Nemuri Kayama, otherwise known as the professional hero "Midnight". Teacher of Modern Hero Art history, it was her job to teach these rowdy teenagers the subtler side of determining one's identity as a hero. Symbolism and naming conventions, two aspects of the name so intricately entwined one could mistake them as being one and the same. At present she stood at the head of Class 1A, a more forlorn group of faces she could not have found on school grounds. This class in particular, she noticed, seemed more tightly knit than the others. Whatever the reason for this was, whenever one of them was adversely affected by life, the pain permeated to all of them. Such was the comradery born of surviving the things they had already, so early in their careers as heroes.
Though that was presently irrelevant, save for understanding the present mood lingering in the air. They all knew what had happened, what had shattered the heart of one of their classmates in particular. Today, almost painfully too soon after recent events, was the day they chose their names. "A hero's name," began she, "is perhaps more important than the costume," this earned her some odd looks, but nothing she hadn't observed before while teaching this lesson. "It's the label that people remember us by as well as something that usually carries a special meaning to the hero who chooses the name, though this isn't always the case." Opening a small case, she procured a set of small dry erase boards and markers from within. Placing them in the hands of Hagakure -class 1A's resident invisible girl- she said, "for the next fifteen minutes I want you to consider who you are," one vampiric student in particular flinched at that, "your life, your values, your journeys to this point in your lives." All in the room had eyes on her, she met their gaze with warm confidence. "Choose the name that fits all of this," she said raising a hand and pointing at them all, "choose a name that tells the world 'who you are'."
Two weeks earlier….
UA High School: USJ Facility
Dust began settle in the wake of the Nomu's retreat. Deku remained on his knees, head hung low and face twisted in confused, shamed grief. His hand remained where it lay, resting on the corpse of the crushed man's shoulder; clinging to the ratty fabric.
A name that defies everything you've been through…
There was a hand on his shoulder, gripping gently, not prompt enough to turn his eyes away from the body. A man he barely knew, a man who'd come here to kill him and his classmates, teachers. Dead by some grievous miscalculation, a feat of clumsiness and poor coordination of those inexperienced in combat. But this was still a human being, not just some cackling fool in a mask. Someone with hopes, dreams, twisted as they might have been. Horrid as his intentions there were reasons behind them, thought put into what he was doing. Monster though that made him, it also meant he was aware: Human.
Something he could no longer claim to be.
"Little one..." he winced, breath choking in his throat. "It's okay. You can let go." Vanessa put a hand over his, the one on Shigaraki' motionless form.
Shuddering breath, voice cracking, he rasped, "but I-"
"Did everything you could," softly as she spoke, the words cut through him like a lance. Everything he could, and this was the end result. "It wasn't you..." she had to draw in a beath, holding it for a few moments, "I know it doesn't feel that way," Slowly, one finger at a time, she peeled his hand off of the dead man's shirt. "And that it may never feel that way," she pulled his hand back, away from the body which was growing colder by the second, "but we need to get everyone medical attention, and… him seen too." Deku just stared helplessly at the body, as Vanessa pulled him away, to his feet. "Come on," she murmured, turning his face away at long last. "We need to go."
When he was asked what he remembered about the USJ incident, the vampire would later say one thing. It ended with silence. In the wake of such a violent, traumatic experience your brain doesn't expect the world to go back to that familiar noise level. The rush of your own blood, your heart rate racing in your ears, the ringing of adrenaline, it all harmonizes in moments of chaos; creating a dissonant chorus of frantic energy, need to escape, survive. When those moments end, and the silence comes back, the world feels wrong. Like that living hell you were just in replaced reality, forcing you to adapt to it before throwing back into the realm it just stole you from. That familiar, peaceful quiet, after all that, just feels so alien.
