A/N [20/10/2018] : To the Guest reviewer: I miss Manual too!
Beta, as always, by the wonderful InsertImaginativeNameHere
LATE HERO ACADEMIA
CHAPTER FOUR
IDIOCY IS A CONTAGIOUS AFFLICTION
Sweating to death, Hajime forced herself to complete the last lap of the running track. She was miles behind everyone else, her ribs burned fiercely, but Aizawa was watching her like a hawk watches a plump mouse ripe for the picking. Something primitive inside of her didn't like that, at all, and fight or flight took over.
Hajime stubbornly kept on running, even as her fourteen classmates completed their final lap.
It had been her last test of the day, seeing as she didn't have a Quirk to assess like the others, who would be put through their paces with that. They'd stretched sufficiently (though she'd sat out for one or two of the more taxing moves knowing that it would strain her ribs), had their grip strength tested, and been judged on their overall fitness. Hajime wouldn't say she was out of 'shape' per se. She definitely was a shape of some kind; one that Miwa still allowed her to model clothes with, and who could carry several heavy cardboard boxes out from the backroom if she put her mind to it.
Was Hajime Itou fit? Not at all. Sure, Miwa only pulled out her motorcycle when they had to take long trips elsewhere, but with Ensō mainly centred in Hosu, travelling for business was redundant. When Hajime had to journey outside of her home prefecture she would always take the train, and if the place was in walking distance –even if said walking distance was over an hour away– then she would walk. Sometimes in heels if Miwa laid out a specific outfit she wanted Hajime to wear like a walking billboard for alternative and vintage fashion.
Hajime had calves that could crack walnuts, quite possibly some kind of leg affliction in her future from the abuse of wearing high heels, and zero stamina outside of power walking through the pain like a champ. Humongous blisters, janky ankles, and corns didn't daunt her anymore. On the plus side, if she ever had to do something in heels she would excel at it, such as booking it in a one-hundred metre sprint. The downside of the aforementioned skill was that if Minamoto caught wind of Hajime one-upping him in any way, shape, or form, then the rest of the Mature Heroics class would have to suffer through stilettoes too.
The following two weeks after Aizawa's little bombshell and Minamoto's declaration had been genuine hell. The time spent working on theory was cut to roughly forty minutes, and even then, questions had been peppered throughout the class about what this little the school was planning tournament entailed. Only, the tournament wasn't so little. And there would be cameras.
Aizawa eventually broke down and told them about it in further detail, if only to stop Minamoto and Ofuda to stop snarling at each other and so he could continue his lecture. Hajime felt a silly twinge of hurt, actually. Weren't she and Minamoto supposed to be rivals? Who made another rival when they had a rival? She didn't want to be part of rival triangle, but then realised she didn't really want a rival either and shook her head and banished all similar nonsense thoughts from her mind.
"It's going to work much the same way as the sports festivals for our younger students do. Three segments, and we'll start to wheedle you out until there's only four left for one-on-one battles."
Oh goodie, Hajime had thought. If I'm lucky I'll get knocked out in the first round.
"For anyone who thinks they can half-arse this," Aizawa said lowly, staring knowingly at an unenthused Hajime. "Let it be known that your education here is currently funded by donations from the government and if it appears that you're not giving it your all they'll want the tuition fees back in full."
Sheepishly, Hajime rose her hand. "Hypothetically, if that were to happen, how much is the cost of reimbursing the government?"
"Oh," said Aizawa, smiling that smile that made babies weep and even the bravest amongst the MA students' recoil. "I'd say nothing short of two million Yen." [1]
A cold sweat broke out down Hajime's back. That was more than she and Miwa could make even if business was booming – and Miwa was pretty good at making her money. (She was also very good at spending the new funds by purchasing more stock.)
"Ah ha…" Hajime tittered nervously, her gaze darting round to check on her classmates. Similarly, they too looked shocked at the mounting costs if they bowed out gracefully. "Good thing we're going to give it our all, right guys? Plus Ultra, no? Hah…"
"Indeed." Aizawa's eyes seemed to sheen red for a split second. "Plus Ultra."
That was the reason why Hajime currently ran for her life, slumping at the finishing line while Suge clucked around her like a mother hen; Ichi and Ni tasting at the sweat rolling off of Hajime's arms in waves. Hajime was stuck in a real predicament here. Yes, she was enjoying the course (to her horror, she truly was), but at the same time there was no real place for her here. Whoever it was calling the shots messed up big time when they picked her out of the bunch of candidates put forward, though again, that could have been the point. Hajime could be the one to take on for the team; the true scapegoat out of a group of foils for Class 1-A.
