Let's Go Back

Nedzu's eye twitched, and the smile on his face was painful to keep up. "No thanks?" he echoed.

Sawada fiddled with his fingers as his gaze dropped to the floor. With pursed lips, Sawada clarified, eyes reluctantly meeting the principal's, "We'll be declining your recommendation, Nedzu-san."

"Final answer?"

"Final answer."

A nauseous cloud filled his stomach; disappointment, he called it. "Ah," Nedzu said. "I see."

For a second, they stared at each other, unblinkingly before Sawada pulled Yamamoto down into what seemed to be a huddle. Glancing back at him once in a while, they shot fierce whispers at each other.

A slow aching minute passed. Nedzu clicked his pen, and when two heads flickered toward him (as if saying what), he asked, annoyance bubbling beneath his skin, "Is there something I should know?"

Sawada and Yamamoto exchanged looks, moving only their eyes before they straightened. Nedzu, shifting in his seat, prepared himself for their explanation, before nothing happened.

Sawada coughed, softly nudging his friend with his elbow. Yamamoto took it in stride and elbowed his friend back, sporting a warm smile before Sawada, clearly frustrated, sharply elbowed Yamamoto right in the waist. The latter yelped in pain, rubbing the spot and pouting.

Quickly recovering from the pain, Yamamoto stopped slouching and stood confidently. Uneasiness spilled into Nedzu's stomach as the boy chimed in, "Tsuna says you should check the application list!"

"Takeshi!"

Quirking an eyebrow, Nedzu turned to his computer. Jumping to the list of student applications, he skimmed over the hundreds of names, sporting a confused look. He started, skepticism lining thick on his voice, "May I ask what I'm supposed to be looking"—he stopped scrolling—"for..."

Reflecting in his eyes, shone Sawada Tsunayoshi.

He scrolled back up. Then back down. The name was still there—in the name of applications to U.A. highschool. Scrolling all the way down, further and further, he choked as the name Yamamoto Takeshi stared him down to insanity. Nedzu glanced up. Sawada chuckled nervously while Yamamoto dared to appear smug.

"My recommendation was a free ticket!" Nedzu exclaimed. "The evaluation you'd go through would only decide your placing, so why go through the trouble of the actual exam?"

"Tsuna here," Yamamoto snickered, "thought it wasn't really fair."

"Did you have to throw me under the bus?" Sawada hissed to his friend, "Again?"

Nedzu reasoned, "But it's a recommendation. Students receive them because they did something to impress a professional hero. Fairness isn't a factor!"

Sawada, his hands fidgeting against his chest, lost his gaze to the floor. "By being recommended, it gives others a reason to have high expectations of us"—Nedzu couldn't believe his ears; what excuse was that?—"and we really don't want that happening. I just um, felt like we shouldn't be recommended for things that we did, uh... illegally. Public quirk use is prohibited, and if word gets out that the principal of U.A. highschool promotes vigilantism... well, y'know, the rate of vigilantism... might, uh... increase."

Excuses, over excuses. High expectations? Please—what about the other recommended students over the past decade? And with his case of promoted vigilantism, Sawada wasn't fooling... anyone. "Oh." Nedzu stopped his thoughts short. "That's actually very well thought-out reasoning," he confessed as he scratched his chin. If the rumor got out of him recommending students involved with vigilantism, the younger generations would think it's okay to use their quirk in public for so-called good deeds. How could he have missed that? "I can see where that would be unfavorable. Continue."

Blinking at Nedzu's agreement, Sawada continued, "So... yeah. We just decided to take the normal entrance exam. It's mostly a back up plan too, 'cause hero work might not work out for us, and we don't want to waste your time filling out a recommendation."

Nedzu nodded. A bleak look rested on his face, doing nothing to help Sawada feel like his argument was going through. "Uh-huh." He had never understood humans, but he could never fight with logic. "Well, I'm glad you looked ahead for the both of you and for society, and I'll be delighted to see you learning at this very school!" he chirped, grinning.

"B-but," Sawada sputtered, "We might not get in!"