It was very quiet when the rest of the faculty arrived. When the medical staff arrived along with one ambulance and a whole army of Musutafu's finest police officers. Dozens of villains were collected, taken to be locked away for decades. Aizawa, Thirteen, and Akaguro were completely unconscious when they were carted away to Recovery Girl's office. Jiro wished to have been so lucky, for the screaming pain she was in. She had resigned herself to watching the world spin, stars dancing in front of her eyes at the slightest attempt to move. "Are they going to be okay?" Deku mumbled, watching them as they were removed from the scene of the incident.
As the last of them were carted away, the elder Vampire's lingered on Akaguro's unconscious form. For a moment, a flicker of recognition appeared in her eyes. Ultimately, however, she ignored it and so Vanessa replied, "From what I hear this school has a top notch medic," from his prior visits to said nurse's office, the younger of the pair could indeed confirm this to be true, "they'll be fine."
Stooping to pick his sunglasses from the ground -somehow making it through the encounter unscathed- Deku let out a long breath. "Guess that's something…" and he replaced them on his face before making the walk outside. Funny, he hadn't remembered walking to be quite so draining before all this. It wasn't long before his legs were too weak to carry him, and his eyes fell shut, as though they were weighed by lead. Scooping him up onto her back, Vanessa carried the poor boy home.
His things would be waiting for him in classroom when he returned.
Sleep was about the only thing she wanted right now. That or about the most extensive full-body massage one could give; after as near a lethal dose of painkillers you could get without permanent damage. If nothing else, Recovery Girl's quirk had repaired most of the damage, and gotten the planet to stop spinning like a hyperactive child on caffeine. All the same, Jiro was impatient about getting back on her feet.
"You seem irritated." Violet eyes turned to meet onyx ones, sitting by her bedside. Sighing, closing said violet eyes, Jiro did not reply. "Don't want to talk about it?"
Slowly, her eyes reopened, staring at the ceiling. "What do you think would have happened if that villain hadn't died?"
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Yaoyorozu considered this reluctantly. "Honestly?" said she, now considerably downcast, "that… thing would likely have killed us all." Jiro winced, hearing her own pessimism spoken aloud by someone else was not what she wanted. "For as much as Midoriya did to it, you saw how much energy it still had when it…" she gulped, shuddering at the vivid memory of the Nomu's psychological breakdown. "Had that panic attack and fled," she continued, "if it had come to the fight re-ensuing…"
"Yeah," Jiro sighed, " So you noticed, Green just didn't have it him…" She glared up at the ceiling. "I hate that we were that helpless." Her fist clenched. "Relying on someone just like us, fish out of water, to save our skins." It wasn't often that Jiro felt shame stabbing at her so ferociously. "Nevermind being damsels in distress, throwing a classmate to the wolves like that makes me feel… dirty."
Groaning from another bed in the room prompted the violet eyed girl to look to the source. "Under the circumstances…" strained the voice of their teacher, Aizawa, trying to sit up, "One could hardly fault you for such a decision." Hand on his now thoroughly bandaged ribs, he used his other to haul himself up, back against the headboard. "But when class resumes," he pointed right at the pair of them, "we are going to have a very serious discussion about the word 'run'."
At that, the girls actually smiled. Well, one of them smiled. "You're a tough old bastard." Jiro quipped, turning her whole head to face him. "Should you even be moving?"
Growling at her fowl language Aizawa did his utmost to let it go. "When that concussion clears, your free ticket for swearing expires."
Wincing at a sudden urge to laugh, Jiro smiled through the pain. "...Deal." Managed she.
Swinging his legs over the side of his bed the battered, ragged man took a moment to breathe. "Oh no you don't." Opening his eyes, an eyebrow raised, Aizawa was most displeased to see Recovery Girl's cane pointed right at his nose. "Get back in bed this instant." The nurse demanded. "Your not getting up and undoing all that progress on healing your injuries." When he went to protest she actually went and pressed her cane against his lips. "No. No protests." She pointed with her other hand, her order unmistakable. "Down."
Stubborn as he was, Aizawa wasn't about to argue against such insistence on her part. "Fine." He muttered, complying with great reluctance. "Just tell me what happened to my students."