The prospect of having to pay back half of what Miwa and herself made every year had Hajime rethinking her decision to subtly chuck herself down some stairs and breaking her leg the day before the sports festival. Mainly because it was such a large sum to be ripped out of their bank account in one go –Aizawa had informed them that the total amount for the tuition fee could not be repaid in instalments, which Hajime found suspicious– and because Hajime was fairly certain her Aunt might kill her this time if she did something else stupid.
Then again, maybe Hajime should track down Manual and see if he could unintentionally land her into another rib-cracking situation?
"People will be watching you," Aizawa continued, ignoring how his students had begun to panic over their finances. "Like with our first and third-year students, they'll want you to put on a good show. The length of this course is short, so we're not offering you all up for internships like we would normally. Instead, your performance here will affect how you will intern once graduated."
"Excuse me, Sensei," Robert –'Call me Bob!'– interjected. "We're interning under Heroes once we've finished the course?"
The look Aizawa levelled at call-me-Bob said everything – as though the teacher couldn't quite understand why some of his students were so fond of reiterating what he'd just said and of asking stupid questions. It was the look of a long-suffering teacher. As someone who didn't really deal well with people all the time, Hajime could sympathise.
"Listen up, and take notes or something, because I'm only telling you this once." Many scrambled for their notepads and pens. "This is a ten-week course. We're on week four. Next week, you're all going to battle it out in a big field with lots of people watching. Is that simple enough for you to understand?"
It was, perhaps, inexplicably blunt, but very easy to follow. Aizawa continued; "After that, we've got a few guest lectures, provisional license applications –though you don't need to worry so much about those because you'll be assessed on your abilities through your internship instead, seeing as you've passed the submission deadline for the exams– Hero aesthetic crafting, and your internships. I swear this all should have been in the pamphlet sent out to you."
Someone –Hajime wasn't sure who in her panicked daze– quietly admitted there had been no pamphlet, and Aizawa's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head his irritation was so palpable.
"Of course, there wasn't," he grumbled, then muttered something about how he wasn't 'paid enough'.
"It's all fine and dandy," Hajime said as she walked with Suge to the train station after class. Ma had to dash home, as their childminder had to leave earlier than planned and their two children could not be left alone. "But I still have no idea how to defend myself even if Aizawa is trying to whip us into shape."
"Did you never get into fist fights as a kid?" Suge quizzed.
"No," Hajime replied flatly. "Quirkless, remember? No one wanted to be in a ten-foot radius of me in case they caught something."
Ichi and Ni hissed distastefully, and even Suge stiffened. They waited at the crossing for the stoplight to indicate they could walk in uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Suge said; "Kids are cruel."
Hajime snorted. "Everyone is capable of being cruel, but little kids learn from example. It's fine, I'm over it, university was a wild time, and no one really cared there. You learn to surround yourself with people who don't care, and if Aunt Miwa ever coddled me the world would have to be ending."
"Still…" Suge insisted.
"It's fine, seriously," Hajime reassured, and stepped out onto the striped crossing with Suge as the lights finally changed and brought the traffic to a halt. Overhead, a Pro Hero flung themselves along the rooftops; vine-like limbs whipping out to grab onto buildings and swing themselves forwards. Hajime's lip curled in irritation. Some people had all the luck. "This still doesn't solve my big fat problem of not being able to fight, Aizawa thinking I'm not being serious, and a mountain of debt."
"Surely you know someone?"
Hajime racked her brains. When she'd been punted into a wall by that horrific creature a few months back, there had been Pros present at the scene. She'd been asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement concerning the three kids and the two men –one of whom was a serial killer– the aforementioned kids had pulled from an alley, had her hospital fees paid off by Endeavour (who had fathered one of the three foetus-Heroes involved and took credit for the whole shebang), and the rest of the Pros present had sort of shuffled uneasily and disappeared into thin air while Hajime was carted off to A&E.
All except Manual.
Hajime's eyes widened in remembrance. Manual!
"I can see why you don't smile often now," Suge grinned toothily. "You look like you're plotting murder. Did you figure something out?"
"I've got someone I can ask, but the issue is will he have time to help me?"