Ah, how amusing. "I have no doubt that you two will get in. Have faith. Plus Ultra, right?" Nedzu winked.

"Plus Ultra!" Locking his friend into a comforting (well, it didn't seem comforting) headlock, Yamamoto beamed, "Yeah, Tsuna! We'll definitely get in!"

"Takeshi, let go of me! I can't breathe!" Sawada frantically slapped his friend's arm. "Tap out! Tap out! I'm tapping out!"

Although he heard them out, Nedzu couldn't help but assume that their explanation was never thoroughly completed. There were a few holes to be filled.

("Hey, Tsuna?"

"Yeah?"

"We could just take the regular exam, y'know."

"What!? But we decided to say no to the recommendation! We spent this entire study session not studying and instead making our explanation seem reasonable!"

"Well, yeah! We're still doing that. We say no to the recommendation, but take the entrance exam anyway!"

"...I don't see where you're going with this."

"Well, I've been itching to fight something, and Squalo's going to be really really mad at me if I don't improve my sword skills while we're here!"

"There could be something to fight in the recommendation exam."

"I searched some stuff and most recommendation exams put you up against each other with some race or a physical test. Y'know, like, who's faster or who's more of a quick thinker. There's probably more action in the regular exam."

"Hie! I don't want to fight things!"

"It'd be fun! Come on, Tsuna! What'd you say?"

"...Well, as long as I don't die.")

Indigo flames surged forward. A hand around his throat, tightening and tightening, and he clawed and clawed at it because he couldn't breathe—and where was the air? Blades—sharped steel with bite and blood—curled around his arms and legs, searing scars where unmarked skin used to be.

Static crashed against his side; a voice, distant yet so close, screeched bloody murder by his ear. Nails on chalkboards and a sword's tip dragged across concrete. Long silver locks dangled in the corner of his eye, and he moved to swing his sword out to find his hand empty.

He called his flames against his chest, but warmth was never something tangible, and the blue light fell back behind shadowed eyes.

A gun shot pierced the tense air, a butter knife through the wind, and his friend keeled over and the only thing he could think about was that sickening smile on Tsuna's face, swirling of fear and regret, and all he could do was watch—

His eyes flickered open.

Heartbeat echoing faintly, drums in his ears but a whisper to the wind, Takeshi sat up on his futon, sighing as he ran a hand through his locks. He looked over to Tsuna's bed, its resident curled up in his blanket, face half-hidden in his pillow. He wasn't snoring.

Takeshi, calm (while his heart was anything but) and wide awake, watched as Tsuna's body bobbed up and down, a breath in and a breath out. He grabbed his bamboo sword from his side and pulled it against his chest, comforted by its presence and quick access.

His Sky's alive. He's breathing and here, and he was okay.

Sounds of soft distant traffic hummed against his ear.

"Takeshi?" a slurred voice asked.

The latter found himself meeting Tsuna's drowsy eyes, and for a second, beneath the darkness, they flickered of fire. "Hey, Tsuna."

"Why are you up?" Tsuna asked, concern lining his soft voice.

The Rain gifted a small smile to his Sky, and if the grip on his sword loosened just a bit at the sound of Tsuna's voice, Takeshi didn't say anything. "Ah, I had a weird dream, that's all."

"How weird?" Tsuna murmured, half-conscious. "Like, giant crab weird or being-sent-to-a-different-dimension weird?

"I'll tell you in the morning," Takeshi replied with a chuckle.

Tsuna glanced to the sword against his chest. "Why are you..."

"I'm alright," Takeshi reassured as he laughed softly, reaching out to ruffle Tsuna's hair. "Go back to bed."

Something conflicted flickered in Tsuna's eyes, his nose wrinkling and eyebrows knitting. "You sure?" he asked, and when Takeshi nodded, he continued, "Okay." The tension leaving his face as sleep ate away at him, he was comforted by the hand running through his locks.

"Sweet dreams," the Rain whispered.

Slurring, the Sky mumbled back, "Sweet dreams. And Takeshi?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be a stranger, okay?"