Coughing from the couch against the opposite wall preempted an answer. "They're fine," Akaguro wheezed, "No one but was seriously hurt." and his breathing devolved into a rather violent fit of coughing. Getting punched in the chest by the Nomu -right after breathing in all that smoke- had done him no favors. Even with the broken bones repaired his lungs continued to protest.
Aizawa raised an eyebrow. "...so I see." He turned his gaze to the two girls, to his left, and awaited further explanation.
"It's true," Yaoyorozu confirmed, "the only other student who was injured was Midoriya." She turned pale, clearing her throat before she continued. "Although… thanks to his healing factor he's still on his feet, somewhere on campus probably." A staff member at the door caught Recovery Girl's attention. For a moment Jiro swore she had yellow eyes but it turned out to be a trick of the light. Blue as could be. "In truth… he was a force to be reckoned with against that 'Nomu'."
"Is that so?" Aizawa turned toward the door, making sure that staff member and Recovery Girl were out of earshot. "Did he…?"
Jiro nodded. "Yeah," the guilty look on her face was rather telling, "he lost it, but… I think he knew he was losing it. Like…" she winced, wracking her brain for the words. "If he hadn't gone feral and bit the thing, no way this would have ended the way it did."
Aizawa sighed. "Just so long as evidence of what he is doesn't get out…"
"Don't worry," Jiro tapped the side of her neck, "claws aside, the only person his fangs sank into is right here." After some thought she added, "...at least who didn't immediately heal afterwords."
His next sigh was one of relief. "After all this… I'll take it."
After a moment or two of silence, Yaoyorozu piped up with a question. "Any idea what happens next?"
The teacher scoffed. "You mean apart from the media frenzy? I'll be getting you ready for the sports festival."
Akaguro looked at Aizawa like he'd just grown a second head. "You can't be serious…"
"Can and am." He declared. "If you want to make it as heroes, doing well in the festival is important." That… thought he and we likely have to save face in front of the world. Can't let the public think something like this will stop us, or future heroes from rising.
The dhampire growled, sitting up and rolling his eyes. "Such pointless, showboating frivolity…" his body shook with a few more haggard coughs, "give me a murder to stop or a villain's plans to thwart any day, but spare me the damn cameras."
That earned a smirk from the wounded professional. "Couldn't have said it better myself…" he exhaled, "but for now: suffer through it. Once you become a hero, do with your image as you please." For once, the first time since they'd begun sharing a classroom, Aizawa and Akaguro looked each other in the eyes. "It's only for the grades, kid." In response to this, the teenager nodded.
Straining to stand, Akaguro growled out his next words. "If you don't mind…" said he, trying and failing to sound non hostile, despite his lack of anger. "I'm heading out." He flashed that all too wrong smile of his before leaving the room. "See you in class tomorrow, if it happens."
As the others waved, Yaoyorozu couldn't help but eye him warily as he left, prompting an odd look from Jiro. "What?" said the violet eyed girl.
Remembering the fight in the inferno zone -just how utterly unhinged Akaguro had behaved- the creation girl swallowed. "Nothing." She lied. "Just… glad this is over." Silently, she hoped never to see that boy revel so in violence again.
It was a good thing she hadn't bothered to start praying then, as it only would have been ignored.
