CHAPTER 12
BARUK KHAZAD, 戦闘訓練
Rare was the day Dori did not have to look out for his two brothers – though he did not show it often. Rarer was the day Dori did not begin the day with a "what's the point?" - though he showed it all the less. Somewhere inside the refugee-dwarf turned guards-dwarf turned newly-rich connoisseur of finer things in life, there was a frightened child having to take care of two other frightened children in a world unfriendly to dwarves and more unfriendly to the have-nots.
It had been easy for Durin's folk to point fingers at the fall of their fortune. The dwarves had never had a shortage of wrongers.
So when Dori woke up unusually late that day and found neither Nori nor Ori in their room, his first reaction was to panic. By Mahal, they were lodging with elves and that meant oath-breakers, thieves and enemy of dwarves in the language of those children, wispy-bearded and twiggy-limbed, huddled among themselves in a home not their own.
Off the bed leaped Dori, ignoring the delicious-smelling breakfast across the table. He ran out of the sun-filled door and along the covered veranda, eyes darting about. Rivendell stretched out before his eyes: the green grass, the blue sky, the aroma of flowers and the sound of flowing water. It was all enormously calming and peaceful, and might have been much better were it not for the occasional elves who passed by.
Dori could swear they were wagging their fingers at him behind his back, like elves were wont to. He ignored them the way he'd ignored the older, stronger dwarrow-lads back in their days in the alley: never let them know he was looking, never speak a word unless it would be unwise to keep silent, and never throw the first punch. At least these elves took a hint, and didn't get within fifteen feet of himself.
His footsteps took him to the large courtyard under the shade of an oak tree very old. Dori's worries at once deflated like a balloon after a day of festivities: his youngest brother was sitting under the tree, next to their burglar-hobbit. He was talking and gesturing in the way only Ori knew, and Bilbo was sitting, chin on his palm, listening to him like it was something particularly profound.
It was so peaceful, almost.
False alarum, thy name art Dori.
"-didn't know our Ma or Pa, really," he heard Ori say. "Dori took care of the lot of us for the most part. Worked in the mine up there in the Blue for a time till he'd saved enough for this coat of long mail – rusty and smelly, mind you – and signed up for a caravan running 'cross the length of the mountain range!"
"I spy," he said, and stepped out in front of him, "someone dallying tales about a certain someone-" He tried hard not to laugh. "-without that certain someone's leave."
Ori shot up with a start.
"Oh, it's only you, brother," he said, rubbing his chest and sat back down.
"H-hi," said the burglar with a sharp breath. "Didn't expect to see you, Master Dori."
"Well, where else would I be? Gotta look after the little brothers, that's what I do," said Dori. "Where's Nori?" he asked.
"Prolly off and about looking for things to pil- pick up, I mean," said Ori. "You know him."
Master Baggins narrowed his eyes. "Pick up?" he asked. "As in, stealing?"
Ori waggled his five fingers. "Not very often," he said, "and only from those who have plenty to spare!"
"Funny you should ask that," said Dori. "You're the master burglar!"
The hobbit buried his hand in his head. "Remind me I need more practice," he said, which earned him a pat on the back and a "You're all right," from Ori.
Dori found himself smiling, and hunched down next to his brother under the tree. "So, hoarding the story-teller, are we?" he said.
Ori nodded. "He has enough in him to fill a few books – a library if you want to stretch!" he said, and gestured to his notebook. "I should like to grab a piece of that before some enterprising louts from the Grey Mountains or elsewhere got to him first! All that he asks for is something about myself in return!"
Dori didn't know if the hobbit was flattered or indignant, treated like a prized object (unintentionally). His little brother could be so uncouth at times. "Really now?"
The hobbit showed neither. "Master Dori, isn't it?" he said. "You could tell me something about yourself, too!"
That... was not something Dori had expected to hear. "For what, my dear chap? To write it down? No thanks, I'm not deserving enough of a dwarf for anything alike a biographer!"
To be more accurate, that was something Dori had wanted to hear, but he'd thought he wouldn't get to hear for the rest of his life – not, at any rate, ere Erebor was reclaimed and a large share of its old wealth became his.
