I. White
"We'd like to transfer you to class 1-A."
This is not how I thought my day would go.
I remained frozen in front of Principal Nezu, who just smiled at me as if he didn't just drop an announcement like that onto me. I was already nervous enough. I was suddenly called from my lunch period without being given a reason why, and when I entered the office, Aizawa-sensei and my own teacher, Kan-sensei, all stood before me. My heart was racing. My palms were clammy. I don't understand what's happening.
"Um… w-why?" I asked. I wanted to appear confident, as if this entire ordeal wasn't affecting me as much as it was, but on top of my voice being barely more than a whisper, it also cracked. So much for making a good impression.
"You're strong, Fukurota-san," Kan-sensei said. I cringed and tightly gripped the sides of the chair I was sitting on. I couldn't figure out what they were getting at. I noticed the way Kan-sensei's hand tensed, even with his arms crossed over his chest. I noticed the almost disturbed look in Aizawa-sensei's eyes. And I especially noticed the way Principal Nezu kept smiling at me. I was unsettled— not because he was doing it but because he kept doing it. I had a feeling they knew something that I didn't.
"Um—"
"You're a bit of a special case, Fukurota-san," Principal Nezu said. My breath caught in my throat just as I inhaled. A special case. My mind quickly became preoccupied with the countless possibilities of what those three words could mean. It could have meant the school board took pity on me because I was just that pathetic, and a transferal into class 1-A would make me feel a little bit better about myself. It could also have meant the exact opposite— that I managed to get such prodigal scores on the few training sessions we've done since school started, that the school board thought it would be better if I was in class 1-A.
The first option was too self deprecating. The second was completely unrealistic.
"It isn't impossible for students from other classes to transfer to the hero course," Aizawa-sensei finally commented. I wasn't sure if I felt more or less at ease now that he had spoken. I only knew that I didn't feel eased at all. "It isn't common, but it has happened in the past."
"We came to the conclusion that we should allow your transfer on behalf of your father," Principal Nezu continued. It was for just a second— only a second— but in that second, I had forgotten how to breathe. I let out a cough. Aizawa-sensei raised a brow while Kan-sensei looked concerned. Knowing my father was the one behind this didn't make me feel much better. No, as a matter of fact, it made me feel a bit worse. My heart began to race and my palms began to sweat. Again.
"Your father believes 1-A is more… appropriate for you," Kan-sensei said. His voice remained calm but I could see in his eyes he was anything but. I couldn't blame him.
"In the end, we agreed with him," Principal Nezu added. "We considered things such as your Quirk, your score in the entrance exam, and results of the training exercises your teacher has conducted."
I exhaled deeply. Shakily. I wasn't sure how to process this. It had only been a little over a week since school started, but I was already being thrown into an entirely new class. I had my father to blame, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it except grin and bear it.
I wasn't particularly angry. No, that term would be inaccurate to describe my feelings. Disheartened, probably, was better. Disheartened that I'd have to relive this week with new people. Discouraged, because this wasn't a thing I could refute. Dispirited, because even if my father implanted in the teacher's heads that I was too good for 1-B, I knew that 1-A was too good for me. This transferal was final— if I couldn't catch up, I would flat out fail. Not take backs. No turn arounds. Only failure.
"Your first day is tomorrow."
I barely managed to crack a smile.
I've been told that when I was born, I didn't cry.
My father said I looked at him and my mother with wide, golden eyes that reflected the stars in the sky. He said I had a head full of white hair and my parents immediately decided to name me Yukiko because I reminded them so much of the snow that was falling outside that night. What fascinated them the most, though, were wings. My wings, wrapped around me like a cocoon, placing a physical barrier between me and the world I would come to know.
My wings seemed to be a indicator, a sign of something more. Metaphorically, they meant I would rise against all struggles and obstacles, and touch the sky that held all my dreams and ambitions. Literally, they meant I could fly. I was three years old when I fully spread my wings for the first time. Like my father's, they were white, but unlike his, they had flecks of black. I fluttered them and danced around without a care in the world because finally, I was a step closer to becoming like the man I had admired and looked up to for three short years. I was still a toddler, but I knew what this meant for me. I knew what it meant for the both of us.
My wings were going to take me places unimaginable.
In the midst of childhood memories and mild nostalgia, I suddenly remembered where I was and what I was doing, and I had to calm myself down when my heart suddenly jumped. My wings fluttered out of instinct. I pulled at the hem of my skirt and adjusted my tie. I felt the bun I preferred to tie my hair into, and yanked at a few strands to allow them to fall around my face. All in all, I only wanted to look presentable.