As it turned out, Manual was more than happy to help. Miwa had someone got a hold of his number –perhaps hoping that Hajime would ask for it too, and then discovering that her niece was more hopeless than she initially thought– and passed it along willingly when Hajime inquired about needing a personal trainer of sorts.
"I can't throw a decent punch," Hajime said around a mouthful of a breakfast pastry from a selection Manual had brought with him to their flat above Ensō one morning, in the following week from her and Suge's conversation. She coughed and dislodged a few scraps of flaky pastry from the corner of her mouth with the pad of her index finger. "I can't punch someone, but my legs are pretty strong."
Manual picked at his own croissant; he'd barely taken a bite of the thing, though he'd sliced it in half and placed some freshly chopped fruit inside. Likely because he was transfixed watching Hajime devour pastry after pastry with terrifying ease. "We can work with that."
At the head of the table, Miwa leant back in her seat with satisfaction and took a sip from her coffee cup. "We should do this more often. It's nice to have someone join us for breakfast."
"Been there, tried that, saved you from a messy divorce," Hajime quipped, wiping her mouth again and then her chest as more crumbs had accumulated below the neck of her t-shirt.
"I was talking about Mister Manual," said Miwa.
Hajime ran her tongue over her teeth, searching out pieces of pastry and the seeds from the jam she knew were stuck against her gums. "Pretty sure Mister Manual has better Hero-y things to do than sit with us every morning."
"Not at all!" Manual blustered. He swallowed, looking at Hajime directly. "It's… I, ah, I don't mind at all."
Hajime blinked and eyed up another pastry. "Sure. Are you going to eat that?"
Wordlessly, Manual handed over the untouched half of his croissant.
After successfully tracking down a clean t-shirt to work in, Hajime followed behind Manual (sans his Hero costume) to an open park.
It was strange for Hajime to see him in something other than the blue and white jumpsuit, fin-adorned helmet, and soft orange rubber gloves. Manual had turned up at the shop that morning in mottled grey joggers, a robin's egg blue coloured t-shirt with a small shark motif on the left sleeve, and nothing covering his fluffy brown hair. He was so… normal… and Hajime still couldn't quite wrap her head around it.
"What exactly are we going to be working on, Mister Manual?" Hajime inquired once they'd found a free area to work in inside the park and began to run through a simple set of stretches Suge had had to guide her through since Aizawa expected them to already know how to care for and warm up their bodies.
"You can just call me Masaki when I'm not on duty, Miss Itou."
"Hajime then."
"Hah-Hajime."
"You haven't told me what we're doing yet, so how can I start?" she asked cheekily. [2]
Masaki's shoulders drooped. He threaded his fingers through his hair and breathed in deeply. "I've somehow come to the realisation that you're always like this." Hajime shrugged. "I'm going to show you a few tricks that should help. You seem really well balanced, and you've mentioned that you have a lot of leg strength – so we could work on moves that require you to kick at an opponent."
"I can carry a load of heavy boxes, but I suppose that doesn't always transfer in strength?"
Masaki shook his head. "If you're not confident in using your fists, don't use them. Your legs have a longer reach than your arms anyway, which will keep your safer in the long run. I'm still going to teach you how to punch safely though. You'd be surprised at how many people mess up the basics."
Ever so slowly, Masaki demonstrated the basics. How not to damage your fingers and elbow when throwing a punch. Ensuring you didn't tuck your thumb inside your first when you struck, or that you led the move with your middle knuckle and twisted your arm slightly to prevent strain and the joints in the arm from locking uncomfortably.
"For you, unless you're in a position where you're sure you'll win or there's no other choice, I'd never advise you to punch someone in the face." Masaki made a fist and jabbed at various areas of his body. "The throat, lower abdomen, and groin are susceptible to damage, but boxing someone's ears can also throw them off for a few seconds."
He lay a hand against his abs. "Hitting someone in the stomach or throat and causing them to double over gives you time to pull your knee up and create greater impact. Depending on whether they've been trained or not, this also works as a strategy for them to release you and for you to put more space between them and yourself."
"Right…"
This was all useful stuff, and though Hajime didn't want to end up with a mass of debt if Aizawa deemed her to be slacking, she didn't really expect to make it past the first round. In fact, seeing how the Yuuei kids kicked the crap out of one another over internships and a shiny medal, Hajime hoped she was eliminated before the one-on-one battles began.
"Do you want to do some more warm ups and then we'll run through things again?" Masaki inquired. "We may as well try sparring too, once you've got some moves down."
