere reactionary discrimination. Researchers at Tokyo University measured human brain activations related to the appearance of individuals with a form-deviant meta-ability. In one study using fMRI, cognitive scientists Ramsey and Ichimoto found differences in brain responses for the form-deviant in the parietal cortex, on both sides of the brain, specifically in the areas that connect the part of the brain's visual cortex with the section of the motor cortex thought to contain mirror neurons.

They saw, in essence, evidence of mismatch or perceptual conflict. The brain “lit up" when the human-adjacent appearance of the form-deviant, but it "didn't compute." The mirror neurons failed to fire properly, as it would when seeing a form-normative individual. 

Ichimoto stated, “The brain doesn't selectively tune to biological appearance. What it seems to be doing is looking for its expectations to be met, for appearance and behaviour to be congruent. The lack of congruence may lead to a lack of understanding, and a lack of understanding provokes unease."

His colleague, Ramsey, stated, to much controversy, “Even if a rock talks, walks, moves and claims to be a man, if the brain recognizes it as a rock, you’ll treat it as a rock.” 

The unfair or prejudicial distinctions between people based on race, gender, age, class, religion, or sexual orientation cannot compare to a distinction made by one’s very neurological and evolutionary biology. Without a radical rewiring of the human brain, to dismiss those who would make such distinctions as ‘bigots’ would be no different, as Etcoff et al argued, to dismiss the very nature of human instinct. Rather, we must ready ourselves to better make this distinction and ask the hard questions:

Does it appear human in form?

Does it appear uncanny in form?

Does its form amalgamate features of animals, phenomena, or objects?

If the answer to any of the above is yes, then they are form-deviant. To prevent a decline in global empathy, I propose we make haste to separate the form-deviant from the rest of the form-normative, and do what we must to ensure that form-normativity remains the standard of the Homo Illuminatus.

With a slight shake of his head, Izuku dispelled the psychosomatic hallucination and shut the book entirely. He could see why Dr. Alan Kay was such an influential figure. His argument was persuasive enough to sway people to his cause.

Quirk Formism, he called it. The theory that anything that didn't look human enough in ‘form’ wasn’t human. The brain scan studies had been done multiple times and confirmed, independently, across varying test subjects, and varying countries and societies. Areas in the brain that should normally fire when seeing a ‘person’ did not fire or function as normal when seeing certain people with ‘Mutant-type’ quirks. 

The studies were even worse when it came to ‘attraction.’ During one of their many game sessions, when Matsuda and Manga had been arguing, Manga had said he would swap Matsuda’s quirk, which made him a complete horndog, over his own any day and any time of the week. 

“You’ve no idea what it’s like, man!”

Manga could not kiss people. He could not look into someone’s eyes lovingly, or possess a playful, teasing glint in his eye, or nuzzle his nose into someone’s cheeks—

He could not smile. Not in the conventional sense.

How do you feel attracted to a person whose smile you would never see?

Izuku knew the bitter answer. Few people could feel attracted to a speech bubble.

Quirk Formism had a significant number of backers. There were those who supported it, also, with Quirk Singularity Theory to argue that if individuals with non-human physiological and anatomical traits were continued to intermingle with society and allowed to have children, in the future, it was possible for a ‘human' to be born that would have no human traits whatsoever.

The infamous Centaur Argument was well known. It stemmed from a joke that two centaurs had a child, but the child ended up being a human because it inherited the human half from both parents. In that case, was the child a centaur or a human?

"Ten minutes!"

Izuku neatly organized his answer sheets, gathered his writing tools, and stood once the call was made. He drew gazes whenever he did something, but it was expected. He walked to the back of the class, handing over the papers to the proctor, Present Mic.

“Finally decided you were tired of sitting around?"

“I wasn’t in any hurry."

Present Mic muffled a laugh, “I'll bet." 

He collected Izuku's papers without much fanfare, before gesturing with his finger to the door. “The practical exam starts in seventy minutes. Maybe that will give you a challenge."

Izuku beamed. “Really?”

Present Mic stared blankly. “That’s not supposed to get you excited, you scary brat.” 

“This was somewhat easy compared to my usual reading material," Izuku admitted. “So I was hoping for more.”

“More. More, he says,” Present Mic repeated, dryly.  “You finished the written exam in under what, fifteen, twenty minutes?"

“Ten."

“How in the world did you not get a recommendation? You’d have been better off at the Recommended Exams…” Present Mic pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just get going."

Izuku did as he was told. Exiting the room, he found other examinees who had finished their exams either weeping or shaking. There was even one boy sucking on his thumb and rocking back and forth. There was a girl crying in the corner. 

Ah. I think… the exam might have been hard?

Judging from their reactions, Izuku guessed that the written exam might have been considerably harder than he thought.

I wonder how Kacchan is doing? 

Surely his friend should have also finished the written exam. He hoped Kacchan would have no problems. 

Well, there’s always the practical portion…

Humming to himself, Izuku moved towards the distraught examinees and began to do what he could to comfort them.

XXXXXX

What the fuck is this fucking bullshit?

“Examinee number thirty-seven! Kindly refrain from using your quirk!"

“Hai, yeah, whatever."

Katsuki Bakugo settled down the minor sparks flying from his palms in favor of rubbing his hands through his hair.  What the fuck? What the fuck? What the absolute fucking fuck?

This wasn't Middle School level.  He expected that. Anticipating that the topics UA would discuss would be above Middle School Level was fucking obvious. The school’s motto was Plus Ultra, literally means to Go Beyond. Any fucking moron who came here expecting the school not to live up to that motto was just asking to show the world that their skulls were fucking empty..

However, there was going beyond and there was going to the fucking moon.

The mathematics was probably High School second or third year stuff, the language proficiency had references to kanji that he was only vaguely familiar with, and that wasn't even getting into the specifics of bloody fucking quirk registration laws, quirk usage laws, quirk restriction laws, QETA scores and classifications, infamous civil disputes and trick question after trick question.

Katsuki was good enough on the math and the language, but the rest were more than fucking going beyond. The only way anyone would ace this written exam was if they were an absolute S-Class Nerd with a nose buried so deep into books it was pointer than fucking Pinnochio.

Just look at this shit! Bakugo stared at one of the questions.

Which of the following government initiatives was implemented following the Lawsuit of the A-Class Villain, Nevermore?

A.  Houses for Everyone Initiative (HEI)

B. Save All Dolphins Initiative (SADI)

C.  Share A Laugh Initiative (SALI)

D. Compassion for Birds Initiative (COBI)

E. All of the Above

Katsuki ground his teeth. Who the fuck was Nevermore? 

He didn't pay attention to the names of villains or the shit they did. So long as they got fucking stopped in the end, what did it matter? They were beaten, so they were weak, and that was that.

Izuku would probably fucking know the answer. Of course, he would. Katsuki almost ground his teeth at the way the nerd casually said he got laid, and even mocked him about being second place at that.

Who the fuck cares about shit like that?

As much as it grated him, he knew Izuku wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t do something that would ruin his future. Besides, he couldn’t exactly chastise the boy, when there was no doubt in his mind that Izuku knew the answers to every single question on this fucking exam, while he didn’t. The nerd would probably say something about how the Compasson for Birds Initiative was some stupid thing that got created after one fucker went fucking coo-coo after he killed a bunch of people at a poultry farm, because his quirk let him be able to understand birds.

Katsuki blinked.

Wait a fucking minute.

The Save All Dolphins Initiative was something created by the hero Gang Orca, because the dude cared about dolphins, for whatever fucking reason. The Houses for Everyone Initiative was made by Cementoss, and Izuku had mentioned something about it before while house-hunting, though Katsuki had no clue what the hell the boy was doing searching for a house to begin with. The Share A Laugh Initiative was some charity service the boy harped about that was created by a hero called Mrs. Joker or whatever, that was supposed to collect relief to aid victims of disasters.

That left the Compassion for Birds Initiative.

Huh.

Katsuki Bakugo ticked off ‘D’ on his sheet and then glanced at the next question.

Which of the following measures were created to aid the victims of ‘Isekai Disease’ following the capture and arrest of the S-Class Villain, Peter Pan?

A. The Matrix Trauma Care Association (MTCA)

B. The Reality Discontinuity Crisis Center (RDCC)

c. The  Humane Organization for Memory Extermination (HOME)

D. All of the Above

E. None of the Above

Katsuki wanted to rip out his hair. Why the fuck are all the questions about fucking loser villains?!

Then, the answer clicked. This was a Hero School. What sort of Hero School didn’t teach you about the fucking villains? Considering you’d be heading out to stop them and fight them on a daily basis, not knowing who your opps were meant going in blind against someone who had full-screen 8K videos of your every fucking move.

Peter Pan… Peter fucking Pan… Did Izuku mention something about him?

Hadn’t Izuku said something about that?

Yeah, he had.

He said he wanted the fucker’s quirk would because he would have all the time in the world to read books…

Katsuki’s back went rigid as he remembered.

Peter Pan was some basement-dwelling loser fuck who thought he was quirkless, claimed he had been ‘transported to another world’ after getting hit by a truck as Middle Schooler, and lived his entire life there where he became the “Hero”, lived to old age, became King, and then died. Then, when he ‘died,’ he awoke back in his body in a hospital where he’d been in a coma for twenty-fucking-years. 

The thirty-four-year-old creep said that this wasn’t the ‘real world’ and that his ‘Other World’ was the real one. Then they told him, no, he wasn’t a quirkless idiot, he did have a Quirk all along, called ‘Neverland.’ He had the power to enter, control, and manipulate a world that was indistinguishable from reality while he was in a state of prolonged unconsciousness.

However, he had such terrible sleeping habits that he never entered REM sleep long enough to notice this was his quirk. Only while in a coma was his quirk active and at its strongest, as he couldn’t fucking wake up.

Despite this, Peter Pan was ‘convinced’ that the other world was the real world, so he went about driving in a white truck, hitting unsuspecting teenagers, and putting them into comas, so he could use his quirk on them and play ‘Hero’s Party’ together.

Hundreds of fucking teenagers really believed that they had ‘gone to another world.’

What made him an S-Class Villain was the fact that while he was powerless in reality, in his dream-world, he was a fucking god. He did anything and everything he wanted, could control time as he wanted, manipulate reality as he wanted, so people who spent just a few hours or even months in a coma could have believed they spent entire decades or centuries there. 

The media started calling it ‘Isekai Disease.’

It could completely fuck a person up, to have gotten old, married, had kids, lived to old age, watched your grandkid, held them in your hands, only to die, and realize, no, you were still a bloody middle schooler and your entire life, family, and everything you had ever accomplished was just a fucking dream.

A lot of victims of Isekai Disease ended up offing themselves. The ones that didn’t off themselves couldn’t readjust to society, and started saying there was no guarantee this world wasn’t a dream either, and had to be locked up in psych wards. 

Izuku mentioned there was one case, with a girl who insisted her time in the ‘other world’ was real, so she was an adult, and not a minor, and went ahead and married some sleazy douchebag who said, “She’s a forty-year old woman in a thirteen-year old body! It’s legal!”

The Courts said ‘Haha, straight to jail, do not pass go.’

It didn’t fucking help that he knocked her up before the wedding.

Katsuki rubbed his brow as he ticked the answer ‘D’ for All of the Above.

Is that the game these fuckers are playing?

Calming his mind, Katsuki reexamined the exam questions once more. From top to bottom, every time he came across a question that he wasn't sure of the answer to, he'd try and remember if Izuku had ever mentioned anything about it.

What… the… hell?

The method worked disturbingly well.

If there was something he didn't know, he'd ask Did Izuku ever mention anything about this? And every, fucking, time, the answer was: yes, he had.

This is fucking creepy.

Katsuki wasn't exactly one to believe in coincidences, and if he didn't know better, he could have sworn that the entire written section of the hero exam was just filled with shit that Izuku casually talked about every day. Izuku wouldn't even look at this shit as an exam, he'd probably just feel he was having an afternoon conversation over a cup of fucking tea.

Meanwhile, all around him, Katsuki could see people sweating bullets. People were swearing, cursing, staring up into the ceiling with emptiness in their eyes, and there was even one girl, in the corner, who'd simply started crying.

“I can't take it anymore!"

A student with a weird ass haircut and big muscly arms stood up, panting.

“Examinee number forty-three," The proctor said. “Kindly refrain from disturbing your fellow examinees."

“This," the boy slammed his hand on his paper. “This is bullshit! What's up with these questions? Who the hell knows any of this shit? This exam is rigged! Fucking rigged!"

“Examinee forty-three—"

“You guys all see it too, right? Come on! I'm at the top of my class in my school, and even I can't answer most of these! There's no way this isn't rigged!"

“Examinee, this is your final warning!"

The sound of a whip cracking brought complete silence to the hall. Footsteps clacked against the ground, boots, and Katsuki found his gaze following the rest of the hall to the door where the noises came from.

The fuck?

She was tall for a woman. Tall and fucking stacked with sky blue eyes, and long-as-shit eyelashes. She had spiky dark purple hair made up of layers, and the longest ones reached way down below her waist. There was a small mole under her left eye, and her nails were painted red.

Katsuki was sure no one was looking at her face.

Her hero costume, if he could even call it that, was a black leather breastless leotard over a white bodysuit. The outfit clung to her breasts, body, and legs so fucking desperately that it might not have been there. Then for fucking overkill, she had translucent black thigh-high stockings connected to a red utility belt decorated with gold studs around her hips, a matching pentagonal buckle in its center, and black knee-boots.

The small, red mask outlining her eyes and handcuffs on each wrist were probably what got many people in the room turning red. Or maybe it was the fucking flogger-style whip she held in her hands, or the way her hips swayed as she walked.

“Oh? Does the baby have a problem?"

The examinee who'd been shouting suddenly clammed up. Katsuki snorted as he watched the buffoon's eyes go to the woman's breast, and his jaw hung slightly open.

“My eyes are up here."

His gaze snapped up immediately. “Um — I — er—"

“Do you have a problem with the exam?"

“Um… it's…" the boy swallowed. “Too Hard."

The woman smiled. “Do you have a problem with hard things?"

Katsuki could have sworn that the room's temperature went up by a hundred-fucking-degrees.

“Ah — I mean… n-no — I like — like — um… hard things."

The sniggers in the exam hall made the idiot's face resemble a fat tomato.

“Then be a good little boy, sit down, and maybe things will get a little easier."

“Y-yes ma'am."

Whatever complaint captain-horny-face had was shot down as the idiot had a stupid, goofy grin on his face as he continued his papers. Katsuki scoffed loudly. Losers like that aren’t going to fucking get anywhere. 

The action brought the dominatrix's gaze swirling to him.

“Do you also have a problem, little boy?"

“Save that shit for the D-Listers. I see your fucking game.”

"Oh?" The woman licked her lips.

Katsuki ignored the goosebumps that ran down his spine. He jerked his finger at the paper. “This shit is designed to test our knowledge of prominent villains and high-profile villain cases, isn’t it? Problem is, most of this crap is stuff we should be learning at UA. Unless you went to some preppy ass middle-school that dissected villain cases for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or your eyes were glued to the news since you were born, you wouldn't know any of shit."

There was a silence that fell upon the room. Katsuki noticed everyone was staring at him. “The fuck are you staring at?!”

“None of them knew that.” 

Katsuki snapped back to the dominatrix. “What?”

“None of them knew that these were prominent villains or high-profile villain cases.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Language,” she smiled, then said aloud to the room. “How many of you here can name ten Pro Heroes? A show of hands.”

Without fail, every single hand went up, his own, as well, with a roll of his eyes.

“How many of you here can name ten villains?”

One by one, hands went down. Katsuki found his face twisting, the more hands that went down, until there was only one hand being raised. 

His hand.

The fuck?

Katsuki almost didn’t believe it.

How the fuck can you not list up to ten villains? Even he, who didn’t give two fucks about villains, could at least mention up to ten. Sure, half of those were just due to Izuku prattling on, but still.

“Imagine that!” The dominatrix continued. “You are applying to UA, a Hero Academy. If you were to apply to attend a school for firefighters, would you arrive at the test, knowing nothing of the worst fire disasters and their impacts on your society? Do you really think it would be that easy to enter the No.1 Hero Academy in all of Japan?"

The woman moved forward and pressed her finger against his sheets. She tapped on the desk. “We only accept the best here. People who came here not because being a Pro Hero is a game, or a fad, or because daddy and mommy would be proud. Only the crème de la crème manage to make it in, and even then, only the very best of those manage to graduate."

Her finger rose from his papers. Her gaze left him and went round the hall.

“If you find yourself unable to answer these questions, to do this much, then sorry to say, little ones, UA is not the place for you."

She smiled.

“But don't be discouraged. UA will always recognize those with determination and unyielding will. So perhaps there may still be hope for you all."

The dominatrix walked towards the door.

“Or perhaps not."

The woman left the hall. Katsuki could almost taste the silence. Seconds later, a girl stood. The one who'd been sobbing her eyes out. Dejectedly, she grabbed her papers and turned them in to the proctor. The proctor said nothing. And, just like that, the cascade of students leaving the hall began.

The fuck…? That’s all it took to get them to leave?

Katsuki scoffed again. He paid the losers no mind, no heed, as he turned back to his exam sheet.

I'm going to be the number one hero. If they think this is enough to stop me, they don't know who they're fucking dealing with.

Now, what did Izuku say again about the villain called Show Boy?

Chapter Text

Shota Aizawa had not slept. Between the construction noises for the changes Nezu had implemented at UA, and the lightness of his sleeping habits, it was impossible to do so. He muffled his yawn behind his Binding Cloth and reached into his satchel for his eyedrops. Raising his head high and pulling back his eyelid with his right hand, he squeezed the bottle. Nothing came.

I'm out already?

Today was shaping up to be an even worse day than the day before it, which was impressive, considering the day before it had been worse than the day before that. Sitting in the observation room, he muffled his second yawn, blinking once, a cup filled with steaming black liquid was handed in his direction.

“Coffee?"

He glanced at the woman, and then glanced at the cup in her hands. Nemuri rolled her eyes. “You know I like my coffee the way I like my men, Aizawa-kun."

“Black?”

“Fresh.”

Aizawa politely reached out for the cup. Nezu had specially invited her over to be a teacher this year, a decision Aizawa could not exactly say he understood, and her motivations for becoming a teacher had left him somewhat doubtful. 

Slowly, he inhaled the scent of the coffee. Inhaling the scent always made the caffeine kick in faster. Only after he saw her sip her coffee from the corner of his eye did he sip his as well.

“You’re really living up to that title of Most Paranoid Hero, you know?" Nemuri shook her head.

He let his shoulders rise and fall. “Did Nezu tell you to cut down those students?"

“Probably should add Most Nosy Hero to your title while you’re at it."

“Why?"

The woman crossed her arms. “He said it was necessary."

Aizawa sipped from his coffee and glanced at the cameras. The room the woman had been in less than a few minutes ago was all but empty, save for ten or so people now. Aizawa’s gaze landed on the blond-haired firecracker of a boy who’d be the last person he’d expect to know as many villains and information as he did. There was a saying about not judging a book by its cover, but Aizawa had found that covers were often apt examples of what sort of content could be found inside the book. 

Except in this situation.

The mass exodus of examinees had not faltered his resolve. Rather, it strengthened it. His resolve and the resolve of many others. All those who remained in the classroom after Nemuri’s display were, without a doubt, the most elite of the elite of the applicants.

Nemuri sighed. “At this rate, we might have less than thirty students admitted."

Aizawa shook his head. “There's still the practical exam."

“That's what worries me."

He lifted a brow.

“You didn't know?"

“I wasn't told."

“There was a memo. We had a meeting."

"I was on call. The Hospital needed me."

Nemuri rubbed her forehead. “Nezu completely changed the contents of the practical exam."

“Why?"

“Something about how destroying robots is a poor method to test people's heroic ability," the woman shook her head, her hand going up to her face. “He said it only really tested their combat prowess, and this is a hero school, not a combat school."

Aizawa agreed. In his school days, he'd scored abysmally on the practical examination because his quirk did nothing against his mechanical opponents. 

“Not that I'm complaining," the woman crossed her arms. “When I took the practical exam, I was a sitting duck who couldn't do anything. What I don’t understand is…"

“Why now?" Aizawa said.

Midnight nodded. “Do you think the Principal got permission from the school board before doing any of this?"

Aizawa doubted it. “It's not like they can refuse him. Remember what happened with Dare Man?"

She grimaced. “A lot of heroes retired that day."

“The Board learned the hard way that things quickly go sour if you don't listen to Nezu."

His pager went off. The silent buzzing noise echoed in the room, and Aizawa let himself sigh again. He handed his half-finished coffee cup to Midnight, seeing her smile teasingly. “Is it Kaokuro-chan again?"

“It’s the hospital.”

The smile left her face. “Oh.”

“Hopefully, it's nothing major."

She nodded. “I'll record the highlights of the exams for you."

“Thanks. I'll be off."

Leaving the testing center, Aizawa took the path with the least number of people. He avoided open spaces, large corridors and hallways, and places with exposed windows. Any location where a sniper would have a clear shot was avoided, any location where one could be swarmed from both corners was avoided, and any places without at least three entrances and exits were avoided. 

Over the years, he went from being an Underground Hero to gaining the title of ‘Most Paranoid Hero.’ However, when one had survived thirty-seven assassination attempts and twenty-one kidnapping attempts, paranoia was a matter of course.

He made his way out of the testing center, his eyes darting back and forth around, the hair on his skin on edge, and his posture coiled, ready to spring into action. Slowly, he began to count. Three, two, one…

Nothing. No one seemed to be gunning for him yet. Doesn't mean they won't be later…

Cars and public transportation were both out of the question, not only for his sake, but for the sake of civilians. In one assassination attempt, the assassin had taken the entire bus hostage, believing that Aizawa would comply with his demands to save lives. Aizawa would have. It was just fortunate, no, not fortunate, it was planned, that one of the passengers on the bus happened to be Sir Nighteye himself. 

It was not the first, second, or even third time that Sir Nighteye had appeared before him to foil an assassination attempt. It was the fifteenth time. Each time, the man would say the same thing, that he should be more cautious and he should be more wary.

The very first time Sir Nighteye appeared before him was when Aizawa was still a student at UA and the man was only twenty-two years old. Shortly after Aizawa’s fifteenth birthday, three black-suited government agents of the Public Hero Safety Commission came to his home in secret.

The Hero Public Safety Commission offered him everything he wanted. Riches, glory, wealth, and even a get-away-with-murder-free card were on the table. Anything and everything, so long as he would consent to a government-implemented ‘breeding program’ and donate his ‘genetic material’ for the good of the world. 

Quirks, in the end, were inherited in a manner that was typical of Mendelian Genetics. This was a blessing and a curse. This meant his Erasure quirk was inheritable. This meant that with enough ‘effort’ and enough ‘attempts’, it was possible to create an army of people with his Erasure Quirk. 

An army of Quirk Users that could counter Quirk Users.

There was no political force in the world that would not covet such power.

Then, Aizawa turned them down, disgusted by the offer. Three days later, his first kidnapping attempt took place. He had been pulled into a black van as he was walking down the street from school, and within it, four women tried to force themselves on him.

That was the day he met Sir Nighteye.

The police arrested the women who attempted the kidnapping, yet before they could deliver them to jail, they were mysteriously assassinated by an unknown sniper.

In a world where Quirks were the equivalent of nuclear armaments, a Quirk that could disable other quirks, even for a moment, was effectively a counter-nuclear armament. Used at the right time, in the right moment, there was no one, no matter how invincible they seemed with their Quirk, that could not be killed or could not be stopped.

The Followers of One knew this. The Hero Public Safety Commission knew this. The Humarise Cult knew this.

Sir Nighteye knew this.

Sir Nighteye got permission from Principal Nezu to take him on a trip to the USA, without any explanation. There, Aizawa met a woman called Cathleen Bate. Supposedly, Sir Nighteye and the woman were president and co-president of an All Might fan club, and had been online friends for years. The woman used her Quirk on him. At the time, Aizawa had no understanding of what it was her quirk, New Order, was supposed to do.

Sir Nighteye told him that Cathleen implemented a ‘Dead-Man’s Switch’ on his Erasure Quirk. Something to ensure that a horrid future he saw with his Foresight did not come to fruition, and to ensure that the Hero Public Safety Commission stopped coming for him. Sir Nighteye did not explain what the future he saw was, nor did he go into specifics. Yet, from the haunted, terrified look in the man’s gaze—

Aizawa sensed that it was something to do with his Erasure being stolen.

Due to New Order, his quirk, Erasure, would automatically self-destruct if it ever left his body. Even if he were to have children, if they inherited the genes that would lead to some version of the quirk manifesting, it would destroy itself, and his children would instead become quirkless.

The only way to change this was to either kill Cathleen or steal her quirk, and those were ‘things he can’t do easily.’ As to the ‘he’ Sir Nighteye was talking about, Aizawa, at the time, had not the slightest idea. 

It was only when he graduated, and when the religious fanatics of the Followers of One managed to find out where he lived, that they’d cornered him, spewing nonsense at him: "Heretic!" “Depriver!" “Bringer of Darkness!"

When they strapped grenades to themselves and lunged at him, knowing well they all had physical quirks which would allow them to survive the shrapnel explosion with ease—

It was when his home was blown to bits and he barely made it out—

It was then he understood that he had entered a grand game on a grand stage, as a piece on the board between a man who could see the future, and the boogeyman of quirks himself.

Aizawa made his way over to a series of nondescript-looking bushes beside the building, moving them aside to unveil a hidden metal hatch, painted the same color as the surrounding environment. He reached into his back pocket, extracted the key, and unlocked it. Opening the hatch, he brought out a simple black briefcase and a plain black helmet.

He closed the hatch and locked it once more, shaking his head as he remembered how much of a hassle it was to get several of these hidden hatches placed around the city.

With a push of a button, the briefcase opened, expanded, and began to shift and morph as more and more mechanical parts unfolded themselves from within like an origami puzzle out of a jack-in-the-box.

The motorbike expanded in full, and Aizawa placed his helmet on. He took his seat, his hands gripping the throttle. The machine lit up with lights, the engine sparked to life, and a small screen appeared before him with a feminine voice that was that of Sir Nighteye’s sidekick, Awata Kaokuro, better known as Bubble Girl.

Biometric Data confirmed! Welcome back, Eraser Head-kun!

Aizawa exhaled softly.

Would you like to enable Satellite Tracking for the least densely populated routes, Eraser Head-kun?

“Enable."

Satellite tracking enabled! Ride safely, Aizawa-kun!

The ride to Musutafu General Hospital was calm. He stuck to unusual roads, avoided major highways, and zipped past traffic. The bike was given to him as a graduation gift by Sir Nighteye and came with all the essential features such as live GPS feed, emergency aid button, auto-drive and emergency escape features, a first aid kit, spare goggles, and a backup supply of his eye-drops.

Aizawa could not count how many assassination attempts the bike had aided him in foiling. Had it not been for the bike's emergency-aid option sending out a distress call once when he drove off a cliff, and the emergency-escape feature scooping him towards Sir Nighteye’s Agency another time when he’d been shot by a sniper, he would already be dead. 

Due to the many, many attempts over the course of his life, Aizawa considered whether it was wise to even apply to the UA teaching staff entirely, for fear that his students would get caught up in it all. Sir Nighteye told him bluntly that not applying to UA’s teaching staff was the one ‘route’ he could not follow. The man all but dragged him by the ear like he was scolding a child and said that if he wanted to make sure the children he taught were safe, then avoidance was not the solution, but strength was.

Thus, whenever he found the time, Aizawa trained relentlessly together with All Might’s former sidekick.

As a person whose Quirk also did not grant him any astounding physical abilities, and a person whose eyes were his quirk factor and thus, a person who needed to protect his eyes at all times in combat, Sir Nighteye was the perfect trainer.

The man’s combat teachings and training methods were scarily effective, and his fighting techniques were easily implemented into Aizawa’s Binding Cloth style.

The only demerit he could say there was to the entire thing was Bubble Girl, Sir Nighteye’s sidekick, whom he picked up along the way. Not only Nemuri, but also Emi teased him about the woman’s all-too-obvious crush on him, and Aizawa was dreading the day Bubble Girl would act on those feelings she was harboring. He did not want to deal with the fallout of rejecting the emotions of a woman nine years younger than him.

Aizawa swerved hard right down into an alleyway, dodging obstacles and objects with ease. Nemuri had asked multiple times to go on a joyride with him on his bike, and multiple times, Aizawa refused. Originally, he felt the woman was only interested in his bike because she liked thrills, but somehow, after learning the voice of the computer within it was that of Bubble Girl, her insistence grew.

She'd been getting closer to him more recently, which made Aizawa suspicious. Hizashi said it was a case of her interest in him growing because there’s a competitor, that it was common for women who didn’t think too much of him before to suddenly heap mountains of attention on him once they saw that other women were interested in him. Aizawa wasn’t that optimistic.

Many high-ranking members of the cult of the Followers of One were normal people. Many of them went on with their lives and businesses, wore suits and had lunches and dinners that made them indistinguishable from others. Not everyone wore their religious beliefs on their sleeves. Not everyone announced that they were a cultist with a brand on their forehead.

Aizawa wasn't naïve enough to believe that all of the Pro-Heroes or teachers he knew were above being a Follower.

The hospital came in sight soon enough, and Aizawa stopped a fair distance away, reverting his bike to briefcase form, and carrying it in his hands. He made his way to the rooftops of an adjacent building, moving into position at a location that would give him full and complete visibility of the building.

He swung his goggles down, switching them from 'attack mode' with the visible lines which hid his gaze and let him stop quirks, to 'scan mode' which enabled him to examine the area properly. Heat signatures, suspicious movements, and sounds, he took note of it. Aizawa wasn't above noticing the tiniest thing he believed was out of place.

It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you.

His pager buzzed a second time.

The overly cautious pro-hero sprang into action. Rooftop to rooftop, he moved, his physical agility and prowess for an unenhanced human had already been the highest amongst all of the Pro-Heroes with no physical enhancing quirks in Japan, before Sir Nighteye’s training. Afterwards, it was no exaggeration to claim he could swing from one end of the city to the other using nothing but his binding cloth without getting tired or stopping for rest. 

When being fast and agile was a matter of daily survival rather than an issue of job performance, he had the motivation to keep growing and improving.

He landed on the rooftop of the hospital, the helipad, and walked a short distance before glancing at the person opposite him.

“Lovely weather."

The man opposite him nodded. “Perfect to sleep in."

Aizawa was prudent. “Makes me miss my sleeping bags."

“Really, Aizawa?"

He said nothing. Instead, he slowly reached for his bindings.

The man sighed. “And it makes me miss my Magical Girl body pillow."

Aizawa relaxed.

“Do we really have to do this song and dance every time?"

“Do you have to ask every time?"

The man crossed his arms. “If I were an impostor, you'd use your quirk and find out in seconds."

“Tsukauchi, has it never occurred to you that people can impersonate others without using a quirk?"

Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, commonly known as True Man, uncrossed his arms. “Like what, with make-up and a mask?"

“Hmm," Aizawa nodded. He jerked his eyes around him, observing his surroundings. "I was in the middle of the UA Entrance Exams. Is this going to take long?"

Tsukauchi grimaced. “That depends."

“On what?"

“Whether or not you've had breakfast."

“One of those, huh?"

They made their way down from the roof. Tsukauchi led the way because Aizawa was uncomfortable with people walking behind him, even if it was people he knew. Down the stairs they descended, until they got to the hospital's top floor.

Once they did, and once they were within the vicinity of nurses and staff, Aizawa subconsciously adjusted his facial bindings to be higher.

“Ah, Eraser Head-san! Thank you for last time! Morano-kun is doing much better!"

Aizawa merely nodded at the nurse.

“Eraser Head-sama, thanks for last week! Saki-chan still misses you!"

Aizawa offered another small nod.

“Eraser Head-sama, oh thank god you're here!"

Tsukauchi cleared his throat to the nurse. “Sorry, ma'am. Hero, Eraser Head, is here on official police business."

The nurse, short with pink hair, bit her lip and turned to him. “Please, this — this will only take a second! The case — it's — it's bad."

“Ma'am—"

“Please, I'm begging you. She's such a sweet girl, and she's been in so much pain! If, if you could just — just for a minute —"

“Ma'am, I'm sorry, but—"

“It's fine, Tsukauchi."

Tsukauchi gave him a glance. “Eraser Head –"

The Pro-Hero turned to the nurse. “Where?"

“She — she's just down this hall."

Even as they walked, and as he followed the nurse, he found himself asking, Why do you do it? It was entirely possible this was a setup, a trap. He could turn down a corner, and someone would jab a sedative into his neck. Or, there could be a person with a pistol just waiting for his head to peak out. His desire to help people whenever he could and however he could would likely be the way he got captured or killed.

Despite this, Aizawa would help people anyway.

That was what heroes did.

He reached the room. The girl was young. Blood-red hair and in a hospital gown, he estimated she was maybe six, seven. She hooked up to several machines, her eyes were squeezed shut but she wasn't asleep. She squirmed on the bed, shook, jerked, and groaned.

“Yumi, Yumi-chan," the nurse moved forward and whispered. “It's okay, Yumi-chan, I've brought someone who's going to help you."

Aizawa held his breath a bit. He closed his eyes.

Then, he snapped them open. His hair floated into the air, as did his bindings. The girl stopped squirming. Her blood-red hair faded in color to a pale white. Her eyes squeezed shut, lessened, and lightened, until softly, they rested. Her chest went up and down at a steady, gentle pace.

The nurse kissed the girl on the forehead before turning to him. She bowed, as best she could. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Yumi-chan hasn't been able to sleep for days… she hasn't been able to rest at all."

Tsukauchi pressed his lips together. “Her quirk?"

The nurse nodded. “She recently awakened it. They termed it Hot Body. It allows her to superheat her body liquids… but…" the Nurse sighed. “It comes with a downside. She's always running a fever. Her body's average temperature is fifty degrees Celsius. We kept her submerged in a special cold bath at first… but once she came out, it only got worse. We figure over time she might learn how to control it or get adapted to the heat, but…"

“She's just a child."

The nurse bit her lip. “She doesn't know how to control it yet. If she ever gets too upset… we're afraid she might boil herself from the inside out."

“She's not immune to being hurt by her quirk?"

The nurse shook her head. “It would be different if it were a mutant-type quirk. Her ability is the same as a boy who learned to shoot fire. Just because he can shoot fire, doesn't make him immune to it. She does have some level of resistance to the heat, but it only goes so far."

Tsukauchi frowned. “Is this common? Children accidentally hurting themselves with their quirks?"

“More than you know."

The words slipped from Aizawa's mouth before he could stop them. Tsukauchi gave him a strange look.

“It's why we're always glad to have Eraser Head-sama," the nurse grabbed his hands, and smiled at him. “If it weren't for him, coming in every other day, helping us with children whose quirks hurt them or who have wild and dangerous abilities… we don't know how much of this we'd be able to handle."

The physical contact was disarming. As was the nurse's true, earnest smile. There was more to the smile, however, than pure and innocent adoration and adulation. A more jaded man would call it desire, but an astute man would see it for what it was —

Worship.

It made him uneasy. The Humarise Cult were enemies of the Followers of One, a group who hated quirks and believed that Quirk Singularity Theory would spell the apocalypse. While the Followers of One wanted him dead, the Humarise Cult wanted him to become their messiah, their Prophet.

As with the Public Hero Safety Commission, the Humarise Cult had approached him more than once, offering many benefits, and they refused to believe that he could not have children with his quirk. Similarly, Aizawa rejected their offers. Afterwards, honeytraps were put everywhere. Incredibly attractive women threw themselves at him, flashed him, and outright sexually harassed him. They were groupies of the Humarise Cult, who were told they would be elevated to the Cult Priestess, should they sire the child of ‘The One Who Can Stop The End.’

“Eraser Head-sama, if there's anything you ever need, anything at all, please, don't ever hesitate to ask."

There was a suggestiveness in her tone that made him deeply unsettled. Her cleavage showed itself through her uniform in a highly inappropriate manner. Aizawa nodded.

Fortunately, Tsukauchi was there to drag him away. “Eraser Head, we should get going."

“Right."

He glanced over at the young girl, Yumi.

“I'll try to bring something for her when next I'm here."

“Thank you, Eraser Head-sama."