I could hear Aizawa-sensei's muffled voice through the door, and as soon as my name was said, my heart jumped and my blood ran cold. I took a few deep breaths and slid the classroom door opened. I kept my eyes to the floor as I walked inside, only looking up when I reached the front of the room and examined my new classmates. They weren't quite as colorful as 1-B, but they all had their own unique characteristics to them. But above that, they all looked powerful. They all seemed to exude this aura, this sense of self assuredness that 1-B mostly lacked.
"Well?"
My gaze traveled to Aizawa-sensei and he looked back at me expectantly. I was confused for the first few moments, but then I realized— I was standing here this entire time and hadn't introduced myself. Quickly, I bowed, with my hands clasped in front of me, before rising back to my full height. Now embarrassed, I found it difficult to meet my classmates' eyes.
"Um… m-my name is Yukiko Fukurota," I sputtered out like a stalled engine. "It's nice to meet you…!"
"She's been transferred in from class 1-B. Please take care of her," Aizawa-sensei said. I figured my moment of public humiliation was over, so I bowed again and hurried over to the empty desk on the far side of the room. As I weaved through the aisle, I was careful not to let my wings hit anyone, and I took my seat. I felt like a foreigner, a peasant in the shroud of the elites. I began to feel heavy.
For a world where eighty percent of the population is blessed with unique powers known as Quirks, I found that many held a morbid curiosity for those with wings, particularly. For many, wings symbolize freedom. Independence. A misguided sense of invincibility that stemmed from the idea that if one had wings, they could simply fly away from any and everything that caused them harm. I, however, felt the exact opposite.
More often than not, my wings felt like a façade. I could take off, sure, but I could never fly. The sky was as far away from me as it was from everyone else. I was no more invincible than anyone else; as a matter of fact, I would say I was all the more vulnerable. My wings were a target for curious, wandering eyes when I would want nothing more than for everyone to turn away. I felt like an anomaly in a world that existed because of an anomaly, and even though I was surrounded by a nigh infinite amount of peculiar humans, I often felt that I was so much more peculiar, and much less human.
Who am I without the wings?
This almost invasive fascination manifested within my classmates in the form of eager grins and clumsy introductions. Within ten seconds of the lunch bell ringing, I had learned four new names: Ochako Uraraka, Mina Ashido, Denki Kaminari, and Eijiro Kirishima. These people were the most curious, or at the very least, the most bold, approaching me without a second thought, and perhaps without a first one, at that. The four of them combined, I'm sure, had enough energy to power Tokyo for about a week. Between their greeting, welcoming me to the class, and attempts to make conversation, I waited for the big question to drop. I cracked my knuckles and bit my cheek in deep anticipation because I knew, I just knew it was coming.
"Can we touch them?"
A sigh escaped my lips like a summer breeze, long and drawn out, and quite unexpected. It was Kirishima who asked the question, blinking at me with expectant red eyes that would make me feel like a terrible person if I said no. I did want to say no. My wings were like a temple, and I was scared of letting people in for fear of tainting them. If I opened my wings, I would have to open all of me, and I wasn't sure if I or they were ready for that.
Yet, out of obligation and desperation to no longer feel so out of place in this new setting, I accepted. Hesitantly, I accepted. I cracked a smile, either to ease them or myself, and slowly, I stretched out my wing. Their eyes focused carefully on my appendage and they all reached out, their fingers tracing over my feathers, a foreign sensation that sent a jolt all throughout my body. My wing tensed and trembled under their touch, and while they were tender with their curious exploration, gently petting it as they chorused sounds of intrigue, it all eventually became too much for me to handle and I retracted my wing away from them, curling it against my back.
"Sorry," I muttered before I could see the looks on their faces change. "I'm not used to… that."
"It's okay!" Ochako quickly said. "Your wings are so beautiful!"
"And soft! It's like I was touching a cloud!" Mina added. Denki smirked and nodded vigorously.
"Plus, you're cute, so it's not like I can be mad or anything," he said. I wasn't sure how to take that comment, so I just flashed a small grin, bowed my head to them, and shuffled out of the classroom as quickly as I could. I reached over my shoulder and gently touched my wing, feeling the muscles quiver underneath my fingertips. I yawned and stretched my arms into the air while also spreading out my wings a bit, flitting slightly to release the tension that had built up during my encounter with my classmates. They nestled back against my shoulder blades, and like that, my temple had been cleansed.
"Yukita-chan! Hey, over here!"
My presence upon entering the cafeteria was quickly noticed by Kendo, who waved me over with her typical smile on her face. Sitting in at a table with her was Shiozaki, Juzo, Monoma, and Tetsutetsu. I was happy to say that I, at the very least, had become acquainted with all of them, even though we had only been together for a little over a week. I strode over to them and took my seat beside Tetsutetsu, who nudged me with his shoulder. Kendo opened her mouth as if to speak, but Monoma slammed his hand on the table and leaned closer to me, his eyes widened and making him look slightly deranged.