Hajime nodded, and pulled the hooded sweatshirt she was wearing over her head; sighing in relief as the excess heat she felt from the warm autumnal sunshine and her stuffy clothing gave way to a gentle breeze. She looped the hoodie behind her and tied the sleeves in a tight, chunky knot around her waist.
"What are you wearing?" Masaki stammered. "You can't wear that here! It's a public park, there's children running around!"
Hajime's bright yellow t-shirt, a reprint of a relic Miwa had dug out of from a house sale a few years back and presented to Hajime as a gag-gift, seemed fine enough. Until you caught a glimpse of the slogan and two curving semi-circles –drawn like a heavily stylised and curvy 'W' with a solid dot in each convex slope– printed along the front. It had been a knock-off of some original anime merch way back when, apparently. Hajime had chosen to wear it because all her other (plain) tees were in the wash.
"It's too warm for me to wear this over the top," Hajime said, gesturing to her sweatshirt. "No one's going to be paying attention to it as I run, and I can't exactly run around in my bra."
"It's not right though," Masaki claimed, wincing as he read 'Oppai' once more and looking away swiftly from Hajime's chest. His hands dithered over the hem of his shirt, lifting the fabric slightly. "You can swap it out with mine, I'm not that cold."
Hajime tilted her head. Out of Masaki and herself, who was the exhibitionist? The one with a dodgy t-shirt or the one running bare-chested? "I'd rather we just run or something. I don't know about you, but I doubt being able to change out of a t-shirt without exposing myself indecently in public is going to come up in this tournament."
Not that she couldn't do that if she tried. At some point every woman had managed to get changed without ever having to take off her shirt, and it worked wonders if you wanted to remove your brassier without getting changed in the process. Much like magic, really.
As uncomfortable as he was with the bright yellow distraction Hajime was sporting, Masaki saw her point and relented. The pair took off at a light lope around the edge of the park, halting after a couple of laps and stretching again. Then, Hajime was shown the correct way to throw a balanced kick, how to escape an attacker's hold, and inadvertently kicked a Pro Hero in the crotch when putting one move into practice.
"I am so sorry," she stressed, helping Masaki hobble over to a vending machine.
"I think I'd be worried if you didn't land a hit at some point." He winced.
"Do you prefer anything?" She indicated to the array of drinks on offer.
"I'll take tea if they have it," Masaki grunted, lowering himself onto a small ornamental brick wall that divided this area of the park (near a set of public toilets) from the children's playground. Hajime ignored his sharp intake of breath when doing so; she had the kick of a cart horse it would seem, and Masaki had not been expecting it at all.
She bought a can of tea, one soda for herself, and a spare soda that was also ice cold. "Put it against your…" Hajime wafted the can around and scrunched up her face. "Well, y'know."
"What a pair we make," said Masaki. "You with your indecent t-shirt, and me placing cans in impolite places."
Hajime, for once, laughed. "I guess." She turned to him earnestly. "Do you seriously think I can pull this off?"
Masaki shifted the cold soda around, clenching it between his legs while he pulled the tab back on his can of tea. "Kick like that on the day, and who knows what could happen. Are Pros allowed in to watch the tournament at all?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I know we're all allowed two guest tickets, but I think the rest of the stands are going to be occupied by the students – or so Aizawa said." Hajime shook her head. "It makes a change for the kids, I guess, and it's all going to be televised; so not only do I have a burden not to land Auntie Miwa in debt, but I also have to make sure not to do anything stupid on camera."
"You're going to be fine."
Idly, Hajime swiped away a few beads of condensation that had gathered on the packaging of her peach flavoured drink as she contemplated. She bit her lower lip, then asked him anyway. "Would you come and watch me?"
Masaki nearly dropped his tea is shock. "I'd be honoured."
"It's only just, because, um, I feel like you've done a lot for me in the past few months – and you're nice, and you're bothering to teach me even though I'm… and I don't get that – so I want you to be able to see that your time hasn't gone to waste."
"Even if it had," Masaki informed her, "I'd still be happy to watch you."
"Oh."
They drank their drinks in relative peace after that, walked with one another to the entrance of the park, and went their separate ways home.
Hajime, stood in the train compartment and holding onto the overhead hand rails beside Masaki, wobbled uneasily on her feet. Miwa stared unimpressed at her niece as she jittered like Hiro – who also sat with them on the journey to Yuuei.