They left the room. Tsukauchi led. Aizawa followed. Thankfully, the police detective wasn't the sort of person to ask nosy or impertinent questions. Aizawa needed the silence. He needed the silence almost as much as he needed the sleep. He'd been living in special quarters built at UA ever since he was a student, because despite how much the Followers of One and the Humarise Cult wanted him, not a single one of them would dare to make moves on Nezu’s home field: UA Academy.

Principal Nezu had caught and made examples of all who tried.

“Hope you had a light breakfast."

The door to the room opened, and at the sight of the groaning ball of flesh and metal, Aizawa knew he would not be sleeping tonight.

A Precise Note

“The practical exam will begin in twenty minutes!" Present Mic shouted. “Everyone, kindly proceed to Hall C for the practical exams. Twenty minutes!"

Finally, Izuku was more than ready to complete the final step of the UA Entrance Exams. A part of him wondered what the practical exam would entail, seeing as how the written exam had been easy. He truly hoped it wasn't going to be something as simple as a combat test…

“Um, excuse me…"

Izuku felt something grab the legs of his pants. He stared down, finding what appeared to be a grade-schooler tugging at him.

“C-could you show me to the bathroom? I — I need to pee."

“Hello. How did you get here?"

“I really need to pee."

Izuku tilted his head. What are the odds that a grade-schooler managed to make their way into the exams unknown and undetected by anyone?

“Sure. Let’s find the restroom."

Izuku took the girl's hand. Fortunately, his memory was flawless enough for him to remember where the location was.

“What's your name, little one?"

“Yuno."

Izuku smiled. “Yuno. That's a nice name. How did you manage to get here, Yuno?"

“Bathroom."

Izuku realized he wouldn't be getting much out of Yuno. Still, if this was part of the practical exam, it was a rather interesting way of conducting the exam. Did they have a small army of grade-schoolers just waiting to be used?

He made his way to the restrooms with little fanfare before pointing to the female restroom. “There it is."

“Help me."

Izuku tilted his head. “Help you?"

“Can't reach seats."

“Ah, I'm not really allowed to go in."

“Need help."

Pondering, Izuku gently took Yuno by the arm. He pushed open the door to the female toilet, quickly checking every single stall to make sure it was empty.

“Alright, Yuno, I think it's—"

His senses came to life. His hand extended beyond his conscious control,  almost catching the arms that aimed for him, before he noticed the arms meant no harm, and he allowed it, slowly wrapping around his neck.

Ash blonde hair and yellow eyes stared at him with an all too familiar smile.

“I — Zu — Ku —kun~!"

“Himiko-chan."

Izuku’s eyes lit up.

His ‘girlfriend.’

Things were different, now that he was putting in the normal amount of testosterone in his body for a boy his age, and he was seeing Himiko in a much, much different light.  The excitement in his voice wasn’t faked. It wasn’t manipulated or controlled. It came naturally, as did his confidence.

Despite being in the girls’ bathroom of the testing center for the UA Entrance Examinations with a wanted serial killer who was clinging to him while naked, Izuku still felt happy to have seen Himiko.

The excitement in his voice caught her off guard, for a moment, before her smile grew even wider. “I've missed you, Izuku-kun~! I'vemissedyouI'vemissedyouI'vemissedyou—"

Izuku kissed her forehead. “I missed you too, Himiko-chan.”

The girl leapt out of his arms. Leapt, like a frightened cat, away from him. Izuku blinked. Did I do something wrong?

“Himiko-chan?”

She was staring at him as if seeing him for the first time, or as if doubting he was the same person. “Are you… really Izuku-kun?

“Oh!” Izuku smacked his forehead, “There was a problem with my testosterone before. I’ve fixed it now. I’m sorry. The change must have frightened you.”

Did I go too far kissing her forehead? Was that too much? Did she not like it? Had he misunderstood something? 

That would be bad. That would be very bad. For the sake of his plans, he could not afford to lose Himiko. If her quirk was capable of what he believed it was, then she was likely the key to solving his problem of creating a ‘consent-based’ drug.

Though Izuku did not feel for her the same way she felt for him, he could not say he did not care for her, in his own way. That display of affection was done without thought.

Himiko tilted her head, hesitantly. “Fixed…? Is that why Izuku could never get it up?”

Izuku blinked. “You were trying to arouse me on purpose?”

She nodded. “I thought Izuku-kun swung for the other team.”

Izuku slowly rubbed his forehead. Just how many people thought I was gay? 

“I don’t, Himiko-chan.”

She giggled, slowly stepping forward and throwing her hands around him again. “Are you sure? It would make me sad, but Himiko-chan will still love Izuku-kun even if he does.”

Izuku cupped her bare, exposed buttcheeks. Both of them. He squeezed. Himiko’s eyes widened, and her face turned the color of blood. 

With the straightest face he could muster, Izuku said: “I. Like. Girls.” 

“I—zu—ku-kun~!” she giggled. “Me too!”

His brain froze. “You—” He let go of her as though he had been burned. “I thought you—”

“And boys,” Himiko continued. “But I like Izuku-kun most of all.”

Oh.

“I want to taste you again, Izuku-kun! I haven’t tasted you in so long!"

“You haven’t? What happened to the blood in the freezer?"

“A villain rampage,d and the power got cut," Himiko frowned. “All of Izuku-kun's tasty, tasty blood got ruined." Her expression turned fierce. “I wanted to kill the bastard. Kill him, and kill him! Kill him for ruining Izuku-kun's blood!"

Izuku grew alarmed. “Himiko-chan, did you…”

“No. I promised Izuku-kun, no killing. No stabbing.”

Izuku let out a breath of relief. “Good girl." 

Himiko’s cheeks suddenly turned the shade of blood. Her face appeared bashful. “Himiko is… a good girl?”

“As long as you stop killing people, then, Himiko-chan… you’re the goodest girl.”

She squealed. Squealed. Then she beamed a smile so bright it made daylight seem like darkness.

“I have some of my blood stored away in case of emergencies,” Izuku said. “It’s in a freezer storage unit. I’ll text you the address."

He slowly kissed the top of her head again. This time, Himiko didn’t jump away.

“Himiko-chan, once I’m done with the exams, I’ll come visit you, okay? But you have to leave before you’re found.”

“You promise, Izuku-kun? You promise?”

“I pro—”

Izuku stopped. He heard footsteps approaching.

That’s not good.

“Someone’s coming.” 

Moving on instinct, he grabbed Himiko and pulled them both into a stall. He locked it shut and put himself at an angle that'd prevent his feet from being seen. The doors swung open not a second sooner.

“I-zu-ku~ku—"

He put his hands over her mouth. She moaned.

“Um… hello, is someone there?"

Clearing his throat, he vibrated his vocal cords and opened his lips. “Y-yeah!" Himiko's voice emerged from his lips with perfect enunciation. “I'm just… um… nervous about the exams. My stomach’s a little… uneasy. I'll be fine!"

Himiko stared at him with surprise. Then a mischievous glint came into her eyes as she bit on his finger and started to suck on it.

“Do you need any help?"

“No! Thank you…!"

Himiko’s cheeks flushed red, and she moaned again.

"Ah, haha — just — ah, don't mind me! It’s just the nerves!"

The girl on the outside of the stall, whoever it was, entered the stall directly beside theirs. Izuku shot a look at Himiko, who was enthralled, sucking the blood from his finger.

As much as I want to…. This is not the time or place, Himiko-chan.

The girl was going for his pants. His pants. She unbuckled his belt. Izuku swore.

Wait, Himiko—

Something long and thick sprang out and struck Himiko across the face with an all too audible SMACK!

The girl’s eyes went wide. She recoiled from the hit, her eyes starry and unfocused.

“Izuku-kun… is…  this real…?"

Himiko covered her face with her hands, peeking between her fingers. 

The sound of a toilet flushing hit Izuku's ears. As did the sound of the stall door beside them opening. He waited until he heard the bathroom door open, and waited another few seconds after he heard it close. 

Finally, he let out a sigh.

He opened the stall door, hurrying to buckle his belt back. “Alright, Himiko-chan. The cost is clear. I think it’s best you get going before someone comes again.”

Himiko was silent. Her face was incredibly red. Her eyes were dazed.

“Himiko-chan?”

“Hmmm?”

“Once I finish my exams, I’ll come to visit you. We can have some time together. But you have to make sure you’re not caught. That you leave without being caught. Okay?”

She nodded slowly, still in a daze. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

She didn’t say a word before she transformed into a completely different person. Judging from the clothes and ID, she'd transformed into a janitor. She scuttled out of the bathroom swiftly.

Initially, Himiko needed to drink the blood of people in order to transform into them. It was the major requirement. After repeated experiments with Trigger, she didn't need to drink anything. Now all she needed was to lick the person themselves, or an item the person had touched in the last sixty seconds, and she could freely transform into them for however long she wanted.

Yet, Izuku was certain this wasn’t the limit of her growth. 

The janitor left the bathroom, and Izuku let out a soft breath. After exhaling, he inhaled and perceived an odd scent. The scent of something that didn't quite belong.

Not perfume but…

Izuku glanced around the bathroom. He opened the door to the stall beside the one where he'd hidden. His eyes latched onto objects there. A bag, kept neatly. A phone, and…

“…clothes?"

A blouse, a plaid skirt, a pair of stockings, and pink underwear. He emerged from the stall and, for the second time, glanced around the bathroom.

He focused his quirk on his eyes. The seven million cones in his eyes multiplied by three. Colors, new and unfamiliar, and impossible to describe to anyone who couldn't see them immediately, flared. An entire world of observation made its way to him, and Izuku realized, amongst these new colors, many belonged to the ultraviolet spectrum.

He saw a person.

A very naked person.

A very naked person, covering her mouth with one hand, while the other had her fingers… inside of her.

“Well, that’s not something you see every… day?” Izuku ran his hand through his hair..

The girl froze. She stared at him. She didn't move. Didn't speak.

“Sorry, miss, but I can see you."

She went ramrod straight. Yet, she still didn't respond. 

"Raise any number of fingers. If I can't see you, then I won't know how many or which ones you raise. If I can see you, then I'll get them correct. Is that fair?"

She hesitated. Curiosity won out, and her right hand went up.

“One finger. Middle finger. That’s a little mean."

“Oh my god, you can see me?" She blurted. Then she realized something. "Ohmygod you can see me."

Izuku nodded. “I can."

"Ah, ah, oh my god, oh my god, um — stop — stop looking at me! Pervert! Perv! Ah —" She was panicking. “This — this is new. Oh, oh wow, is this what embarrassment feels like? Ah, you're still looking!"

Izuku smiled. “I am."

“Listen, this — this isn't what it looks like!”

Izuku’s smile grew. “I know."

“It's just, when I saw you with your girlfriend, I kinda got a little excited… and my nerves! I mean, the exam was really hard and I think I may have flunked it and I probably won't become a hero so I felt I needed to relax and — well — not  — not that I was doing — I mean — you, you understand right?"

Izuku nodded sagely. “I do.”

"Oh god. Get it together, Toru! The first person who can see you is a total hottie, you're ruining it!"

“Um, Toru-san, is it? Lovely as this is, we should probably be getting back to the exams."

"Ah! That's right!" She bounced. “I should get dressed."

“You should."

"Aren't you going to turn around?"

Izuku tilted his head. “Toru-san… I’ve already seen you naked."

And I have an eidetic memory… went unsaid.

"…Am I hot?"

Izuku raised a brow.

“It's just… I've never seen my reflection in the mirror since I was a kid, and I don't even know what I look like… so… I've just always wondered…"

“No.”

“Oh.”

Izuku smiled.

“You're beautiful."

“Oh. OH. Wow," Izuku saw the flush of red radiate around her face. “I always had a feeling, but… It's nice to know it's true, from someone who can actually tell."

Permanent invisibility? Izuku hid his grimace. If Manga thought no one would be able to have a relationship with him because people could not see him smile, he could not imagine how Toru would feel, being unable to be seen at all.

“Hey, so, um… my lips are sealed about this. So, if you wouldn't mind…" She cleared her throat. “I—I swear I'm not a voyeur or anything! It's just… I mean, when you're always invisible… there's a lot of interesting um… things… you get to see."

The girl put her clothes back together, and he realized he could still see her. He closed his eyes and tried to revert his eyes to normal, but failed. 

…This might not be good.

Izuku realized he was stuck seeing these new colors and ultraviolent light till he died. In hindsight, precision only let him make things more precise, and he couldn't un-precise things once he'd amped them up.

“Hey, hey, so um, after we're done with the exams, mind going out on a date?"

Izuku blinked. “A date?”

“Well, I know you already have a girlfriend and everything but — but — you’re… the only person… you’re the first guy who can see me, and I —  I — I feel if I don’t take this chance, I’ll regret this for the rest of my life…” She twiddled her thumbs. “I — I’m already used to being unseen and overlooked, so… um…  oh god what am I saying?”

“You don’t need to explain,” Izuku shook his head. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Toru-san.”

“You… would? But — but your girlfriend—”

“I’ll let her know. I’m sure she’ll be glad to meet you.”

“Oh. You’re that kind of couple…” The girl’s cheeks went even redder. “Wow.” She bumped her fist into the air. "Awesome! Ah — wait! Here I am asking you out on a date, and I don't even know your name."

"It's Midoriya Izuku."

She beamed a smile at him.

“I'm Toru. Hagakure Toru. The girl with the world's brightest smile."

She paused.

"Oh shoot, you can see me, that means you're the only person who can disprove my claim. Curse you, Midoriya Izuku!"

Izuku laughed. “There’s nothing to disprove, here, Toru-san.”

“Sweet talker!” She blushed even harder. “Um, so, how much of the orientation for the practical exam do you think we've missed?"

Izuku checked his inner clock.  “…a fair bit."

“How fast do you run, Izuku-kun?"

“Very fast?"

“Race you?"

“Can you keep up?"

Toru smirked. “They don't call me Vanishing Toru for nothing! Last one there pays for the date!"

Chapter Text

To call them simpletons, Nezu felt, would be an insult to creatures with far less developed brains. His tea was getting cold, and his patience was getting thin. Surely, they knew how grand a travesty it was for one to drink cold tea? It was a travesty for which entire bloodlines would be erased, and great war crimes would be committed.

Could you imagine it? Cold tea?

The horror of it had Principal Nezu almost shuddering in distaste. As a creature of enhanced intelligence, he had an estimated sixteen hundred and thirty-five ways to reverse the entropy of his mug of ground and scented leaves, but it would be such a bother to use any of them.

It was possible, of course, for him to shirk their unnecessary etiquette and enjoy his liquid drink in their presence, as if to say, ‘Humans, I am, in fact, consuming this beverage in this meeting.' He chose not to do so, merely because he was incredibly aware of the fact that most of the men and women before him were unfortunately cursed with a disease; an incorporeal, invisible cylindrical object of lengths comparable to an infant human child had wedged itself in between their gluteal muscles and straight up their primary excretory organs.

Children, those wonderful bundles of joy, referred to this disease more colloquially as ‘a stick up the ass.’

This disease made them incapable of handling even the tiniest of breaches to their held standards of decorum, as any such deviation from their expected norms would cause this cylindrical object to expand and shuffle back and forth, clearly causing them great pain and discomfort.

Nezu truly disliked the humans with this disease. He held even far less sympathy for them. He felt it unfortunate that it was unavoidably necessary for him to work with them. Fortunately, he had long since grown accustomed to separating his personal and professional sentiments.

“Are there any other questions that need answering?"

“Of course there are!" Mr. Hajimoto slammed his fist down on the table. It did nothing, considering he was a virtual avatar. “To completely change the UA Entrance Exams in this manner without any prior notice is to show complete and utter disregard for the Board!"

“I believe it is best," Mrs. Nakamura adjusted her glasses. “The previous testing methods were archaic and underwhelming, and ill-suited to separate the wheat from the chaff. I am in full support of the Principal’s decision.”

“Ho, ho, that pleases me to hear,” Nezu said, smiling, and greatly displeased.

Mrs. Nakamura represented the Hero Public Safety Commission, and support from an organization so terribly, terribly corrupt would harm his case rather than aid it. It was, in his eyes, no different from being given the seal of approval from a human sitting in an electric chair.

“We cannot pretend any longer that 'heroes' are children," she prattled on. “A more stringent method of ensuring only the best are selected has been necessary for a long time.”

“We cannot militarize Pro Heroes," Mrs. Reita interrupted. 

Nezu smiled at Mrs. Reita, nodding his head. “That is a prudent concern,”  He said, entirely unconcerned. She was a more humane member of the board, as far as her humane tendencies did not conflict with her financial gain, and in truth, of the humans here, she was Nezu’s second-to-last least-liked. 

“Why not?" Mr. Koburo continued. “The North Koreans did it. The Chinese are doing it. The United States has a Special Elite Covert Quirk Force. We have no guarantees that we won't awaken one morning with foreign ‘heroes' at our shores declaring us criminals and demanding our surrender."

“Indeed, a great threat,” Nezu nodded in agreement, while pondering the depths of the man’s foolishness. 

Mr. Koburo would support any and everything Mrs. Nakamura said, not only to continue enjoying the beautiful tax exemptions he’d been given, but also to continue enjoying the taste of Mrs. Nakamura’s unwashed rectum. A thing he relished more, Nezu learned, than his wife and infant daughter.

“Correct," Mrs. Nakamura again said. “The fragile state of the outside world is a great cause for concern. Despite Prime Minister Hirohito's isolationist policies, we have no true counter for the worst-case scenario."

“And your solution is to turn our citizens, our children, into what…? Soldiers?" Mr. Okami sneered.

“Heroes are already soldiers," Mrs. Nakamura huffed. “All I'm suggesting we do is give them better training."

“Of course you would say that. We all know the Commission’s policies. Easy for you to think of them as tools when none of your children are attending this school,” Mrs. Reita countered.

“Please," Mrs. Nakamura scoffed. “Do not blame me for your failings. I know far better than to ever let my children pursue the career path of being a ‘Pro-Hero.'"

“You—!”

Mr. Koburo cleared his throat. “I believe we are getting off track."

“Indeed, we are," Nezu said. Ever masking his irritation and bemusement at the clownish display of human power dynamics behind a friendly veneer of patience. 

“Principal Nezu, please, explain the new passing criteria for UA's Entrance Examination."

“Of course, Koburo-san," Principal Nezu said. “There is only one criterion required for students to be able to pass the Practical Exam."

Nezu raised his paw.

“Excellence!"

XXXXXXXX

What the fuck?

Even standing far away from the large painted red line, he could feel the heat simmering on his face. The roaring of the flames almost drowned out the words of the examiners.

“Welcome!" the dominatrix licked her lips. “To Disaster Ground 7!"

What the actual fuck?

Before them was a size-for-size replica of a portion of the Musutafu district. The major difference was that it was wrecked beyond almost all recognition. Fires burned in houses, the streets were upturned as though two giants had stripped off their pants and violently fucked the tarmac.

There were cars, ablaze and rendered immobile, with the stench of burning rubber and smoke wafting into the air and into his nostrils, forcing his eyes to water. There were stores with broken windows, walkways laden with shards of glass, three-story buildings creaking and on the brink of collapse, streets overflowing with chin-height floods, loose electric wires and cables violently convulsing on the ground like a pit of epileptic snakes and just so much sheer fucking chaos that Katsuki felt he'd woke up in the middle of an active warzone.

“Before you is a near-faithful recreation of the aftermath of a rampage done by the S-Rank, QETA-3 Villain, Seismic," Dominatrix-Lady said. 

The ground beneath their feet trembled, and some people fell flat on their asses. An explosion rocketed from within the Disaster Ground, the shockwave blowing his hair back, and sending his eyes snapping wide.

One villain… one fucking guy, did all this? 

“For the practical exam, your task is simple," another Pro-Hero came up beside her, holding a large-ass screen with barely any effort. “Get from Point A, here, to Point B, here, without significant injury, and you complete the exam."

“That's it?”

“All we have to do is get through the place?"

The dominatrix chuckled. “You'll complete the exam if you successfully manage to make it to the other end of the Disaster Ground, but it doesn't mean you're guaranteed to pass."

The outrage that was about building was silenced with a single palm.

“You only pass if you manage to acquire a minimum of fifty total points."

She pointed to the screen again. Two different images came up: cartoonish caricatures of people.

“Within the Disaster Ground, there are two types of people. Civilians and villains, or, as we'll call them, Blues and Reds." She pointed. “Blues or civilians will be found, typically in danger or in need of rescuing or assistance. Assisting, aiding, or saving a Blue will net you two points."

She pointed to the other image. “Reds, however, are enemies. Defeating a Red will net you ten points."

“What's the catch?" Katsuki asked.

“The Reds can call in reinforcements stronger than themselves," The dominatrix said. “As the old saying goes: defeat the little one, and two big ones come. Defeat one big one, and three old ones come. Defeat one old one, and four ancient ones come. Defeat one ancient one, and five of the biggest, strongest, and most dangerous ones come."

She tapped the screen. “If the number of Reds in the Disaster Ground outnumbers the total number of participants, anyone who hasn't completed the exam by then automatically fails."

Katsuki wasn't dumb. He did the math immediately. Ten points per red meant defeating five reds would be an instant win. The thoughts that ran through his head were likely the same as those running through the heads of everyone else. He could finish the fucking exam in record time simply by taking out five baddies, and then high-tail it as quickly as he could out of there.

Except that'd be fucking stupid.

Doing that would be screwing over the other examinees for his benefit of being number one. There was also the chance that others would have the same fucking idea, and if someone else were to somehow manage to take out five Reds before he did, it'd be fucking pointless.

“Finally," the dominatrix drew a card. She cleared her throat and began in a dull voice. “The Principal of UA was fortunate enough to acquire the assistance of partners from Hero Agencies to take the role of the civilians and villains, or, that is, our Blues and Reds. These brave men and women have consented to allowing the use of quirks on them. However, the utilization of lethal force is strictly forbidden and will not only result in an immediate disqualification for anyone who breaches that rule, but a hefty fine and permanent black spot on your record."

There was silence.

“Are there any questions?"

“We're supposed to rescue real people?"

The Dominatrix laughed. “You're applying to a Hero Academy. If rescuing people wasn't something you're prepared for, why are you here?"

“They aren't going to fucking make things easy for us, are they?"

The dominatrix gave him a smile that made Katsuki shudder. “Language, boy. In any case, they've been instructed to act as ordinary civilians in the midst of a chaotic disaster. Make of that what you will."

So, they're gonna be actively resisting, Katsuki swore. Fuckin' hell. He could read between the lines. The dominatrix outright said that both the blues and reds consented to letting quirks be used on them, which meant it was more likely that there would be situations in which he'd need to use quirks on both the blues and the reds.

“I have a question," a boy said. A small little runt of a thing with purple grape balls for hair. His gaze was so heavily stuck on the dominatrix's tits no matter how she moved that Katsuki wondered for a full half-second whether or not the runt's quirk let him aimbot with his eyes.

“It better be a good one."

“Do we get extra points for capturing the Reds rather than defeating them?" he said eagerly. “If we restrain them so they can't move, does it still count as defeating them?"

The dominatrix blinked at him. Katsuki, in turn, blinked at the runt. Some people glanced around, the question sparking conversation.

“Successfully capturing the Reds counts as defeating them… and you will be awarded points."

“And will that bring more of them?"

The dominatrix looked irritated. She gave a peculiar look to the runt who'd asked the question, who still had his eyes locked onto her chest, moving in tandem with her every breath and sway. "Capturing the Reds will not allow them to summon reinforcements."

We weren't supposed to know that. That was the impression Bakugo got. She only told us cause the runt asked. Bakugo regarded the runt a second time. The boy was the very antithesis of what it looked like to be hero material. Why didn't I think of that question?

The answer was obvious. His quirk was not suited for capturing people. Grape-head boy over there probably had a quirk that did jack all for combat, but was good at restraining others.

In other words… if your quirk is great at combat, but piss-poor at capturing or controlling, you’re shit out of luck.

Katsuki cursed.

Motherfuckers rigged this from the start.

This entire exam was rigged against people with combat-oriented quirks. They couldn't just muscle their way out of problems, and he couldn't just go in guns blazing and be done with it. Fighting was a major fucking no-no, going all out was a major fucking no-no. In the end, they were Pro-Heroes, not mass murderers. Capturing the bad guy was what they were supposed to do, and it was only in extreme cases that killing was put on the table.

There was a more pertinent question. What else aren't these fuckers telling us? There was more to this exam. Probably some method to accrue points that was hidden. Bakugo could swear it.

Doesn't matter. All he needed to do was to make progress with his own shit. Capturing an opponent without defeating them was a much fucking harder thing to do than just defeating an opponent outright. With his quirk, Katsuki wasn't going to risk it.

“Now, students, to your places."

Their starting point was a large red line painted at the entrance of the Disaster Zone, large enough for everyone to line up side by side at the start, and with clearly more than enough room for people to dash forward without jostling each other. Katsuki gave a glance to the two people by his side: a strange ass weirdo with creepy sleep-deprived eyes, and that same runt who'd been aimbotting the dominatrix' tits.

Focus.

He paid them no heed. There was nothing that was going to stop him from being the number one hero, not the extras at his side, not the shitty bullshit exam rigged against him – nothing, in the world, would stop Katsuki Bakugo from clearing this exam.

The dominatrix cleared her throat. Her voice echoed from the speakers. "Let the UA Entrance Practical Exam… begin!"

A gunshot went off—

And Katsuki Bakugo's explosion deafened it.

XXXXXXX

Why do you have to be so loud?!

Kyoka’s ears were still ringing from the sound of the explosion that the blond delinquent unleashed. By the time she regained her bearings, everyone was already sprinting and running forward, and she let out a soft curse as she followed suit, dashing into action.

I can do this! You can do this, Kyoka!

She may, or may not have completely flunked the written exams, and may or may not have accidentally cheated on them. She didn’t intend to; she would swear it, that she had absolutely no intention of cheating on the UA Exams.

But they were loud.

The hall was too quiet, so the scratches of pencils and pens were too loud. The heart rates of students who knew the correct answers and those who didn’t, too, were loud. They varied so much that it was impossible not to notice. So, they influenced her answers, just a little bit. Just a teensy, tiny bit.

You can make up for it, Kyoka! You’re supposed to be a hero. Getting into a hero school by accidental cheating is bad, bad, bad!  

She needed to make up for it in the Practical Exam. She needed to prove to herself that she could do this, that she could really do this, on her own merit. It was already eating at her conscience that she may have cheated by accident, and she was terrified that the school would somehow find out.

Calm down. Calm down. First, I need to listen.

She made her way through the disaster zone, grimacing at the sight of the carnage, before she plugged her Earphone Jack into the ground.

She closed her eyes and focused.

There was the heartbeat of someone buried under a small mountain of debris up ahead in the collapsed mall area. Kyoka sprang into action, but as she got closer, a sliver of something alien entered her heart.

How am I supposed to rescue them?

Sure, she could find the person buried, but she wasn’t strong. She didn’t have the strength needed to lift steel beams and large pieces of collapsed rubble. She could claw her way desperately to try and reach them, but not only would it take too much time, in a real situation, such a thing could accidentally worsen the collapse.

The only option she had was to work with someone. Someone strong enough to do the lifting and carrying, whilst she did the finding and scouting.

But if I do that… will I still earn points?

Wouldn’t it be counted as a point for them instead of her?

No, Kyoka, now’s not the time to think about that!

She focused her quirk to search for people, someone with a quirk that was perfect for lifting or carrying objects, someone who was strong. Someone like—

Kyoka removed her ear jacks from the ground and broke out into a sprint. She moved cautiously through the scattered grounds, careful to avoid any pitfalls, stumbles, or hazards before she reached her target.

On the outside of the mall, a girl with brown hair had her hands clasped together, and her expression was deeply focused. Before her, a car was levitating in the air, and there was a ‘Blue’ on the ground that had recently been saved.

“There’s—” Kyoka didn’t need to catch her breath. Years of playing wind and brass instruments gave her lungs that were stronger than must. “There’s someone else, stuck, under the rubble, inside the mall!”

The girl turned to her. For a moment, Kyoka wondered if she would believe her.  “Um — I can’t — my quirk can’t rescue them, but if you can—”

“I’ll do it!”

She nodded quickly, and Kyoka let out a thankful breath.

“Thanks. Right, I’m Jiro. Jiro Kyoka.”

“Uraraka,” the girl replied. “Uraraka Ochaco.”

XXXXXXX

There were few things Shinso Hitoshi hated more than loud noises. He knew his ambitions of heroics would strip him of that luxury. His ears still rang from the blonde menace who'd almost deafened him by blasting forward with his exploding palms.

All around him, those with mobility quirks leveraged their powers to rush to the forefront of the action, scrawling and trying their hardest not to be left behind. 

He didn't have that luxury.

His power, at the end of the day, could control others, but it did little to aid him move swiftly, quickly, or cover vast distances in moments. Though his quirk would make it easy for him to piggyback on another applicant, forming a symbiotic bond to get himself ahead farther and faster, there was no way the examiners, the Pro-Heroes, watching him, would ever allow such a tactic. 

There was no way they'd ever consider such behavior worthy of one who aspired to become a hero.

Despite it all, he did aspire to be a hero.

No matter how much he was told that his quirk would make him an excellent villain.

Hitoshi would never stop aspiring to be anything but a hero.

Heroes are the Chosen Ones?

He remembered the speech given by the hand-man, Shigaraki.

I’ll prove you wrong.

The UA Entrance Exams were different. They were self-aware. Many kids would fail it, simply because they held the wrong ideals of what being a hero meant. There would be no one who would pass the written exam that would have the mentality of a naïve, bright-eyed child, and now, the practical exam had all but made it so that the power and flashiness of one's quirk didn't matter.

All the golden boys and girl-wonders told from day one by their middle school teachers just how special they were for their flashy quirks would find themselves at a distinct disadvantage in this exam. So much so that he found it funny.

So much so that he almost burst out into laughter, sneering and saying, “Behold, Chosen Ones! What benefit has your privilege granted you now?!”

He didn't do that, however. Mocking and condescending others was something that villains did.

He made his way across the disaster ground, careful to avoid cracks on the ground and shattered glass, watching keenly for buildings that would topple over or cars on fire, threatening to explode. The location of the Practical Exam seemed almost too chaotic to ever let a bunch of green hero-aspirants enter, but he could tell that it was all controlled chaos. He got the feeling it was controlled chaos.

There was no other way he could describe it. It felt like watching a horror scene, but being vaguely and distinctly aware of the CGI and graphics of the underlying horror, which ultimately took away from the fear and left a vague sense of eye-rolling amusement.

In a real disaster, he wondered if he would be this calm.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, or rather, who he was looking for. Standing flamboyantly in a bright red shirt, hovering over what looked to be a girl in a bright blue shirt, the ‘villain' was terrorizing the innocent 'civilian.'

“Aren’t you playing the role of a villain too well?"

The villain jerked. He was a large man. Tall, perhaps six feet. Heavily muscled and definitely trained. Too well-trained to be a sidekick. The man was likely a hero, wearing a different disguise. Or perhaps one of those underground heroes who hid their identity. It didn't matter.

He turned around, scowling. “What do you mean by—"

Their eyes locked. His eyes widened. He recognizes me.

It was too late. He'd answered. His gaze became unfocused. His expression turned vacant. The Red was under his control. He turned to the 'cowering woman.'

“Are you in need of any further assistance?"

There was never any hiding the surprise or initial shock that came with seeing him use his quirk. Her lips didn't move. She didn't open them. Fear, or caution, or worry, it didn't matter. She shook her head back and forth instead. She wouldn’t answer him and give him the means to control her.

“Fine," he regarded his enthralled ‘villain.' “Let's go. The direction of other villains."

The ‘villain' blankly nodded.

This is good. Ten points for subduing a red shirt, and two points for assisting a blue shirt. Twelve points gained with one use of his Quirk.

He would make it as a hero after all.

A Precise Note

What… just happened?

Ken Takagi, better known as Rock Lock, had masked himself as a helpless civilian wearing a blue shirt in a precarious situation. A giant portion of concrete would fall upon him and crush him unless he was saved in a matter of seconds. However, with his ability to freeze objects in place, he was in no real danger.

The problem was that, without his understanding of what happened, he had been saved. One second, the slab was falling; the next, he was at least sixty feet away from the location, long, long before the slab could hit him. 

He could not fathom how.

The only clue was a blond-haired kid with spiky hair surrounded by yellow electricity and wearing headphones on his ears. The boy was bobbing his head and bouncing on his feet, snapping his fingers as if to music, but Ken could see that the headphones were not wireless and the jack was not plugged into anything.

A would-be student, an applicant, had somehow moved faster than he could see? Faster than he could perceive? Ken was flummoxed. Did O’Clock have a love child I didn’t know about? Or is he a son of the Ida Family? No, I don’t see any engines…

“Whoa! Things are going crazy on the waves! This is one, two, Dee-Jay Furrashu on the ray-dee-oh!”

The boy turned to him. “That was a close one, wasn’t it! Congratulations, you’ve been saved by Kaminari Denki, the most electrifying man in hero entertainment! Gimme a hell yeah!”

The boy, Kaminari, extended his fist for a fist bump. Rock Lock couldn't help but slowly move his fist. The moment the bump connected, a light jolt of electricity passed through him.

“Hell yeah!”

The blond boy swayed left and right, lightning surrounded his entire body, and forced Rock Lock to avert his gaze from the brightness. When next he opened his eyes, the scene changed again. He was now, safely, under a shelter, with a group of four other ‘civilians’, each one turning to look towards him as he did.

Before Rock Lock could so much as utter a word, the boy, his hero, was nowhere in sight.

“Yeah,” one of the ‘civilians’ said. “I had that same damned look, too.”

XXXXXXX

“My leg! My leg! It hurts!"

The woman in front of him wailed. She was caught underneath a collapsed pillar, placed judiciously close to an inconvenient puddle of spilled gasoline. There also happened to be a rather inconvenient overturned car nearby, blazing away.

“Please, hurry!"

His body moved on autopilot to rescue the woman from the trapped rubble and impending explosion, and his mind did several hundred calculations per second.

What if someone is too slow and fails to save her in time? What if the fire spreads? What if some unforeseen circumstances turn this pre-programmed scenario into something really dangerous?

Due to Himiko’s arrival and his discussion with Toru, Izuku had missed a good portion of the explanation for the exam’s rules and was both confused and concerned when he found that there would be real people in need of saving.

He didn't believe UA to be the type of place where they'd risk real lives and real deaths simply for the sake of an exam. It was far too easy, in such a chaotic environment, for unexpected and unanticipated events to happen. What would they do then?

His eyes caught the face of the woman trapped while he removed the pillar she was trapped under, and his brain registered the face as familiar, and thus began immediately cross-referencing it across his mental database.

Froth?

There was a match. The nose lined up, as did the cheek-bones, chin, and chalky-white skin. Her hair was in a different style, her eyes were a different color — contacts? — and her bust size was considerably larger — padding? — but there was no denying that this was the Fire-Fighting Hero, Froth.

A hero who'd at one point joined up with the No.2 Hero, Endeavor, as his sidekick, but eventually went their separate ways due to ‘radical differences' and ended up working for Backdraft instead. Her quirk granted her the ability to emit fire-suppressant foam from her body, much like a fire extinguisher, and in turn made her ridiculously resistant to fire, if not outright immune.

Izuku's brain recalled seeing her face on the news, seeing her battle severe fires alongside firefighters.

They’re all Pro-Heroes in disguise? 

The ‘civilians' were in no real danger. They'd been hand-picked and hand-crafted per situation to ensure that if the applicants weren't up to the task, they'd do the needful to save both themselves and the unwitting examinees.

That’s a relief.

“Thank you!" Froth excitedly hugged him, playing the part of the just-rescued civilian. 

“It's fine. I'm just doing my—"

An object, miles away, came soaring in his direction. Reflexes and instinct overtook conscious thought, and Izuku turned around, snatched the object out of the air, and sent it barreling back the exact same trajectory it came from at breakneck speed.

He turned immediately around to Froth. “Are you alright?"

There was surprise on her face. Not the faux-acting she had been doing before, but genuine surprise. Was that not part of the scenario, or was she not expecting me to react? That was it, wasn't it?

Could it be that the projectile that had been launched at him and could have killed him just now hadn't been intended?

Izuku turned his attention towards the source of the projectile. Even with his keen sight, he couldn’t see anyone there. It was as though the projectile had been launched out of thin air.

Focus, Izuku. 