"It's not about deserving," said the hobbit. "I try to keep notes on everyone I meet."
"What for?"
"It's, ah-" he scratched his scalp. "It's just something I do. Diversion; entertainment, that kind of thing."
"I see," said Dori, at once not sure how he was supposed to feel about the whole business.
That was, of course, until he heard heavy footsteps and the sound of many wooden sticks scraping against the cobblestone in the distance.
Into view came Dwalin, sunlight flaring off his bald head. He was dragging many wooden sticks in his arms and slightly fewer round wooden boards on his back.
"Ah, there you are, Dori. And Ori and Master Baggins, too!" said him. "It's time for a jolly spar! Show these elves the diligence and hard work of dwarves in arms, is what it is!"
Todoroki Shouto was very, very bored.
It was not his fault, or anyone's for that matter. The difference between his level and the rest of the class was simply too great.
Didn't help there wasn't anything special about the exercise either. All Might's debut as a teacher was as disappointing as disappointing went. The old bastard would laugh if he'd seen the mockery of a combat training going on under his here.
In theory, well, Shouto could see the sense in such basic training. A little.
The old man wasn't the one to teach Shouto that quirks didn't mean a lot outside context. That much Shouto found out himself. He wasn't the only boy in the world to pore over video clips of heroes doing heroics in the world. Shouto could even vaguely remember a time, his face free from scars and his mother not absent, when he watched hero on TV for fun. Because he was a little boy once, and what little boy didn't find heroes to be the coolest thing ever?
Funny, how much bitterness had climbed into that pastime of his.
At some point watching heroes on television stopped being about cool. He analyzed heroes, like a machine: how this hero wasted an opportunity or that hero risked a hostage's life, how that uppercut was too showy and not enough punch, how that kick did more harm than good... how he would have done things differently. And Shouto had to be so critical: the old man got creative in training often. He might be a bastard through and through, but never say he didn't know how to make demanding training exercises.
All Might's bellow snapped him back to the present.
"Young Bakugou and young Uraraka!" he hollered. "Prepare yourselves! Exercise starts in Five! Minutes!"
The two aforenamed left the waiting room. Bakugou with a growl in his throat and Uraraka with a shudder to her steps. Not the best of teams, Shouto thought. Given Bakugou's previous conduct, he would give them one minute, top, before Bakugou would run off doing his own thing and leave Uraraka easy picking.
Meanwhile, on one of the screens far in the corner the two 'villains' were still preparing. No, scratch that; Iida was pacing around in a circle and Midoriya was finding his phone too alluring for some reason. Barely better teamwork than the other team, really.
Dear me, this is gonna be a fiasco.
Back in the waiting room, Kaminari was starting something of a betting pool. "A hundred yen Bakugou sweeps!" he said. There weren't any takers until Kirishima slipped in a two hundred.
"You know what, you take Midoriya," he said. "I'll take Bakugou."
Mineta was off mumbling something about Uraraka's hero costume and clothing damage when Asui shut him up with a neck-snapping tongue-slap.
Yaoyorozu – the second student getting in through recommendation – was stealing glances at the paperwork All Might had placed on the table. Like they were something infinitely more interesting than the mere drawings they actually were.
The rest of the class were scattered in small clumps: obviously not knowing one another enough to chatter, and not exactly comfortable with their own ability in the face of their exercises. Again, not their fault. The difference between their level and his was simply too great.
Shouto folded his arm and leaned back against the wall. And then something on that screen began to move.
Oh?
Midoriya had stood up at last.
Show me what you can do other than run your mouth off, Midoriya.
A smirk came to Shouto's lips, more villainous than he should like.
Bastard old man, what have you made me into?
Kili had never quite understood the hostility against elves.
For the one, their women were beautiful (and so were their men, but Kili would rather not talk about that), their crafts were exquisite (all four corners of the world would marvel at the day dwarves and elves made beautiful things together), and but for a select few they weren't too unpleasant (then again he wasn't even born when Erebor was lost, so what did he know?).
For the other, they had treated them well for the past few days. Way better, at any rate, than he would have expected from a group of ancient folks who rarely were spoken of very well in the company of Durin's folk of late.