"I'm going to have my arse handed to me on national television," Hajime groaned. She was jolted against Masaki as the train shuddered, and flustered he righted her back onto her feet.
Miwa snickered, patting Hiro on the arm as he whined in agreement. "Look at it this way, other Pro Heroes before you have gone through the same."
Masaki looked very sheepish all of a sudden. "I mean, she's not wrong."
"That really makes me feel better." Hajime rolled her eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"What happened to not caring at all about these classes?" Miwa teased.
"Oh, I don't know," Hajime snarked. "Maybe the two million Yen debt that would come from me dropping out."
Miwa's phone dropped into her lap from disbelief. "Kick their arses before they can kick yours."
Aunt Miwa looped her arm though Hiro's (jittering as always), as he escorted her to Yuuei's entrance. The tournament was held during the week before their fifth scheduled class, on a Friday so that all of Yuuei's current attending students could watch proceedings from the stands. Their next class would work as a follow up session to the festival and would see the fifteen –full number after dropouts to be ascertained– through designing an aesthetic for their Hero persona, and elements of their costume. One of the upcoming visitors worked in Yuuei's Support Department, likely someone learning alongside or teaching Hiro.
Poor Hiro's limbs seemed to be stuck at a mild, though near-constant vibration, and his teeth chattered as he separated himself from Miwa. A collection of students and guests were already assembled on the front steps by an expectant Aizawa.
"If you all want to head inside to your classroom, you've got uniforms waiting on your desks to change into." Aizawa ruffled the wrapping around his neck, yet they looked as tangled as usual. "I suggest you do that sooner rather than later; we'll be bussing your guests in to the arena first, and then the rest of the students will be walking over while we drive you."
Startled, Hajime looked to Miwa and Masaki while Suge –or rather, Ichi and Ni– yanked on her arm. Ma, introducing themselves to Miwa, indicated to two children clutching to their bandaged legs. Both children were also wrapped from head to toe and sported similar pudding basin haircuts to try and control their wild black curls. While one child wore dungarees, the other was dressed in a full-coverage romper – though the pair wore similar mismatched wellingtons and bright yellow rain coats.
"Ma, are these your little'uns?" Miwa squealed. Ma nodded and mumbled something close to Miwa's ear. "Of course, I'll keep an eye on them! Come on then chickadees, you get to watch from the stands with Auntie Miwa."
"Do you know, I don't think she was ever so maternal with me," Hajime whispered to Suge.
"You weren't as cute as Ma's twins!" Miwa called, somehow managing to overhear her niece.
The Mature Heroics students made what felt like the walk to their death sentence down the hall. Curious Yuuei students poked their heads out of the large windows beside their classrooms, and some even peered around open classroom doors while their teachers tried to reassemble some order. What awaited the fifteen students in the MH room were numerically labelled cases atop their desks – each signed to an equivalent seat number.
Tentatively, they unlocked the clasps on the brushed silver cases. Inside lay a neatly folded gym jersey and tracksuit pants, and, should Hajime's class not have brought their own that day, a set of spare sneakers, just as Aizawa had promised. Hajime felt a little disappointed, honestly, because instead of the unmistakable predominantly blue ensemble recognisable from televised sports festivals each year, the MH students' uniforms had been inverted.
In a deep, eye catching red, with minimal white accents, these suits were sure to make them stand out from the crowd. The blue piping –differing from the white outlines present on the standard student's gym kit– rounded off the whole notion that while the MH course was part of Yuuei, they were still ultimately a foreign and novel addition to the campus.
It wasn't surprising. Aizawa had told them to expect some intrigue. If not for Yuuei's agreement with multiple news sources that idling reporters lying in wait and pouncing on students wouldn't be tolerated after the USJ incident earlier in the year, there would no doubt be a clamouring audience outside of curious students waiting for the MH class. Still, a select crew who had agreed to work with Yuuei only to televise the impromptu festival, and not to harass the participants, were going to have enough coverage and cannon fodder on Hajime and her classmates for the coming months. It was only just dawning on Hajime Itou that thanks to her Aunt her plain face would be plastered everywhere come teatime.
Wordlessly, amongst them all there in that classroom passed an agreement. They would have to look out for one another outside of the arena, but inside –and with such high stakes resting upon them– no one was going to hold back. Not even for the Quirkless woman in their ranks, who wasn't going to restrain her kicks anymore; not with Masaki watching from the stands anyway.