Saving Froth just netted him two points. He still needed a minimum of forty-eight more points to go if he wanted to earn a passing score. That meant he needed to rescue or aid at least twenty-four more people.

Don't forget about the fire.

His brain reminded him. He swooped the Pro-Hero-disguised-as-a-civilian into his arms, ignoring her yelp, before leaping in an upward arc. Three full seconds of air-time later, the gasoline ignited with a resounding FWOOMP!  

He landed atop an abandoned school bus on what should have been a major road.

Gingerly letting Froth land on her two feet atop the yellow school bus, he ignored her red-faced pout in favor of examining his surroundings. The road was littered with potholes, other empty and abandoned vehicles, fallen rubble, holes and shattered glass, and everything possible under the sun to discourage it from being used.

Rescue twenty-four people, or incapacitate five people…

The choice he would make did not need to be considered. He glanced at the heavily damaged road and started to do some quick calculations. If only I had a rope or net—

“Look out!"

Reflexes again, forced him to spin off the school bus, grabbing the Pro-Hero by the hand, and landing to the ground just as a giant steel beam impaled the roof of the vehicle, and lodged itself into the asphalt. Izuku stared at the metal beam, and slowly, he let his gaze go to Froth.

“Sorry, but that's the second time now," he said.

Once is happenstance. Twice may be a coincidence…

 “Am I being targeted by flying debris intentionally?" he tilted his head.

She opened her lips, but closed them immediately. He watched her face go through two different ranges of emotions. She's having a conversation, his brain told him. His eyes couldn't catch anything in her ears that she'd use to converse with someone, so, likely, it was likely a mental conversation. Long-range telepathic quirks were far and few in between, so he had a pretty good guess as to who was on the other end.

“W—why are you asking me?"

She's still playing the role of the civilian. She didn’t seem eager to break character. Izuku doubted anything would get her to break character besides either of them falling into mortal danger. He focused, instead, skywards, to where the metal beam had fallen from. A building, ablaze and collapsing.

He forced his newly enhanced eyes to zoom.

Two people were present in blue shirts. Waving some sort of makeshift flag, with S-O-S painted sloppily atop. Their lips were moving, and he read them. Help! Help! We're trapped up here!

Izuku examined the building. The flames were everywhere, so that it was impossible for him to be able to make it in, much less ascend all the needed steps to get to them. At the same time, he didn't have the power to fly or float.

There was a way he could make it to the top. Scaling the side of a burning building, a feat, both reckless and dangerous. Were anyone else but him to attempt it, the feat would be reckless, stupid, and dangerous.

Were he to attempt it, the feat would still be reckless, but brilliant and precise.

“Can you make it to safety on your own?"

“S-safety? I — I don't know—"

I see.

The mission was more than just to save the ‘civilians' from whatever dangers they faced; it was also to ensure they stayed safe and didn't go wandering off into further danger.

In the case of a disaster, civilians were typically urged to rush to designated safety zones or be evacuated from the locations of danger. However, for that to happen, there needed to be safety zones, and you needed to have clear evacuation routes.

With the disaster zone as chaotic as it was, there was neither of those two things. The examiners hadn't mentioned it either. Which meant—

It's up to us to make shelters and evacuation zones.

The problem with that, again, was that it was a task that couldn't be done by one person. You needed a person to clear the roads and another to rescue the civilians, and another to urge them to the evacuation route.

Teamwork? In an exam?

If that was the purpose of the exam, then the UA facility held a high standard of expectation for its aspiring students. To get themselves to stop seeing each other as competitors and see each other as comrades working towards a shared goal was something that would be difficult from the start, and would only be made more so seeing as how there was an easier alternative: take down the baddies, and go off on your own as a rogue actor.

Despite it all, Izuku couldn’t help but beam a smile.

This exam… might actually be a challenge.

XXXXXXX

“Goddamnit!"

He slapped his palms together, blasting away falling debris and preventing it from crashing on a little old man who couldn't get his fucking wits together to move quickly enough. He'd short-sized his explosion for the sake of the codger's ears, and that risk came with missing one or two falling debris falling towards him.

Izuku wouldn't have fucking missed!

Something slimy slipped around his waist, and Katsuki Bakugo barely had anything to say before he found himself being moved out of the way of falling debris. The concrete slabs wouldn't have killed him, he was too fucking tough for that to kill him, but they'd have hurt all the same. He found himself deposited away from the bullshit crumbling building, along with the frail old man who was in the hands of a freakish girl with a bullshit long tongue.

A very, very long tongue which went all the way from her lips and was the slimy thing he felt tied around his waist.

Disgust was his first instinct. Katsuki swore it was his first instinct. His face burned, and his lips were ready to cut out a marking retort, only for the tongue to wrap itself around him and return to the girl, who, with her green hair and odd eyes and toad-like stance, was being congratulated by the old man whom Bakugo tried to save.

“Are you 'kay, 'ibbit?" She spoke with a strange accent, probably one that came from the fact that she had such a bullshit long tongue that didn't seem to fully stay inside her mouth.

“I didn't need your fuckin' help."

He rose to his feet and dusted off his clothes. Patting down himself, he felt a dampness, and grimaced as his hands came into contact with what was most likely frog-girl's saliva.

“…fuck."

“S'worry. Ee'll wash off."

“What the fuck are you apologizing for?" Katsuki felt his anger return.

“Mos' people don' like when I 'ick em."

Whether she meant lick them or ick them, Katsuki could not tell. He got the message nonetheless. He wanted to grumble. He wanted to curse at her more. Except he saw the way she looked at him. There was some annoyance, yes, but she flinched away from his temper and flinched even further when he swore. She looked almost as though she was genuinely expecting him to hit her.

He felt like an asshole.

No, he probably was an asshole.

What would Izuku think if he saw this?

“It's fine," He managed to grumble. “It's my fuckin' fault for not training better. I shoulda dodged that—" he cursed under his breath. “…T-t-t-thank—" He bit down on his lips. Fuck, he couldn't say it. “You're… not half… useless."

"Er… 'sanks?"

Thanks, the word she probably meant to say. Katsuki decided not to stay. Otherwise, he'd get angry at her for not getting angry enough at him and then get angry at himself for getting angry at her. Besides, he'd managed twenty-two points so far. He just needed to get some more and he'd be done with this fucking exam.

“Sorry to interrupt you youngsters," the old man said. “But I need you to help me find my daughter."

He and frog-girl turned in tandem to the man. Frog-girl was the first to speak. “Where?"

“We were separated at Third Street. A big, powerful villain used the chaos to attack. I fear for her safety."

Ah fuck. Another one of these blasted scenarios. There's gonna be a fucking Red, too.

“I'll find her."

"Thank you, young lady," the old man said. “Please, where am I going to go for safety?"

The girl tilted her head. “Safety…?"

“Second street. Follow the fucking subway. Collapse-proof and no villains. Go straight down the fucking thing and you'll come out at the other end."

“Ah, thank you, young man," the old man bowed to him, “But I'm afraid these old bones are too frail to make that journey on my own."

Oh, fuck me!

Frog girl looked ready to intervene. “I'll…"

“Miss, didn't you say you were going to help me find my daughter?"

She deflated at that. Her gaze turned to him.

“…get on my back, old man. And I swear to fucking god, if you drool on me…"

He didn't drool, thankfully. Frog-girl gave them a wave as they went off, and Katsuki couldn't help but feel increasingly annoyed at this turn of events. He turned around, taking off in a blur with his explosions, racing down the streets with the old man clinging to his neck.

“Ah, slow down, young man!"

“I'm going as slow as I can, damned geezer! Any slower and there'll be a fucking tortoise making us eat its dust!"

“My, what mouths you youngsters have these days. Is that any way to treat a poor old man who's a victim of a disastrous attack?"

Katsuki snorted. “Victim my ass. I know you guys are pro-heroes playing dress up. You want me to roleplay with you and act like you're helpless? Maybe next time, try fucking pretending to be a little bit worried about getting crushed under a building"

“I was in shock."

“You'd have been ‘un-shocked’ by the third time I signaled an explosion to get you to fucking move."

"I'm hard of hearing," the old man huffed.

“Bullshit! I saw you getting ready to haul ass and do something before frog-girl swooped in. You're not fooling me, geezer."

“You saw me?" The old man's voice was different. “That's not possible."

“You floated. I saw it. I've got good eyes."

“Your attention was focused on the debris. Your eyes and ears couldn't have been in my direction."

“Wrong. My focus was on you, and trying to redirect my explosions so all the debris would hit me and miss you. Fuck, I even had to tone them down otherwise I'd blow your fucking ears out. I sure as hell didn’t miss the moment you dropped the geezer act."

“You’re saying you divided your attention four-way between using your quirk, restricting it to prevent unintended harm to bystanders, watching a civilian under your care, and redirecting collateral damage unto yourself?" The old man's voice dropped. “All at the same time?"

“So fucking what?"

Katsuki gritted his teeth. Izuku could do that in his fucking sleep.

Dividing his attention and multi-tasking? He’d seen Izuku do it as a fucking party-trick in their classroom. He wrote down multiple notes and copied them for people simultaneously, with his left and right hands. Whenever they sparred, Izuku would have a book in his hand, a snack in the other, and be able to still dance circles around Katsuki’s explosions and attacks, whilst casually chatting about some dumb nerd shit he was studying.

If Izuku could do it, then Katsuki sure wouldn’t let himself lag behind.

"What did you say your name was again?"

“It's Katsuki. Bakugo Katsuki."

The old man fell quiet. Katsuki didn't pay it mind. He was more focused on doing as much as he could to drop the old man off and then getting back to saving more people and earning more points.

He tore down the subway, hauling himself with his explosions forward and moving through the torch-lit darkness.

“Bakugo-san, this subway exit, how did you discover it?"

“I didn't discover it."

“What do you mean?"

“I fucking cleared it out myself."

“You… what?"

Was the geezer really hard of hearing as he said? “You heard me, geezer."

“Your quirk lets you explode things."

"So?"

“How did you clear out an entire exit by yourself?"

“I blasted away all the shit that was blocking the way, lit some torches, kept fucking blasting until it was clear."

“That would take a series of fine-tuned and controlled explosions to prevent the entire structure from collapsing. One wrong explosion, one that was too strong, would have sent the entire thing crumbling, but you…” The old man muttered. “…how long did it take you to do this?"

“Twenty fucking minutes," he swore. "I'd have already fucking aced this exam if I didn't start out with this shit first."

“Why did you? Start with this, I mean?"

"Cause all of you 'civilians' end up getting in deep shit again if I just 'save you' and let you wander about. You'll get in my way, so I realized it's best if I simply make sure you can't get in my way. And you can't get in my way if you aren't here, so you do the two-plus-two."

Katsuki grunted. "Also, do you mind being less bloody chatty? Talking and moving expends too much of my fucking energy."

The old man didn't say anything after that. Katsuki couldn't have been happier. He tore through the subway at record speed. He wanted to be the first the finish in his zone, because he didn't doubt for even a fucking second that Izuku would be the first to finish in his.

And if he was behind Izuku…

Goddamnit!

He would not be in second place!

No matter fucking what.

Chapter Text

“He's not really going to try and climb up here to rescue us, is he?"

The High-Flying Hero, Wingman, had seen his fair share of ridiculous stunts. He'd seen all manner of things from people hopping out of moving vehicles to idiots jumping out through glass windows. Escaping burning buildings was just another feat on the list, which was why it was unusual to see someone trying to scale a burning building.

“I mean, there's no way," Fluff, the Cottontail Hero, agreed with his sentiment. “What's the kid's quirk?"

Wingman reached for his phone, opening the app with the applicant's information that had been provided. “Green hair… ponytail… Midoriya Izuku. His quirk is called Precision."

“Precision?"

“It says it lets him do anything with absolute precision," Wingman said. “Not an emitter-type. Probably a transformation or composite quirk.”

Fluff squinted. “Wait, isn't he the one?"

“What?"

“He was on TV the other day. Tsunagu wouldn't shut up about seeing a stylish kid that'd make a great model for his brand. Now that I see him, though… yeah, I see it," Fluff whistled. “Wow. Look at him go — is he — is he actually—"

“Is he what?" Wingman looked away from his phone. 

The green-haired boy was running, racing up the side of a burning building with careful, well-placed, and single-motion steps. He was wall-running, but he was doing so vertically.

With each footstride of the boy’s feet against the surface of the wall, the wall would and should exert an equal and opposite force. He should be sliding down, because there was nothing in his quirk file that said the boy could cling to or run on walls. 

The only way such a thing was possible with his quirk was to possess and employ a perfect understanding of timing and momentum, applying the right amount of vertical force to counteract gravity. By planting his feet firmly and pushing downwards and slightly outwards, the boy was “kicking" himself upwards.

None of this would compute in the mind of an average civilian. All they would see was a boy running up a wall effortlessly, with both hands behind his back, a bright smile on his face, a preternatural grace, and a casual indifference to his act of defying gravity and spitting in Newton’s eye.

It was a scene, a sight, that inspired confidence.

A confidence that all but screamed:

Fear not— 

A Hero is here.

Wingman whistled softly.

Well, damn.

A lot of people thought that heroes did not need to be flashy, but they would be wrong. The fact that All Might was Number 1 despite Endeavor having done more visible hero work was proof that saving people from disasters, while a great merit, simply was not enough. How you saved people from disasters mattered as well. Being able to inspire hope, amaze, shock, and awe a person into temporarily forgetting their misery, their pain, the agony they had experienced from their catastrophe was also a significant part of being a Hero, and it was just as important as saving people.

When one heard: I AM HERE! It was enough to stir hearts and calm minds, and have them believe, without a doubt, that they would find salvation.

Yet, without a word, without a sound, just through his actions and movements, the boy before him had evoked and stirred that same feeling.

The feeling of believing that heroes could perform miracles.

Fluff slowly asked, “Say… do you think the kid is taken?"

Wingman snapped his head towards her. “What?”

“For a Hero Agency. Think someone’s already snagged him? If not, I might just give him our agency’s card.”

“We're supposed to be civilians, Fluff. Don't break character," he paused. “Also, I’m sure the Principal is recording everything, so unless you want your pay deducted—”

Fluff pouted. “I didn’t agree to be here just for the big fat checks Nezu is giving us," She mumbled. “Though it was an incentive…”

“It was,” he agreed. “And I couldn’t miss the chance to get to have a say in who gets into this business."

“Really?" Fluff shrugged. “I dunno. If I didn't know better, I'd say Nezu is trying to make sure as many people fail as possible."

“So what if he is?" Wingman said. “Better fewer living heroes than more dead ones. We don't need another Dare Man."

“Ugh. You're always so grim, Wing. This is why Miko-chan left you."

“And I thought it was the alcoholism."

“I'm sorry… that was a stupid joke."

“It's fine. I'll be eight months sober next week. Can't say being dumped didn't make me reflect," Wingman jerked his finger. “Look alive. Kid’s here."

The green-haired daredevil appeared in front of them with a forward front-flip, completing the maneuver and landing so perfectly he'd effortlessly have been considered Olympic level, were the Olympics still a thing. There was nothing to show that he'd exerted himself from the task of racing vertically up a seven-story building, no sweat, no panting, no burn-marks of any sort that indicated he was ever in any sort of remote danger.

Just pure, otherworldly grace and inhuman elegance.

And then, he smiled.

His bright smile conveyed, without words, a message that transcended languages.

…Damn, he's good.

“Hero!" Fluff turned on the waterworks, with her admittedly terrible acting. “Oh, we're saved!"

The boy, still smiling, said, “Please climb on my back, and I'll get us both down."

Wingman turned to Fluff. Both had the same question in mind. “There are two of us."

“I can carry her in my arms, and you, on my back. "

He's joking, right? Wingman was almost tempted to break character there. She's probably about forty, maybe fifty kilograms soaking wet, and I could see him doing it… But I'm pushing ninety kilograms. Carrying both of us?

“I don’t think—"

“Save me," Fluff leapt into the kid's arms without hesitating. Wingman had his immense doubts. He looked over the kid's form. He's muscled, sure, but is he that strong?

The Pro-Hero swallowed his pride and climbed onto the back of a fifteen-year-old kid. What the…?

The boy did not so much as flinch. It was almost as though he did not register the additional weight. Holding on tightly to the kid, Wingman realized he'd seriously underestimated just how muscled the boy was. There was nothing but muscle on him.

Fluff had also noticed. On a normal day, he would have chastised the woman about blushing in the arms of a teenage boy, but Wingman had to swallow down any such reprimands because even he had a lump in his throat, as he felt the boy’s physical form through his clothes.

He had the body of a god-damned Greek God.

Is this also his Quirk? No, there’s nothing about his Quirk being able to make him muscular. So this is just all him? Pure training? How the hell does this brat train? How is that even possible?

Holy shit. What has the world come to? What are they feeding kids these days?

“Hold on tight, we're going to jump."

“Wait, what do you mean we're going to—"

He's crazy, Wingman could swear. The boy leapt off the top, kicked a broken pipe, hopped on it, and began to surf.

Surfing down the side of a burning building.

“Holy shiiiiiiii—"

Fluff was cackling and squealing with glee. The adrenaline-crazed woman was no doubt enjoying it. Wingman couldn't quite say the same. He'd been on rollercoasters and on amusement park rides, but never in his life had he experienced something so beyond the realm of common sense.

How in the world are we not falling off?

Running up a seven-story building was one thing that he could justify, if only barely, but surfing down? The building wasn't slanted. If gravity was being consistent, they should have plopped down from their combined weights and landed in a gooey pulp. They weren't.

He had gone beyond spitting in Newton’s eye and was now outright slapping the man across the face with his own hand, telling him, “Why are you hitting yourself? Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself!”

Laws of Motion? Laws of Universal Gravitation? Law these nuts!

Their acceleration peaked the further they surfed, and, about eight feet from the ground, the boy kicked off from the pipe, taking it with him. He did a bloody three-sixty and kickflip like a skateboarding champion,  before guiding the metal pipe onto a railing, skidding perfectly to bleed off momentum, then landing on the road, scraping asphalt and coming to a gentle stop.

“We're safe."

“That! Was! Awesome!" Fluff squealed. “You're my hero!"

Wingman's feet touched solid ground, and his mind was in complete disarray. This was the kind of thing that if he told others, they would look at him with worry and ask him if he was back on liquor again.

He cleared his throat. “R-r-right," he said. “T—thank you, er, youngster."

“It's nothing. Please advance to the yellow school bus on the corner of Fifth Street. An exit will be cleared soon," the boy smiled. “Thank you for obliging me with my selfish request, Fluff-san, Wingman-san."

Wingman felt as though he'd been gut-punched. Fluff froze mid-smile.

“We're not—"

The boy ran off before they could refute the statement. Fluff turned to him. “He recognized us?"

“I haven't been active in public spaces for three years. We're wearing disguises. How the hell did he…?"

“I think…” Fluff said. “We might have a new serious contender for Number 1 Hero.”

XXXXX

She muttered a small prayer to her lord upon successfully restraining the Red with her vines. Enraptured in a crucifix of her roseless thorns, the red-shirt wearing individual could neither move nor mumble, complain, nor stumble. This, so far, was her third successive capture, each one successful only because she did due diligence in observing their skillsets before attempting an attack. Each one, successful because she was filled with faith and virtue, and her prayers for success were heeded by her Lord and Savior, the One.

In a time before quirks, it was said the Messiah could heal the sick, walk on water, and multiply bread and fish, and these were praised as miracles, but in a world where healing the sick and standing on water were the feats of the mundane man, a true miracle, the only miracle, was the power to giveth and the power to taketh the gifts of others. 

The power to decide who would be gods and who would be mortals.

They said he could hear prayers. They said he could answer prayers. Her parents told her as much. She had been raised with devotion and care, and the belief that a day would come where she would stand before him, eyes filled with tears, and he would bless her, as he blessed the multitudes, as he blessed the world.

Until that day came, she would strive to become a hero and do great deeds in her Lord’s name, spreading the good gospel, the faith, and belief in the one and only savior of the world.

“Excuse me, miss."

An angelic voice came from behind her, and she turned to address it.

Her heartbeat skipped. She felt it. Angelic did not suffice to describe the one in front of her. Divine would scarcely be an apt description. Humans were not meant to be perfect; it was universally impossible, yet her eyes could catch neither flaw nor imperfection in the one before her.

Hair a darker shade of green than hers with matching eyes and freckles that completed his symmetrical features in a perfectly imperfect way, her heart skipped another beat. He gave a disarming, innocent smile, and her heart skipped a third and fourth beat in rapid succession

Flee from temptation! Her mind roared. Flee now, girl! Flee!

“Could you lend me your assistance with a certain matter?"

His voice stunned her from her stupor. “O-of course."

She answered without giving it any thought. A part of her feared that she'd just been ensnared by a quirk, but another part of her knew it was simply her juvenile teen heart thriving and jubilating at the thought of doing a favor for one who was clearly, clearly blessed by her Lord.

“Thank you so much."

His earnest smile sent Cupid's intercontinental ballistic arrows piercing into her chest.

"My name is Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku."

"Shiozaki," She said earnestly. "Shiozaki Ibara."

XXXXX

“This way, head down the central road!"

“Come on, everyone, we can do it!"

A small horde of blue-shirt-wearing individuals marched on through the central road, which now sported a number of key differences. The cars and debris had been cleared off completely, and hovering above the sky was a shining arrow made of glass that Izuku carefully placed to ensure the reflection of various light sources hitting it would make it visible regardless of distance.

Shiozaki Ibara had been more than eager to help him and go along with his plan of working together. Izuku had thought she would be opposed to the idea initially, but she agreed so eagerly that it smoothed and hastened the process.

Though his quirk made him superhuman, there were limits to his ability. Someone like Shiozaki, whose quirk was incredibly versatile, made him marvel. Her vine-like hairs could clear large areas, be used as a rope, be woven into a net, be made into bridges, platforms, be spun around to create wind to put out minor flames, be utilized as a platform for difficult terrain such as an electrified floor or swampy marsh, and so on and so forth.

The number of applications that ran through his mind with her quirk was in the hundreds. 

He could do anything precisely, and sure, that was amazing.

But he couldn't do everything.

Is it the right thing…?

Moments like these, where he saw quirks being used to save people and help lives, made him question, if only for a moment, if his plan to end Quirks was the right thing. How many people would die from disasters and accidents that they could have been rescued from if there were others with quirks?

Then, Izuku took a sweeping glance at the scale of disaster around him.

This is a recreation of the attack performed by the villain, Seismic. One person, and one Quirk, caused this tragedy. Just one.

Heroes, ultimately, were a band-aid. They treated the symptoms rather than the disease. They were inspiring, and Izuku admired them, loved them, he truly did, but at the end of the day, there would always be more villains and more catastrophes like this. The amount of good they could and would do did not, and could not, counteract the amount of bad the villains could and did do.

He thought of Matsuda, whose quirk ultimately made him decide the only path he had in life was that of an Adult Content Creator.

He thought of Manga, whose quirk guaranteed he would never be able to kiss a girl till his dying breath.

He thought of Suzume, whose quirk made her experience the emotions of everyone around her, to her own discomfort.

He thought of Himiko, whose quirk had led to her being rejected and psychopathic.

He thought of Toru, whose quirk made it so no one would ever see her brilliant, beautiful smile.

No.

Izuku reaffirmed his resolve.

He wanted to see a world where people like Manga would be able to laugh and cry. A world where people like Matsuda didn’t need to fear having a normal job. A world where people like Suzume would not feel the pain of others without being able to stop it. A world where people like Himiko wouldn’t be forced into a life of crime. A world where someone like Toru wouldn’t have to ask him whether or not she was beautiful, because she would see it herself.

For the sake of that world, for the sake of that dream—

I’ll do whatever it takes.

“Midoriya-san, I believe with the number of people we've saved, that should bring our combined scores up to—"

Izuku's reflexes flared beyond his control. He pirouetted on his feet, grabbing Ibara by her hands and gracefully swaying her as though they were performing a ballroom dance.

A yellow bus tore through the space where they'd been, mere microseconds prior. Harsh winds and pressure blew his and her hair backwards, and the girl’s eyes slowly started to go wide. He pulled Ibara close, shielding her from the force of the wind.

Izuku didn't hesitate. He left Ibara, and darted, leaping through one of the open windows of the school bus as it was still in motion. The world almost slowed down in his perception as he moved,  microseconds and milliseconds morphed into hours and minutes, as he rushed from the back of the bus towards the driver’s seat. 

Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times?

The driver's seat of the vehicle was empty. There was only a brick placed down on the accelerator, and a wooden stick jammed into the wheel to keep it locked. Izuku surmised immediately that both the brick and the wooden stick were diversions. The seat, according to his infrared vision, was significantly warmer than the rest of the vehicle. His nostrils could catch the faint scent of sterility and antiseptic, odd scents to be in an abandoned vehicle.

Someone had been driving this thing.

Someone had been trying to kill him.

Izuku did not believe this was part of the exam. It was too unlikely. However, he did not believe someone had infiltrated the UA Practical Exam, under the watch of potentially hundreds of Pro-Heroes, and had somehow remained undetected and unseen for so long. The person trying to kill him was not an intruder.

That meant either an applicant, a Pro-Hero, or a staff member of UA Academy was out to get him.

And Izuku could not fathom why.

XXXXXX

That damned crazy cat did it again, Sorahiko hobbled his way up the stairs, his cane tapping at each step before he did. Changing out of the blue shirt and removing his wig, his contacts, and wiping the makeup, he saw the youngsters gathered around the numerous camera screens, their eyes glued to the proceedings of the exam.

“Torino-san," one of the youngsters —  what was his name, Vlad? — approached him. "Are you alright, Torino-san?"

“I'm old, boy, not made of glass."

He nodded. “We were just discussing the applicants, and taking in first-hand reports from the Examiners on the field."

“I met a foul-mouthed brat with an explosive quirk, and an even more explosive temper."

Vlad scrolled through a tablet. “That would be Bakugo Katsuki." He nodded. “We've already received numerous complaints about his attitude. Vulgarian said the boy needs his mouth sanitized with soap. And coming from the Curse Language Hero, that's a grim observation."

“How many votes to fail him?"

Vlad blinked. “That’s… surprising. Only two."

“And how many to pass him?"

Vlad tapped the screen. “Twenty-three."

“Make it twenty-four."

“Torino-san?"

“When I first met him, I thought there was no one more unsuited to be a hero," Sorahiko grumbled. “Then he made a fool of me, and made me remember never to judge a book by its cover. Which idiots failed him? I question their judgment and discernment if they can’t see the diamond in the rough that that boy is."

“That would be…” Vlad tapped his screen. “Ear-Ring, the Hearing Hero, and Cannon, the Trebuchet Hero.”

Sorahiko scrunched his nose. “Who?”

“Uh… they seem to be Underground Pro-Heroes associated with the Public Hero Safety Commission and their ‘Hero Conscription Initiative.’”

Sorahiko scoffed. “That crazy Principal allowed those worms to act as proctors?”

“We… can’t in good conscience discriminate,” Vlad muttered. He tapped the tablet further. "Did anyone else catch your attention, Torino-san?"

"A girl with frog-like abilities."

“That would be Asui Tsuyu," the youngster nodded. “Eleven passes, seven fails. There don't seem to be any complaints except that she's…" Vlad hesitated. “Reserved.

“I know a child that fears being hit when I see one. No one flinches like that from just being bullied," Sorahiko growled. “What do you have on the parents?”

Vlad grimaced. "Torino-san, we're not supposed to look into the personal lives of potential students. We have to be impartial in the selection process."

“Hogwash. That crazy cat probably already knows what foot they put into their socks first and how many times they gargle before they spit."

“But—"

“Don't but me, boy. I'm right, aren't I?"

The youngster fidgeted for a bit before relenting. “A few years ago, her father, Asui Ganma, was abruptly ‘let go' from his job at a subsidiary of Chōten. He filed a discrimination lawsuit against them. He lost badly. To add insult to injury, he was countersued for nearly everything he had. We believe this may have affected his… temperament."

Sorahiko clicked his tongue. “Chōten again. Didn't they learn anything from the Nagako riots?"

“Only how to better hide their policies through legal loopholes." 

“Shoulda let the whole company burn to the ground."

“I understand your sentiment, Torino-san, truly, I do," he let out a frustrated breath. “But whether or not a corporation is openly run by Quirk Formists does not mean we're allowed to turn a blind eye to it when it gets set ablaze by an angry mob."

“I know that. I've been doing this hero thing longer than you have. Doesn't mean I have to like it…” Sorahiko bit his lip. “What are you planning on doing about the girl?"

“Officially, reports have already been made to the police based on suspicions…” Vlad sighed. “However, according to our files, she’s a victim of severe bullying from her schoolmates and claims any and all bruises she possesses is a result of that. The police can’t go about arresting every child that bullies their peers with Mutant-type quirks, not only because of the backlash, but because if they did, there wouldn’t be enough cells in the country to hold them all.”

Sorahiko held his tongue. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.”

Quirk Formism. Maybe it was his age getting the better of him, but he found all of it to be incredibly stupid. Unfortunately, that damned Alan Kay and his studies had been proven, and it was hard to fight against hatred when, for the first time, it was backed by facts. For the majority of human history, discrimination was unscientific. It was hogwash. But what did one do when the basis of discrimination was not unscientific? How does one fight back if someone could prove that their very brains did not see or recognize another person as a human being? Where does one find their recourse?

Without outright government-mandated laws, the only other answer was to appeal to emotion, to goodness, to kindness, and to human decency.

It was not enough.

Sorahiko was aware that too many years working as a hero had made him cynical. Too many years gazing into the abyss had permanently etched parts of it within him.

Kids and youngsters liked to joke that one either died a hero or lived long enough to see themselves become a villain. It was more than just a joke. He'd seen it, seen former teammates, partners, sidekicks, and apprentices, one by one, questioning if there was even a point to choosing to stay in the light.

From the start, too many heroes had an excess of light but not enough darkness. How does one fight darkness when they do not understand it? Could not comprehend it? How does a man who'd never been tempted understand how to combat temptation?

There were a few heroes who had a ‘no-kill’ rule, which Sorahiko had always found ridiculous. Not even Toshinori, who was the Symbol of Peace, possessed such a rule. Toshinori would and could take lives for the good of others, because sometimes, there were people beyond redemption. People who were so dangerous that ending their lives would be a net positive for the world.

The thought brought Sorahiko back to the memory of the uncouth youngster. The kind of person who could best fight against tyrants was the kind of person who had within him the capacity for tyranny. Few individuals understood this. It was always better to be a soldier in a garden than a gardener in a war. It was always better to be capable of cruelty but possess the control needed to never inflict it than to be incapable of cruelty and soon come to regret it.

Regret, Sorahiko did. Of all the regrets he possessed, the greatest would be in the moments when he found himself lacking in much-needed cruelty.

“Torino-san?"

“Which is nobler, a hero who strives and struggles to do good, or a hero who does good without effort?"

“I… can't say."

“Think."

Vlad crossed his arms. "I suppose, Torino-san… the reason we reward good behavior, courage, and righteous deeds is because it takes effort to do those things. If people could be completely good without any effort… why would we still hold acts of courage or integrity of character in high esteem?"

“Hm."

Sorahiko already knew the answer. He'd discovered it, twenty-five years ago, when he used his quirk on the masses. The event wasn't recorded in the history books because there were only a handful of people who remembered. Sorahiko was cursed to be among that handful.

“Excuse me, Torino-san. Returning to the matter of the applicants—"

“I'm tired, boy. These old bones aren't what they used to. I'll send the rest via mail."

Sorahiko was tired. Heroics drained a lot from him. Soon, he thought. Soon…

Once he saw that the future was in good hands, he'd genuinely consider full-time retirement.

XXXXX

“And that officially concludes the UA Entrance Examinations!"

Nemuri was exhausted. Proctoring exams had always been tiring, but this year's examinations had been something else entirely. Sometimes she wished she could curse the principal for his ridiculous, over-the-top selection scheme he called an exam.

However, this exam was one for the history books.

“So…" Hizashi stood beside her, staring at the screens, each one possessing names of students, points earned, votes, written exam scores, and remarks from Pro-Heroes. “That bad, huh?"

Hizashi tapped the screen, whistling. “Twenty-three fails and two passes? What the hell did this kid do?"

"That's Rikido Sato. His quirk lets him increase his physical strength the more he eats sugar, but has a tradeoff of crippling his mental strength in turn."

Hizashi couldn't keep the grimace off his face. “I see how that could go badly."

“He buffed up and managed to save two people, but ended up becoming a liability to others due to his decreased intelligence, and almost stepped on an electric hazard, forcing the heroes to intervene," She sighed. “The consensus was against allowing someone whose quirk makes them a hindrance the more they use it to become a hero."

“Harsh," Hizashi crossed his arms. "Could always train the kid up. Make him try not to be all brawn and no brains."

“I thought the same, but there are already individuals who have the advantages this kid has, but with none of the drawbacks. He's a sweet kid, no pun intended, but by Nezu's new standards, he doesn’t have the ‘excellence’ we’re looking for."

He rubbed the back of his head and looked at another image on the screen. “Hm? What’s up with this one? There’s no picture. Twelve fails, thirteen passes?”

“That’s Hagakure Toru,” Nemuri said slowly. “Her Quirk makes her invisible, but she can also refract light. She managed to team up with others and act as a signal so people could be rescued.”

“There’s a but, somewhere, isn’t there? She barely passed.”

Nemuri bit her lip. “More than once, the examiners completely missed that she was there, and not being able to see your rescuer is a disadvantage. Cheer Girl, the Cheerleader Hero, reported: ‘It’s like being around an overly bubbly ghost. I can’t read or judge her body language and facial cues, so I can’t tell if her bubbly attitude is genuine or not, and it creeps me out.’”

“Cheer Girl said that?” Hizashi rubbed the back of his neck again. “Can’t she just turn off her invisibility?”

Nemuri shook her head. “According to her quirk file, her invisibility is permanent.”

“Wow,” Present Mic ran his hand through his hair. “What about this kid? Seventeen fails and six passes?"

Nemuri glanced over. “That would be Mashirao Ojiro."

“Yeah. What's his quirk?"

“Tail."

Hizashi grabbed a seat. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Wait, wait, don't tell me," Present Mic, put his hands together and pointed. “He has a super long tail he can stretch?"

"Try again."

“His tail can rotate and make him fly."

“Not that."

"It shoots lasers?"

“Wrong again, Hizashi."

“So… what does it do?"

“It's a tail."

The man stared in silence.

“What?"

“Just a tail, Hizashi. That's his quirk."

“Ah, well, I mean, flashy quirks aren't all that."

“The report from the Muscle Hero, Muscle Man, reads: ‘He’s a quirkless kid who knows some beginner karate and has an extra limb with limited use.'"

"Ouch," Hizashi grimaced. “We're crushing kids' hopes and dreams here."

Nemuri felt it in her bones. Nezu's new standards meant accepting only individuals with great promise or potential, and treating everyone else like they were worthless.  It burned and itched at her sense of justice and fairness within her. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Nezu wasn't human, given his lovable appearance. It was in his methods that his cold ruthlessness showed itself.

What stung her the most was the voice at the back of her mind telling her that this method of selecting future students might be for the best, especially because they had enough precedents to prove that things always went smoothly once you shut off your brain and simply do what Nezu tells you to do.

Things went horribly, horribly wrong if you didn't listen to the little white bear-man.

She tried to rationalize it. Nezu knew what he was doing. She wasn't going to let her personal feelings throw a wrench into well-laid plans and end up having blood on her hands.

“That reminds me, where’s that kid that finished the written exams in ten minutes?" Hizashi examined the board. “…Well, I’ll be damned."

“Who are you — oh. The wonderkid."

“You sure this is right?"

“It is."

"I mean… what do the reports say?"

“All positive. Froth said: 'He displayed an uncanny sense of spatial awareness and carried out the rescue with absolute calmness, compassion and focus.' Fluff wrote: 'Amazing, dedicated, possessing a strong grasp of the strengths and weaknesses of his quirk and an unrivaled determination to save others.' And even Wingman had good things to say."

“Ol' grouch face had something positive to say?"

“Just two words: ‘He's good.'"

“That's practically five gold stars and a letter of recommendation."

"I know," Nemuri sighed. "This kid… he feels too good to be true. Can you imagine competing with this, Hizashi? It makes you really feel the differences between quirks."

The door behind them swung open, and a small figure casting a large shadow emerged through it. “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others,” the Principal chirped. “I often find that quote comforting."