"How's 1-A, huh?!" he voiced, his sheer vigor nearly giving me whiplash. "Are they treating you well? Did they beat you up? Do we have to beat them up?!"
His barrage of questions was cut short when Kendo delivered a quick chop the back of his neck, making him fall limp against the table. She huffed a short breath and pulled him back into his seat as his head lolled back, strands of gold falling into his eyes. I was still trying to process everything that just happened.
"Monoma is just worried, I think," Kendo tried to reassure. "We miss you, Yukita-chan."
A twinge of melancholy struck my heart.
"I'm sorry," I sighed. "I feel like I've betrayed you all, somehow…"
"You've done no such thing, Fukurota-san," Shiozaki said, shaking her head.
"It's not like you chose to transfer classes," Juzo said with a chuckle in his voice. I let out a soft laugh myself; mostly out of relief. They weren't mad, after all.
"1-A has a bunch of troublemakers, so make sure you keep them in line!" Tetsutetsu told me. "Show them the power a student from 1-B has!"
I smiled. "They seem like nice people, I suppose. They wanted to touch my wings, but…" I trailed off, for some reason.
"But what?" Kendo asked. But it was to be expected.
"Nothing…" I dismissed with a shake of my head
"Shall we get lunch, my friends?" Shiozaki asked as she stood up. We all agreed, and although Monoma was still limp, Kendo said she would bring a plate of food for him.
"Actually, Kendo-san?" I asked before the others left the table. They all turned around to look at me as I sat back down. "Can you bring me back food, too?"
"That's right! Someone has to look after that rowdy Monoma in case he wakes up!" Tetsutetsu exclaimed, slamming his fist against his palm.
"We'll be back, Yukita-chan!" Juzo called. The corners of my lips lifted up. My heart felt empty, ever so slightly. I knew this ache was because I was missing my friends and I wasn't ready to part from them. And, perhaps I didn't necessarily have to, but somehow, it felt like it. Moments like these were plentiful in the future, I was sure, but therein also lied my biggest issue— they were just moments, and not the more long-term, impacting counterpart— experiences. I felt saddened at the fact I wouldn't be able to be around my classmates very long outside of our lunch period, but I was also grateful I could be around them at all.
When they returned, Monoma had stirred from his stupor just as Kendo placed a tray of food in front of him; Juzo did the same with me. Like I had hoped and craved, we conversed and laughed and smiled, less like classmates who felt comfortable around each other and more like longtime friends. My heart ached again. I was yearning for something long lost and never reached.
"I wonder if the alarm is gonna go off again," Juzo cackled.
"If it does, then this time we will take the proper precautions to evacuate safely," Shiozaki hummed. I know they were referencing the cafeteria incident a few days ago, where the school alarm went off, indicating someone had infiltrated the school, and we were to evacuate. The notice sent everyone in the cafeteria into a state of mass hysteria, and in the midst of everyone trying to escape at once, ended up blocking the emergency exit doors. As we eventually found out, rather anticlimactically, it was only the media who had gotten past the gates, which is what triggered the alarm.
"I heard it was someone from 1-A who calmed everyone down," Monoma said. I took careful note of how rapidly he was tapping his finger against the table.
"I'm not sure how true that is," I admitted. "I'll have to ask."
"Hey, Yukita-chan," Kendo said. "How come you were transferred out in the first place?"
I clicked my tongue. This was a rather difficult question to answer in that there were a lot of things that could go wrong if I wasn't careful of my wording. The real answer was that my father, simply and perhaps ignorantly, thought I was too good for 1-B. The ideal answer was that my father wanted me to be 'challenged', and somehow arranged for my transferal. The lie was that the school messed up my placement and I was supposed to be in 1-A from the very beginning. There was no way in this universe or another that I was going to lie to them. But Monoma looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown and would snap if 1-A was mentioned again, or if 1-B wasn't.
"My father just wanted me to be in 1-A," I finally said.
"Your father is—" Tetsutetsu started. I quickly looked at him.
"Difficult."
My wings fluttered lightly. I tried to put on a smile.
"Well, what matters is that you're comfortable," Kendo told me. "Don't hesitate to come back to us, alright?"
I laughed lightly.
"You're speaking as if I truly left."
Tetsutetsu grinned. "I guess you didn't after all."
When lunch ended, although I was sad to part with my friends, I was happy I got to spend time with them at all. I feared being rejected by my class now that I was a part of 1-A, and I feared being rejected by 1-A because I used to be from 1-B. Although, it was entirely possible I was just overthinking this whole rivalry situation (something I would have to blame Monoma for). In the end, rivalry or not, I just wanted everyone to get along. Nothing would make me happier than that.