The clicks of the clasps clunking when shut ricocheted around, and as one the group filed out to the changing rooms. Once changed, transported over to the arena they would be battling in via another of Yuuei's minibuses, and settled into their waiting rooms half an hour later, Aizawa reappeared.
"None of you have backed out then?" No one dared answer. "Good."
Hajime ran her hands over the blue stripes appliqued onto her tracksuit bottoms as though to reassure herself. Aizawa, who at the start of their classes had informed them that he was only the temporary teacher –and who was still here complaining about that five weeks later– looked proud of them all. Then the expression dimmed, so perhaps it was just wind causing Aizawa's lips to tug upwards?
"I can't say what awaits you out there. I wasn't told what the events are – and if you've seen a Yuuei Sports Festival before, then you'll know they're randomised. Do your best. Plus Ultra."
A chorus of weary, feeble 'Plus Ultra's resounded through the class.
"Give it five minutes and there should be an alarm. That's your two-minute warning, and an indicator that you should all be ready to walk down to the stadium." Aizawa hummed knowingly at his justifiably nervous students, then left.
"Oi. Itou," Minamoto growled once Aizawa had closed the door. "I want to see you in that final."
"Who even says I'm making it there?" Hajime moaned, watching Hiro's legs bounce apprehensively at an unprecedented rate with rapt attention. "I mean, what if one of the randomised trials is Quirk orientated only – bye bye Ensō, hello lifetime of poverty."
"It can't be that bad," Suge muttered. She looked to Ma; they had two young kids to support, and while no one liked to push judgement on anyone, how could someone with two small children support themselves, their kids, and manage to pay off a debt while working at the same time? "It won't be that bad. I think?"
"Who says any of us getting to the finals?" A dithering Hiro announced. "What if we're all set up to fail – 'cos I'm fuh-fairly sure the Sports Festival this year was rigged for the Heroics course."
Minamoto growled, slamming his hand on the large table in the middle of the waiting room. "It's s'not gonna be rigged, ya here! Don't half-arse it, Itou! I wanna fight my rival man to man."
Sentaro Minamoto's country roots were showing. As was his accent.
"Woah there, bub," call-me-Bob exclaimed. "But since when have you and Itou been rivals?"
"Since he followed me into the lady's loos and demanded it," Hajime answered. Sentaro did look cowed from the fact that he'd invaded a private space, and had been quite rude about his demand, but he could not be persuaded from accepting one Quirkless woman as his biggest obstacle to Herodom.
"That," Washi Ofuda sneered at Sentaro, "Is who you decide is your greatest enemy. You must not be much of a challenge then if she's difficult for you to overcome."
To be fair, Hajime trying to pick that morning's rice cracker snack from between her teeth hadn't given the greatest impression, but there was no need for Ofuda to be so rude about it. She knew she didn't amount to much, and she was only humouring Minamoto if only to get him off her back for a while. In no way was Hajime out to create more problems for herself – especially Washi Ofuda shaped problems. Problems were, well, problematic, often lead to injury, and were not welcome in Hajime Itou's life.
"Do you have an issue with me or something?" said Hajime coolly, eyes narrowing.
"Huh," Ofuda huffed. "If you're the enemy of my enemy, then I guess you're my enemy."
"What does that even mean?" muttered Hajime.
"It means," Washi clarified, fingers riffling and twisting through the beaded necklace that circled tautly about his neck, "That I'm going to do my best to take you down. Minamoto is mine to fight, Itou. Though of course, neither of you are a match for me in the end."
Sentaro snorted. "Ya think you can take Itou on in terms of tenacity? You've got another thing comin'."
A shrill bell rang throughout the waiting room, and the MH class jumped to their feet. It was time for them to assemble in the arena, and for the games to begin. Aizawa had stressed that they should file out accordingly onto the field in order of their seat numbers and not the unorganised rabble the larger Yuuei classes made.
Nestled between Kuchigiri and call-me-Bob, Hajime mumbled under her breath. "I wish everyone would stop drawing me into stupid fights."
Call-me-Bob ran the flat of his palm across his slick blue, spiralling pompadour. Whether he used hair gel on that monstrosity, or if it naturally looked like incredibly hard –yet glossy– rubber, Hajime wasn't certain. But call-me-Bob's hair did not tousle underneath his hand. "Boys will be boys I guess."
"That, or idiocy is catching," Hajime agreed.
"Minamoto must think highly of you though Itou," Kuchigri added, eying the young woman up and down appreciatively. "I can see why."