“Principal Nezu."

“Sup, Prince."

Nezu smiled. "Nemuri-chan. Hizashi-kun," The creature reached into his pockets. “Hard candy? I have mint flavor, butterscotch, and my personal favorite, cocoa."

“Thank you… Principal."

"All the more for me," Nezu said. “Now, now, you two needn't stay behind for extra hours. Vlad-kun has aided me in assembling much of the results of the written and practical examinations. It is my duty as the principal to ensure everything runs smoothly, yes?"

“Principal Nezu," Nemuri began. “I have to know, is this really the best way to run things?"

“You're worried for the applicants we rejected on the basis of inexperience or averageness, yes? Tremendously noble of you, Nemuri-chan. However, what I do is for the best. You see, starting from next year, Nemuri-chan, the average rate of Pro Hero mortality is going to rise. I would prefer to reduce the statistics of mortality amongst the young."

Nemuri's heart lurched. “What?"

“We are vastly understaffed, Nemuri-chan, in the war against evil. Worse still, we are underprepared and unqualified. A great wind of change is coming, and I cannot stop it, Nemuri-chan. All I can do is unfurl my sails and avoid straying from the course."

Nezu popped a candy into his lips.

“Oh dear, I should also mention, the rate of violent crime is going to increase significantly as well. For that reason, I have added new subjects to the curriculum, with the permission of the board, of course. Nemuri-chan, you would have no problem handling these classes, yes?"

“New classes?"

“One of which is Self-Defense for Young Heroines, to properly teach them how to fend off unwanted attackers."

“Woah, woah," Hizashi cleared his throat. “Principal, are you saying—"

The Principal's smile never wavered. “Best to be prepared for any eventuality, yes?"

Nemuri felt a knot bury itself in her stomach. It was easy to forget, sometimes, no, many times, that criminals were criminals. Just because they were school children and aspiring heroes did not mean they would be exempt from would-be rapists.

“Dear me, I believe it is best to get some rest, Nemuri-chan, Hizashi-kun. Also, do note, the board has permitted me to hire a School Counselor. I always found it disconcerting that an institution as well-funded and distinguished as ours lacked something as fundamentally necessary as an individual who can aid in the social and emotional development of our future heroes. Absurd, yes?"

“Absurd… yes."

Nezu chuckled. “The individual I selected is not only a part-time Pro Hero, but rather overqualified for the job, being both a clinical psychiatrist and doctor of psychology. I consider this a good thing, for they can also aid the UA Staff with whatever hiccups they may possess."

Nezu rubbed his paws together. “Oh dear, look at the time. Off you two go now. I have quite a lot of work to do. Now, shoo—shoo."

The Principal shooed them out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Nemuri turned to Hizashi, and Hizashi turned to her.

“Wanna get a drink?"

"Are you paying?"

"I guess."

"Good," Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm going to need more than one."

Chapter Text

What did I fucking expect?

“Congratulations, young Katsuki!"

All Might's face on the personal recording didn't change the gnawing, biting sensation in his stomach. His mother ruffling his hair and squeezing him didn't make him feel any fucking better. His dad telling him how proud he was didn't change a fucking thing.

“You have been formally accepted into UA Academy—”

He was always going to get in. Was there ever any doubt that he wouldn’t get in? No. That was a given. That had never been in fucking doubt for even a bloody goddamned second. Getting in wasn’t enough though, no, absolutely fucking not. It was why, the moment he caught sight of the rankings, the results of the exams, his blood boiled, and a fire roared in his chest.

What did I fucking expect?

Name || Written Exam | Practical Exam || Hero Evaluation || Rank

Midoriya Izuku || 100 || 50 || 50 || 1st

Bakugo Katsuki || 77 || 30 || 43 || 2nd

Tokoyami Fumikage || 65 || 25 || 21 || 3rd

Shiozaki Ibara || 61 || 25 || 20 || 4th

Shinsō Hitoshi || 71 || 25 || 13 || 5th

Kaminari Denki || 0 || 39 || 49 || 6th

Kendo Itsuka || 50 || 25 || 11 || 7th

Shoji Mezo || 32 || 25 || 20 || 8th

Uraraka Ochaco || 23 || 25 || 21 | 9th

Kodai Yui || 23 || 25 || 20 || 10th

Congratulations to all successful applicants!

Attached below is the list of essential items needed for the start of the school semester.

We hope to see you all on the Fourth of April!

Go beyond, Plus Ultra!

Over fifty fucking points.

Izuku outstripped him by over fifty fucking points!

“Oi Katsuki! What's with the face? Shouldn't you be happy?"

“Second place. Second-fucking place!"

“So what? You're still accept— hey! Where the hell are you going?"

“To fucking train!"

He slammed the door behind him, grinding his teeth as he did so. A part of him, the old part of him, wanted to take out his anger on Izuku. Except he knew now that it was scummy behavior. It was trash behavior. Shit that was unfitting of a hero. That aside, he couldn't touch the nerd anymore.

Izuku's bullshit quirk would just let the boy dance around him for hours and hours until Katsuki got tired and collapsed from exertion. That wouldn't solve his anger, no, it'd just make him more fucking pissed.

FUCK!

It was his fault. His fault, for not listening to the nerd's constant crazy talk as well as he should have. And maybe, maybe he shouldn't have sworn as much as he did to the heroes playing dress-up. Those prissy bastards must have deducted his fucking score because he didn't say please and thank-you.

Fuck them!

He marched down the road, gritting his teeth.

No, fuck you, you dumb fuck.

All Might didn't swear like he did. All Might didn't get angry like he did. He wasn't a fucking moron. Having a hero who swore left right and center and got pissed all the time would only work if that was your brand. It worked for Endeavor, but Endeavor was the eternal loser stuck at second place.

Katsuki didn't want to be Endeavor 2.0. Fuck that.

No fucking way.

The smart thing to do, as much as he hated to admit it, would be to limit his swearing. Sure, he could still glare when morons were being morons, but he had to be fucking tactical about it.

Yeah, that's it. That's what I need to do.

He wasn't going to change his personality or censor himself to please idiots who skirted around sensitive shit and would rather be quiet than speak up when shit hit the fan. No, Katsuki knew there was no fucking way he'd bend over sideways to everyone and everything.

Restraint. Some fucking restraint.

He would train his personality the same way he trained his quirk. He'd long since learned to restrain the power of his explosions to avoid blowing people to smithereens, learned to control it and direct it, so, how fucking hard could it be to do the same thing to his word choice?

He'd look for a substitute for swear words, swear in languages no one could understand, or limit his swearing to their PG-13 versions. As for his temper…

The fuck am I supposed to do? Anger Management?

Fuck that. No fucking way.

He didn't know yet. That was fine. He'd figure it out before classes started. He'd find a solution.

Never again.

As long as he never got second place again to Izuku again, Katsuki Bakugo would do any fucking thing.

Any-fucking-thing.

XXXXX

The Hero's Jump

“Uh, do you have a stalker or something?”

Saiko jerked her head. “Why? Have you noticed something, Matsuda-san?”

“Well, no, but you’ve checked over your shoulder like ten times in the past five minutes,” Matsuda said. “Is someone bothering you? You can report it to the police, right?”

The police? She almost wanted to laugh. “I’ll put that into consideration.”

The more logical, rational part of her mind told her that if he truly wanted to send someone for her, it wouldn’t be done in an open area like this. However, she had no confidence, not even in the tiniest bit, that he would follow any ‘logical’ action because she had no way of knowing what he could or could not do. 

It was foolishness of the highest order, asking the Broker for his name. Doubly so, because she learned that knowing it was useless, because try as she might, her Quirk could not calculate him, or account for him, or put him into any of her plans. 

The first and only time she attempted it, she had a seizure. 

A severe, catastrophic event that had had her convulsing violently and foaming at the mouth. It necessitated her being rushed to one of her private medical facilities immediately. For twenty-four hours, she had been comatose, yet vividly aware of the series of abnormal and excessive neuronal electrical activity in her brain. For twenty-four hours, she experienced a short-term form of Locked-In Syndrome, leaving her consciousness and cognitive abilities intact while her body was paralyzed.

She had been trapped in her mind, able to think and feel but unable to move or speak. For those twenty-four hours, she swore, swore she heard a man laughing. A mocking, grating, condescending laugh, that was akin to a lion looking down on a rodent that dared raise its head toward it. For twenty-four hours, she was tormented by laughter that had been so filthy, so disgusting, so slimy and foul and despicable and diabolical that she felt fundamentally and irrevocably violated.

She would rather have been raped. At least, with sexual violence, her brain could compartmentalize it. She could rationalize it. She could understand it as a result of baser human instincts, of a desire to exert power over others, and she could have accepted it because it was an action that had been a gruesome reality for women in the history of humanity for thousands of years. She could and would have recovered from it.

But that laugh, that laugh—

There was no recourse. To fathom it was to fathom the unfathomable. It was to tread away from her placid isle of ignorance and voyage to a dark sea of infinity beyond her understanding. It suffocated her, strangulated her, and permeated her body with a level of filth and putrescence that no amount of hours she spent scrubbing herself in the showers had been able to cleanse. 

She, who had never believed in moral judgments, she, who once scoffed at those who subscribed to moral absolutism, had violently recanted, renounced, and disavowed her stance as a moral nihilist. She had found, now, irremediable evidence that a thing could be evil.

That was what that laugh was.

That was what he was.

Pure. Unadulterated. Evil.

A monster, no, a demon, straight out of the lowest level of hell in Alighieri’s Divine Comedy; a creature that would wine, dine, and feast on the flesh of Judas and Brutus and Cassius.

For the first time in her life, Intelli Saiko comprehended deeply the concept of evil.

“Are… Are you okay?”

Saiko flinched. She shakily moved her hand towards her cup of tea. Matsuda, sitting opposite her, had never been the smartest or most socially erudite, but if even he could tell that her mental state was this impaired, there was little doubt that once Midoriya came, as he said he would today, he would pick it up at a glance.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I was discharged from the hospital fairly recently,” she said, slowly.

“Damn, that sucks. Was it anything serious?”

“A brain tumor.”

Matsuda went white.

“Sorry, that was an attempt to lighten the mood,” she chuckled. “No, it's nothing that serious.”

Her doctors had performed an electroencephalogram to measure her brain wave activity, they used brain imaging with MRIs, CT scans to search for structural abnormalities, and even conducted blood tests, but there was nothing to be found. No evidence whatsoever that anything was wrong with her. She, in their eyes, was a young, healthy girl who had a life-threatening seizure without cause and without explanation.

Due to her hospitalization, she had missed her scheduled meeting with the University Ethics Committee, but at this point, it did not matter. Her suspension did not matter. Even had she not been suspended, she would have put her pursuit of a Doctorate on hold all the same.

The door to the cafe swung open. Instinctively, Saiko turned to look. 

Different.

That was the first word that came to mind upon setting her eyes on Midoriya Izuku for the first time in months. Her eyes traced him, from head to toe, and made snap analyses and deductions. He was taller, certainly, and more toned. Lean muscle mass was visible on every speck of his form, so much so that finding any fat was an impossible feat. His face was angular now, refined and sharper. His hair was longer and fell backwards into a ponytail.

His clothes were different, more expensive, more fashionable, and more trendy. His posture was different, relaxed, aloof, and almost absolutely, utterly, confident. Eyes which she remembered once upon a time burning alight with easily readable emotions of excitement or joy, were now unreadable, sharp, and piercing.

There were whispers now that followed him. Giggles coming from girls, accompanying hushed, embarrassingly overt pointing and gesturing in his direction.

A backpack lay lazily across the boy's back, and ignorant of the whispers or perhaps nonchalant to them, he took a seat directly beside her, opposite Matsuda. Her brows furrowed even at the overt, brazen move.

Like perhaps the numerous other young women who'd found themselves unable to tear their gazes away from him, she, similarly, could not do so. It was not his jarringly notable facial symmetry that kept her gaze, nor was it the aura of confidence that emanated from him in waves that amplified his sense of social desirability.

She stared at him because, in earnestness, she was finding it hard to believe he was… him.

“Yo, Izuku!”

Matsuda pumped his fist forward, and Izuku met it in the middle. Both boys turned the fist bump into a form of secret handshake, and Matsuda grinned. The boy’s grin was filled with something that Saiko could only hint at to be staunch devotion. It was the look that a loyal fan gave to their most ardent celebrity.

“When you’ve got the time, remember we need more content,” said Matsuda, wagging his brows.

Izuku laughed. “I’ll have to keep things moving slow now, Matsuda-kun. There’s a lot on my plate as it is."

Even his voice was different. There was no stutter. There was no delay. A silky tonality emerged from it that felt as though it belonged to a well-rehearsed character.

Her eyes snapped from him, back to Matsuda, and from Matsuda, back to him once more. She sensed a strange closeness between the two boys that hadn’t been there before. Beyond Matsuda’s clear devotion, Izuku likewise had grown warmer to the boy. They’d deepened their friendship over something, likely bonded over something. She could not understand what. She made a few guesses.

Porn?

That was not enough to explain it. Midoriya definitely did not seem the type… No, that was incorrect. The old Midoriya Izuku was likely not the type. This new one, she could not say. It was frustrating because she truly could not predict him.

“Right! Now that you’re here," Matsuda hopped to his feet. “I'll leave you two to it. I’ve got places to be, and ladies to do."

Saiko’s brows went high. “Come again?”

“Thanks for keeping her company, Matsuda-kun."

Matsuda grinned, patting Izuku’s shoulder. “Don’t have too much fun.”

There was a knowing, somewhat suggestive grin on the boy’s face that Saiko wanted to smack. What was he implying? Rather, what did he think he was implying would happen between herself and Midoriya?

“See you around, Saiko-san!”

He left the café faster than she could question his words. Her eyes trailed back to Midoriya, narrowing slightly.

"Is there something I should be aware of, going on between you two?"

Midoriya smiled. “Matsuda-kun helps me out on the side, and we have a joint business venture that earns us a little sum. Besides that, we somehow found a way to see eye-to-eye on certain things."

"I see."

She could infer between the lines far better than most. Considering the boy’s quirk and habits, and the sheer amount of reverence and respect in his tone when he spoke to Midoriya, there were only a handful of answers.

She sipped from her tea and used her Quirk casually to see if she could find an answer. While predicting Midoriya was impossible,  predicting Matsuda, on the other hand—

Saiko almost choked on her tea as her predictions gave her the most probable answer.

He lost his virginity?

It matched the change she could see. Midoriya no doubt had sex with someone, and told Matsuda, and Matsuda, having learnt of it, worshipped the ground the boy walked on, and became his ardent follower, kowtowing and pleading: ‘Teach me your ways, master!’

“Congratulations are in order,” Saiko said, testing the waters.

“They are?”

“Very few people manage to accomplish what you’ve done.”

Izuku tilted his head, his brows crinkling. “They do?”

Not even so much as a blink, Saiko sighed inwardly. I really can’t read him at all.

“You’ve made it into UA. As the Top Applicant, no less,” she continued. “That’s certainly an achievement. You should feel proud.” 

“Oh, that,” he smiled. “I do."

I do.

No faux-modesty. No excuses, no claiming it was luck or chance. Merely a frank, honest, and blunt admission that he felt pride in his achievement. She could not help but nod subtly at it, and her estimation of him went up a slight notch. The part of her that had previously written him off completely was stirring again, and she could consciously feel the blood beginning to pool into her cheeks and other regions.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, body.

At the end of the day, intelligence and exceptionalism were the foremost things she was attracted to, and confidence could only ever be the truffle shavings on a hors d'oeuvre.

“I suppose I should inform you that your success now makes us schoolmates.”

The boy blinked. Then, he blinked again. He stared at her so blatantly that more blood began to flow, and she felt a distinct heating in her cheeks.

“Y-you don’t need to stare so hard, Midoriya-san.”

The boy’s eyes lit up as though they were stars. “You applied to UA?”

“I did,” she slowly lifted her cup to her lips. “I took the Recommended Exams.”

Sixth place. It would have grated her, but she was aware that it was because her Quirk lacked raw combat utility, compared to the Yaoyorozu Heiress, Endeavor’s son, or that boy with a quirk that could summon gales at whim and will.

“That’s great! Let’s try our hardest together, Intelli-san.”

That… was a surprise. 

“Aren’t you curious?” she asked, carefully. “Don’t you consider it stupid? Or perhaps, foolish of me?”

He tilted his head again, raising his left brow. “Why would I?”

“Why… would you?”

“I believe you have your reasons, Intelli-san. So,” Izuku smiled. “I’ll support you.”

I don’t… understand. 

Not even her parents were this considerate. They had been baffled and confused and perplexed. You already have a Master's Degree! They screamed. Why are you going back to High School?!

That she had skipped High School entirely after getting a scholarship whilst in Middle School did not factor into their arguments. In their eyes, with her accomplishments, applying to a High School, even the most prestigious one in the country, was not only a waste of time, it was a regression of her potential. Considering her decision had come shortly after her seizure, they feared that something had happened to her brain, damaging it in one form or another.

She could not tell them the true reason. She dared not tell them what had caused the seizure. She dared not tell anyone. She would not so much as think of the name, let alone speak it aloud. For their sakes, and for hers.

They did not understand. They could not understand. They had not experienced that laugh of pure evil. They thought she was being rebellious. They thought she was having a teenage tantrum. When word came of her suspension from the university on ethical concerns, they became convinced, completely, that it was a ‘phase’ and looked at her with eyes that she had never before seen.

Most were like her parents. When she informed them she was going to attend a High School,  a Hero School, of all things, they did not react as Midoriya did. Either ridicule or mockery or pity or confusion was in season. She had, after all, been vocal in her condemnation and derision for both Pro-Heroes and their occupation for a long time. Some called her a hypocrite. Others demanded explanations. Many grimaced. Most sneered. 

But Midoriya Izuku, in front of her, only smiled and said:

I’ll support you.

Something twisted in her stomach. Something bubbled in her throat.

Support.

This was what she’d not given him. Was this why he’d been so hurt with her, when she’d not given it? Could such a senseless little thing, a person who did not judge, or condemn, or mock one’s decisions or ambitions, truly be so valuable?

“Intelli-san? Are you alright?”

Midoriya leaned closer, his face coming eerily close to hers. Her higher thought functions slowed to a crawl. A series of biological processes each one, she was deeply knowledgeable about. Her hypothalamus went into overdrive as the command center, activating her sympathetic nervous system. Adrenaline flooded her body, from the adrenal glands, triggering her body’s ‘fight-or-flight’ mode.

The gut-brain axis, a complex, bidirectional communication network that linked her central nervous system with her enteric nervous system, with its vast network of millions of neurons embedded in the walls of her gut, communicated with her brain and ordered a contraction.

Colloquially, the process was termed: ‘butterflies in the stomach.’  

This cannot be happening.

This was different, completely different, from the physical attraction she felt earlier. This was a prelude to something much more dangerous. Something she had often dismissed as no more than a result of chemical imbalances in the brain, and rolled her eyes whenever she heard or saw girls discuss such things passionately.

Now that she was the victim of such ‘chemical imbalances,’ she could not dismiss it as easily.

“I— I’m fine. T-thank you, for your… support, Midoriya-kun.”

She shakily reached for her cup of tea and drank, pushing her quirk to its limits. She did what she could to stop the rapid beating of her heart and slow down the horrifying pit of dread in her stomach.

This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous! 

“Do you know what I wanted to be when I was younger, Midoriya-kun?” Saiko began.

Izuku smiled. “An Astronaut.”

Saiko was surprised. “Have I mentioned it before?”

“In your Valedictorian speech,” he nodded. “I play the recording often, whenever I get the chance.”

The muscles in her stomach contracted even more tightly. Saiko felt then, to curse whatever fool had thought to name this phenomenon as ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ What she felt was not so benign as fluttering butterflies, but a hornet’s nest of raging murder wasps.

“I… see,” she said, feeling blood running to her cheeks. “Then… you would know where I talked about how space exploration was crippled in its infancy, following the societal collapse with the discovery of quirks. Wars, unrest, instability, all of it contributed to putting an end to humanity’s dreams to… go beyond.”

Why am I talking about this? She did not know. He had not asked. Yet, she spoke, because she had to, because the silence would make the sound of the blood pounding in her ears deafen her, and the sound of her heart too loud. She had to talk, to drown out those sounds, and ignore it, and push it all to the side.

“There are only a handful of individuals in our country at all interested in exploring space, despite there being more individuals than ever whose bodies would be well suited to handle challenges that we once thought insurmountable.”

He was listening to her, she realised. Just as her Professor, Professor Miyazaki, she noticed, Midoriya Izuku was one of the only two people she knew who truly, truly listened. He did not listen to respond or listen to dismiss—

He just… listened.

“We once dreamed of terraforming Mars, finding workarounds for the universal speed limit of light, searching beyond for proof of life on other worlds, and while many still do, there are more children who wish to be Pro Heroes than Astronauts, more who wish to be Cop-Celebrities than Scientists. Our society has lost its spark, its desire to chart unknown boundaries. And I— I want to rekindle it. But I can’t… not as long as—”

As long as that demon exists.

He would not allow any of her plans to come to fruition. By the sheer virtue of his existence, any hopes of humanity departing from this pale blue dot and becoming the voyagers of the stars and cosmos were impossible to attain. Such a monster had no interest in human advancement. Such a beast had no care for the progress of civilization. Such a creature did not and would not dream of seeing Earth and its people inch closer towards the stars and away from his control.

Her dream, for any, no, for all of them to come to fruition—

That monster had to die.

“...I need to become a Pro-Hero.”

No, ifs, ands, or buts.

“I have to do it.”

She could not, by herself, fashion weapons against a man whose very existence denied her the ability to plot his eradication. The only method, the only means, was to rely on others.

Only by having the needed prestige, the manpower, and the connections, trust, and camaraderie of the next generation of Japan’s most elite would she be able to fathom a method, or perhaps, even, participate in a plan to kill the monster.

“It’s the only way.”

“Intelli-san, you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“I know,” Saiko said. “I… wanted to.”

The two sat in silence.

“Midoriya-kun—”

“Izuku."

She blinked. “Sorry?"

“Izuku," he said. “You can call me Izuku."

“Then… Izuku-kun, I suppose, you can drop the formalities and call me… Saiko."

Izuku smiled. “Saiko-chan, then?”

The hornets in her stomach became kamikaze pilots. 

All descended down.

Control yourself, Saiko. Control yourself! Just a difference in honorifics shouldn’t leave you this witless—

"I did it, Saiko-chan."

“W—what?”

“I did it."

Her mind and thoughts, having already slowed itself to its end, took moments, seconds, for her to understand what he was saying.

“The task… I gave you? You successfully refined—"

Izuku nodded, smiling.

“You removed the—”

Again, he nodded.

The sounds around her all muted. The boy in front of her, the recent High Schooler, in front of her, was telling her that he'd done something which she'd been incapable of, which numerous scientists working hard in labs had failed to effectively do.

The boy sitting in front of her was the first man alive to refine the quirk-altering drug Trigger, the first person in the world to create a fully functioning quirk augmentation drug, without drawbacks.

Saiko’s body was moving before her mind could give instructions. Her lips smacked into his, and as soon as it did, she pulled away, and the conscious realization of what she had just done struck her.

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

Izuku stared at her with a befuddled expression. Saiko’s mouth opened, but no words, no explanations, could be uttered.

“I— that was —”

Mortification drowned her. She got up, without a word, trying to maintain what little dignity she had, before her composure broke and she ran for the door.

XXXXX

Tea.

She tasted like tea.

Her lips had a soft, fragrant taste of fine tea leaves, and the taste and softness had stunned him into inaction. His body and instincts did not acknowledge her attempt to kiss him as a threat, not even in the least, and though he could have avoided it, he did not.

The kiss was likely brief, from Saiko’s perspective, but for Midoriya, whose reflexes could make him stretch time, that one instant felt like hours. Hours, kissing Saiko. Hours, tasting her lips, her tongue, and drinking in her scent.

It was why he had still been befuddled by the time the kiss ended. By the time he gathered his senses, the girl had already bolted out the door without explanation.

He got up and ran after her. Exiting the Hero’s Jump store, he found the girl getting into a private, tinted vehicle, already driving away. Others would not be able to see through it, but Midoriya’s current range of vision allowed him to see infrared light, and colors that quite literally other humans could not name. It was, after all, the very reason he could see Toru.

“Wait, Saiko-chan!”

He called after her, but the vehicle did not stop. Izuku was confused.

A beep came on his phone. He opened it. There was a message from her. Two, rather.

Saiko: I acted selfishly and in an unprofessional and unbecoming manner. I sincerely apologize.

Saiko: I cannot currently face you right now, Midoriya-san. Please understand and give me time to gather my thoughts. Regarding the issue of the completed task, please send the details to my email.

The tone was curt, professional, and impersonal.

And his number was blocked.

…What?

She kissed him, ran away, apologized via text, and then immediately blocked him?

Why would she— 

Izuku rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a genuine twinge of exasperation and hurt that he quickly stifled down. He understood, the fault was not his, and instead, it was Saiko, who needed to come to terms with her emotions, but at the same time…

That’s a little immature of you, Saiko-chan.

He sighed.

Is this how all relationships are?

Somehow, not even the three separate assassination attempts he experienced during the UA Entrance Exams had been as emotionally draining as the past five minutes. Izuku genuinely didn’t know if this was standard for relationships. He had not done any research on this topic to avoid coloring his perceptions.

I’ll ask Ka-san when I get the chance.

His mother, Inko, would know. She was a teenager, too, once. Also, it would help to hint to her one way or another that he had a girlfriend. That would avoid questions in case Saiko, or more realistically, Himiko, decided to show up on his doorstep.

Izuku checked the time on his phone.

I guess that means I can meet her earlier than planned...

Himiko-chan would be glad to see him.

And Izuku couldn't help but admit... he'd be happy to see her too.

Chapter Text

“You wanted to see me, Principal Nezu?"

Aizawa, clad in his sleeping bag and sleepwear, entered Principal Nezu’s office after hours. He yawned softly, and through his half-lidded, unfocused eyes, he swept the room at a glance. A cup of tea was, as always, on the table. The window was opened to allow in fresh air and comfort for his own sake. Furniture arranged perfectly to grant swift entry and exit, and the tiny bear-man sat in the very center of the room, with a laptop by his side.

Nezu surprisingly subscribed to certain feng shui principles, keeping things in an order that would allow for ‘maximum auspiciousness.’ Whether or not feng shui had any bearing on the man’s Quirk and ability, or whether it was entirely a personal habit, Aizawa did not know.

"Ho, ho, I've encountered something that's quite the surprise and would very much need your help examining it."

“Quirk related?"

“I do believe it is."

Aizawa made his way into the room, as Nezu grabbed the laptop on the table and slowly turned it towards him. With a push of his paw on the spacebar, he played back the video of the entrance examinations for the seventeenth time, rewinding and stopping, particularly as he focused on a green-haired, pony-tail-clad boy. Aizawa knew the boy. There was no one, not a person, who did not know the only student who had managed, despite the increased difficulty of the examinations, to attain a perfect score.

Nezu rewound more than once, then stopped more than once, and the angle of the scene changed to a bus, rushing at full speed, and about to strike the boy. He paused, freezing frame by frame as he sipped his tea, and tilting his head bit by bit.

“Tell me, Aizawa-kun, what do you see?"

Aizawa stared. “A runaway school bus attempting to strike a student."

“Now, if you could use your Quirk."

Aizawa raised a brow. “On the screen?"

“Indeed!"

Most people assumed his Erasure functioned on the Quirk Factor of an individual, preventing it from activating and triggering a prevention of the use of one's quirk, and that as long as an individual was not present, he could not use his Erasure.

However, Erasure could also function on the active effects of a Quirk. If someone was transformed or under an illusion or hypnosis by another person's Quirk, Aizawa could undo the effects of that transformation or illusion, or hypnosis. In that sense, he did not truly need to see a person or their Quirk Factor for his quirk to perform erasure. He could, with it, remove the lingering effects of other Quirks.

That was what True Man had needed him for; that caused him to miss the latter portions of the exam. There had been a person whose body had been completely remoulded and reshaped like rubber. Stretched, contorted, and formed into a giant rubber ball with bits of a lamppost and traffic light blending into a ghoulish sight of a thing that should have been a human. The person had been in considerable agony, and if it weren’t for the fact that the individual had a significantly high pain tolerance due to a physical quirk, he would have died from shock.

In such situations, he could, in fact, undo the effects. Taking a breath, his hair began to float. His eyes snapped open, a clear, red glint emerging from them. He stared at the laptop again.

There was the distinct feeling that there was something being unraveled before him. The frozen frame on the screen changed to his eyes, and Aizawa's brows went extremely high.

“There's someone inside the bus. A man."

“Ho ho, so it's as I thought..." Nezu nodded his head. “You've been improving leaps and bounds under Sazaki-kun's guidance, yes?"

Aizawa didn't answer; he instead furrowed his brow. “I recognize him."

Nezu marveled with glee. “Ho ho? You do?"

“He’s the main suspect in a recent case at the hospital Detective Tsukauchi needed me for,” Aizawa frowned. “During my time as an Underground Hero, he was a low-level villain who wanted to gain fame and attention. Then, he called himself the Gentle Criminal."

Aizawa had never encountered him personally, but Emi had. She spoke about him a few times and said she felt pity for the man who no doubt had chosen to be a villain because he wanted attention, because he wanted to be remembered by people, and because he likely had no one around him who either cared for, or supported him.

Emi wanted to rehabilitate the man. She never got the chance.

“He would commit petty, generally victimless crimes and upload them online, to try and garner attention. He did. The wrong kind of attention. During a livestream, he was abducted, in public, by the Followers. Many people had thought it to be staged, or an attempt to draw in views. Only one person had reported it to the police, a young woman. But nothing came of it.”

Aizawa scratched the back of his head, exhaling. “His next livestream, months later, was of him slaughtering his way out of a Follower hideout. That was when the police realized his kidnapping had not been faked. That video was his last, as it showed the aftermath of his massacre.”

The video had been taken down shortly after it was uploaded due to its graphic nature, but it had been downloaded hundreds of times and was spread online in various online hate groups and forums. The video of the man on his knees, covered with blood and scars, holding a woman with red hair, whom many presumably thought to be his daughter, and screaming like a wounded animal. There, he had roared, ‘All I wanted was to be a hero!’ 

“He vanished for a year after that. When next he resurfaced, he changed his name and became an assassin-for-hire known as the Gentle Hitman."

That video of the Gentle Criminal’s breakdown had gone viral, had stirred up a lot of resentment for his original Hero Academy, once his story was known. The man's history and file were leaked, as was the fact that he had been a student at a Hero Academy and failed the Provisional Exams multiple times. 

Aizawa had not believed it at the time. Elasticity was an incredibly versatile quirk. Merely being able to turn concrete or vehicles into rubber would be able to prevent significant accidents and aid cases, that it impossible to conceive of a student failing so many times. However, the file claimed that the man had no control over how long an object remained elastic and could not turn an object he had made elastic back into normal at will.

His repeated failures were due to others stumbling into a portion of terrain that he had altered whilst unaware of it, and hurting themselves and/or others.

Then, as a student, Gentle Hitman was caught up in a case of vigilantism and obstruction of justice that left a permanent black mark on his record after trying to use his quirk to save a person from a falling building, but ended up hindering the hero on the scene and causing severe harm. What had followed was a case of setback after setback, paying legal fees, hospital bills, and fines, being disowned by his parents, and shunned and mocked by society.

Even after falling from being a Pro-Hero Aspirant to a Villain, he had tried to be a "good" villain, oxymoronic as it was. Unfortunately, the Followers of One found him. Whether or not it was intended, they had broken what little good was left in an already broken man and turned him into an emotionless, methodical killer.

“Supposedly, on the tasks he has taken, he only uses his quirk to kill indirectly, and he only kills by causing chain reactions, similar to…"

Aizawa paused and turned to glance at Nezu.

“Ho, ho, a Rube Goldberg Machine, is that not it?" 

A Rube Goldberg Machine, or a chain-reaction machine, was something he had seen growing up watching old cartoons and animations. Named after the pre-Quirk era American Cartoonist, Rube Goldberg, it was a complex machine created for a simple purpose. Many knew of it from a cartoon about a certain blue cat chasing a certain brown mouse and using all sorts of mundane household items to create an overly elaborate device that would aid in capturing the mouse.

Aizawa nodded. “His Quirk is Elasticity. It allows him to make anything he touches elastic. Even air. It makes it easier to set up such things when anything and everything can become a spring, or receive momentum at a moment's notice. Before he was captured by the Followers, his Quirk could not be used on people. However…"

Aizawa closed his eyes, and his floating hair dropped, his quirk deactivating. He recalled the grisly sight of the human giant rubber band ball, and how he had almost vomited in his mouth looking at it.

“I can't see how his quirk would be capable of hiding or erasing himself from recordings."

“Think carefully, Aizawa-kun," Nezu slowly rubbed his paws. 

“Multiple quirks?” 

“Among competing hypotheses that explain the same phenomenon, the one with the fewest assumptions is more correct than not, yes?" Principal Nezu hummed. “It is more likely, and probable, that he found a novel utilisation of his quirk, or that he has an accomplice."

Aizawa contemplated it for a moment. “The Gentle Criminal worked alone. You think he gained an accomplice with a Quirk that enables them to alter digital media?"

“Or rather perhaps, he always had an accomplice with profound knowledge of computers, digital media, and technology, who taught him to use his quirk to alter digital media."

Nezu changed the screen. There was a scene of nothing on the screen, before there was a momentary flash of something, like static, and then everything returned to normal.

“The man seems unnaturally aware of the locations of every camera in the vicinity, and avoided being caught openly on them. He moved as if he were receiving directions and instructions on how best to avoid being seen, or as if he knew the camera locations beforehand.”

Nezu slowly cracked his paws. “Ho ho. He managed to sneak his way into a location filled with hundreds of Pro-Heroes and was never once detected by any of them. You claimed that the man could use his elasticity on air, yes?”

Aizawa nodded. “It was his primary means of escaping capture. Fleeing on platforms of air.”

“With elasticity, one can make the corporeal and tangible become malleable. If air, a gas, and fluid is subject to his quirk, it is not out of the realm of possibility that sound is as well. If sound is subject to his quirk and can be bounced away, then his Elasticity affects waves and vibrations, and if such is true, even light, too, would be subject to his quirk. If light and sound can be altered, one can, for a time, temporarily alter information that relies on both to be recorded. That is the only reason, Aizawa-kun, that your Erasure would be able to affect a recorded video, because you are ‘un-bending’ it into its proper shape."

Aizawa saw a slight issue. “There were no fewer than a hundred heroes present. Many of whom have ways of sensing that don’t rely on sound or sight, or smell. Even if he was invisible—"

“Now, now, Aizawa-kun, who said anything about invisibility?”

Aizawa paused. He lifted a brow. Nezu’s smile grew.

“Tell me, Aizawa-kun, how confident are you that he cannot also use his Elasticity on himself?”

“According to what we know of him, it’s not possible.”

“With the amount of time you spend alongside Sasaki-kun, you’ve heard of something called a Quirk Awakening, yes?”

Aizawa fell silent. He gave the bear-man an uneasy glance.

“Rest assured, I am nothing like those rather masochistic individuals of the Metahuman Liberation Army, and have no love for pain or martyrdom. I ask only because we cannot dismiss it entirely. Given what you’ve told me of the man’s abilities and situation, it is not out of the question, yes?”

Quirk Awakenings were controversial. Highly controversial. There were so few recorded cases of them that it was impossible to verify. However, if even half of the claims about them were true…

“If, by chance, that was true, if he could use Elasticity on himself—”

“He would be something akin to a rubber man, yes?” Principal Nezu chirped. “A plastic man, who could change his facial features at a whim, sneak into tiny spaces, shrink into the size of a bottle, a keyhole, or even so much as the eye of a needle.”

“Why bother going through the trouble of altering the cameras, leaving a clue at the risk of getting caught?”

Principal Nezu smiled. “Why did he become the Gentle Criminal?”

The answer was obvious. Attention. The Gentle Criminal, before he became the Gentle Hitman, wanted attention. He wanted fame. He wanted to be known and renowned. Even after his changes, even he had been broken and twisted by the Followers of One, that part remained ingrained in him.

The man could have come and gone with no one ever the wiser, but he didn’t. Rather, he left a blatant clue that screamed: I was here.