I walked into the classroom and hurried to my seat, but I felt the tips of my wings brush against something light. What immediately followed was an angry scoff and an equally charged glare. Two seats in front of me, a boy with spiky blond hair and burning red eyes turned around to face me. The boy sitting in front of me and behind him was trembling. I, too, felt rather intimidated.
"Watch where you put those fucking things," he growled. I flinched at his harsh tone and vulgar language.
"Things…?" I repeated, furrowing my brows. I shifted my eyes when I saw white by his desk. A feather was there. Oh. "M-My wings…?"
"They fucking hit me."
I inhaled sharply.
"I'm sorry. I'll be more aware of my surroundings next time."
He rolled his eyes and turned back around to face the front of the room. I shrunk in my seat. What an unpleasant encounter.
The rest of the day felt like it trudged along. Aside from that boy, nothing much happened other than a few of my classmates taking a quick nap during lessons. After what felt like a lifetime and a half, the bell for the end of the day rang, and to the relief of many, we were able to go home. The happiness of leaving school was not a sentiment I shared. I didn't want to leave school. Or, perhaps more accurately, I didn't want to go home.
As I slung my bag strap over my shoulder my eyes wandered to that blond boy from before, and briefly, our eyes met. In the second we made eye contact, I saw pride. Not the same pride Kendo had because that stemmed from her desire to do better. And not the same pride as Monoma because that stemmed from his desire to be better. I saw a sort of genuinity that could not be ignored or mistaken. His gaze felt very familiar. I approached Kirishima, gently tapping his shoulder to get his attention, and he turned to me with a sound of questioning.
"Who is that blond boy?" I asked. "The one who sits in my row?"
Denki appeared next to him, a wry smile coming to his face. "You mean Bakugo? Katsuki Bakugo, right?"
Kirishima nodded. "Yup. He's a little… rough around the edges, but the guy really packs a punch!"
"Literally," Denki chuckled.
"I see. Thank you for telling me," I bowed my head to the both of them. "I'll see you both tomorrow."
"Oh, definitely," Denki said with a wink. Unsure to how to respond to that, I gave an awkward, slightly piteous smile, and left.
I didn't dislike going home as much as I disliked being home. I didn't associate 'home' with the same warmth and sentimentality as most people did. When I thought of home, I thought of the faint smell of tobacco and feathers. Feathers, everywhere. They dotted the floor and stuck to the curtains and sometimes they would lead a trail to my father slumped over his bed or toilet, depending on his mood.
As soon as I stepped inside my house a sharp, stinging smell entered my nose. It was the pungent, distinct odor of liquor. Like always, there were feathers. Less of them this time, and joining them on the floor were shards of glass. I was only able to take a few steps forward when the smell became ever stronger, like poison. It almost made me gag.
"You're home, Yukiko."
My father's typical bright, golden eyes were now stained red. He stood before me in his half drunken glory with his shoulders pushed back and chin raised and his wings, those magnificent wings, were ruffled and dirty and dotted sanguine between white. We stared at each other silently until I was no longer able to look at this image of my father and I decided to go to my room. I heard his footsteps lumber behind me.
"Yukiko?"
I sat on my bed and turned to him.
"Yes?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. His cracked lips parted slightly and his eyes flickered away from me as if whatever he was going to say next was too shameful for him to even think of.
"I'm going out," he said. "I might be needed somewhere."
"Now? As you are?"
He knew as well as I did what I meant. He gave a slight shrug of the shoulders and his wings flittered much like mine did whenever I was flustered or bothered and did not want to admit it.
"I'm fine," was all he said to me before disappearing down the hall. I debated whether or not to see him off. In the end I decided to, as I felt obligated as his daughter to at least say goodbye. I hurried out of my room, into the hall, and to the front door as he stepped onto the porch. He looked over his shoulder with glossy eyes. Without exchanging any words, he spread his wings. I stared at his back, at the pure white feathers he prided himself on. They were so, so beautiful. He flapped his wings once, powerfully, creating a small breeze. I stepped out onto the porch and watched him disappear into the sky.
When he was nothing more than a small speck, I stepped back into the house and closed the door, and moved to the living room where I turned on the TV. In a cruel twist of irony, an interview my father was in not too long ago was replaying on the channel. He dressed in a specially tailored gray suit, his white hair slicked back and eyes glimmering. As I listened to him speak, I was hit with the sudden realization of why my classmate's piercing gaze was so familiar.
Exclusive interview with the No. 6 Pro Hero, Jiyuu Fukurota, the Nocturnal Hero: Twilight.
My wings fluttered.
a/n
back on my bullshit lmao
i like this version a whole lot better than the last one. i know this is a weird starting point for a story, after the lunch incident but before usj, but i thought it would be the most appropriate. so yeah! thank you for reading and i will see you all later!
p.s i know it's not obvious but this is a bakugo x oc story ok bye