"I really, really hope you don't."
It was as though they were reliving their introductory class all over again. One by one they followed each other like tiny red ants in a long production line out towards the stage in the middle of a lush green field. It had been six or so months since Yuuei's first years had duked it out in this arena, and with the advancement of Quirks in society it was highly likely that someone outside of Yuuei's roster of capable Hero staff had been contracted to fix up the cracks in the concrete and the scorch marks on the turf.
A familiar Hero stood on the stage. Little was known about Hound Dog outside of his tendency to drift into yipping, growls, and howls mid speech if he felt impassioned, but somehow, he'd been drafted to play adjudicator today. Aizawa had to be impartial to his class, so sat with the other staff in one the arena's private boxes. Midnight, or Headmaster Nedzu, who usually overlooked and refereed matches, were nowhere in sight. But over head-
"Aaaaand here they are! Yuuei's first ever Mature Heroics class!"
-was Present Mic.
"Indeed," chimed a mischievous tone. "And I'm unlikely to get in trouble for thinking naughtily about this lot, am I?
And there was Midnight, taking over the role of co-announcer. Two of Yuuei's most outgoing Heroes, situated in an enclosed booth, together at once. What could possibly go wrong?
"Let it be known that this batch of students have been trained up by Eraserhead!" Mic drawled. "But enough of that, over to you Hound Dog to introduce our competitors!
Hound Dog adjusted the microphone stand so that the mic rested level with their muzzle. A sharp pant of breath and the clack of canine teeth snapping together minutely could be heard, then; "Mature Heroics – aroof! Grrr… hraaaagh! Fifteen – awooOoOOooooaaAAaargh! Hah-hargh- wruff."
The microphone shrieked with feedback, and Hajime clamped her hands over her ears.
"Did you get any of that?" she asked loudly. To her surprise, Suge, Nanako Yamori, and Subako Fujita all nodded. The rest of the class were just as clueless as Hajime.
Rustling from the voice over booth could be heard, and some protestation as a another Hero snatched one of the announcer's microphones away from them.
"What Hound Dog was trying to say," explained the Pro, Vlad King, "Was that these are our fifteen Mature Heroics students, chosen from nationwide applications for their diversity. If they'd like to give a little wave as we introduce them-"
One by one, and with a camera drone flying above and next to them to capture each awkward twitchy smile, apathetic nod, and dorky wave, the students put a face to their name.
"I'd better get down there and help translate for Hound. Vlad King over and out."
"Well," said Present Mic after recovering his microphone. "You heard it here first listeners! Fifteen fresh students proving that you can teach old dogs new tricks."
On stage, Hound Dog howled in agreement.
[1] Making a quick search online informs me that Japanese Highs school tuition fees are roughly ¥12,917,000 (£88,000 or so). Considering that Yuuei offers an extensive and rare education, and their facilities are the best of the best – plus these are matures students – I doubled that. (¥20,000,000 = £135,579). Bear in mind that for state schools in the UK, you're probably pushing £100,000 of tax payer's money (and perhaps even more!) to see you through Primary and Secondary education, then a further £50,000 to see you through an Undergraduate degree. Staying on to do a Post Grad degree, or a PhD, racks up even more costs. I know the MH course isn't a full three-year high school tuition, which is why the cost for ten weeks had been inadvertently ramped up. Essentially the MH are undergoing an intensive crash course – and damn can they be expensive when you factor in the equipment, logistics, and any other necessities being covered.
[2] "Hajime" can be a command to "begin" or 'start'. Yes, you guessed it, it's another dumb name pun!
Just a quick reminder of the MH class!
1
Sentaro Minamoto – Poniard
2
Washi Ofuda – Talisman
3
Hitomi Hisakawa – Third Eye
4
Komori Momoku – Magnetroception
5
Hiro Tanaka – Stability
6
Souma Souta – Air/Wind Manipulation
7
Nanako Yamori – Chameleon
8
Tsurutsuru Abura – Lardon
9
Suge Yato – Snake Hands
10
Subako Fujita – Hive
11
Hideaki Kuchigiri – Trouser Talk
12
Hajime Itou [QUIRKLESS]
13
Robert "Bob" Takahashi – Bounce
14
Tsuchiko Usakichi – Bunny
15
Ma Hotai – Mummy Man
Musical Inspiration:
"Mr Simple" – Super Junior, 'A-Cha'
"Retrograde" – James Blake, 'Overgrown'