Aizawa rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Why target Midoriya Izuku? If he was hired to do so, who hired him, and why?”

“Surely you must have a few ideas as to why people would wish to eliminate our number one applicant, yes?"

"The exam was still ongoing,” Aizawa countered. “They did not know he would be the number one applicant."

“Do you think, Aizawa-kun, the forces of good are the only ones with people like Sazaki-kun?"

People who could see the future.

Aizawa did not answer. 

While Precogs were incredibly rare, those who could calculate outcomes of events to come, Sherlocks, were less so. Predicting something like the top applicant in this year's UA Exams was something that a Sherlock could do if given access to all the applicant information, let alone a Precog.

Sherlocks, in the end, despite still being rarer than most, were far more abundant in number than many would think. It was the question of genetics. With enough time, even if there were only ten in a million people with quirks that gave them enhanced intellect or some sort of genius calculative prowess, as long as even one of those ten in a million wanted to spread their genes and sire children whose quirks would be better than theirs, the numbers would grow exponentially.

There was nothing that could be done to stop it. To prevent Quirk Marriages would be a violation of Article 16 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: Men and women of full age, without any limitation due to race, nationality or religion, have the right to marry and to found a family.

No one could legally prevent someone from trying to have children who would carry on their quirk and improve it. Aizawa was aware that every government in the world possessed at least a dozen or so Sherlocks, but only one or two Precogs. Sir Nighteye had mentioned as such that the Japanese government had one Precog hidden, because the government had once offered him all the privileges and more to work in that role.

It made Aizawa uneasy. Clairvoyant quirks were dangerous and unfathomable enough as it was. Sir Nighteye was proof of it. The man's Foresight quirk was the only reason that Aizawa was still alive.

“This attack was twofold," Nezu continued. “One, to target the boy, eliminating a strong contender for the forces of good, and two, to target me."

“You?"

“Why, me, indeed! It should be obvious, certainly? Who would be to blame, Aizawa-kun, if a student, an incredibly promising student, were to have died as a result of the changes I made in this year's examinations? More so, to have died in a manner that appears, at first glance, entirely to be the result of natural causes? A falling pillar, random debris, or a runaway school bus?"

Aizawa slowly nodded. “But the attempt failed."

"It did," Nezu nodded. “Their primary objective was foiled, but their secondary was attained. Success and failure were both tests. Tests of the limits of my Quirk."

Aizawa gave him a doubtful look.

“My Quirk is not omniscient, Aizawa-kun. It functions similarly to a ‘Rube Goldberg Machine,' just as this assassin's method does. Imagine you were to set up such a machine that would eventually lead to an outcome you foresaw, but, midway through it, someone uses portions of an already in-process chain-of-events to create an entirely unrelated outcome and an entirely new machine."

Nezu continued. “Because your machine does exactly as you intended, you fail to notice another chain of events started by it, and another machine is in motion. It is, brilliantly, a Rube Goldberg Machine within a Rube Goldberg Machine. You cannot see it, because you were focused only on your machine, the larger one."

Nezu laughed. Though the laugh sounded airy, Aizawa could faintly detect a sense of genuine, true amazement hidden behind it.

"Ho ho, they were probing for a blind spot in my Quirk. An exploitable weakness. Had I foreseen and captured the assassin, they would know this was not a weakness of mine. Had I failed and the student died, they would not only have successfully found a blindspot, but they would have done significant irreparable harm to my standing as Principal and to the reputation of this academy. However, they did not account for the possibility of the student being so exemplary as to survive multiple assassination attempts, all while unaware he was being targeted.”

Aizawa turned to the screen. There, again, he saw the boy, Midoriya Izuku, whilst talking to the Pro-Hero, Fluff, perfectly turning around and catching a projectile aimed at him from his blind spot, before throwing it back with the force of an Olympic javelinist. 

“Thus, we entered a deadlock,” Nezu continued. “They are aware of my blind spot, but did not bring any harm to me or the school. I am aware that they are aware of it, and can take countermeasures for it in the future, but in turn, they are aware that I am aware that they are aware, which means their next probes will be different."

Aizawa didn’t say anything. He could not. He would never, in truth, get used to mind games and grand strategies of Precogs or Sherlocks. The constant thinking and scheming, and plotting, the method of viewing people as pieces on a board, and each action as a move, was tiring. He admired them, but he did not envy them. 

“Fortunately, this blind spot is something I can remedy simply by accounting for machines within machines within machines. Doing so will be taxing and exhausting, leaving me open to newer unforeseen blindspots, and thus, new probing attempts... It is quite clever. Deeply, and truly clever. I did not expect such a level of cunning."

“Do you know who's responsible?"

“Several Formist Groups have never taken kindly to my role as Principal, considering it improper for an 'animal' to be the head of this institution for heroes,” Principal Nezu said, after a pause. “The Followers of One have always been a rather prickly thorn in my side, for rather obvious reasons. Then, there is the body we answer to, the Public Hero Safety Commission, which, you of all people, Aizawa-kun, should be familiar with their methods and tactics. The board is already partly controlled by Mrs. Nakamura, a very vocal proxy of theirs. I am afraid replacing me and imbuing a puppet headmaster so they may mold young minds as they wish has always been a plan of theirs."

“You have a lot of enemies, Principal Nezu."

“A thing we sadly share in common, Aizawa-kun," Principal Nezu chirped. “However! I suspect the usual suspects are not, in fact, the usual suspects. Not this time."

“They are not?"

“Rather, I have reason to believe this is the work of a specific young lad, misguided and taken from the light. I had thought I had nothing to worry about from him but..."

Nezu slowly rubbed the side of his head with his paws.

“He is far shrewder than I calculated."

Slowly, Nezu reached out of his drawer and slid a black steel card over the table.

Upon it were the letters: 

“L.O.V.”

A Precise Note

“…You what?!"

“Oi, keep it down, Kurogiri. Can't you see I'm playing Heroes Smash here?"

“Shigaraki-sama, this is no joking matter. You sent an assassin to the UA Entrance Exams? Why in the world would you—”

“Rubber Gramps doesn’t actually want to kill people.  It’s all part of his gimmick to get fame and attention. He hams up his tragedy, but every single job the geezer has taken has ended in failure. Hiring him to kill someone is like hiring a nun for striptease.”

“If you knew he would fail… why did you send him?”

“I’m playing a Gambit, Kurogiri.”

“A… what?”

“Rubber gramps didn’t get caught. You know what that means? It means the Chessmaster’s got a low ELO Rating. The mouse fumbled the opening. He got blindsided with an en passant, got pinned down by pawns while I forked his rook and bishop. He’s three points down and on his way to a losing mid-game. You know what that means?”

“Is this more video game terminology?"

“Video games? I'm talking Chess, Kurogiri. Do you even play?"

“No, Shigaraki-sama, some of us have actual work to do. Work which you instructed."

“Relax, Kurogiri. When you play a gambit, you take risks. You risk losing something, but if the gambit is accepted, you gain way more than you lose. This time, the gambit was accepted. Danger Mouse isn’t nearly as dangerous as I thought. Sensei’s worried over nothing. His bullshit anti-chessmaster quirk is overkill when he could have just flooded the mouse with too many gambits to keep track of. Make him a Pacman  and leave him running around chasing ghosts.”

Shigaraki Tomura snorted.

“Besides… that Chosen One I told the geezer to off pisses me off.”

He pressed some buttons on his gamepad. The game screen changed, from hero characters to tiny sprites, to a large map, which Kurogiri recognized as the layout of the city. On the map, locations were highlighted, each and every single one of them possessing a face attached to the side, a name, and a level.

On one, there was a name: Midoriya Izuku.

“Fucking cheat character. I swear I didn’t give this cheat bastard a card, Kurogiri. Yet he has one. A Black Card. It pisses me off. How’d he get one of my cards?"

“Cheat?"

“Kid’s using hacks. Speed and technique are off the charts, dexterity is in the triple digits. Strength is mid, but no stamina limit. He hard no diffs most other players in the game so bad it's not even a contest. Is he one of Sensei's pet projects?"

“No… not that I'm aware of."

“You sure? Background says the kid got his quirk late,” Shigaraki scratched his cheek. “Huh. Weird. Quirks like these sound like Sensei's work. He's got no sense of fair play. Always turning on God Mode even to take care of mobs."

Shigaraki flicked the analog stick on his controller.

“This is second place? Get a look at this guy, Kurogiri. Blonde hair that practically screams ‘I’m the Ken to his Ryu.’"

“Shigaraki-sama, is this… UA's accepted applicant list?"

Shigaraki snorted. “That's what you're focusing on? Come on, Kurogiri. Keep up. Did you think I gave those damned consoles and gifts because I’m Santa Claus? You know how many of those brats that came to my party and went home with nifty new gadgets they hid from their mommies and daddies? Know how many of them applied to UA and other B-List schools?”

Kurogiri fell silent. “Those consoles and toys you shared that day— they were all… bugged?”

“Congratulations, Kurogiri, you have the processing speed of an underclocked Pentium.”

Kurogiri paused.  “And… this won't be detected?"

"Even if their parents find it, they're designed to short-circuit once they leave a certain vicinity. Besides, we scared them good enough for them to never think about telling their folks, because if they did break that promise, we don't plan on breaking ours about leaving them on some island to play Lord of the Flies."

"What about the applicant list?"

“The heroes won't suspect a thing because it'll read that the only connection that got to it was from the house of the brat they sent it to," Shigaraki shrugged. “Normally, Ratticus would notice, but now due to using rubber gramps, he’ll be too busy planning his next move that it’d fly under his radar. Even if he knows I got the info, he can't do anything about it. With Sensei’s Fanclub, Big Brother, and the Spiderverse about to make their moves, shit’s going to hit everything, everywhere, all at once. No matter what he does, stuff isn't going to go his way and he knows it."

Shigaraki flicked the analog again.

“Ah, if it isn't Edgegar Allan Poe junior. Wasn’t this brat at our party?"

“…He was."

“Check out his backstory, Kurogiri. They called him bird-head and bird-brain and bird-face, for years. Plucked his feathers and put worms in his lunches. This is what I mean by casting seeds, Kurogiri. When the script’s been set up for brats like this, swooping in to reap the benefits is like  killing two birds with one stone."

Kurogiri regarded his charge again, as if seeing him for the very first time. Was it possible, possible, that Shigaraki was actually…? 

He flicked the analog again.

“Let’s see the top guys from the recs list… Big-titty-ojou-san, restore-my-honor and… huh.” 

Kurogiri stared. “Isn't that—"

“The emo runt of the Domestic Abuse hero?" Shigaraki's lips thinned. “Yeah, that's him, but that’s not who I’m focused on. This one with the monocle. Isn’t she from—”

“She… yes.”

“What the hell is Little Einstein doing attending a Hero School? Doesn’t she have a partnership with those loser MLA guys?”

Shigaraki scratched his cheek.

“Something’s not adding up, Kurogiri. I don’t see it.”

“Perhaps it was the girl's decision?"

“And what, mommy and daddy just folded their arms and let their big ticket galaxy brain daughter use her money-making quirk to work as an overpaid civil servant?" Shigaraki snorted. “I’m not buying it."

“Are you going to do something about it?"

“I don't have to," Shigaraki said. “Those trigger finger B-Villains are likely gonna do something. Or maybe Sensei's fanclub will do something first. These brats are hot cakes, and there's not enough of them to go round."

“So… what are you going to do, Shigaraki-sama?"

“Didn't I tell you? I'm playing a Gambit," He yawned again. “Did you know, when a game of chess is played perfectly, the only outcome is a draw? Stalemate, Kurogiri. Usually that’d suck, but I’m only one player on one board in one dimension while the heroes are playing 5D Chess. They’ll be like the Germans taking backshots from the Western Front and spitroasted from the Eastern one. You don't fuck a girl everyone else is trying to fuck, Kurogiri. You wait to see if she either turns 'em all down, or fucks 'em all. And if she fucks 'em all… then fuck her."

“I don't quite follow, Shigaraki-sama."

“You don't need to. You're my Queen, Kurogiri. My strongest piece, but also the piece you never bring out early. You need proper development first, and need to clear out the back ranks, castle, and build tempo. Your job is to threaten the enemy, to make them realize there’s a nuke in my pocket at all times, and to protect the King, and be ready to be used as an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile in the Gambit of the century.”

“If you insist, Shigaraki-sama."

“I do," Shigaraki cracked his knuckles. "Now, where was I? That's right, making a ten-year-old cry by showing him he's absolute shit at Smash. Fucking Mirko mains. If you're gonna be horny at least main Ryukyu. Higher over-all stats, point-zero-two faster attack frames, and smaller hitbox. Pft. This is why you don't play with noobs, Kurogiri. Never play with noobs."

Chapter Text

“Kazutsugi’s Cure All! It rids you of coughs, cold, sniffs, limps, and itches! Kazutsugi’s Cure All!”

There were parts of Hosu City where people could leave a laptop unattended on the floor, leave for a haircut, have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and sleep overnight at a local motel, return, and find it where they left it. Not only would the laptop still be in place, but it would also be spotless, as someone would have taken the time to ensure there was no dust left between the keys. Those parts of Hosu City were the parts patrolled by the Ida Family, the hero, Ingenium, and one of the sidekicks of the Endeavor Agency, the Pro-Hero, Burnin’.

That was not the part of Hosu City where Izuku was currently located. Here, he moved with a hood up, a pair of sunglasses, and a face mask. Here, there was graffiti at every corner and the acrid smell of cigarettes on every breath. Here, there were electrified fences and barbed wires and tall, concrete walls. The walls that cut off the Ward from the rest of the city acted as a natural barrier to obstruct sight. Houses made of concrete shipping containers were compressed together and layered one atop another like stacked sticks of butter.

Sets of spiralling stairs and streets connected one level to another, forming a sky-scraping, ever-ascending labyrinthian structure of cement, brick, and steel. The first time Izuku had come here, he thought of the tales of the religion before the quirk era that spoke of a tower that was built by collective human effort, a tower that ascended so high that it angered the creator. It was said the tower was destroyed by forcing those who built it to no longer be able to understand each other.

The Hei Ward or Peace Ward was nothing like it, because to begin with, it was not built by collective effort, but by one man, layer upon layer as though he were a single honeybee frantically making his hive. Its name was derived from the “Homes for Everyone Initiative” and the abbreviation of ‘HEI,’ which was a rough pronunciation of the first character in 平和 —  Heiwa, or ‘Peace.’

Izuku held his breath and scrunched his nose as the second-hand scent of nicotine wafted from a woman in the corner with a fish for a head, a neon-pink miniskirt, and a fishnet top. 

“Kazutsugi’s Cure All! It cures joint pain, backaches, and fibromyalgia! Quirk-related illnesses and troubles fade with two tablespoons! Three tablespoons a day and fat melts away, no need for diet or exercise! Four tablespoons and no need to fear memory loss! Six tablespoons and it gives quirks to the quirkless! Kazutsugi’s Cure All!”

Not too far away was a merchant, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was a man who possessed a head that was no different from that of a grey wolf. The wolf-man merchant moved about in a large white sheepskin furred coat, pointing towards tiny bottles of liquid affixed to the coat.

“Kazutsugi’s Cure All! Your neighbor has already bought four! Your wife’s lover has bought six! It enlivens the spirit of the bedroom, gives endless stamina! Use your Quirk for longer! Stave away the endless heat of summer and cold of the winter! Kazutsugi’s Cure All!”

Due to the rainy season and high humidity experienced in Musutafu around June every year, standard housebuilding focused on the reduction of heat and humidity. Wood was the preferred building material for that reason, able to absorb humidity in humid environments where stone, brick, and typical iron would fail.

Winters were cold and dry, the opposite of summers, and the wood’s functions reversed, wherein it would discharge the accumulated moisture to adjust humidity levels.

None of those were put into consideration in the Hei Ward. The concrete panopticon existed to serve the purpose of alleviating homelessness, which it did. So long as people had a home, a roof over their heads, and the census and numbers said that homelessness was at an all-time low, the conditions in which the formerly homeless lived were topics of little interest.

Cementoss had done his part and created free homes and free houses in specific portions and areas of various cities across the Prefecture. The rest, the management and upkeep of the area was not something he handled. The man was purportedly always busy, always being pulled in a hundred different directions by both government and private construction companies alike. A man who could create nigh-infinite amounts of a resource faster than any others, and shape and mold said resource as he wished, was not a man with time on his hands to directly manage or oversee every project he made.

Izuku proceeded further upwards, reaching an area of the Hei Ward built upon the ruins of the Old City beneath it. It was in this area, where the cargo-container-esque housing gave way to old apartment complexes connected to apartment complexes and built upon apartment complexes.

This area, however, was different from what he remembered. Buildings appeared as though they had suffered sudden orbital strikes, with large, circular, burn-shaped holes ripped through them. There were portions of the concrete steel lamp posts that had melted away, as if exposed to extreme temperatures.

Himiko told him that a villain had rampaged in the area, which was why all the blood he kept in the freezer had gone bad. Izuku only now realized she had been understating the severity of the rampage.

Were it anywhere else, such an attack would have hit the news. There would be videos, and there would be news coverage, telling who and why and what had happened. However, here, in Hosu City’s Hei Ward, the denizens would claim that they had been fifty percent blind in their right eye when the attack occurred, and seventy percent blind in their left.

From the damage, all Izuku could glean was that the villain who rampaged had a pyrokinetic quirk, one capable of burning to incredibly high temperatures. Anything else was beyond him.

Making his way into one of the old apartment buildings connected to the concrete, the air reeked of spoiled food and rotten meat. There were trash cans filled with rotted meat, vegetables, eggs, cheese, and other groceries, which, by the sight and smell, had been left too long unrefrigerated. 

Reaching towards the elevator, he pressed the button once, then twice, then sighed.

“Don’t waste your effort,” a man emerged from one of the rooms, holding a can of beer in his hand. “Power’s out. Been out for days, and it’ll be weeks before anyone does anything about it.”

The man had green, scaly skin and bright, spiky pink hair. At first glance, he looked like a gecko or lizard-like creature. The man ran his hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

“Have you informed the Crisis Cleanup Commission?”

The lizard-man gave him a once-over before he smashed the emptied can into his head, and tossed it a fair bit away, towards the trash, as though he were shooting hoops.

“You’re not from here, are you, kid?”

“Here?” Izuku tested.

The lizard man gestured about with his web-like hands. “Here. You’re not from the Wards. Because everyone from the Wards knows the Hei Ward is a ‘low priority area’ for the CCC, and no one asks a question that stupid.”

The lizard man pointed. “And that mask and sunglasses. You might as well scream ‘outsider’ to anyone who sees you. You know no one here wears something like that, right? It’s a dead giveaway that you don’t belong here.”

Izuku had, in fact, not known that. Every time he came by to visit Himiko, he covered his face. Sighing, he took off his sunglasses, lowered his face mask, and his hood.

The lizard man froze in place. He stared at Izuku. Izuku stared back.

“Scratch that. Put it back on. You’d draw way more attention without it. I don’t think there’s anyone who’d see a face that good-looking and forget it,” he paused. “Also, fuck you.”

“Apologies.” Izuku chuckled. 

The man snorted. “Wait. Green hair, handsome… Are you Izuku?”

Izuku's brows went high. 

“You’re Himiko’s boyfriend?” The man whistled. “Here I thought she was just saying she had one as a way of rejecting all the guys who asked.”

“You know Himiko-chan?”

“Me and half the entire complex,” the man chuckled. “She draws attention, considering she’s the only smoothskin around here. We thought hell had frozen over the first time we saw her. A cute girl, no gills, no fangs, no claws, no scales, no feathers, no fur, no nuthin’, living here in the Wards? Some of us even had a betting pool going for the reason she’s here.”

He went inside his apartment, grabbed another can of beer, and returned, opening it with a hiss, before he took a long sip and smacked his lips.

“The top bets were either pregnancy or she’s a villain in hiding. Though some did mention seeing a guy come by often, so there was another betting pool that she was a professional escort. That theory went out the window after the idiot down in 304 asked her how much she charges by the hour, and she pulled a knife on him.”

“Did she—”

“She said if it weren’t for her ‘boyfriend,’ she’d have already carved him up. Kept on talking about how amazing her ‘Izuku-kun’ was. So… yeah. Guess we owe you one. I get the feeling she really would have carved him up like chicken,” Iguchi shuddered. “She’s crazy, man. I mean, she’s your girl and all, no offense, but you know she’s crazy, right?”

“Himiko-chan just… loves differently.”

“So you’re a crazy bastard as well,” the lizard-man nodded. “You don’t look it. Could have fooled me.”

Izuku smiled. “I’m Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku.”

“Name’s Shuichi. Shuichi Iguchi. Friends of mine call me Spinner. It’s an inside joke.” 

 “Iguchi-san, are most people here like you?”

“What, you mean, ugly?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You don’t need to sugarcoat it. I’ve got the face of a kaiju and the blood to match,” Iguchi shrugged. “But yeah.” 

“You’re saying everyone that lives here other than Himiko-chan has a…” 

Izuku debated the word. ‘Mutant-Quirk’ was the more commonly accepted term, but many said it was derogatory. ‘Form-deviant’ was another term, but that was even worse, and was only used by Formists. 

“Heteromorphic Quirk?”

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Iguchi muttered. “It isn’t just here. It’s the entire Hei Ward.”

Izuku froze.

“Cementoss made the homes for everyone.”

“On paper, sure. But in reality?” Iguchi scoffed. “Who do you think has the most problems finding a job, paying rent, and getting a roof over their head? People that look like you, or people that look like me?”

He did not respond. He could not. Slowly, Izuku ran his hands through his long, flowing locks and steeled his will. “Iguchi-san, do you know where the power is connected?”

“Why?”

“I can fix it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Iguchi lifted his hands. “Hold the phone. Don’t go fixing anything. There’s people in the CCC meant to fix stuff.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said. I said it’ll take them weeks, but that’s the way it goes. We wait for them to fix it.”

“But I can—”

“Izuku, look, listen to me, you seem like a nice kid, but you don’t know how stuff here works. We fix it ourselves, and the next time the CCC comes by and sees that we fixed it, they’ll charge us for fixing it and slap us with a hefty fine for tampering with public utilities and infrastructure. They’ll say, ‘these guys tampered with stuff, and ruined other stuff’ and we’ll be scapegoats for things we had nothing to do with, and slapped with even more fines we can’t pay.”

Iguchi snarled. “Then another villain rampages and this time, it's the water that goes out, they’ll sit on their asses, because, after all, last time, we fixed it ourselves.”

A burning feeling came in Izuku’s throat. He opened his mouth, but closed it. “The Crisis Cleanup Commission usually responds within days to fix the results of infrastructural damage caused by villains. Anything longer than six weeks can be reported as a case of negligence. You can—”

“Like I said, we’re a ‘low priority area.’ That six weeks maximum for most folk is a minimum for us. It's not that they won’t show up, it's that they’ll delay, and delay, and delay. They’ll wrap it up all in red tape and bureaucratic bullshit, until they reach just the very edge of deniability before they scramble into action.”

“But…”

Why?

Could it really just be because they looked different? Izuku’s brain, primed to notice and draw connections, made one that was distant, yet familiar.

Uchi-soto.

Inside and outside.

In the pre-Quirk Era, their nation had been incredibly homogenous, owing to its isolationist past, which discriminated against foreigners. Uchi-soto was a concept of in-groups and out-groups, and the ‘Japanese’ were an in-group, whereas foreigners, the very word “gaijin” meant outsider, and thus, were the out-group. 

A nation that had been raised to always think of themselves as part of a group, and exclude a different group, would not, suddenly, and overnight, change merely due to the existence of meta-abilities and quirks. They would simply draw a different dividing line in the sand, a line that was blatant, and made it clear who was in the ‘in-group’ and who was in the ‘out-group.’

Supposedly, in the pre-Quirk era, no matter how long a foreigner stayed in the country, mastered the language, and invested themselves in the culture, they would still always be a “gaijin.” 

An outsider.

Formists viewed themselves as being the ‘in-group’ and viewed anyone who wasn’t as the ‘out-group.’ Such dividing lines made it easier to excuse discrimination against others. It made the sting of the actions impersonal, when you could justify it as merely doing your part in the unending war of  “Us vs Them.”

That begs the question…

Even if he was right, the Crisis Cleanup Commission was an organization under the Hero Public Safety Commission. Even if there were Formists buried deep within the very bureaucratic structure of the CCC,  even if there were those who rigidly maintained such archaic group-separation mentality and dynamics, the Hero Public Safety Commission itself that was responsible for overseeing Hero Society would and should root them out one after the other.

Unless they themselves were—

Izuku went ramrod stiff.

Before him, several psychosomatic illusions played out, of accusations, claims, disproven, silenced, conspiracy theories, all of it, popping up, one after the other. 

Is the Hero Public Safety Commission… corrupt?

Was the entirety of the backbone of the basis of the entire hero system, rotten from top to bottom?

Do the heroes know?

Do they know?

Had they always known they were working in a corrupt system?

Does All Might… know?

“Hey, kid, you okay?”

Izuku held his chest tightly. He forced his breathing to be precise and began slowing down the surge of anxiety and disbelief he was experiencing by applying doses of the ‘Apathy State.’ He forced his mind to think coldly and rationally.

But even if they did know… even if All Might knows…

What could he do?

What can one Hero do?

They can’t do an—

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!

With the number of lives he had saved, the amount of influence he possessed, exposing the corruption, swaying public outcry, and rallying the people to fight back against an unfair system, was that not what a hero did? None of it was beyond All Might’s ability to do so. None of it was beyond any of the Top 10 Heroes to do so. One word from them, and the masses would holler and scream, and there would be a flood of resignation letters. The corrupt would be dragged away in chains, their heads hung low in disgrace.

So why?

Why did they remain silent?

The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.

That was a quote from a pre-Quirk Era Nobel Laureate, a man who had been imprisoned for speaking up against his cruel government. To be silent, in the face of corruption, to not do as much as one could, to combat such ills whilst being fully aware of it, was, in the eyes of Midoriya Izuku, to be complicit.

It was to be guilty.

Guilty.

Are they all guilty?

No. Think, Izuku. There must be a reason. A reason why they cannot tell the world about how corrupt the Commission is…

There has to be a reason.

Search. Search and search for the reason.

There has to be one.

Because if there isn’t…

If there really isn’t…

Izuku ground his teeth before he slowly bowed his head.  “I’m sorry, Iguchi-san.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Iguchi waved him off. “That’s just the way things are.”

That’s just the way things are.

Izuku never realized how much he could hate a string of words.

“I have a few friends. They should be able to help ensure power returns to the area.”

Iguchi gave him a doubtful look. “Right.”

“Do you know the name of the one meant to ensure things get fixed around here, Iguchi-san?”

“Of course I do,” Iguchi nodded. “Koinaka. Bastard always has a smug look on his face…” Iguchi shook his head. “Listen if your friends can actually make a difference here and get the power back on, I’ll owe you one. Screw it, I’ll even treat you to a meal on the house.”

The man returned to his room as he slowly closed the door. “Can’t be anywhere too expensive though, you don’t exactly rake in the dough washing windows for a living.”

The door behind him shut. Izuku let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He gnashed his teeth harder and harder until, for the first time in a long time, he tasted blood.

Without hesitating, he reached for his phone and typed up a message.

Izuku: CCC has been deliberately delaying the restoration of infrastructural damage in villain-affected areas of the Hei Ward in Hosu City. I would appreciate it, Saiko-chan, if you could help.

Izuku hit the send button.

The message was not sent. 

Saiko had not yet unblocked his number.

He gripped his phone tightly.

Saiko-chan isn’t the only ‘friend’ I have, is she?

Izuku turned his direction towards the stairs. He raced to it in moments, ascending the eight floors needed to reach the top wasn't even considered a workout, because his daily morning exercise routines with Kacchan were far more taxing altogether. 

He reached his destination and grabbed a key from his pocket. He pushed the key into the lock, clicking and turning it until it opened.

The first thing he smelled was copper. The apartment reeked of copper. The place was, unsurprisingly, messy. Discarded pizza boxes lay on the floor along with numerous empty polythene bags. Plates piled up in the sink, rotten fruit lay atop the overfilled trash can, and there were ripped-out sheets of paper everywhere.

There was no power. The place reeked of stale blood.

On the couch, a blonde girl in a T-shirt and underwear groggily got up.

Izuku took one glance at the messy apartment, and his hands began to itch.

“I—ZU—KU—kun~! You came! You came!”

“Himiko-chan,” Izuku extended his hand. “We need to clean.”

“Clean?”

“Clean.”

He said firmly.

“Then…”

Izuku brought out a black card, with the letters, “L.O.V.”

“There’s something I need you to do.”

XXXXX

Koinaka Ijimoto was terrified for his life. He did not understand why or how anyone would want to kidnap him. He didn’t understand why a group of thugs would suddenly pull him into a car without warning on his way back from work, then drag him to the docks, while sneering at him.

 “If — if its money you want, I swear I can give it to you!”

“We don’t want your money, idiot.”

“You… you don’t? Then what do you—”

“Look, man, we’re just following orders.”

One of the thugs grunted before he brought out what looked, like at first glance, a Valentine’s Day card, and began to read.

“Let’s see here… Er-hem. Dear Sir, it has come to our attention that you are amongst those in the Crisis Cleanup Commission who have delayed work on the restoration of infrastructural damages in certain areas of the Hei Ward.”

Koinaka’s blood went cold. That… that was the reason for this? Because he stiffed those freaks? 

“Furthermore, we have gathered evidence of unlawful acts of discrimination against Heteromorphic Quirks either vetoed by, or directly supported through your policies and your actions. Your punishment, delivered by the hands of criminals, your ilk, is thirty lashes with a belt.”

“As you have chosen to act as though you were a child, we hope that, in receiving corporal punishment, you will rectify your behavior and behave in the manner befitting a responsible adult. If, upon failing to rectify your behavior, we will have no choice but to take further action against you. Yours sincerely, Anonymous.”

“Holy shit, this is crazy stuff,” one of the thugs whistled. “You sure we can do this? Sounds like some crazy new villain is stirring things. This seems big, man…”

“Didn’t you hear? They’re not a villain. They’re doing this for fairness. We’re tools of justice!”

“He’s right. Doesn’t matter anyway. The redhead chick had a black card, and you know the rules. If we don’t obey the kids with the cards, the Void will get us.”

Two of the three thugs took off their belts, whilst the third pointed his phone, clearly intent on recording. All the blood drained from Koinaka’s face.

“So you’re a Formist, eh? Raise that ass, motherfucker!”

WHAP!

“AAAAAH!”

XXXXX

“What are you doing! Help! I’m being mugged!”

“You’re not being mugged damn it, I’m helping you cross the street!”

“What? I don’t… who would believe you! You’re clearly a thug!”

“Listen, granny, I don’t care if you believe me or not, but the light’s about to turn red.”

“You’re… really helping me cross the street?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Cause the brunette with the card said so.”

“You’re helping pick up trash…?”

“Yeah, yeah, you heard me— listen, I don’t want to do it anyway but—”

“Then why are you—”

“I’m just doing what the short blue-haired boy with the card said I should, okay?”

“I’m here to turn myself in.”

“Another one?”

“Huh, what?”

“You’re the lucky tenth one today. Let me guess, a random girl with a card said you should go to the nearest station and surrender for the crimes you committed?"

“It was a boy. And… yeah.”  

“Sigh. Right. Come on. This way to booking.”

- A Precise Note - 

Midoriya Izuku gently stroked Himiko’s hair as the girl mumbled words in her sleep. Himiko was one person, but Himiko was a thousand people. She was nobody, and she was everybody.

With this, the police should pour more effort into investigating the League.

He was certain they were investigating the League of Villains already, but this would at least raise some eyebrows and draw more public attention towards the League and its existence. He and Himiko had gone about sending every single thug they could find within Hosu City to do good deeds, and then told them afterwards to turn themselves in for the bad deeds they’d done.

Izuku found many of them were more than willing to obey that order, because while in prison, they wouldn’t need to worry about more children using the cards to give them orders, and didn’t have to worry about the void, whom Suzume told him was called “Kurogiri.”

That Koinaka should have a change of heart…

Corporal punishment was said to be an archaic and ineffective means of enforcing the law, but that was only when used on its own. The main deterrent was not the whipping, but shame and fear. The shame of being whipped, the fear that the video evidence was out there in the hands of people he did not know, who could deploy it as a tactical bomb at a time he did not know.

If he were to rise to a position of power or have children in such positions, or move to become a highly respected government official, that video of thugs whipping him till he wept would be the sun that melted his wax wings. 

In Izuku’s opinion, the two-pronged approach of fear and shame would likely prevent Koinaka from reporting the case to the police, and it would guarantee the man would think carefully about his actions in the future and comply with the requests of the ‘Anonymous’ messenger.

Izuku did not actually have the video of the man being whipped, but he did not need it.

He had Himiko.

With Himiko, he could make the man have much bigger problems than just a video of him being whipped.

Following his actions today, Izuku discarded Suzume’s black card, tossing it into a river. On the off chance that the creator of the card could somehow know who was holding it, and who had used it, Izuku did not want it traced back to him.

“Did I do good today, Izuku-kun?”

Izuku gently patted her head.

“You did really good, Himiko-chan.”

She giggled and sat up in his lap, and held him close. 

“Izuku-kun is warm," she hummed. “Very warm. I feel… tired. Using my quirk all day long… makes me really tired, Izuku-kun. Tired and really, really sleepy."

Using her quirk made her tired? Izuku connected the dots. That never happened before.

Quirks were still biological, and no matter how much he was able to upgrade them, the biological factors were still a limit. Himiko's quirk was more powerful now, and as such, it demanded more energy than it previously did. Feeling her against him, Izuku couldn't tell that she was any thinner. Running his hand down her back, he couldn't see any major differences. No, if anything—

“Himiko-chan, when was the last time you ate?"

“Hmm… yesterday."

“You drank only blood again, didn't you?"

She nuzzled her head into his neck. “Izuku-kun is the tastiest."

“Himiko-chan, you can't subsist on just blood anymore."

“I want to eat… Izuku-kun."

She pushed him onto the couch, and her hands snuck up his shirt. Izuku hissed. They were cold. Really cold. No, now that he noticed it, it wasn't just her hands that were cold. She was cold. Abnormally so. 

Wait.

He took off her shirt. She squealed. “Izuku-kun!”

Izuku scanned her body. He scanned her, and more so, he did a mental cross-reference. Judging by the state of the apartment and Himiko's personality, she most likely was not the person who'd spend numerous hours exercising for the sake of it. That aside, exercise couldn't magically increase the size and find a way to perfectly provide symmetry to one's breasts, or…

Symmetry?

His eyes glossed over them again. He measured length and breadth, radius and diameter. Then, his gaze went down to her stomach. Her extremely well-toned stomach with a circumference that was less than twenty-four inches.

He grabbed her softly by the neck and brought her face until it was centimeters away from his. He ignored her rapidly reddening face in lieu of examining her facial symmetry for differences.

There were differences. 

Minute, but ultimately identifiable. The softness of her skin mimicked his, her brows were perfectly aligned, and her eyelashes were long and of the exact same number and length on both eyes.

In most women, the left breast was typically larger than the right, due to the placement of the heart on that side and the need for extra flesh for protection. Humans weren't bilaterally symmetrical. There was always a small difference from one side to the other: the heart is slightly to the left, the liver on the right side, the spleen on the left, and on and on.

It was something less obvious on the outside of the body, but his eyes could still perceive it. Most people had one eye slightly higher than the other, one arm slightly stronger than the other, a favored leg, a favored ear, even—

The one person Izuku knew of who had a completely symmetrical body structure was himself.

And Himiko was developing one as well.

My blood is… affecting her.

Himiko consumed liters of his blood day after day and only his blood.  His blood was doing more than just filling her hunger and preventing her from needing to drink from other people. Similar to how his seminal fluids could linger and affect Suzume, his blood was even more potent, and it was doing to Himiko what it did to him. It was making her 'precise.' Not just on the outside, but no doubt it would be doing the same on the inside.

Himiko's cold palms cupped his cheeks.

“You're thinking something unimportant right now, Izuku-kun," she said, annoyed. “Focus. On. Me."

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Izuku rubbed his brows. “Himiko-chan, the things we did today, do you think… were they things a hero would do?”