The painful wretch of his beating heart remained soundless in the night. "Okay."

"Good night."

And when Tsuna eyelids closed, Takeshi's smile fell, his gold eyes missing the moonlight. "Night, Tsuna."

"If you don't bring back the Tenth, right now, I'll chain you up and drown you in a shark pool!"

"W-we're really sorry, Gokudera! I swear, we didn't mean to do it! We were just testing our replica of the ten-year bazooka when Tsuna and Yamamoto wandered in! It wasn't intentional!"

"How dare you blame your mistakes on the Tenth!"

"We're really sorry!"

"We're already trying to figure out a way to bring them back. They'll be fine; they can take care of themselves.

"They better be, Spanner! It's been a week!"

"Actually, it could be a bit longer for them."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you cannot travel through time without travelling through space. With our dysfunctional ten-year bazooka, the equation might've switched, and it wouldn't be incorrect to assume time passes differently for them. It's a plausible conclusion."

"By the time I come back, I expect the Tenth and that baseball idiot to be here or else I'm going to murder you two."

"...U-understood."

"Got it."

His body screamed at him, and each movement sent a race of strain down his legs. It took him everything to keep standing. (Okay, maybe he was exaggerating.) Midoriya sighed, wiping off the sweat on his forehead. Two months. Two months left to clean up the beach and two months until he received All Might's quirk.

With a rope tied around the discarded washing machine, Midoriya tugged at it, dragging it across the sand. A year ago, he wouldn't have dreamed of meeting All Might himself, let alone becoming his successor. But it's real. It's almost unbelievable, but it was real, and Midoriya didn't want to disappoint him. But really, who wanted to spend their entire year cleaning up a junkyard to gain some muscles. Clearly not him. It did have some perks; he'd get stronger for sure. But with the amount of pain and struggle he's having, it's hard to see the good side of things.

"...cleaning up this junkyard."

Midoriya perked up, pausing in his steps and lowering the rope. His stamina cried out to its savior.

"It's like a training regime," a voice, different than the first one, replied. "That reminds me—and I never thought I'd say this but, I miss Reborn. If he was here, he'd probably train me half-to-death to be a hero, but still: I miss him. Oh my god, I did not just say that."

The first voice laughed, amused, and Midoriya found it coming from across another pile of junk. "You're really funny."

"Thanks."

Midoriya let go of the rope and climbed over the pile of junk, careful of not making too much noise. Peeking over, he caught the sight of two teenagers, one with brown hair and the other with black hair.

"You know that we have to study."

"For what?"

"The written exam."

"Ah, we'll be fine! You had your tutoring lessons, didn't you? I'm sure if you miss them as much as you do, you'll remember everything you learned."

"I hate you."

The two boys were descending from another junk pile, comfortably chatting with one another, and Midoriya was once again reminded of how lonely he was. Being quirkless meant he wasn't one to easily make friends.

As they fell into step, the brunet moved to take a step down, but Midoriya, eyes sharp as knives themselves, saw the lack of support in the step.

Stomach flipping as he gaped, Midoriya cried, "Watch out!" just as the oven, beneath the brunet's foot, shook.

And for a second, brown met green.

The brunet, unbalanced and taken off guard, fell backwards into open air as gravity took its role.

Overwhelmed by the change of atmosphere, Midoriya tried climbing down from his place, heart hammering against his ribcage.

"Hie!" the brunet yelped, flailing in panic, as he plunged toward the floor where scraps of metal lied in waiting.

Midoriya expected blood. The color red and the smell of metal; a still body and a painful whimper.

Flames swallowed the sunrise, curling waves and gentle arms. What was golden light and warmth melted into blue. And as it seemed like water, the world made a sea and ocean, it was no surprise Midoriya couldn't breathe. Reaching out, a dash of blue fire curled around the brunet and time seemed to slow.

Time did slow.

Bouncing forward, a necklace full of blue, the noiret climbed down without pause—but the brief flicker of fear in a gold gaze didn't go unnoticed. Where his friend was descending toward the ground painfully slow, he bounded over and slipped beneath the falling form.