"Yeah," Jiro murmured, not sharing the feeling in the least. If that gnawing feeling in her gut was right, this whole thing was just getting started. "over…"
When Kurogiri next awoke, he was met with the uncomfortable sight of an ambulance's interior. Slow to start moving, so soon after nearly being melted to paste by that… whatever that girl was, he felt his skin tearing at his slightest effort. The acid burns on his skin were extensive, stretching his muscles enough to move produced incredible pain. What little remained of his shirt and vest were likely drenched in his blood. If nothing else, the pain was a source of relief for one reason: they hadn't bothered to give him painkillers or anesthesia. That meant it was only his injuries impeding him, and those were easier to function with than drugs in his system. Fighting against the searing, tearing pain in his body, he searched the interior of the ambulance for the attending EMTs. Both were at the front of the vehicle, talking shop from the sound of it. Medical terminology he knew nothing about, small talk about the other villains in custody. As luck would not often have it, the boy was not far from him. "Shigaraki," whispered he, reaching out and taking hold of his shoulder, giving him a shake. When no response came he assumed the young one to be unconscious, "worry not, young master," murmured he, "I'll handle our escape." Difficult as it was, he did manage to produce a portal sizeable enough to ferry them to safety. Their entrance to their hideout -a bar long abandoned by its previous owner- was far from graceful, clattering of gurneys and handcuffs echoed throughout the dustridden hovel. It was only when Shigaraki's body fell, limp and motionless as an empty shirt, that panic set in.
Only there was no time to act on such a feeling. A sudden creaking of the floorboards, the sound of a portable respirator -the kind used in hospitals, tubes sent directly into the lungs via the esophagus- sent an icy chill down the teleporter's spine. "Kurogiri," the lifeless voice, feeble as it was, carried an insignificant hint of rage. That barest of hints, was enough to make even the most hardened of warriors, heroes, go cold with a realization -a reminder, really- that death was only ever one moment away. "What. Happened. To my ward?" feeble limbs, shaky and bearing skin that cracked and flaked into dust like old paper reached for Shigaraki's body. "Who did this?" a shuddering breath punctuated the ghost of a snarl. The bony fingers of the man on life support curled around the boy's lifeless head. Kneeling, he pulled the dead man's face to his knees, cradling his body like a sleeping, wounded child.
Kurogiri took a long look at the man holding the boy's body, petting at his cold hair. A skeleton, draped in the rotting remnants of human skin. He wore a threadbare suit with a red tie, little more than string around his collar. But that mask… a helmet over what remained of the man's face hid a sight most ghastly from view. Housed within the metal workings of the head-wear was the respirator, roiling away to keep this husk of a man alive. "I don't know master." He breathed, head held low. "I was… incapacitated." One of the husk's hands clenched into a fist. "Until we landed here, I believed he was still alive myself." The fist, reluctantly, unfurled, returning to petting at the dead boy's sky-blue hair.
Sighing, the shards of his broken spirit scattering to the wind as he breathed, he closed the poor boy's eyes. "This will not go unpunished, Kurogiri." His tone was weighted, cold, like steel. "I want the one responsible."
"Yer gonna be disappointed." The pair of battered men looked to the doorway of the hideout to see a familiar face, a mess of blond hair tied into messier buns with yellow eyes blew a pink bubble with her gum. After the bubble burst, she walked into the room -laid back as you please- and dropped onto a chair. Crossing one knee over the other she took a knife from her pocket along with a whetstone, setting to work sharpening the rusty thing. "From what the teachers were goin on about yer Frankenstein rip-off went nuts and…" when she felt the unbridled rage pouring off the man on life support, the girl seemed to shrink, carefully reconsidering her next words. Clearing her throat, she went on. "Well… after that happened it hightailed it away."
This time, the growl that came from the husk's throat was the real deal. "You're telling me the Nomu did… this ?" Hissed he, through the modulator on his helmet.
"Yup." She shrugged, "I wasn't there, couldn't tell ya fer sure." and she went back to sharpening her blade. "One other thing got tossed around though… while I was snoopin around the school grounds?" At this new revelation she pointed her blade, along with her eyes, up at the ceiling. "Some o'tha wounded in the nurse's office said somethin about a kid with claws who stood up to the thing? I dunno," she shrugged again, refocusing her efforts on her knife while the shoulders of her boss trembled with fury. "From the sound of it, it was a battle of healing factors. Seeing who's would stop workin first."
"Toga…" The husk shuddered out the word, barely containing his fury.
"Hmm?" she looked up, "Wassup, bossman?"
Taking a deep breath, calming himself what little he could, he gave voice to his question. "This boy with multiple quirks," he let the breath go, "you're going to tell me everything about him."