She pressed down on him. “Izuku-kun wants to help people. People like me. But making those bad people do good things won’t make them good people, Izuku-kun. It’ll only make them bad people who pretend to be good people because they’re afraid of you. That doesn’t make you a hero, Izuku-kun.”

Izuku closed his eyes. He had a suspicion, but hearing it from Himiko’s mouth was the confirmation he needed.

“Nor does it make Izuku-kun a villain."

Himiko kissed him. Her lips, the taste of blood, stained him, and she pulled away, softly whispering.

“It makes Izuku-kun a god.”

Izuku’s throat went dry. “What?”

Her cold hands cupped his cheeks again.

"It’s not too bad. If Izuku were a god… everyone would be like me. They would be happy.”

A chill ran down his spine. 

“I should be homeless. But Izuku-kun gave me a place to stay. I should be hungry. But Izuku-kun feeds me. I should be lonely, but Izuku-kun cares for me. I should be poor. But Izuku-kun gives me money."

Her breath tickled his neck.

“Izuku-kun, the only thing you ask from me in exchange is to be good. For me to be good. The goodest. If Izuku-kun were a god to everyone, everyone would be much happier. Everyone would be good people… and everywhere would be a good place.” 

“No, I—” Izuku denied, his heart racing. “I’m not a god. I’m not perfect.”

“But,” Himiko tilted her head. “Izuku-kun’s quirk is Perfection.”

“No, Himiko-chan. It’s Precision.”

“What’s the difference?”

Izuku’s lips opened, then closed. That which was precise to the extreme was perfect, and that which was perfect was precise to the extreme. 

“That’s not— it’s really not the same—"

Himiko's fingers pressed against his lips.

“Shh. No words, Izuku-kun. I don’t care if you’re a villain, a hero, or a god. To me, Izuku-kun will be Izuku-kun—” 

She kissed him again. Izuku, this time, drank in the softness of her lips and the taste of copper. Her tongue was gentle, her embrace soft and yearning.

Their lips disconnected, and a shudder escaped from her.

“And I will always love Izuku-kun."

Chapter Text

Picture a billiard table, Izuku slowly sipped from his coffee, as his mind replayed words from the book: ‘An Essay of Quirk-Related Psychological Phenomena and the Argument of Determinism.’

Imagine yourself, a player of the game of pool. You raise your pool cue, you smooth it with chalk, you aim, and you prime, and you strike dead and center. From that single moment, the moment you struck the cue ball, the entire future of the table was, in principle, determinable. Every collision, every rebound, every clash, every ball that ultimately enters the hole is a predetermined effect, created by a calculated cause.

The ball cannot choose a different path once it is struck. Any who would stand and scream and say otherwise is a person whose belief in the impossible would be a praiseworthy attribute better suited to religion than philosophy.

Many reject Determinism because it provides them with an uncomfortable truth, and it unwinds the greatest lie.

It is cruel to accept that we are but biological puppets, driven and controlled by strings of genetic predispositions and predilections created from the moment of our conception. Neither one's intellect nor appearance is chosen, nor are one's fancies and likes decided. One does not decide at will to weep with joy at daffodils fluttering in the breeze, or wail with grief at the sight of Ozymandias' feet battered by sand. There is none, not one, who can taste the sweetness of chocolate and speak to their limbic system, saying: "Thus, now, brain, I have decided this shall taste sour, henceforth and hereafter."

The words echoed in his mind and played back over and over again as his date placed down her coffee cup.

“So, I'm, like... totally excited."

The reason why Izuku thought of that book was because, now, there were things that Toru did, that she likely did not know she was doing, that were a result of actions she could not control.

She does not make eye contact.

Toru was looking at him, but not looking at him. She did not make eye contact. Not once. Not ever. Not when she walked through the doors of the coffee shop, in a bright pink crop-top and a skirt that cut low at her waist that would have been considered dangerously risque, if anyone could actually see her thighs. Izuku, who could see her thighs, had his brows shooting high for a moment before he glanced around. No one could see what he saw, so he was the only one who got a tempting view of everything.

She had not made eye contact even as she jokingly asked, “Like what you see?" Performed a twirl and squealed, “Excited! I'm excited! I've always wanted to say that! Oh! I can't believe it!"

Even as she repeated how excited she was, as though he could not see that she was excited, she had not made eye contact. Not once. No one could see her eyes before, so such a basic human thing like making eye contact when speaking to someone or trying to connect with them was a thing she had never learnt to do, and a thing she did not know how to do.

Even as they sat opposite each other, Toru stared at him, but she did not look at him.

“You know... I can see you staring."

“Oh! Oh! You can! Right! Sorry! Embarrassed!"

She grimaces openly, scowls openly, stares openly, frowns openly...

She never brushes her hair out of her eyes, scratches her cheek, or adjusts her expressions...

“So..." she cleared her throat. “What do you do for fun, Izuku?"

“I like to read," Izuku said, smiling. “You?"

“I read too! What do you read?"

“Science. Philosophy. Art. Literature. Anatomy. Biology, and a few others."

“Wow... that's..." She stared, openly, in awe, her mouth dropping. Her brows furrowed, and her face was marked with anxiety. Nervousness. "Um... I just read like... comics. Or... manga. Haha..."

“I read those too."

“Oh!" Her face beamed. Joy. Relief. “One of my favorites is the Phantasmal Family! There's this superheroine in it called Invisi-Girl, and she can make force fields with her quirk, which I always thought was cool, so..."

Toru spoke eagerly and earnestly, and Izuku answered in turn. In doing so, there was a turning in his stomach, a knot in his throat, an uneasy, irritating sensation of wrongness he could not place. 

Toru was more than an open book. 

Her smile was clear to see, as was her frown, as was the furrowing of eyebrows deep in confusion, as was the glint in her eyes upon a mischievous feeling, as was the uncertainty and doubt that came on faltering upon a question, as was this, as was that, as was everything and as was all. An open book was less open, and less readable, less legible, and less understandable than Hagakure Toru. 

She hid nothing, not a single emotion, because she had no experience hiding them and because she had never needed to hide them. As he could see it all, he led the date perfectly. He would judge, by the crease in her brows, what topics made things uncomfortable, and by the glint and spark in her eyes, what topic made things flow smoothly like liquid through a straw. 

He was writing a test upon which the answers were written before him, and even so, it was as though he were cheating by following them.

“Wow. I've never... had anyone really get me, like you do, Izuku. Blushing!"

As the short coffee date reached a close, her dilated pupils, rose-red cheeks, elevated vocal pitch, and twiddling thumbs spoke words in a language that Izuku needed no interpreter to explain. They were more blatant on her than on any other, for doing something that should have been 'common sense,' such as putting on a 'mask' for such emotions, or at least hiding such displays, did not register on a psychological level to her as a necessity.

Why?

Because no one had ever been able to see her expressions.

It was not his fault that he could see her, and he could not undo his ability to see her. It was not her fault that she was invisible, and she could not make herself visible. Yet, because of those factors, there was little doubt that Toru would consider this the best date she had ever had.

Whereas he had only done the bare minimum.

Do I tell her?

He couldn't. If she knew that the only reason the date went so well was because he could see all her expressions and emotions, it wouldn't change anything. She couldn't practice hiding those emotions or controlling her expressions in the mirror because she could not see them. She could not see her own reflection. She could not hide her thoughts and feelings from him. She would never be able to hide her thoughts and feelings from him.

Why bother telling her?

“Do you think I'd look good in a bathing suit, Izuku? Blushing! I've never worn any, so... I always wondered..."

“You've never worn a bathing suit, Toru-san?" Izuku asked, raising his coffee to his lips. “Not even while swimming?"

“Ah... I don't... um..."

Her features faltered. There was discomfort.

“I'm not... fond of swimming."

Izuku stopped mid-sip. “Toru-san… You can't swim?"

“No, no, I can! But... It's more like I wasn't initially allowed to learn how to swim," she said. “Lifeguards and coaches didn't let me. They said, we can't see her! How are we supposed to know if she starts drowning? So, well, my mom said, ‘she'll just wear a scuba suit' and while other kids entered the kiddie pool in trunks and tops, I'd have to be kitted out in a special wetsuit with an oxygen tank. The lifeguards and swimming coaches didn't want to get into trouble if I drowned on their watch. They called me 'Scuba Girl' for weeks. It was so embarrassing! Embarrassed!" 

She poked her thumbs together.

“But I had to learn. I needed to learn. My mom said that if I didn't know how to swim and I ever entered water by accident, no one would be able to see me. Only my head would be above water, so all they'd see would be clothes just floating along. My mouth would be filled with water so I wouldn't be able to scream for help, and no one would ever know I was in there, and no one would ever jump in to save a set of floating clothes."

Izuku steadily put down the cup, ignoring the hoarseness that almost made its way into his voice.

“Do you often have... accidents?"

“No! No, no, I don't! Really!" Toru said, slowly. "Um, but there was this one time as a kid, I fell in a playground and scratched my leg. I didn't think much of it. But it started to hurt, and hurt, and then, I fell really, really sick, and had to be rushed to the hospital. The doctors couldn't tell what was wrong with me at first because they couldn't... well, you know..."

She gestured to her body. 

“They wanted to run tests, but it was difficult for the phlebotomist to draw my blood. They couldn't see the veins. And, um, due to the way my quirk refracts light, even the vein finders couldn't work. So they had to use an ultrasound machine to find my veins, and pricked, and pricked, again and again and again. I think... it must have been over fifty times before they got it right. I'm um... not fond of needles either."

Izuku's heart was beating faster.

“Anyway, during that process, they found out my blood was invisible! I mean, in hindsight, my sweat can't be seen and... well, even my mouth is invisible, so if I open it, no one can see the inside either... I just don't know why I thought my blood would be different. In the end, they said, they couldn't do standard tests with lasers or spectrophotometry on something they couldn't see, and had to send the blood sample to experts overseas who somehow could. My parents had to pay... a lot."

Izuku’s hand, below the table, trembled.

“By the time everything was done, and the tests came back, the doctors said I had sepsis. That tiny scratch was actually a cut  and it had gotten infected really badly. Sure, it had hurt a lot, but I didn't think it was that bad. The doctors said I'd have to use special equipment that allows for full-body scans every time I go to the hospital, but, well, those aren't cheap. They said it was important. Because even a papercut... or a scratch, if I leave it, if I can't see it..."

Toru trailed off.

“But... haha... that's just... You know... a one-time thing... and well.... um... no need to worry about it! Really! Happy!"

There were tears in the corners of her eyes. Izuku gently moved his hand towards it. Toru flinched.

“Oh... right... You can... actually see my—"

She choked.

“I...I’m sorry… I forgot. No one usually… sees when I… cry."

She sniffled.

“Haha, sorry. I... I ruined the date, didn't I? God, Toru. I messed everything up. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Izuku got up and moved towards her, holding her hand gently in his, and squeezing. “This is the best date I’ve ever had.”

“I— It is? How is that—”

He wiped her tears away with his thumb and finger.

“My last date ended with the girl running away from me.”

“No,” she said, scandalized.

“Yes,” Izuku nodded sagely.

Toru giggled. “What— what did you do?”

“I exceeded her expectations.”

“Is that… like, slang for… something?”

Izuku smiled. “Do you want it to be?”

She blinked, and then stared, then her face went red. “Um… ah… maybe…?”

“On our next date. I’ll let you know,” he said. “It’s a promise.”

“Next date…?”

The gears in her brain turned.

“Yes… Our next date! I’ll um… keep you to it! Grinning!”

It was as Toru had told him, when they’d met.

She truly was the girl with the world’s brightest smile.

 A Precise Note

“Ka-san, did you mess around in romantic relationships when you were younger?”

Midoriya Inko choked on her glass of water, coughing and hacking, as she snapped her head towards her son. “W—what?”

“Sorry, that was a weird question, Ka-san,” the boy shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked in the middle of dinner.”

Inko opened her mouth, then closed it. Sitting down to eat dinner together, discussing as a family, talking about his plans once he entered UA, a year ago, all of this would have been a dream. It would have come out of her wildest, deepest, purest dream. That they could joke around and talk like this was already a miracle, one she was eternally grateful for. Now, however, there seemed to be a bigger, more impossible miracle happening.

A year ago, she worried her son would go through life without a single girl interested in him. Inko was not blind. She watched the news. She knew how people without quirks were discriminated against. She knew, sometimes, there could be power imbalances in relationships between quirkless individuals and their partners. She had worried and fretted and panicked that Izuku wouldn’t find himself in one of those terrible horror stories she heard about or saw on the news. There were a lot of concerns with being a quirkless child, and not being able to be loved by women, she feared, would turn her darling little boy into one of those women-hating involuntary celibates she’d heard horrid things about.

Hearing him now, asking her about romantic relationships was like having ice-cold water poured over her. Those fears were gone, but a set of fears and unease remained in her heart. Considering her son’s personality, no, knowing her son’s personality, she would not put it past him to try and ‘help’ as many girls as he could, however he could.

Girls who would no doubt take his kind heart and play with it. She most definitely did not want to see anything of the sort happen. She was worried, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure how to broach a question this sensitive.

“Izuku-kun, do you have… a girl you’re interested in?”

“Something like that.” 

Inko watched her son use his chopsticks to deliberately separate grains of rice on his plate in silence, and she was conflicted as to whether to probe further or not. Watching his bowl, and seeing how terrifyingly organized the meal was, she questioned when it was this habit of his started, of having to organize his food before he could eat it, and felt a stab of guilt that she’d not tried to help him do so when serving the meal.

No, there was more than a stab of guilt. Glancing around the dining room, where everything was sparkling with a reflective glint, she could not remember the last time she had done chores. Izuku did it all before she could get the chance. He cleaned, mopped, polished, did the laundry, vacuumed the rugs, and waxed the floors.

More so, her son had gotten the top score in the UA Entrance Exams. She herself had scarcely believed it. Her hands had trembled towards her lips once she saw it, and she had wept tears so freely and clung on to him so tightly she was afraid he would burst in her hands.

Her son, her baby, whom she had so many worries for, so many fears for, was growing slowly into his own.

The rate of his growth, however, worried her. Inko was afraid he would grow too fast.

“If I brought a girl over, would you mind?”

How could she? Her son’s grades were the best, his sense of responsibility was great, he did chores, worked hard, was diligent, handsome, talented, and charitable. If she refused such a request, wouldn’t she be seen as unreasonable? There were problematic children out there who gave their parents headaches for days, but ever since that incident… Izuku had been…

Perfect.

Too perfect.

He was the perfect child.

It scared her. She knew Quirks changed a lot of things about people, but this level of change deeply worried her. His asking about relationships and his request to bring a girl over were somehow the most ‘normal’ requests he had made in recent memory.

“I wouldn’t mind, Izuku-kun.”

The boy had finished his meal in the middle of their conversation and got up, kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks, ka-san.”

The boy cleaned the dishes in record-breaking time.

“Ka-san, regarding tou-san…”

The air in the room chilled. Inko’s stomach dropped.

“No, forget I said anything.”

Izuku departed for his room. Inko let out the breath she was holding. There were a lot of conversations she could have with Izuku, but that one was not one of them. She could not bring them up. Not since the argument she had had, over the phone, years ago, with her husband, when she had yelled and screamed at him, unaware that Izuku was at the door, listening to every word.

“You keep saying you’re busy with work trips! Izuku-kun needs his father! You can’t keep avoiding us because he’s quirkless—”

The accusation had been baseless. She only suspected it. She only suspected, but had no definite proof. Suspected that his ‘constant work’ and ‘need to travel’ were only excuses to leave a household that was suffocating. That they were excuses to avoid a wife who had put on weight from the stress of thinking about her son, and a son who was constantly dejected and downcast because he was born ‘crippled.’

A part of her hoped and wished that her husband really just had been busy with work.

She really, truly did.

A Precise Note 

Within his bedroom, Izuku stared at several psychosomatic illusions of chalkboards, filled with formulae, calculations, and codes.

Toru’s Invisibility is the result of a Heteromorphic Quirk, which alters her DNA on a fundamental level.

On one of the boards were the words: H-Gene. 

Compared to someone like Himiko, modifying or altering the H-Gene is different. Even someone with the ability to ‘negate’ Quirks, like the Underground Hero, Eraser Head, wouldn’t be able to negate Toru’s invisibility and make her visible because of this H-Gene. Her Invisibility is like a ‘passive ability’ that does not require conscious activation through the Quirk Factor.

Though the refined trigger would affect it, it would only strengthen her invisibility. Giving her Trigger, rather than making her able to control her invisibility, would likely enhance it, and make her completely invisible even to the wavelengths of light I can see.

Without running tests on her blood, I can’t risk it. If the only person who can see her suddenly loses the ability to see her… it would crush her.

Izuku mentally cleaned one board and then began to write on it.

In theory, with Precision, I should be able to modify even the H-Gene… creating a ‘backdoor’ into her genetics the same way I did with Suzume. However, this will require copious amounts of experimentation…

Izuku twirled an imaginary piece of chalk between his fingers, mumbling as he did.

He could not, in good conscience, tell Toru, ‘I can help your condition, but you need to let me flood your womb with seminal fluids on a constant basis.’

She would either think he was insane, think he was making fun of her, or think he was an absolute sleaze who was preying on her hope just to get in her pants.

Would an oral method work?

Izuku began writing on the board.

Due to the first-pass metabolism, a substance's concentration is significantly reduced before it reaches the general bloodstream that circulates throughout the body. This occurs primarily in the liver and gastrointestinal tract wall itself, meaning the effectiveness is crippled significantly…

His feat of altering a portion of Suzume’s Quirk Factor could not be replicated if she had simply swallowed his seed, due to how ingesting things functioned. It would have dissolved in her stomach and small intestine, and her liver’s extensive network of enzymes would metabolize it long before it could perform its task.

Perhaps oral transmucosal absorption instead? Either a sublingual administration or a buccal administration?

This meant they wouldn’t swallow. They absolutely could not swallow. They instead needed to let it… linger in their mouths like a lozenge put under the tongue. To confirm this theory, he would need to meet a girl and ask them ‘Do you mind letting me fill your mouth with my sperm for science?’

Himiko was the only person Izuku could think of who would accept such a request. However, she was, problematically, the one person he could not use to conduct this test because her body was already altered by his DNA due to how much of his blood she drank on a daily basis.

Maybe Saiko-chan…?

Izuku rubbed his chin slowly. If it were for the sake of scientific discovery, in theory, Saiko would agree. However, considering how she reacted after kissing him, she would probably freeze like a deer in headlights and flee the moment he made the request. No, it was likely she would slap him.

Who would be willing to gargle my sperm for experimentation?

His options were either to find a girl other than Himiko willing to let his sperm linger in her mouth or to tell Toru frankly that he would need to fill her belly with seed for the sake of alleviating her invisibility.

His Quirk and his Precision were in his body, and this was merely a way of transferring them and using them to help others. Izuku theorised that if there was someone out there capable of altering biological matter, they would likely be able to use portions of other people to create a drug that would contain their Quirks in a much more refined manner than his own methods. Such a person might even be able to take the Quirk Factor of certain individuals and make ‘bullets’ out of it that, once fired, would function identically to the Quirk of the individual.

He doubted that he would ever meet a person with such a quirk, and he had no other option but to rely on his current methods. Sperminal fluid was the least disgusting and most socially acceptable of things that could be swallowed by others. Not everyone was like Himiko, who could drink blood without care. Asking others to drink his sweat would be even more disgusting, let alone any other excretions.

Whatever it takes.

Izuku flicked his wrist, and a floating hallucination of a calendar formed in front of him.

April: School Year Begins.

May: UA Sports Festival

June: Mid-Semester Tests

July: First Semester Examinations

Then, he went about clarifying the dates and adding notes to each one.

April 4th: School Officially Commences.

April 20th: Kacchan’s Birthday

June 10th: All Might’s Birthday

June 16th: Toru’s Birthday

July 4th: Mom’s Birthday

July 15th: My Birthday

The UA Entrance Exams took place on the 26th of February. He turned towards the calendar and the date.

March 14th.

There were exactly three weeks left before he would begin his year. He made a list of things he planned to accomplish in his first semester.

Gain Access to UA Facilities and their laboratories.

Maintain high grades.

Search UA for the person who tried to kill me.

Work with Saiko to gradually begin the process of clinical trials and tests of the modified Trigger through official channels.

Go on dates with Saiko (possibly?).

Go on dates with Toru.

Go on dates with Himiko.

Find someone willing to experiment with my oral theory.

Begin work on the ‘Consent Drug.’

He had a stacked school year ahead of him.

Izuku stared at the list and recalled Toru’s brilliant smile.  Slowly, Izuku added another item.

Discover the true limits of my ‘Precision’ Quirk. 

Was perfection in a human being possible? Izuku did not believe so. It was impossible for anything to be perfect. Thus, he did not believe his quirk was misnamed. However, if a Venn Diagram of ‘precision’ and ‘perfection’ were drawn in the sand, there would be many things that overlapped. 

If he indeed had a quirk which could mimic, even fifty, or ninety percent of the concept of perfection…

He recalled Himiko’s words.

“It makes Izuku-kun a god.”

Izuku ran his hand through his hair.

Whatever it takes.

He had told himself those words, but he had not fathomed the implications of where it would take him. If whatever it took meant shedding the very notion of his humanity… could he still do it?

Izuku did not know.

One way or another, he would find out.

Chapter Text

UA Academy

April 4th, 20xx

Someone's here before me? 

Aizawa was suspicious. A statement which was the equivalent of pointing out the greenness of grass, the blueness of skies, or the whiteness of clouds. The Most Paranoid Pro-Hero was always suspicious of something or someone, and it was for good reason. Experience had taught him it was better to be suspicious of the most mundane things and be proven wrong than the inverse.

Without fail, he was always the first member of UA's staff to arrive at the academy, by virtue of the fact that he lived on the Academy grounds in a special dedicated quarters. No one else, as far as Aizawa knew, ever bothered showing up at UA at the crack of dawn. No one was that excited to be a teacher.

The Pro-Hero stalked down the hallway. The hallway held the infirmary, the Principal's office, and the staff room. However, there was a new office, recently added at the entrance of the hall, and it was in front of this new office that Aizawa found the newcomer.

A blond man with slicked-back hair, dressed in a neat-fitted dark business suit and a pair of round spectacles, stood in front of the door. He was fiddling with an object, atop it. A name plate. The man hummed a tune to himself, and Aizawa recognized it as a sea shanty from a Gang Orca Pirate O’s cereal commercial.

“Perfect!" The man clapped his hands and took a step back to identify his work. “There," he placed both hands on his waist. “Wouldn't you say this looks just great?"

Aizawa blinked. He knows I'm here?

Before the Pro-Hero could speak, he heard another voice and saw another man approach. Identical in every shape, way, and form, the second man even wore the same clothes and had the same posture.

Twins? Brothers?

“If the bar for greatness is ankle length, perhaps."

“Don't be a spoilsport," the first man said. “I think it fits just fine. Guidance Counselor. Guiding young hearts and minds, what could be better?"

“From couples therapy to hormonal teens. Oh, joy. We’re certainly moving up."

“It was time to move on. Broaden our horizons, experience what life has to offer."

“It’ll cut into our other ventures.”

“Oh, come, now. It isn't like we need money."

Aizawa had heard enough. He made his presence known, narrowing his eyes as he made snap judgments of the man in front of him. The two men in front of him. The one on the left brightened up with a wild smile as soon as he saw Aizawa, while the one on the right closed off and immediately went on guard.

“Hello there! I wasn't aware that anyone else would be here so early. Although Principal Nezu did mention there was a hero who lived on campus. You must be Aizawa Shota, then?"

Aizawa flicked his gaze between the two men. “You are?"

“The new Guidance Counselor, Bubaigawara Jin," the man said with a flourish. “Though for a while I went by the eponym name, Twice." Jin pointed. “This is my better half."

The worst half snorted. “He's not buying it. Look at his eyes. He’s scanned the place for an exit four times, his hands are primed to move as swiftly as possible to restrain us if need be, and his posture is guarded. He thinks we're up to no good," the other man crossed his arms. “You're Eraser Head. They call you the Most Paranoid Pro Hero."

Aizawa didn't bother denying it. “You've heard of me."

“I'm looking at you," the man pointed. “Bags underneath your eyes tell tales of sleep deprivation, and that jitter in your right hand leads me to wager a caffeine addiction. Barely sleeping, instantly on guard against strangers, I don't need to be a Sherlock to figure out you're a paranoid person. I'm not about to tell you how to live, but if you intend to be around young, impressionable students, that level of paranoia will rub off on them. Though I can’t say I like it, if they’re going to be heroes, a healthy level of paranoia is something to have.”

Aizawa faltered. Was he being praised or reprimanded?

“What did we discuss about giving your snap judgments to people?"

“We were hired to be the Guidance Counselor, weren't we?"

“First, we don't counsel people who don't ask— "

“We both know this guy here is never going to ask."

“Second, we were hired to counsel the students.”

Aizawa pursed his lips. “…Am I missing something?"

“Forgive us, Aizawa-san. A minute, please," Jin approached his 'worst half' and took a deep breath. Without any rhyme or reason, he walked into him, rippling like liquid, before vanishing and leaving only one.

“There we go," Jin craned his neck.

He'd become a different person. Aizawa could tell from the man's new posture and expression that something had changed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Aizawa-san. I am Doctor Bubaigawara Jin, UA's newest faculty member, a part-time Pro Hero and licensed medical practitioner. My card."

Aizawa collected it reluctantly. He ignored his instincts, screaming that the card could be a bomb, or a trap, or some sort of device meant to kill and incapacitate him. The card was white and decorative, there were numbers attached, an address, a name, and a long, long list of titles, accreditations underneath that name. MBBS, PhD, PsyD, MD, MS, MA, BSc, BA…

Is this meant to be a joke? No, Nezu wouldn’t hire a fraud.

Aizawa glanced over the list of accreditations and then looked up at the neatly-dressed, blond man in front of him. The man looked no older than he was, give or take maybe a year.

Does he have a quirk that makes him long-lived? Is he older than he appears? No, just now….

“I know the question that usually comes when people see my card and try to guess my age. I'll give you the answer, Aizawa-san."

Jin brought out another card from his hand. Then, he performed a sleight of hand, and another card emerged. Then another, then another, and on and on until there was a full stack of his cards lined up perfectly in his palm.

“Your quirk lets you duplicate things?" Aizawa asked. “Duplicate anything? Even yourself?”

Aizawa’s mind went to the words he’d overheard. Couples Therapy. Creating a perfect clone of your spouse, how would that help? Perhaps, they would vent out frustrations they were afraid to, and destroy the clone afterwards to gain a sense of catharsis?

Doing this for both parties would it allow them to vent their grievances? Or perhaps there was some other method at play? What other method could—

Wait.

Having doppelgangers of your lover could lead you to do things you always wanted, but did not want to do, out of fear of cheating or judgment. Such as if one always wanted a threesome, but didn’t want to share their spouse…

It would be a very effective ‘therapy’ indeed.

“That’s useful,” Aizawa admitted. “Very useful.”

“It is,” Jin replied. “When I was a student, my homeroom teacher would slip me a few bills to create a clone of her, just so the clone could teach in her place while she, overstressed and tired, slept in the janitor’s closet. Classmates of mine would pay me to create clones of themselves to attend class while they skipped out on school. One of my classmates happened to be the son of a very influential figure in the construction business, and after he accidentally let slip what he’d done, I was approached by several different construction companies wishing to sign me exclusive contracts as a one-man construction crew.”

Jin clapped his hands, and the cards compressed back into one. “Tokyo Universal Studios found out about me during a job when they saw dozens of identical construction workers working on set, and rushed to sign me on when I was fifteen. My quirk saved them millions on extras, stunt-doubles, and crewmen. Perhaps you've seen some of my work? The army of Imperial Windtroopers in Revenge of the Fifth, and the gruesome sequences in Bushido IV: Shindeiru are amongst my favorites."

Aizawa nodded. “The mass decapitation scene. It hit the news. The director was taken to court to prove that people weren't actually killed."

“Aina-chan still laughs about it today," Jin chuckled. “She says being sued to prove that her fiction was truly fiction was the highest compliment in her life as a filmmaker."

Aina-chan? The man casually referred to Yamazaki Aina, one of the most renowned Japanese Directors in modern history, as Aina-chan, without a care in the world. 

A successful self-made man, huh?

Individuals with invaluable and useful quirks were praised by society, lauded, and many of them were even egged on to become heroes. Quirks which allowed people to do things like create explosions or ice or fire would draw ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, much less a quirk that allowed one to be in two places at once, doubling their productivity and time.

Just the ability to double the number of first responders in a crisis would make him invaluable to any Hero Agency.

There was no world in which Bubaigawara Jin could be anything but a successful man.

With a quirk that could duplicate anything and anyone, unless his friends, schoolmates, and teachers were all blind, deaf, dumb, or outright mentally deficient, it was statistically impossible. Anyone with an iota of common sense would understand the sheer value of his quirk and give him advice on how best to maximize its usage for profit from the moment he first unveiled it as a child.

With such a quirk, he could and would be financially secure for life.

So why is he here?

Aizawa analyzed him from head to toe.

Unless he’s not really here.

Aizawa started to suspect the man in front of him was still, yet another clone. If the clones could clone themselves, it was not out of the realm of possibility that the real Bubaigawara Jin was on some private island, getting a tan, and sipping martinis out of a coconut.

He only sent out another clone to take on Nezu’s request. Why wouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he? As a man who could be in a thousand places at once, what did he really have to lose by accepting? This was, basically, to him, another passive income stream.

“That reminds me, Aizawa-san, the Principal did mention you could use my aid.” 

Aizawa gave the man a cool stare. “He did?"

“Reportedly, you have issues with individuals constantly targeting you and are worried they may target your students. Therefore, if there were two of you, one, constantly at UA Academy, and another one, elsewhere, performing standard hero work in the public eye…” he trailed off, with a knowing look.

A doppelganger to draw attention… focus assassination attempts on that one…

It would, indeed, make his life just slightly more bearable.

“Are you offering this to just me?”

“On the contrary. Principal Nezu paid in full to allow my services for any and all members of UA Staff who have difficulties juggling their personal and professional lives. Twice per month, pun fully intended, I am granted permission to lend them such services as well.”

It sounded almost too good to be true. He could clone the teachers and have those clones teach and take on their duties, giving the staff time off to pursue other ventures?

Nezu being this considerate? That’s not a good sign.

Whenever Nezu showed significant kindness, it meant there was something coming that necessitated such kindness and generosity. Was it because someone had probed a weakness in his Quirk? No, that couldn’t be. Nezu had hired Bubaigawara Jin before that incident.

Whatever the reason, it made Aizawa uneasy. 

“Your doubles, how long do they last?”

“Indefinitely.”

Aizawa froze.

“Until receiving harm equivalent to a broken bone, that is,” Jin clarified. “Of course, I can only make two copies of a thing at a time, and it requires having the exact measurements and specifications, down to the finest detail.”

Aizawa pressed his lips together. “And the copies…”

“Are perfectly identical. They will possess your memories, experiences, and yes, Aizawa-san, even your Quirk.”

Aizawa’s breath hitched in his throat.

“You can disable the quirks of others, as I take it?" Jin continued. “I’m told you do a lot of work aiding children whose quirks go rampant in hospitals. With my aid, Aizawa-san, you can help more children whilst easing your burdens.”

Aizawa could not help but look at Bubaigawara Jin in an entirely new light. 

“You have no problems with my quirk?"

Jin shook his head. “Though I understand many individuals consider their quirks a fundamental part of themselves, and depriving them of parts of themselves, even temporarily, is terrifying and degrading, I am not amongst them."

Jin smiled at him. “With the amount of good you have done, and the amount of good you continue to do, I have no reason to fear or be wary of you. I know more than anyone that Quirks, while greatly influential on one’s life, are not entirely responsible for who a person becomes. What one chooses to do with their Quirks will always be what defines them."

There was even a part of Aizawa that felt appreciation. There was a slight release of tension in his shoulders, yet there was the subtle addition of a hidden weight nonetheless.

Does he truly believe that?

Aizawa was beginning to understand why Nezu had chosen Bubaigawara as the school counselor. It was not correct to call him a naïve man, but he was, without a doubt, an optimistic one. The sort of person who searched for, and chose to see the good in people first and foremost.

Even if there was little to be found.

However, there was a nobility to it. A nobility to that optimism. Bubaigawara was far nobler than he, who immediately assumed the worst intentions of others.

“Now then, Aizawa-san, about that tour…?"

Bubaigawara Jin… Aizawa let the man ahead, leading the way for the tour. What an unusual man.

A Precise Note

UA Academy

Class 1-A

April 4th, 20xx

“There are only two kinds of people, Hitoshi. Winners and losers. I’m sick and tired of being a loser, and I won’t have my son be one as well.”

“You have to learn to take from others, Hitoshi. Just because you wouldn’t eat a tiger does not mean a tiger won’t eat you. This world feasts on the weak! It swallows them whole! You have to be strong! Strong! You have to be a winner.”

The classroom was silent. He was the first person to make it there, standing at the state-of-the-art security doors, which had a glowing sign above that read: Class 1-A.  

The desks were sleek, polished, with a scent that hinted at the possibility they were brand new. The floors, the tiles, were pristine and white, enough that his own reflection could be seen on them. There was not a chalkboard, but a whiteboard, with a carton of clean markers kept on the side. There was a projector that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, there were sprinklers placed in strategic places in the ceiling, a fire extinguisher affixed to a wall, and beside a red fire alarm.

The walls of the classroom were adorned with motivational posters of heroes. All Might, being the most prominent amongst them, with quotes such as “I Am Here” and “Plus Ultra” written in big, bold, blue and white and red and yellow letters.

Shinso’s gaze swept over the empty classroom, towards the desks, and found his designated seat at the front of the class. Arranged according to examination score, Shinso sat and steepled his fingers, boring a hole into the teacher’s desk in front of him, the whiteboard, the brightly painted walls, and the room itself.

Am I a winner?

By entering into UA Academy, some would qualify him as a winner. By scoring fifth place in the exams, many could consider him a winner. Despite that, staring at the four seats to his right, the seats which were positioned for places fourth-to-first, Shinso questioned if he had truly ‘won.’

It was not the first time, he questioned it. Deciding to be a hero, to use his powers for the sake of good, rather than as his father intended, rather than as the man trained him, there was almost no day he did not question it.

A month after his father learned of his quirk, after the messy fall out with his mother, the drinking, the arguments, the yelling, the man told him to get into his car and drove them somewhere in the dead of night. They had driven to a portion of the city he had never seen, filled with colorful lights, bright signs, with drunkards and salarymen stumbling about with slackened ties, untucked shirts, and vomit-stained suits, with women in high heels, fishnet stockings, and short gowns.

The man had taken him into the back door of an establishment for adults and entered into a room, where a woman in a silk gown lay on a large heart-shaped bed, a woman whose eyes widened as soon as she saw him, and she shot her gaze towards her father with disgust.

“A kid? You better have a good explanation or—”

“Shut up. I didn’t pay you for that. You’re here for my son to practice his quirk.”

“Practice? What sort of quirk would—”

“Hitoshi. Use it.”

As a child whose will, whose freedom, whose life and livelihood was entirely at the whim of his parents, refusing or disobeying his father was not a thing that registered, consciously or otherwise. Using his quirk, watching as the woman’s expression went dull, as his father walked around, and observed, slowly, as he took out a notepad, began to write how long the quirk lasted and what it did.

Practice, his father called it. One needs practice to grow. He told him that few would volunteer willingly to let him use his Quirk on them, to be at his whim and mercy for the sake of his growth.

He started with cheap prostitutes, then his father took him to the Wards, and found the suffering and destitute. Handing over a few wads of cash or bread and provisions, and they would stand and let him ‘practice’ as they wished. His orders were always simple. Dance, move, tap your feet, touch your shoulders, elbows, and toes, jump, spin—

When his father slapped the prostitute, he learned that a strong enough impact or jolt could snap one out of the effects of his quirk.

When his father asked him to tell the beggar to stab himself, he learned his orders could make others hurt themselves.

When his father told him to order a vagrant to run as far as he could, and keep on running, he learned how long his brainwashing lasted, and that it could function even when the victims were kilometers away.

Pushing and refining the limits of his quirk, Hitoshi suspected his father’s goal was to train him for something big, but then, he had not known what.

He never suspected what his father meant when he told him: You have to be a winner.