Blue flames ebbed away. The black-haired boy, angling, gracefully caught his friend in his arms, barely flinching at the weight. The brunet blinked with wide eyes, still registering what just happened until the noiret lowered his head a little and murmured something to him with a nostalgic smile. The brunet flushed with embarrassment.

Still taken back by the change of events, Midoriya swallowed the lump in his throat and called out, "Are you two alright?"

Looking up to him, the noiret flashed him a grin. "Yeah, thanks!"

With caution, Midoriya clambered down, barely containing his excitement at the boy's quirk. At sea level, he jogged up to them. "Um, hi! I'm Midoriya Izuku."

"Hi Midoriya! I'm Yamamoto Takeshi!" the boy—of blue fire—greeted with a grin. Midoriya painfully noticed the height difference.

The brunet gave a little wave. "Sawada Tsunayoshi."

He nodded in greeting; he looked to Yamamoto. "Your quirk is really cool! Is it a time-lag quirk? Why does it take the form of blue flames?" Midoriya asked, his eyes wide.

Blinking at his antics, Yamamoto laughed, "Ah, um..."

Midoriya's stomach dropped. He sputtered, taking a step back, "S-sorry! I didn't mean to be so pushy! Uh, I just..."—he twiddled his fingers, gaze falling to the floor—"get really excited about quirks. You don't have to answer."

"I don't mind!" Yamamoto reassured with a smile. "I just keep forgetting they're called quirks."

Midoriya blinked. "What else would you call them?"

And with all the confidence in the world, Yamamoto replied, "Mafia powers."

Sawada shot Yamamoto a perplexed look, but the latter took it in stride.

And Midoriya, blinded by his fascination for quirks, realized Yamamoto was still carrying his friend—bridal style. And Sawada realized that Midoriya realized, and poked Yamamoto in the chest, muttering, "You can put me down now."

"Oops, sorry!"

Midoriya chuckled nervously before going back to their conversation. "Mafia powers... um, that's... cool too?"

"Well anyway," Yamamoto began, slinging an arm over Sawada, "You were kind of right—about my quirk, I mean. My blue flames can slow stuff. It's really handy."

Stars practically in his eyes, Midoriya exclaimed, "That's so amazing!" and muttered under his breath, "Would there be a cooldown between using the flames? And how long can he keep it activated? But the quantity or area taken up by it has a factor so there wouldn't be a definite answer. Maybe it's unlimited but all quirks have their limits, and he did mention that I was only sort of right. Perhaps it's a multi-faceted quirk? Could his flames heat—"

"Ah, excuse me?"

Perking up, he found the two boys staring at him, and his face grew red. "Sorry, I'm rambling!"

There was something hidden in the Sawada's smile. "Don't worry about it."

"What Tsuna said," the other added. Brightening with wide eyes, he asked, "What about you?"

The floor fell from beneath his feet. "...What about me?" Midoriya started (although he knew exactly what he was referring to).

"Your quirk!"

Midoriya put on his best smile, even though it hurt so much to act like it was natural. "Oh, my quirk! Um..."

It always came down to this. Quirk, or quirkless.

Sawada's eyes, confused at first, became focused, turning gears and winding clocks. Ink blotches of orange flickered within them. Before Midoriya could come up with an excuse, Sawada patted his friend's arm and said, "Hey, that sushi shop grand opening is about to start, so uh"—he eyed Midoriya for a second—"we should—let's go."

"Oh yeah! The line up will probably be pretty long." As he was tugged away, Yamamoto waved goodbye. "Nice meeting you!" he called.

Midoriya replied, waving back, "Nice meeting you too!"

Sawada glanced back and shot him an apologetic yet understanding look (and beneath that orange-brown gaze, Midoriya wouldn't be surprised if all his secrets spilled then and there). "I hope we meet again!"

A warm flutter surged in his chest, filling his lungs and veins.

When Midoriya turned away, going back to pulling washing machines across sand and avoiding falling junk, only then did he realize he never got the quirk of the second boy.