“The lab? Why the hell is the lab the first place you want to check out?”

“I’m interested in the facilities, Kacchan. I have a project I’m working on. Remember? I told you about it.”

“Izuku, I swear to god, I can’t keep track of half the nerd shit you talk about daily.”

“That’s another swear, Kacchan.”

“No, the fuck it isn’t. Saying shit isn’t a swear. Shit is shit. A swear would be something like—”

There was a pause.

“I said fuck just now, didn’t I?”

“Twice.”

“Fuck!”

“Three times, Kacchan. You’re going to be broke at the end of this.”

Two voices approached the classroom. The first, he did not know, but he recognized the second voice immediately. It was the voice of the extremely irritating bastard who'd almost deafened him with explosions and vulgar swearing during the exams. He glanced up, just as the doors slid open, and the blond delinquent stepped in, grumbling and mumbling under his breath.

They made eye contact.

"Look alive, Izuku," the boy’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Someone’s here before us. Oi, who are you?”

Several answers came to Shinso's mind. An insult rested at the tip of his tongue. Silence was his preferred response.

“Wait, I remember," he pointed. “Hitoshi Shinso."

Hitoshi didn't even have it in him to hide his surprise.

“Seventy-one, twenty-five, thirteen."

It took a second for it to click. My test scores?

The vulgarian marched up to him, and, with a weird, twisted expression, he extended his hand outwards. “Katsuki Bakugo," he said. “Eighty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-three."

The boy was testing him. Evaluating him. The name-drop, extended hand, and mentioning of scores were not intended to be a casual introduction.

“Second place?" Shinso said. He took the hand. The boy's grip hardened down on him immediately, and he gave him a perplexed look.

“You fucked up," he said. “Your written score was the third highest, but your hero eval was the second lowest. That means the pro-heroes saw you do lots of shit but felt you weren't cut out to be hero material. You don't look like a fucking idiot and can't be one since you aced the written test."

The boy in front of him glared. 

“So how the fuck did you screw it to make those bastards think you ain't cut out for hero shit?"

There were very few moments when Shinso found himself at a loss for words. This moment was one of them. The delinquent in front of him wasn't menacing. No, he wasn't even trying to be. His anger, to Shinso's utter bafflement, seemed to stem from the fact that Shinso himself had somehow failed to live up to expectations.

“Kacchan, swear—”

“Just keep a bloody tab open, damn it!”

Hitoshi gave the boy a cool look.  “My scores are none of your business."

The delinquent snarled. “Like hell they aren’t," he squeezed his hand. “Those exams were bullshit tough. You know it. I know it. If we're here, sitting in this classroom, that means we're fucking aces. We aced the toughest UA Exam ever fucking written. You know what that means? It means we're already a cut above every fucking graduate of this school. It means we're about to make history."

The boy let go of his hand. “I'm gonna be the No. 1 Pro Hero, and there's no fucking way in hell I'll let anyone who's associated with me be anything less than the best of the best. So that fuck-up had better be a one-time thing. You got it?"

Hitoshi couldn't believe the words he'd just heard. His mind pieced them together, and the picture they painted had been so abstract and absurd that he was having difficulties understanding how anyone could say any of that, let alone believe it.

The blond boy reached into his pockets for change, tossing them behind him. Despite tossing them randomly, each of them flying in varying directions, the other boy with him caught them all out of the air with a graceful, almost preternatural movement. 

The graceful, green-haired boy shook his head. “Kacchan, you sure you can keep this up?"

"I said I was going to try to swear less!" The delinquent snapped at the boy. “I'm fuc— fudging trying, aren't I?" He grumbled. “What the hell are you planning on doing with my money, anyway?”

“I have a lot of dates planned.”

“Huh? You were serious about that?”

“I always tell you the truth, Kacchan, it's just you rarely believe it.”

Hitoshi focused on the second boy. Now that the vulgarian delinquent was quiet and wasn’t drawing his attention, he blinked several times as he saw the green-haired kid. The boy appeared as though he had stepped out of a model magazine. Or perhaps, someone acting in a movie about vampiric quirks, with all the encompassing glitter.

The boy was toned. Unlike the delinquent, however, the musculature was almost hidden. You had to look to see it. Hitoshi was unusually unnerved. For a second, he contemplated whether the boy had undergone plastic surgery, but then dismissed it.

He'd won the genetic lottery, as far as Hitoshi was concerned. A face like that would bring nothing but blessings and compound already innate fortunes. 

The boy noticed him looking, and he approached with a polite, yet confident smile. A  smile that almost disarmed him.

“Don't mind him, Shinso-san. Kacchan is just trying to spur you on."

"Oi! I didn’t ask you to be my mouthpiece!"

“This is a new school, Kacchan. You don’t want people to have the wrong impression of you.”

“Let them think whatever they want," the delinquent crossed his arms. “Words are fucking cheap anyway. My actions will show them."

“Swear word.”

"God damn it!"

The delinquent pulled out his wallet and handed a crisp bill to the green-haired boy, who took it with a large smile. Hitoshi could tell, from the manner they referred to each other and the way they spoke to each other, that the duo were friends. Close friends.

“By the way, Shinso-san, I didn't introduce myself," the boy said. “I’m Midoriya Izuku."

Midoriya Izuku. 

The boy before him was famous. There was no one, not a soul, who did not know the name associated with the one and only perfect score.

First Place.

In what was now officially declared as the hardest Entrance Exams in UA history, an examination which sent dozens of wide-eyed, eager children back home to weep into the skirts of their mothers, there had been an applicant who defied all odds and common sense, and managed to attain a perfect score.

Hitoshi couldn’t help but feel a sense of wrongness. The first and second place examinees were close friends. They had likely been friends for a long time. Was it a case of winners attracting and surrounding themselves with winners?

Formal and handsome, confident and graceful, if their lives were a TV show, the boy in front of him would be someone too good to be the protagonist. The showrunners would refuse, simply because he appeared, on the surface, far too perfect.

Except Shinso knew that there was no such thing as perfection.

“Shinso Hitoshi," he introduced himself formally. “You're the one with the perfect score."

“I am."

Shinso hadn't expected that. False modesty was all the rage, so much so that he'd half expected the boy to wave off his accomplishments or smile and be humble about it. There was none of that to be found. 

The boy's eyes shimmered with light as he said those two words: “I am."

A shudder ran down Shinso's spine as he stared again into the dazzling green eyes of Midoriya Izuku.

The sound of footsteps drew him from his thoughts as another individual approached the classroom. With thorny, vine-like hairs, she was garbed in their school uniform, but there was a steel ornament dangling from her chest.

The ornament was a depiction of a single hand in steel. One hand, and only one hand, outstretched, as though bestowing something or as though taking something. It was a symbol he had seen multiple times on fliers being handed out by black or white-robed missionaries in between malls and on train stations, a symbol he had seen on internet pages, archives, and emblazoned in places of crosses and rosaries.

The vine-haired girl wore it proudly upon her chest. Her gaze, stern, frozen, chillier than the alps, swept the room as she glanced at them all, before stopping on Midoriya Izuku.

From there, the frozen peaks of those alps melted, and her eyes widened into bright, girlish, glee.

"Ah, M-Midoriya-san. I see you made it!"

She realized, then, her voice had been too loud, her surprise and excitement too earnest, too obvious. She pushed aside a lock of her vine-hair behind her ears, and warmth had crept unto her neck, embarrassment spreading as blood did to her cheeks.

As though he, Hitoshi, was not in the room, and as though the vulgarian was also not in the room, her eyes set upon only Midoriya Izuku, and her voice spoke with a softness and cordiality he doubted she would reserve for anyone else.

Midoriya Izuku smiled as though such an occurrence was common. He, Hitoshi, a person to whom girls would never speak a word of due to fear, and a person who thought he had accepted that fate, felt a itch in his throat.

Entering UA Academy, placing fifth in the entrance exams, he thought he was a winner.

He was wrong.

Being able to change someone's entire disposition, to have them brighten up immediately upon meeting his gaze, to be excited in his presence, rather than wary, scared, or cautious—

That was what it meant to be a winner.

Chapter Text

Shiozaki would be perfect for my oral theory experiments.

Within thirteen to thirty milliseconds, the human brain began the process of recognizing things it had seen. Basic features, colors, shape, and motion would slowly start to register in the visual cortex. At around 100 to 150 milliseconds, the brain began recognizing objects and faces, triggering pattern recognition and category detection. From 200 milliseconds and above, conscious perception, emotional reaction, and memory association commenced.

Despite this, Izuku’s brain, at the initial point, roughly between the twentieth millisecond mark, saw Shiozaki Ibara, conducted a brutal, thorough, visual dissection and came to the conclusion that she would be a suitable research partner, if not the most suitable candidate.

Only after the decision had been made did his amygdala and ventromedial prefrontal cortex, the parts of his brain responsible for moral decision-making and emotional salience, respectively, start firing. It told him that, perhaps, it was a bit inhumane to look at another person and instantly and only see them for their utility; a valuable resource that could be used to further a goal, regardless of how well-intentioned that goal was. It told him, gazing upon a female classmate and immediately thinking of how to proposition her for oral intercourse was not a thing most people did.

Another part of his mind, the anterior cingulate cortex, the part of his brain responsible for detecting moral dilemmas and internal conflict between action and belief, scoffed outright. It told him, if anything, it was the most normal thing a boy his age did. Regardless of excuses, justifications, or reasons, thinking about how to sleep with an attractive girl was the paramount thought on the mind of most male humans at all times and all moments.

Regardless of reasoning, Shiozaki’s arrival had set up a storm of thoughts within his mind, each one battling back and forth. His innate, immediate consideration and deliberation that she was the perfect candidate had not come without basis, and the basis had come from a combination of inductive and deductive reasoning that combined to form what could only be termed: a gut feeling.

The pre-Quirk era Nobel Laureate Kahneman argued that most human beings depend on unconscious heuristics to make fast decisions and use slow, conscious data analysis only when necessary…

As all of this happened, as his thoughts were slowed to a crawl, as his mind caught up with reality, Shiozaki greeted him, loudly, too loudly, with a smile, and immediately grew abashed with the candor of her greeting, all of which, he responded to with a simple, friendly smile.

For a fraction of a second again, his gaze landed on the pendant that hung on her neck, hallucinations created and replayed the images of their previous meeting, and the information, truth, came to him bare and clear.

Shiozaki was a member of a cult.

Though the public image of the Followers of One was that of an S-Rank terrorist organization, those terrorist actions were often claimed to be a result of a vocal, misguided minority. The true members, the true Followers, were simply a cult. They, of course, would decry any who claimed they were such a thing and insisted they were a valid religion. They had, after all, founded churches, temples, and some even went as far as to perform missionary work. They performed actions to prove that there were those amongst them who were good people who simply desired something to believe in, and that the violence, bloodshed, and terrorist deeds were committed by the ‘lost’ amongst them, whom they denounced vocally.

For that reason, one could not see every individual with a Hand Pendant and assume the worst of them. Izuku was not in the habit of judging people before he got to know them.

“Shiozaki-san, do you have a moment to talk in private?”

Kacchan lifted his brow at him. Hitoshi turned to stare at him, and Shiozaki herself blinked in surprise, before nodding in eagerness.

“O-of, course, Midoriya-san.”

He moved somewhere quiet and secluded, under a set of stairs that led to a higher floor, and was at the end of the hallway. He led her and positioned her away from prying eyes because the questions he needed to ask were things that could invoke an overwhelming emotional response.

“Is… is something wrong, Midoriya-san?”

She tilted her head before him, her vine-like hair shifting from side to side. Izuku smiled and took a step forward, his hand reaching towards her chest.

“M-Midoriya-san?!” She backed away.

He held the pendant gently and shook his head. “Can you tell me about your religion, Shiozaki-san?”

Her emotions cycled from excitement and panic, to relief, to disappointment, to excitement again in a matter of seconds.

“You— you wish to become a Follower?”

“I’m curious about them,” Midoriya acquiesced. “Would you be willing to answer a few questions regarding the Followers, Shiozaki-san?”

“Of course, anything!”

Izuku’s brain was moving quickly. Probably too quickly. It was the first day of school, but if he suspected that Shiozaki was indeed the prime candidate, then there was no need to delay matters.

“Shiozaki-san, can I ask, what do the Followers believe?"

“We believe in the One,” Shiozaki clasped her hands. “He is the original one. The First One. The first person with a Quirk. He has the power to give and the power to take. In believing in him, in following him, he will return one day, to take away the ills and ails of the world!”

Her chest heaved, her eyes sparkled, her breath quickened. Izuku took notes on it all. All history books recorded that the Luminescent Baby was the first person with a Quirk, but the Followers claimed their messianic prophet was the original one. It was a thing that could easily be disproven, but for some reason, they clung to this assertion.

Why? An obsession with firsts? An obsession with origins? With the number one? A desire to be number one?

Izuku neither denied the claim nor mocked it; he only nodded and slowly probed onwards.

“Do you know who founded the Followers?”

Shiozaki nodded. “The First Follower. He was the first one whose Quirk was taken by the One. His quirk had caused unspeakable pain to him every time he thought of certain things. Agony and torment. However, the One laid his hand upon his head, and delivered him from his suffering with a single touch…”

Tears stained the corners of her eyes. There was a glossy, distant look, far away in them. Izuku’s brain was thinking rapidly.

Laid his hand… congruent with the hand motif… the symbol being one hand, a palm… a quirk that connects with touch?

Izuku momentarily remembered something Suzume had told him. Suzume-san said Shigaraki was a man with a hand covering his face, and hands holding on to his body. The local thugs called him ‘the Hand.’ Is that a coincidence? 

Beside him, a hallucinatory blackboard came up, and he pinned ‘possible connection between League of Villains and Followers of One’ upon it.

“Shiozaki-san, is there a central text, teaching, or doctrine you follow?"

“We follow the One Word, the Gospel of One— I… I have a copy with me.”

She reached into her hair, causing Izuku’s brow to raise slightly. He had not known Shiozaki could also use her thorn-like hair as a place to hide objects. 

That could be useful. 

She handed him a thin, black book, with no words upon it, except a single palm engraved with the Roman Numeral: I. 

Or perhaps, it was the English letter: I.

Written as it was, there was no difference. 

“I’ll be sure to read it and return it to you, Shiozaki-san.”

“No, no, sharing the Word is the greatest thing I can do. Please, Midoriya-san, you don’t need to return it.”

Keeping the book under his arm, Izuku took a slow, steady breath and prepared himself to start asking the real, hard-hitting questions.

“Where do you live, Shiozaki-san?”

“I—ah?”

The girl blinked.

“With my parents, at the commune.”

Strike One.

“Are the Followers free to decide where to live, what jobs to take, and…” he paused. “Who to date? Would you need approval to date someone?”

Izuku was aware of how his question could be misconstrued. He was aware of the reasons she would believe he was asking this, and the reasons she would believe were behind his true ‘interest’ in her religion.

“I… that… well—” She stammered.  “The Followers… we… we all… must dedicate ourselves to him and his cause at all times, and, sometimes, due to… well, it is not that you would need approval but… just to prevent any who would try and pervert his message… you would need to be… vetted… and given… permission. But… to be vetted… You would need to be an Initiate…”

“So if I’m not a Follower myself, I can’t date a Follower.”

Shiozaki closed her eyes, as though his words had gouged a hole in her chest. “It was decided… such a sacrifice is necessary for the cause.”

On the mental board beside him, a hallucination of himself wrote: Strike Two.

“Are there any other things you aren’t allowed to do, Shiozaki-san? Even if they aren’t illegal or harmful?”

“Other…? I can’t… think of any…”

Suddenly, she went rigid.

“You thought of something?”

“Well… we — we aren’t allowed to… watch… um… things… illicit, sinful, video m-m-materials—”

“You’re banned from… pornography?” Izuku blinked. “Why?”

“B-b-because they’re depraved! Wrong! Sick! They — they do things that… that should be reserved for — for a man and his wives— and…”

“Wives?” Izuku interrupted. “Shiozaki-san, do the Followers practice… polygamy?”

“Polygyny,” Shiozaki corrected. “It is the role of all, good, devout women of childbearing age, to marry and create as many children as possible, so the One can have as many Quirks as possible to use to bring salvation to the world.”

A knot formed in Izuku’s stomach.  The psychosomatic hallucination of the clone beside him wrote on the board: Strike Three.

“Is it okay to read material that disagrees with your group’s teachings?"

Shiozaki balked. “Certainly not! The truth has already been written in full in the One Word—”

Izuku pressed on. “How does your group view people who’ve left or criticized it?"

“They are persona non grata, covenant-breakers and oath defilers,” she huffed. “We do not associate with them, or allow any association with them. Their punishment is exclusion and scorn by friends and family. For more severe crimes or blasphemy, it is said the Prime Follower delivers personal judgment—”

“Are questions and doubts welcomed, or are they seen as disloyal or sinful?"

“It is unwise to question the wisdom of the First Follower, and one must seek penitence and absolution when doubts seep in—”

Slowly, Izuku asked questions. The more he asked, the more he garnered, the more he learned, the more he disliked what he learned. His initial goal, using Shiozaki, had been pushed to the back of his mind. The knot in his stomach grew larger and deeper, and he found himself like Alice, wandering down a rabbit hole of which he had grossly underestimated its depths.

“While in the commune, are you told how to dress? What to wear?”

“On the weekdays. The weekends are days when we can wear what we want. However, they still must be within the decency guidelines—”

“Are there consequences for breaking rules? If so, what kind?"

“The One is said to be able to give and take away, so punishment is given by taking from others… what is taken is dependent on the severity of the rules broken,” Shiozaki admitted. “Sometimes, toys or meals. Other times, it’s clothing,… and for truly severe offences, the things taken aren’t given back. Sight. Hearing. Sunlight. Laughter.”

Izuku fell silent.

Shiozaki looked at him and said quickly, “But — but — these are the sacrifices we make, for the salvation of the world. For the One. Because…we need to make these sacrifices.”

Shiozaki stepped forward, slowly reaching to hold his hands.

“We are all takers, Midoriya-san. From the very day we were born, we take a name, we take an identity, and we take from the air that we breathe. Afterwards, from that day on, we never stopped taking. We take fossil fuels, minerals, and fresh water, stripping the Earth of its non-renewable resources. We take lands, habitats, and forests in the name of agriculture, urbanization, and resource extraction, driving countless species to extinction. We take away the richness and complexity of life that has evolved for longer than we have been here!”

“We take from others, forced labor, unfair wages, poor working conditions, and steal the wealth from workers. We take from time, trading waking hours for wages, personal autonomy for survival! The history of this world, Midoriya-san, is a history of takers! A history of a species that takes and takes and takes!”

Shiozaki panted. She gasped, clutching her chest.

“But it doesn’t have to be. He is the Giver. He has the power to ‘Give.' Because he can give quirks, he can give back the fuels, the minerals, the water, the lands, the habitats. He can give back the clean air, the atmosphere, and the animals that have gone extinct. He can give back the time spent and lost, the relationships lost, the wealth mismanaged, the prosperity forgotten, the joys never tasted. He can give us back our future, a future.”

She stepped forward. “He’s the only one who can. Because he’s—”

“A god?”

Shiozaki’s eyes brightened. They watered.  “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Izuku smiled.

“I do.”

XXXXX - A Precise Note - XXXXX

When they returned to the classroom, both Kacchan and Shinso stared at him as though he had grown two heads, entirely because Shiozaki was holding his hand, by his side, and possessed a blissful, cathartic smile on her face.

Kacchan looked at him as though he had grown two heads and mouthed ‘What the fuck?’ Whereas Shinso said nothing, only boring a hole through him with his eyes.

From an outside perspective, Izuku was aware of what it looked like. He had left with Shiozaki, a new classmate and stranger, mere minutes ago, and they returned with her seemingly enraptured in bliss, and clinging to him.

Nothing untoward had happened between them, but by accepting Shiozaki’s worldview, by relating with her, empathizing with her, he had, one way or another, become the person closest to her in a new, strange, and alien environment. He had become a fellow ‘brethren’ of hers.

Kacchan isn’t going to like this. Nor Himiko-chan… nor Toru-chan… nor… anyone… actually.

He was going to join the Followers of One.

In the future, one of his ‘dates’ was going to be him meeting Shiozaki’s parents and the ‘Head Follower’ of her commune, where he would be ‘Initiated.’

As it stood, Shiozaki would never accept that she was in a cult, or that she was brainwashed, and any attempts to correct that worldview would end in failure, disappointment, and distance, if not scorn and hatred.

She had little reason to leave, and would not listen to any logical arguments to leave, especially from a boy she had met only twice and knew next to nothing of. How could she, when the consequence of doing so was to be shunned and condemned by everyone she knew? However, if she were to have someone who would be willing to leave together, and if that someone happened to be a classmate, or something more…

This is going to be the most insane thing you’ll ever do, Izuku.

He had read that the most foolish thing to do was to attempt to go undercover into a cult, into any cult, because the possibility of losing oneself within it was very real, and very dangerous. He was aware of tales of individuals who set out to infiltrate cults and ended up becoming devout believers and advocates of the very cult they had initially sought to bring down.

The only reason he was considering this was because he could control his emotions and emotional state at will.

It didn’t matter if they love-bombed him, threatened, shunned, or humiliated him. Once he put up his ‘Apathy State,’  it would all be sticks and stones. With it, he was, to a degree, immune to the various manipulation tactics typically used by cults.

Cults rely primarily on four methods to control others: Behaviour, Information, Thought, and Emotions (BITE).

An imaginary whiteboard formed in front of him, as he began rapidly taking notes.

Under behaviour, cults dictate where, how, and with whom the member lives and associates or isolates, they dictate when, how, and with whom the member can have sex with, they control types of clothing, hairstyles, and regulate diet. They deprive sleep, finances, and restrict leisure and entertainment. Rewards and punishment are used to modify behaviors, both positive and negative. They discourage individualism, encourage groupthink, and impose rigid rules and regulations—

Izuku moved towards his seat at the front of the classroom, slowly leaving Shiozaki’s side, as Kacchan stared at him even longer and harder, again mouthing under his breath: ‘What the fuck?’

Under information control, cults deliberately withhold information, distort information to make it more acceptable, systematically lie to their members, minimize or discourage access to non-cult sources of information, including the internet, TV, radio, books, articles, newspapers, magazines, media, and contact with former members.

Taking his seat and steepling his palms, he only tangentially noticed when the door to the classroom opened once again, and a newcomer, a new classmate, made their way into the room.

Under thought control, cults require members to internalize the group’s doctrine, they change a person’s name and identity, encourage only ‘good and proper’ thoughts that undermine critical thinking, and teach thought-stopping techniques that stop ‘negative thoughts’ and shut down reality testing. These include: Denial, wishful thinking, chanting, meditating, praying, speaking in tongues, singing or humming, rejection of rational analysis, critical thinking, and constructive criticism. They forbid critical questions about leaders, doctrine, or policies and label alternative belief systems as illegitimate, evil, or useless.

Izuku slowly stroked his temples. Those features were, to his irritation, a boon and a benefit. It meant the other cult members would be less rational, less critical of his motives and intentions, and unlikely to suspect his true motives for joining. He was certain he could fool everyone into thinking he was a genuine devotee.

Lastly, under thought control, they manipulate and narrow the range of feelings; they teach emotion-stopping techniques to block feelings of homesickness, anger, and doubt. They make a person feel that problems are always their own fault, never the leader’s or the group’s fault. They promote feelings of guilt or unworthiness, instilling the idea that a person is not living up to their potential, that their family is deficient, their past is suspect, their affiliations are unwise, and their thoughts, feelings, and actions are irrelevant or selfish. They make it clear there is never a legitimate reason to leave; those who leave are weak, undisciplined, traitors, heretics, or they were swindled or seduced.

Izuku stared at the board, and the four corners of Behaviour, Information, Thought, and Emotion: the four touchstones of cult manipulation.

If it’s just this… I won’t have any problems. I know their playbook, and I know how to counter their playbook. However, this is the Quirk Era.

Izuku would not put it past the Followers of One to have individuals with either emotion manipulation quirks, truth-sensing quirks, or for there to be one Precog or another behind the works. 

There has to be one, else they would never have allowed Shiozaki-san to leave, much less allow her to apply to a hero school.

It was the missing piece of the puzzle that Izuku could not find. Shiozaki’s presence in UA Academy was a glaring hole that went against every manipulation tactic. The fact that UA allowed her admission was one thing, but the fact that the Followers allowed her to apply was unthinkable. There had to be a bigger reason behind it, a plan, a plot, or a motive, or they had to have some way of guaranteeing she did not stray away from the cult’s teachings even when she was attending UA.

Why is it that every time I help a girl, I find another girl who needs help?

In doing Saiko’s task, he got to meet Himiko, due to helping Himiko, he got to meet Toru, and now, in striving to help Toru, he would be entangled with Ibara.

Is this really worth it? Can’t I simply find a different person for my oral theory experiments instead of Shiozaki?

He could. 

At the same time, he couldn’t.

Shiozaki was already a person trained by a cult and unlikely to question things. Joining the Followers of One meant being surrounded by people already molded by a cult ideology, and even less likely to question things. The experiments he needed to do in the future for his consent drug would require people and a large sample size. Unless he was planning to abduct criminals off the street and use it on them, he would never get anywhere.

Saiko probably had a solution to that issue, but Izuku did not want to be overly reliant on the girl.

One way or another, he was going to need human test subjects.

Within a cult, there were those more likely to agree, less likely to report him, more likely to support him, and more likely to cover up for him.

Taking the hand, literally and metaphorically, of the Followers of One would open many doors previously considered locked. He did not believe there were no members of the Followers of One in positions of authority and power, with access to information, wealth, and influence to lobby for new initiatives, or circumvent bureaucratic processes and the hassles of red tape.

It was likely he would be able to find an answer to the depths of the corruption of the Public Hero Safety Commission, using the doors unlocked through this method.

Of course, there were downsides. Publicly associating with the cult would close several doors, as there were many who hated the Followers and were firmly on the stance of ‘good.’ Izuku was aware of this. Yet, he believed it necessary. The doors that would be closed from associating with the Followers of One could again be opened by virtue of his status as a student of UA Academy and, ultimately, a status as a Pro-Hero.

Izuku ran his hand through his hair, sighing.

Giving and taking Quirks… is such a thing even possible?

The idea sounded too absurd, but if it was true, if there was a quirk that did just that…

A god.

Izuku’s eyes flickered.

“It makes Izuku-kun a god.”

Was what he was seeking to be? Was that what he was pursuing by seeking to create a drug that could rid the world of quirks? In doing so, he would ‘take’ away all quirks. Would that not make him the same as what the Followers worshipped?

Or would it make him the opposite? 

A False Prophet?

A Fake Messiah?

A Devil?

Izuku did not know. All he knew was that his goals would put him at odds with the Followers of One, sooner or later. The only question was, did he want to be caught blindsided by them when it happened and on his own, or did he want to be a member of their higher echelons and knowledgeable of all weapons they would fashion against him?

But if I aim to create a drug that can suppress quirks…

Could I do the inverse?

Could I… create a drug that bestows quirks?

Could I give myself… someone else’s quirk?  

A bolt of electricity had flashed and filled the air with ozone.

It took only a moment to notice the bolt of electricity was not a figment of his imagination. 

Striding into the class with wild, spiky blond hair, wearing a leather jacket atop his uniform, and a set of headphones, the boy moonwalked into the room, before spinning, and giving them finger guns.

“The most electrifying man in Hero Entertainment, Kaminari Denki, has arrived!"

Chapter Text

The fuck is happening?

When did Izuku become a fuck boy? 

Katsuki was still staring at his oldest, and, possibly, only, friend, who left with the girl, one of their new classmates, then came back minutes later, with her clinging on to him and acting all buddy-buddy lovey-dovey.

What the fuck? He mouthed, not able to understand it, or grasp it, or explain it. 

He never cared much for girls, but there was not caring for girls and there was watching a previously shy, dense-motherfucker start to go through them like he was devouring takeout in a mukbang livestream.

Counting the number of girls he was aware of, there was Suzume, whom Izuku outright told him he fucked, which was a surprise on its own. There was the other one, Saika? Some nerd girl who was famous, and Izuku said he went on dates with her. Then there was this chick, Shiozaki.

What the fuck?

Katsuki wasn’t jealous, of course. This had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy. It was pure annoyance. Irritation. Izuku was his rival, and therefore, someone he had to defeat, but if that rival got bogged down by too many hanger-on chicks, where would that leave him? What if he became like that legendary loser, the No. 1 Pro Hero before All Might, Captain Cel-something? What would that mean, competing with someone like that for first place?

Are you trying to be the Number 1 Pro Hero, or the Number 1 Pro Gigolo?

Katsuki wanted to punch something. He wanted to punch someone. He wanted to grab Izuku by the head and say, Open your fucking eyes and close your fucking legs, you whore.

This had nothing to do with jealousy. He didn’t give two flying fucks about girls, or chicks, or even register them in his worldview. On the road to number one, on the path to greatness, there could be little room for distractions. Back in Aldera, he could have had all the chicks he wanted, but he never wanted them, because he saw them for the bloodsucking parasitic leeches they were.

The Shiozaki chick was giving Izuku ‘come fuck me’ eyes, and Izuku was sitting there, making that constipated face he used to have when he started muttering under his breath. Only now he did it without the muttering because he finally quit that habit. He wasn’t even looking at the girl anymore, the same girl who’d gone from stranger to groupie in the course of the fucking twenty minutes they’d left the classroom.

What the fuck?!

This again, had absolutely positively nothing to do with jealousy.

The door swung open. A snappy, quick, bright yellow bolt of electricity shot through it. Some dumbass blond with spiky hair started moonwalking into the classroom. He spun around, and immediately gave everyone finger-guns.

“The most electrifying man in Hero Entertainment, Kaminari Denki, has arrived!"

Katsuki gave the guy, the dude with a clear and obvious electric quirk, a flat, almost irritated stare. Shiozaki didn’t register his presence, as her eyes had entered hunter-prey mode for Izuku. Fifth Place couldn’t be bothered to give the guy a second look.

“Oof. Tough crowd,” Sparkplug scratched the back of his head. “That usually gets the people going.”

Wait. Kaminari..?

His brain automatically provided numbers: Zero. Thirty-nine. Forty-nine. 

Sixth Place.

Katsuki rose and pointed. “You’re the bastard who got a fu— damned zero on the written exams?”

“Yup, that’s me!”

The boy winked and shot him a large grin.

“It was multiple choice,” Katsuki said, baffled. “How the hell do you get zero on a multiple choice exam?”

“I picked E for every answer.”

Katsuki let out a flat, “What.”

“Yeah, like what are the odds not a single question’s answer was E? That’s gotta be a statistical anomaly, man. I swear. The universe totally had it out for me.”

Everyone was staring at him now. Even Fifth Place was looking at Sparkplug with the same level of absolute ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ that Katsuki had burning in his soul. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, usually I’d pick C for every answer, but it got me thinking, there’s no way these guys don’t know that technique by now. They’d definitely be expecting it, so I had to outsmart them by picking a different letter. That way, they’d never see it coming.”

He tapped the side of his head with his index finger. 

“I thought I outsmarted the examiners, but I ended up outsmarting myself.”

No one said a word.

Izuku shook his head. “But why E’s?”

“All A’s would scream obvious. All B’s would be honey and all D’s would be nuts, so… I went all E’s. Rush E, you know?”

Everyone stared. 

Gently, Katsuki asked, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Swear—” Izuku said, instinctively, before he stopped. “I’ll give you that one.”

The boy swung his blond hair back. “I know. It’s shocking, isn't it?" He gave them finger-guns again. “But now that I’ve stunned you all…”

He immediately turned his attention to Shiozaki. “What’s say we make like a transistor and amplify our feelings?” He took Shiozaki's hand into his, and kissed it lightly. “My friends call me Denki-sama, but you can call me—” 

“Never,” Shiozaki said immediately, withdrawing her hand. “I do not consort with philanderers."

Bullshit, Katsuki swore. 

Sparkplug held his chest in faux pain. “Are you a lightning rod? Because you just grounded my heart."

“Oi, Romeo!" Katsuki bit out. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there.”

“Huh?”

He snorted, shooting a glance at Izuku. “I’m saying your Juliet is in another castle.”

Sparkplug glanced at Izuku. Then he turned back to Shiozaki. A wide grin broke out on his face. 

“Oh, that’s how it is? I knew I could detect an alternating current running through here!”

He stared at Izuku for a moment before he tilted his head. 

“No, wait, it’s a direct current?”

The fuck are you talking about?

“Guess I’m waiting until more girls show up.” Sparkplug gave him a thumbs up. “Gotta go with the flow! The path of least resistance is how the Denki rolls! Thanks for the heads up, man!"

“That's not what I—"

"Soooo," Sparkplug slapped his hands together, not even letting him get a word in. A visible spark emerged from the action. “Anyone catch up with last night's episode of The Bachelorette: Hero Edition? Captain Celebrity still got a rose. Honestly, no one saw that coming.”

Izuku cleared his throat. “Kaminari-san, was it?"

“That's right,” Sparkplug said, pointing. “And you're Midoriya," He pointed again. “Bakugo, Shiozaki, and Shinso—"

Wait, I don’t remember telling you my fucking name.

Even Izuku was surprised. “You know our names?"

Sparkplug tapped his headphones. “They’re all over the waves, man. I can hear it… can’t stop hearing it."

Katsuki stared at the headphones the boy was wearing for the first time. They were those extra-thick ones that had dual functions of noise-cancelling, but also worked as typical headphones with auxiliary cord. The cord dangled from the side, not connected to anything, which meant Sparkplug wasn’t listening to anything, but even if he wasn’t—

How is he hearing us?

He didn’t have any issues hearing them despite those heavy headphones.

“I don’t quite understand, Kaminari-san.”

Katsuki snorted. “I don’t think you want to understand what’s going on up there…”

“Explanations give me a headache, man. I’m a man of action. Demonstrations are how we roll. Here, come on, how about I show you?” Sparkplug wagged a finger. “Try your best to give me a good ol’ knuckle sandwich."

Is he fucking serious?

Katsuki laughed as he hopped over the desk. “Being invited to punch someone's lights out on the first day? I'm already loving this place."

Sparkplug swaying left and right as if dancing to music, and Katsuki wound up his arm.

I’ll only use a little bit of strength, in case this idiot is all talk… just a straight punch should do it.

“A straight."

Katsuki’s back went slick with sweat. His voice came out hoarser than intended. “…what?"

“You were going to throw a straight with your left hand, right?"

The fuck? Is that a bluff? Is he bluffing? No, no way. A right, one jab, let’s see how he—

"Now you're thinking of a jab with your right."

Katsuki backed away; his heart roared in his chest. All the amusement left his face. All the color left his face.

That’s not fucking funny. That’s creepy as fuck. He can read minds? This joker can fucking read my mind?

“Oi. Spill it, bastard. How're you doing that?"

“So get this, my quirk is Electrification. It lets me charge, emit, and absorb electricity. Of course, Kami-sama decided to put a limiter on it cause I’d be too awesome otherwise. Limiter is in my noggin. If I use too much, I’d fry it.”

He tapped his forehead. 

“So, as a kid, I thought, hey, there's electricity in my brain, right? Why don't I just charge it up with as many volts as I can and make myself a galaxy-brain genius?"

That’s the fucking stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.

Izuku coughed loudly. “That isn't quite… how it works."

“Yeah, I learned that the hard way," Sparkplug admitted. “The doctors told me the brain isn’t meant to handle that much electricity. Nothing like hitting the snooze button for fifteen months straight to learn a lesson, am I right?"

The air in the room shifted. No one breathed. Katsuki backed away, slowly. Uneasily. A knot formed in his stomach. Sure, everyone had heard of cases of dumb kids doing dumb shit with their quirks that won them a no-expenses-paid extended vacation at the hospital. It wasn’t news anymore. Most people heard it, shrugged, and forgot about it the next day.

Meeting someone in person who had, in fact, fucked up that bad was rare.

“Fifteen months?" Izuku asked. “You were… in a coma, for over a year?"

“Wasn’t all that bad. I think the worst part of it was having to relearn stuff after the surgery. Words, math, history… ugh, it was torture. A T-shirt probably would have helped. Nothing like a ‘I almost made myself brain dead and all I got was this lousy T-shirt’ on a shirt to really make you feel like the effort was worth it, y’know?”

Sparkplug paused.

“Though my folks probably didn’t find it as funny as I did. Turns out medical bills and your only kid being in a coma really sucks all the life out of your marriage. But, hey, it is what it is, amiright?"

No one said anything.

“Come on, guys, almost killing yourself to gain powers is a core part of the superhero experience! It’s standard Hero 101. Think Lightning Speed Man. Who would he be without that lightning bolt that hit him? Right? Am I right or am I right?” 

The joke didn’t do jack for the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki saw Izuku’s eyes shift with something uncomfortable.

“Geez, tough crowd. You guys aren't getting invited to any house parties I throw, that's for sure. And I throw the best house parties. It kind of helps when you've got two houses."

“None of that explains how you knew our names, or how you can tell what way I'm about to punch you."

“A transcranial magnetic stimulation was one of the medical ops I got. Also, they uh… kinda hacked away at some parts of my brain that were too far gone. Did you know you can technically live with only one half of your brain?"

“It wouldn’t be a fucking surprise…” Katsuki mumbled.

“Anyway, overloading my brain didn't give me a galaxy brain, it probably made me peabrained, but!" Sparkplug pointed at everyone. “Gains, baby! We only look at the gains! And I did get some gains! Electric currents, and some stuff on the electromagnetic spectrum like radio waves… I kinda pick 'em out and tune 'em a bit."

“I thought I was going crazy because I kept waking up to someone saying, ‘GOOD MORNING HOSU CITY!’” he chuckled. “Man, that was a treat. Compared to radio waves, though, brainwaves are really low frequency."

Fifth Place almost jumped to his feet. “So you can read… minds?"

“What? No, no-nononono," Sparkplug crossed his arms over his chest. “Reading? We don’t do that here. I just listen. It’s kinda like… trying to finetune a radio and connect to the right channel. Most of the time, it's just dead air. But! On occasion, you manage to hit that sweet spot and make out words from it before it goes back to static."

Sparkplug pointed at him. 

“Weird thing is, the static gets super clear when someone's directly facing me and ten times clearer when they make eye contact. So, all I gotta do is look in your eyes a bit… and I can kinda hear bits and pieces…"

Wait. If that’s what he’s doing…

"I wanna test something out." Katsuki smacked his fist again. “Let's see you try this time."

Left straight.

"Um… okay?" Sparkplug tilted his head. “You're going for a lef—"

Katsuki’s right fist blurred forward. Denki's hand shot up immediately, catching the fist before it reached his face. Sparkplug blinked in surprise. Katsuki lifted an eyebrow.

The fuck are those reflexes?

“Huh."

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit what you call it. You are reading my thoughts. But you’re only reading the shit that’s on the surface.  If someone is capable of thinking something on the surface and doing something else entirely, you'd be caught with your pants down."

“Oh," Sparkplug said. “Oh. Ohhhh. That's — that's awesome! I didn't know that!"

“It also means it won’t work on people with aphantasia,” Izuku said. “Or anauralia. I wouldn’t recommend relying on it, Kaminari-san.”

“Apha-what now? Ana-who now?”

“Aphantasia. It’s the inability to visualize images. People who can’t imagine a ‘red apple’ in their minds. It’s just blank for them,” Izuku explained. “Anauralia is the same thing, but for auditory images. They can’t imagine music, or sounds, or notes, or possess an inner voice.”

“Woah, woah, hold the phone. You’re saying there’s people out there who don’t… have anything going on in their heads? Like… no voice telling them ‘don’t lick dust’ and ‘don’t talk about boobies in front of the teacher?’ It’s just… silence? Nothing?”

Izuku’s eyes got a shine in them that Katsuki just knew meant he was about to go down another nerd-shit rabbit hole.

“It’s very fascinating. Studies have been conducted questioning the effects of aphantasia on general life experience and—”

“Midoriya, my man, you lost me at studies.”

Katsuki grinned. You know what… this guy isn’t half bad.

Anyone who could share in his disinterest of Izuku’s constant nerd-babble was, in Katsuki’s opinion, someone he would get along with just fine.

The classroom door opened once more. This time, a girl stepped in. At least Katsuki thought it was a girl, because there was nothing to see except a set of floating clothes. The shape looked close-enough to be a girl, and there was a skirt, shoes, socks, and the full she-bang, but it could just as well have been a cross-dressing guy as far as Katsuki could tell.

“Hallo! It’s me! Toru! Is it the right class? Excited!”

“Oh, ho, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Sparkplug chimed.

He began moonwalking, again, and Katsuki proceeded to mentally take back everything he said about getting along with him.

“I’m Kaminari Denki, and you’re—”

“Midoriya-kun! You’re already here!”

There was a collective snapping of necks. Everyone from Shiozaki, to Sparkplug, to Fifth Place turned towards Izuku. Izuku blinked and smiled and waved.

“Hey there, Toru-san.”

Katsuki glanced from Invisi-girl to Izuku, and from Izuku back to Invisi-girl, and then from Invisi-girl to Shiozaki, and from Shiozaki to Izuku.

“Izuku, you're a fucking whore.”

Chapter Text

“I am.”

Kacchan had put him on the spot, but, at the same time, Kacchan had provided him the greatest ammunition he needed to provide an outward-facing flaw he could use to deflect attention.

People generally are averse to individuals who seem outwardly perfect without a visible flaw. From the Pratfall Effect, to Do-Gooder Derogation, the general consensus is that appearing too ‘good,’ too ‘pure,’ and too ‘flawless’ can be a hindrance rather than a benefit, whereas exposing a perceived flaw, mistake, or weakness can make one appear more ‘human.’

Izuku did not believe he was too ‘good’ a person, However, after what Himiko told him, he became aware of the possibility that others who only saw the outward shell, his outward actions, would most likely think so. Thus, Kacchan’s actions, either wittingly or unwittingly, had provided Izuku what he needed to dispel that fatal illusion.

Oh, he’s perfect, but he’s a womanizer—

Oh, he’s a 10/10, but he likes women a bit too much—

That ‘but’ was crucial. The ‘but’ indicated a contradiction, and contradictions made people human. Physically, Izuku was aware he had no flaws. His teeth were so perfect they shone and blinded people, his body was flawless, as if carved from stone by one of the Italian Greats, and his appearance was good enough to become a world-class model with zero effort. Mentally, he had one or two hiccups, but no one was going to be strolling through his mind to see them, and Izuku would never allow those to be seen regardless. Socially, likewise, he appeared to have no flaws. If anything, his social background would paint a picture of someone almost too perfect, having gone from quirkless, bullied, and shunned, to where he was now. It was a rags-to-riches, pauper-to-prince story that would only make him appear even more perfect.

That was a problem.

Izuku did not want to appear overly perfect.

Himiko’s words still lingered in his ears.

‘Izuku-kun’s Quirk is Perfection.’

Perfection was beyond human. It was suspicious. Being suspicious meant inviting more scrutiny, and inviting more scrutiny meant increasing the odds of others uncovering his true goals.

Of the three facets, he could not give himself physical flaws, and he could not allow anyone to be aware of his mental ones, which left only the social aspect he could sacrifice to dispel the appearance of perfection.

It had to be a flaw that, whilst still generally accepted as a flaw and disapproved of, it was, to varying degrees, socially acceptable. Of the Seven Deadly Sins of the pre-Quirk Era religious philosophy, Lust was the least contemptible. A person prone to wrath was disliked, a person who was gluttonous provoked disgust, a person needlessly slothful evoked discontent, a person overtly greedy or envious of others aroused contempt, and a person excessively proud incited schadenfreude and prayers for their downfall. 

Womanizing, being a ‘playboy’ was the easiest flaw that would cause many to click their tongues, but it was also a flaw they would begrudgingly accept. It’s only natural, they would say. With his looks, what did you expect? They would grumble. If I looked like that, I’d do the same, they would mutter.

It was, if Izuku was being honest, a flaw he had no qualms indulging to the fullest.

“I am whore, Kacchan,” Izuku admitted, fine-tuning his emotions to the same lackadaisical state as though he were speaking about the weather. “It’s very liberating to be properly identified. Thank you.”

Kacchan opened his lips, pointed, tried to conceive of some reply, but acceptance of the accusation had left him no different from a defused bomb. He ran his hand through his hair. “The… hell?”

“Um… am I missing something? Haha, confused…” Toru blinked.

Izuku got up to his feet, moved over to Toru, and took her hand. Honestly, he was the only one capable of doing so, as he was the only one who could see her hand to begin with, and then he took Shiozaki’s hand, who was still staring.

“Eh? M-Midoriya-san?”

“M-Midoriya-kun?”

Using flawless, precise, carefully controlled movements. He twirled them both, and, at the end of the twirl, pulled them both close to him, putting his arms around their waists.

Kacchan looked as though All Might had converted to villainy.

Shinso-san looked as though the world was ending.

Kaminari-san was staring with wide, sparkling eyes, as if he had seen the doors of heaven. 

“Girls didn’t give me any attention before I got my Quirk,” Izuku admitted truthfully. “I think, because of that, I can’t resist girls at all.”

Izuku turned to Toru and then to Shiozaki and smiled.

“I'm the kind of scum that can’t be satisfied with just one beautiful girl.”

The admission swept across the room like lightning.

Both of them blushed up a furious storm. No one could see Toru, so only Shiozaki appeared to be blushing.

Neither of them said anything, not a word of rebuke, nor a word of complaint, nor a grumble. Izuku calculated as much. Toru was already aware that he had a ‘girlfriend’ and had been willing to go on a date with her despite that, which indicated her flexibility on the matter. Moreover, as he was the only one who could see her, she would not be willing to lose him even if it meant having to share him. Shiozaki, on the other hand, had grown up in a cult, and the idea of polygamy was not only something she was familiar with, but something she was openly expecting.

If he had pulled this stunt with Saiko, she probably would have pushed him away. With Himiko… Izuku genuinely could not predict her reaction. However, due to taking those factors into account, due to his understanding of both girls, neither Shiozaki nor Toru rejected him. Both, instead, merely covered their red, heated faces and looked away in embarrassment.

“S-shameless…” Shiozaki stammered.

“M-Midoriya-kun… you’ve hijacked my first impression! Embarrassed!”

None of their internal reasons, nor his calculations, however, were known to the other boys in the class.

Kaminari thumped his chest with his fist as tears leaked from his eyes. “MIDORIYA MY MAN! You’re a bro! A true bro! The bro-est! The bro-est of all! AH! MY BRUDDA!”

Kacchan looked as if he had swallowed not one, not two, but maybe three or four bitter lemons back-to-back. Shinso turned away, trying his hardest to act unconcerned. Izuku let go of both girls, spinning them with a precision only he possessed, until Shiozaki was back in her seat, and only Toru was left in his hands, still red-faced and dazed.

I should thank Kacchan for this opportunity.

The truth was, attempting to deny the accusation would not only paint him in a bad light, it would paint what he was doing as somehow morally or ethically wrong, and that he was aware of it, embarrassed at it, or mortified by it.

Izuku was not.

Embarrassment? The notion that he could feel embarrassed from being the center of attention of multiple girls was embarrassing in and of itself. Multiple girls were attracted to him, either due to his appearance, his charisma, or his deeds or words. Humiliation? What was there to be humiliated about Mortification? What reason was there to be mortified? He felt neither of those things.

Why should he?

“Toru-san, would you be willing to join me at the school workshop later?”

“W-workshop?”

“So we can work on creating your hero outfit together.”

It was possible to create a set of clothes using one’s hair to allow their clothes to work with their quirk; however, due to Toru’s invisibility quirk, her hair strands were invisible. The effort and labor that would be needed to work with invisible material would be intense, and it was not something the girl or anyone without intensely specialized equipment was capable of doing. Even then, it wouldn’t be easy at all.

As such, Izuku was 99% certain that Toru’s current Hero Outfit, the one that students were required to make or bring themselves and use for practicals, was just her being naked. Maybe with a set of gloves or some boots for added protection. While it wouldn’t be a concern for literally anyone else, as the only person in the world who could always see her…

“Oh. Oh. Right! You can… that’s right… My current outfit would be… … um… hard on you… Midoriya-kun.”

“Very.”

Her cheeks burned even redder. For the first time, Izuku felt a strange sense of… enjoyment at being the only one who could see Toru’s flustered expressions. There was a certain privacy to it he could not explain, from knowing they were his and his alone to enjoy. Fortunately, even if he did ‘fix’ her, allowing her to be visible, her invisibility would still not work on him, meaning that sense of intimacy would never truly be gone.

Toru left his grasp with a hop in her step, moving towards her seat at the back of the class, somehow trying to make herself even more invisible than she already was, and soothe her embarrassment. Izuku had no need to do so, and thus, could still stand at the front of the class smiling as though nothing had happened.

“Mi-do-ri-ya, my man,” Kaminari chipped in. “You’ve totally amped me up. I don’t think I’ve been this shocked by anyone since… myself!”

Kaminari smacked his palms, and lightning danced off of them.

“We’ve got to go a few rounds later, man! After school, maybe?”

“Rounds?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Like…” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “You can’t expect the most Electrifying Man in Hero Entertainment to let someone else be more electrifying than him, can you?”

Kaminari-san…

Kaminari Denki was like Kacchan.

He's strong.

A lot of people who would be coming to Class 1A were no doubt going to be strong. They were going to be like Kacchan, and they were going to be the best of the best, and the elites of the elites, all of whom were gunning for the position and title of No.1.

Unfortunately… Kaminari-san… I’m beyond strength. 

Izuku had been disillusioned ever since learning about how corrupt the Public Hero Safety Commission was and the complicity involved within it. He was still searching for answers to that complicity, and as days passed and he found no answers, every Pro-Hero who maintained silence was complicit. His respect and idolization for Pro Heroes had dwindled greatly.

If even the No. 1 Pro Hero, his greatest idol, was complicit in a corrupt system, of what merit was being the champion of that system? If the influence and prestige provided by being the No. 1 Pro Hero was not even enough to overturn a corrupt system, of what use was it? How could one claim to be a Symbol of Peace when they arbitrarily selected whose peace they protected?

Izuku’s goals had long gone beyond being the No. 1 Pro Hero.

If he succeeded in his goal to rid the world of quirks, what value would that title have?

If he didn’t succeed in his goal, it meant he was either dead or imprisoned; thus, what value would that title have?

The title and esteem of “Number 1 Student” was something Izuku held pride in, yet similar disinterest for. The only reason he would maintain it was to make his mother happy and for the benefits and connections that would come from it. 

Kaminari’s challenge was earnest, but underneath the earnestness was a desire for competition. However, Izuku had grown above competing with others.

What was the point? 

There was no one on his level, physically, academically, socially, and even mentally.

No one was his equal, and no one could compare.

After all, he was p—

A shudder ran through Izuku’s spine as he stopped that thought in its tracks. His back went stiff.

I’m what…?

That dangerous thought that had come to him had terrified him. He needed to dissuade himself of it as soon as he could. An overinflated sense of one’s abilities was often quoted as the cause of the downfall of many men.

Kaminari… yes… his quirk is Electrification. No visible alterations or notable physiological differences. A pure emitter type, with potential side effects as a mutant type. Side-ability of limited precognition via reading brainwaves and surface thoughts. Combat ability…

Izuku perfectly memorized Kaminari catching Kacchan's punch. Kacchan hadn't augmented it with his explosions, but all the same, that was no small feat, and pointed to the boy’s keen reflexes. Kacchan's punches were no joke. Izuku sparred with him every day, and he was vividly aware of their speed and the fact that they only got faster and faster and faster. Kacchan was training so he'd be able to throw a punch so fast that Izuku's automatic reflexes wouldn't be able to dodge.

Yet Kaminari Denki caught it without so much as blinking.

Maybe… yes… Kaminari-san…?

“There’s no need to wait till later. We can do it here and now.”

Everyone turned to stare at him. Kacchan's brows narrowed immediately. “Oi… Izuku… the hell?"

“Er… here?" Kaminari scratched his head. “In the class?"

“I need to confirm something."

Kaminari blinked owlishly, then he grinned. “Shocker after shocker, damn, Midoriya, you sure you don’t have an electric quirk?”

Izuku smiled. “Maybe I’ll consider getting one.”

“Having a fight in the middle of the classroom, on the first day of the semester, is stupid," Shinso called out. “And prone to be punished.”

“Um… that doesn’t seem like a good idea… Midoriya-kun… worried, haha…” Toru chipped in nervously.

Shiozaki slowly nodded. “It wouldn’t be… wise, if you end up making a mess of the classroom.”

"We won't," Izuku said, assuredly. “Don’t worry. We won’t be using anything flashy. Right, Kaminari-san?

“But flashy is what I’m best known for!"

“Kaminari-san…”

“Fine, fine, no flashy stuff,” Kaminari sighed. “First to land a hit instead?"

You really think you can hit me? 

Izuku couldn’t help the soft chuckle that came from the thought of it.

“That works."

They moved to the front of the classroom. Izuku counted about five feet between them. Kaminari excitedly bounced on his feet, and Izuku moved into a casual, open stance. The boy's eyes sparked with yellow, crackling electricity. His hair stood on end. They spiked upwards, almost as though he were undergoing some sort of anime transformation.

The classroom was silent enough that Izuku could hear individual breaths. Kaminari was his only focus; nothing else entered his vision, and nothing else was his concern. There, in that split second of absolute concentration, he noticed a change in Kaminari Denki.

A smirk.

“Alright… at the toss of a pen…" Kacchan grabbed a pen. “Three… two… one…"

The pen soared. Midoriya's conscious thought lagged several seconds behind reality. The world slowed to an absolute crawl. Kaminari lunged. While everyone else was frozen, Kaminari moved at regular speed. His right fist came swinging through the air. Izuku estimated he was moving at least six-to-ten times faster than the average human.

Izuku’s eyes crinkled in surprise.

Augmentation. He’s augmenting his body’s physical speed beyond human limits through his Electrification Quirk?

If this were a contest of pure speed, Izuku admitted he would lose. However, the core of Precision, the core of his Quirk, did not lie in speed, but in Precision.

All day long, Izuku, even before he possessed his Quirk, had done nothing but analyze and theorize different quirks and their strengths and weaknesses. There was no way he would not theorize about his own. His theory was that, barring area-of-effect attacks and long-range barrages, there was nothing he could not react to in time.

What his body was reacting to wasn’t Kaminari’s speed, but rather, the subconscious windups, motions, flexes, turns, and shifts that predated his next action. Izuku’s eyes were sharp. There were colors he could see that others could not, and ranges of vision he could perceive that others were not aware of. His full spectrum of vision was keener than any human, and only certain animals would be able to compare.  The only way to avoid him seeing the windups and thus evading an attack would be to wear a full black cloak that hid every single motion, which Kaminari did not.

Izuku’s right hand snapped upwards in an open palm, obscuring Kaminari’s field of view. He weaved under the punch as a gust of air swept forward. Denki’s eyes went wide. He, too, mimicked the action, weaving and bringing his left fist or an uppercut.

Izuku avoided it, wasting zero effort as he spun on the balls of his feet. The uppercut moved at an odd angle and became a flurry of jabs. Each one, he avoided, swaying left, then right, then left, then right again.

Kaminari’s windups were clear and too obvious. Izuku instantly sensed that Kaminari was the ‘Toru’ of fighting. Just as Toru did not know how to hide her expressions because no one had ever been able to see them, Kaminari did not know how to mask or feint his attacks because no one had ever been able to react to them.

It did not help that Kaminari himself was a fairly straightforward individual with a fairly simple mindset, and that showed in his straightforward, simple attacks. Compared to Kacchan, who had learned to mix feints, unorthodox attacks, attacks from irregular angles, attacks from below, above, using even dirty tactics like feinting a low-blow, feinting a gut-punch, and even pretending to toss pocket sand— 

Kaminari fought ‘cleanly.’

Thus, he fought ‘predictably.’

Afterimages blurred. Izuku bobbed and weaved with the flawless precision of the pre-Quirk Era’s greats, and Kaminari’s punches continued like lightning. He was Ali, floating like a Butterfly. He was Lee, flowing like water. Each punch pierced the air and left it with the faint crackling sensation of static. Each attack was comparable to a barrage let loose from a semi-automatic, and Izuku's brow lifted as the speed began to ramp up considerably.

He can go even faster?

Kaminari had begun moving faster. He began adding feints into the mix. The feints were few and far between, but they were erratic and random, and keeping track of them started to force Izuku to begin stepping backwards as he avoided the attacks. 

I see.

Izuku’s eyes shone.

If it were the him of several months ago, he would have been caught off guard. No, if it were the him who hadn’t gone on a date with Toru, the him who hadn’t spent several hours thinking about her invisibility quirk, how best she could use it effectively, how best it could be used for heroics, he would have been caught flatfooted. However, Izuku constantly learned from those around him. He was always learning from others and improving through that.

Toru told him she was the girl with the world’s brightest smile.

Izuku believed it was only his right to match her.

Izuku smiled.

His teeth, when put on full display, were very shiny.

Glimpsing them at the right angle, especially when unexpected, and in the heat of combat, was enough to force one to close their eyes shut, or divert their gaze purely out of instinct. It was human instinct to squint, recoil, or turn away from a sudden brightness. No one could stare directly into the sun unless they had a few screws missing.

This—

Kaminari Denki had more than a few screws missing.

Staring into the bright, shiny teeth, his attacks continued, without stopping, not even registering the brightness. Izuku’s tactic, perhaps, would have worked on anyone else, but he had grossly underestimated Kaminari’s refusal to adhere to common sense.

It was as if the boy’s photoreceptors had been completely fried along with his brain.

Caught off guard by the ineffectiveness of the tactic, he was forced onto the defensive, moving backwards, backstepping, evading, weaving, until he was forced with his back against the door, and forced into an angle where he could not dodge. Thus— 

SMACK.

Izuku's own fist extended, outward, slamming into Denki's face, only to be caught by a hand, and Denki's own fist, extended, directly into Izuku's face, only to be caught by Izuku's hand. 

They were deadlocked.

Neither of them could attack the other, and neither of them could defend.

The echo of plastic on ceramic resounded louder than anything Izuku had ever heard.

The pen, which signified the start of their fight, finally hit the floor.

“Whoa," Kaminari said, with wide eyes. “You're… really, really good…"

“You're augmenting your muscles by stimulating them with electricity," Izuku noted. “But that wouldn't make them move that fast. You're… bypassing commands from your brain entirely and using electricity to move your muscles… so your attacks aren’t registering on a conscious level. That’s why they can’t be interrupted by external stimuli… It’s like a current that flows and has to keep flowing."

“Hey! Hey! No dissecting my secret techniques! Not cool!" Kaminari didn't look all that offended, despite his words. “You were dodging entirely on instinct, weren't you? Man, that’s broken. But, I don’t get it, why didn’t you try to attack?”

Izuku only smiled. 

At the end of the day, Precision makes my abilities only above those of a World-Class Athlete.  Even pushed to its extreme limit, I can never ‘move faster than a locomotive.’ Even if my punching speed is ten, twenty, forty times faster than the World’s Greatest Boxer… compared to someone moving at the speed of electricity, it would still be laughably slow.

“That’s a secret technique of my own.”

There were other ways I could take you out, but whether those would work would be an exercise comparable to invoking Zeno’s Paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise… 

In pure speed, he could not compete. Reacting was the best he could do when against true superhuman speed. The only way he could see himself stopping Denki was simply to not fight him, or to come prepared specifically against him, or to outlast him in sheer stamina in a large, open space.

Without having sufficient time and preparation, victory could not be guaranteed.

“But really, Midoriya, you're scary, man. No one’s ever been able to dodge my attacks before. They never even see it coming. Usually I’m like ‘bzzzt’ and bam! They don’t know what hits ‘em. What's your quirk called?"

“Precision."

Kaminari let go of his hand, and Izuku let go of Kaminari's hand. The boy grinned at him and wrapped his arm around him.

“You’re a real bro, man," Denki said. “I get it. Hell, I can’t even be jealous. I see why the girls like you. You’re almost as electrifying as I am."

He turned back to look at the girls and whispered. “But you gotta promise to leave some girls for the rest of us. It’s a shocking confession, but I’m not a monk, man! I’m begging you here!”

Izuku smiled.

“Ah… eh? It’s over? I didn’t see anything… confused…” Toru muttered.

“W-what just… happened?" Shiozaki stared.

“I don't know," Shinso muttered. “They… were too fast."

The only one who wasn’t looking lost was Kacchan. Kacchan didn’t believe it. Izuku himself had trouble accepting it. 

I've never been cornered before…

Izuku replayed the fight over and over in a floating screen at the corner of his vision. The weakness, the painful flaw of Precision, were there, clear and visible. The limits it had, the restraints it possessed were things he theorized, but now, confirming it…

Against an enemy that can fly with high maneuverability…

Against an enemy that can teleport…

Against an enemy with overwhelming speed…

Against an enemy that can barrage me with attacks in an area too large to evade… 

He needed to cover those weaknesses. He needed to eliminate those flaws. He needed to. He needed to.

He needed to. He needed to. He needed to.

There was an itch. It was the same itch he got when he saw the uneven forks amongst his mother's cutlery that demanded he throw them out. It was the same itch he got when he looked at his food served into a disorderly mess and had to organize it into precise, well-ordered portions before he ate. The same itch he got at seeing filth and dirt and grime. A nauseating feeling from the depths of his soul that spoke to a revulsion he could not ignore.

How?

The weaknesses, those flaws, were not things his Quirk could overcome on its own.

Not without another Quirk.

The thought seemed foolish to even consider. Yet, he was reconsidering it, as he had, before Kaminari entered the classroom.

A drug that can bestow quirks. A method to bestow other quirks to myself.

The world had confirmed that attempting to implant quirks into others was an exercise doomed to failure. The bodies of people could not withstand more than one quirk, and the results of those ghastly experiments often left the individuals subjected to such things as broken, lifeless husks.

But those people did not have Precision.

With Precision, he could personally finetune his body and allow it to ‘accept’ other Quirks, just as he had managed to use Precision on Suzume and allow it to ‘change’ her Quirk, putting an exception code for him, and only him, and just as he planned to use it to edit Toru’s quirk factor and ‘shut off’ her permanent invisibility.

Across one of the many floating boards in his vision, Izuku noted the board where the actions he’d done to Suzume were recorded, and a board where information about Shiozaki’s cult was listed, and he found a strange connection.

Bestowing Quirks… and Taking Quirks…

In theory, what I did to Suzume can be considered as ‘Bestowing’ my quirk… I left behind a piece of myself, which would manifest in her future children.

If I can leave a piece of myself in my Quirk and thus, put it in her Quirk…

Do… Do all Quirks all contain a piece of their holders? 

Izuku pondered it.

No, that wouldn’t be possible. If it were so, it would mean the person the Followers of One worship who can bestow and take Quirks would be taking several identities and conflicting personality traits with him… and bestowing a Quirk would also bestow different personalities upon the individual.

Izuku shot a fleeting glance at Shiozaki.

I’ll have to ask her. If the people who were recorded to have been ‘bestowed’ Quirks in her Cult suddenly showed significant personality changes… However, those could just be a result of the nature of the Quirk itself. Like my Precision, it changed my personality, that doesn’t mean I was ‘given’ this quirk…

Izuku believed it to be a needless concern, but even then, there was no harm in being prudent.

To err on the side of caution, if I am to choose a second quirk to obtain… I’ll need to choose a person whose blood is similar to mine, and a person who has absolutely no ill-will towards me. It should ensure the lowest odds of rejection.

“Thank you, Kaminari-san,” Izuku rubbed his hand. “This spar has been very helpful.”

“Yeah, man. Uh, are you okay? You've been scratching something furious...”

Izuku stared at his hand. The same hand he used to catch Kaminari's punch. Long, red scratches had dug deep into his otherwise flawless skin.

The sight revolted him.

“I'm fine. Mild allergies.”

Izuku pinned a new item to his floating board.

Obtain A Second Quirk.

Once he obtained another Quirk, he would cover those limited weaknesses, those unsightly, disgusting flaws of Precision. Once he did, his Quirk, would again return to being...

Perfect.

Chapter Text

I fucked up.

Katsuki was a person who was willing to own up to his mistakes. As someone aiming for the title of Number 1 Pro Hero, it was a trait that was demanded by necessity. Thus, the moment Izuku turned his accidental outburst into a whole fucking show with smoke and mirrors, Katsuki immediately understood, I fucked up.

He let his stupid, momentary feeling of annoyance — not jealousy, he wasn’t fucking jealous — blind him to an obvious fact, and a clear cry for help.

Izuku was drowning in pussy.

And not in the good fucking way.

Watching Izuku grab a girl on each arm and say something as brain-dead retarded as being unable to be satisfied with more than one girl, that was the moment that Katsuki looked at him and felt:

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Izuku?

That, not anything that came before, not his constant nerd talk, not the way he talked about heroics, not even his odd eating habits, or anything that came before. It was that moment. 

The reason was because the Izuku he knew cared only about two dumb things: helping people and saving people.

The Izuku he knew was selfless to a fault.

The mere action of stating he couldn’t be satisfied with one girl was selfish to a fault.

It was the antithesis of Izuku. Thus, Katsuki instantly knew Izuku was bullshitting him. It was a lie, a trick, a con, a deception, meant not to just bullshit him but bullshit everyone around him.

And everyone would eat it up—

Except him.

Because he was the one who knew Izuku best.

Because Izuku never lied.

Not once. He told him about drawing porn, about fucking a classmate, about going on dates, about the tons of dumb shit that went through his mind at all days and all times, and sure, maybe he withheld the truth once or twice, but a deliberate, blatant, outright bullshit lie like this one?

It was the first time.

That was all Katsuki needed to know that shit was hitting the fan.

Izuku was doing something genuinely fucked up or planning on doing something extremely fucked up, so he needed this to hide attention from the fact that he was doing or planning on doing something genuinely fucked up.

Katsuki was certain that whatever he was doing was uber-super fucked, which demanded the need for such a large smoke-and-mirror. Katsuki was also certain that the real reason Izuku made that stupid, unbelievable claim was because he had gotten into some deep, stupid shit with or concerning both girls, and he couldn’t leave one or the other hanging because of his broken ‘I must save everyone’ mindset.

The damned goody-two-shoes probably didn’t even think there was something wrong with that mindset. He probably didn’t even register it as a massive, glaring flaw and giant red flag. Wanting to save everyone was fucked and stupid. It meant he was being pulled at the seams by the whims of others, and his stupid, fucked up mentality of ‘saving everyone’ and ‘believing in everyone’ would have him doing dumb shit, and dumber shit, and justifying himself by saying he was doing it all for the sake of others.

Just like how he let his classmates at Aldera pile him with their books, just like how that perv creep Matsuda got him to draw porn, Izuku would always try to ‘save’ people, to ‘help’ people by however means possible, even if it meant sacrificing his time, energy, body, sweat, conscience and morals to do so.

For Invisi-Girl, Katsuki could already see the writing on the wall, and he could tell for a fact that being perma-invisible would suck ass. No doubt she whimpered some sob story into Izuku’s ears, and being the self-proclaimed defender of the downtrodden, he decided to help her. For Thorn-girl, she was clearly some religious nutjob. Izuku took one look at her and said, ‘Oh, no, you’re being abused! I’ll save you!’ and decided to do what Izuku did best: charge head first like a white-fucking-knight on a white-fucking-horse.

Izuku always did that. He always fucking did it, and Katsuki hated it.

Izuku would always charge headfirst without thinking.

His feet moved first, then his mind followed after.

If it wasn’t his feet doing the moving, it was his ‘heart’ doing the moving. Rushing to ‘save’ people without stopping to consider how, or why, or if he should, or if it’s a bad move, or if it’ll get him killed.

Can’t resist girls at all? The kind of scum who can’t be satisfied with one girl? Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling with that bullshit?

At his core, at the core of Midoriya Izuku was a single desire:

‘Be a Hero.’

The problem was, Izuku’s definition of ‘heroism’ meant being a fucking thankless slave.

You’re going to be drowning in girls, trying to fix all their issues… and everyone is going to think you’re having the time of your life, when all you’re doing is trying to stop a thousand fucking leaks from sprouting on a sinking ship… 

You’ll be drowning, and everyone will high-five your raised hand, too fucking far up their asses to realize you’re reaching for air…

Katsuki didn’t say anything. There was no point in calling out Izuku’s bluff here and now or in pointing out how fucked the boy’s mindset was. The boy would never admit to anything, and Katsuki would only just get more pissed at him for doing so. 

He would wait till later, and then properly ask Izuku about what the hell he’d gotten himself into. Izuku wouldn’t lie. If he did lie, then Katsuki would only be certain it was something completely FUBAR.

At that point, he would march up to the Midoriya home himself and tattle to Inko.

Fuck not being a snitch, he would rather be a snitch than let Izuku dig himself deeper and deeper into whatever hole he was digging. He would rather be a snitch than have to speak to Izuku through a telephone on one side of a glass wall, or worse, speak to a tombstone littered with wilting flowers.

He said nothing, only watching as the fucking farce of a show continued, and as Sparkplug asked to spar later, Izuku suddenly switched gears and said he wanted to spar in the classroom.

The fuck is going on in his head?

Katsuki grabbed a pen and moved forward.

Fuck it.

“Alright… at the toss of a pen…" 

…

…

The sound of a pen clattered to the ground.

What… the… fuck?

Sparkplug had managed to force Izuku into a corner.

Sparkplug, the goofy ass guy with the electricity puns and moonwalking, managed to force Izuku into a corner.

Katsuki was giddy. Katsuki was pissed. Katsuki was happy. Katsuki was furious. A torrent of conflicting emotions swept over him at the same time, and his brain went completely blank.

What the fuck?

He had never managed to touch Izuku, not once, in spars. Not once, not ever. Yet the guy in Sixth Place just managed to do what he couldn’t?

He had followed the entire fight from start to finish, with some difficulty, and the answer he saw was simply that Izuku couldn’t react quickly enough to his speed.

No, it’s not just that, it’s the confined area…

That’s… it? You’re telling me all I fucking needed to do to beat him was overload him with attacks in a confined area?

Katsuki had never fought Izuku in an enclosed space. His quirk was not designed for fighting in enclosed spaces. Objects would either catch aflame, burn, ricochet in unpredictable, dangerous ways from the explosion, or create a host of complications that were too dangerous to attempt even in a friendly spar.

He had theorized it was possible, but at the same time, he didn’t have the toolset needed to make it possible without potentially making a friendly spar into a lethal fight. 

Fucking hell…

He was overcome with fucking glee at finally seeing Izuku be touched in a fight and also pissed that it wasn’t him who was responsible for it, but the guy in SIXTH FUCKING PLACE!

…The guy who managed to get Sixth Place despite getting a big fat zero on the Written Exam.

That part managed to snap him back to reality.

If Sparkplug had taken the Exam seriously instead of dicking around—

It was possible, entirely possible… that he would be in Second Place—

If not First.

That snapped him to reality.

He turned to the other people in the classroom. Thus far, minus Invisi-girl, who he had no clue how the hell she passed, Fifth Place, who was broody and silent, and thorn-girl over there whose hair was useful…

Sparkplug was a true, blue, genuine contender for top student, if not No. 1 Hero.

At least there’s someone here who can fucking give Izuku a run for his money—

Katsuki frowned.

Wait, why the fuck did this come back to being about Izuku? Fuck! Damn it!

In his eyes, Izuku had always been ‘the guy to beat.’ If the ‘guy to beat’ could be beaten, and if they were beaten by someone who wasn’t him, what good did that fucking do him?

Katsuki mumbled words under his breath about ‘stupid’, but his frown deepened as he saw the boy start scratching at his hand. The same hand he used to catch the punch at the end of that fight.

What the hell is up with that…?

Katsuki had never seen Izuku scratch his hand like that before.

However, he had never seen Izuku lose a fight before.

Technically, it was a draw, but the fact that he was forced into a situation where he couldn’t dodge counted as a loss in Katsuki’s eyes, and it no doubt would count as one in Izuku’s eyes.

Don’t fucking tell me it’s something ridiculous like he’s allergic to losing or something…? 

Or… allergic to being touched?

Izuku was already anal enough with the way he ate, and his habits all being neat and orderly and ‘precise,’ but Katsuki chalked it up to the standard OCD package that came from his Quirk. It didn’t harm anything, really, or hurt anyone, but Izuku himself once prattled on about how OCD was more than just being anal about germs. It was fucking called obsessive and compulsive for a reason, because there were obsessions and compulsions.