Then again, Master Boggins' donation of half his share of treasure might have had something to do with it – in which case their whole treatment was more or less a stay at an overpriced in. But Kili would like to think himself a positive and optimistic dwarf even on rainy days.
At any rate, on this particularly fine day he woke up to the smell of pot roasts and thick gravy, because Ori had protested the lack of meat for the last few days. He woke up to golden sunlight and a gentle breeze through the open window. He woke up to a distinct lack of his brother's presence, because each of them had their own small guestroom ("We haven't been treated like princes for ages, I was beginning to forget we sort of are!" Fili had said).
He woke up to the sound of wood crashing against wood in the open outside, and that set off a thousand warning alarums.
It was all Kili could do, really, to shove as much of the delicious roast into his mouth as he could, as fast as he could, without choking. Not nearly fast enough: before long there were footsteps at his doorsteps. In busted Fili,
Oh, Mahal.
"You up, Kee?" said Fili. Water was dripping from his hair and beard, like he'd just had a very quick wash. Or someone had dumped a pail on his head. Since he was grinning, it couldn't quite have been the latter, could it?
"What's the matter, Fee?" he asked with a yawn, pointing to his plate. "Can it wait?" Fili's grin did not fade. "Oh no. Don't tell me-"
"Yes it's Dwalin," said Fili, making a face at the plate. "What do you expect?" he said. "On the warpath again, that's what! Told us to make ready for a spar in five, or else!"
Oh, Mahal.
What could Kili do but gulp down some water and take off? Dwalin took his training very seriously as a rule!
Never before or after, Kili thought, would a courtyard smack in the middle of elf-country be so full of dwarves. Everyone in their company were present, down to their favorite hobbit-burglar-storyteller, forming a wide circle around Dwalin. Well, mostly everyone: Uncle and Balin weren't there, nor was the wizard, for some reason.
Dwalin was distributing sticks and boards among the dwarves and setting up a ring of a sort on the cobblestone (thankfully not the grass – it would be discourteous and a poor way to repay the elves' hospitality indeed!) when they stepped into the fore.
"There you are, Kili, Fili. I was just waiting for you two!" said Dwalin. He tossed two large sticks and two round boards at their feet. "Have at it now! Let me see your improvements!"
Oh, Mahal.
Iida Tenya... well, had no idea what he should think for the moment.
"I simply cannot believe I'm playing the villain role for my first class!" he said. He was shaking a little inside. "This goes against all virtues and values instilled upon me as part of my family tradition and education!"
And that was the abridged version. The thoughts in his head was a lot more stilted and archaic-sounding.
"Do you have a plan, Midoriya?" he asked. "I would rather you take the exercise seriously! Put away your phone and-"
"Actually," said the green-haired boy, flicking the diagrams over the screen of his phone. "I thought I do have something of the sort." He angled his phone towards Tenya. "Look at this, if you will!"
Tenya did as he was told with a grumble under his breath. His groan died on his lip at the first glance. "Those are..."
He did not know much about Hatsume Mei – yet. But one look at the schematics and Tenya could tell at once: this girl was a genius. She'd somehow integrated into a gauntlet five kinds of ammunition, available at the pull of a tab, designed specifically for use with Midoriya's sling.
Now Tenya might not be a military enthusiast, but he had heard Tensei talk about things like hollow-point and incendiary and shaped charge and how sometimes the difference between a crisis averted and unacceptable casualties boil down to which kind of ammo was loaded. In any case, you don't want to point them at anyone you don't want killed, Tensei had said with a laugh (like he did with most business).
Midoriya's gauntlet came with a supply of all three (or the sling bullet equivalent thereof). The thought of using them against his classmates chilled him to the bones. Tenya jabbed his finger at the offending drawing. "You do know these are designed to kill or at least maim, do you?" he exclaimed. "In fact, is this kind of firepower even legal? I can't believe All Might even allowed you to-"
"I imagined as much," said Midoriya. "If it helps, I have no intention to use these three, implacably annoying as I do find certain people."
As proof he unlatched their respective magazines and emptied the content on the floor. Tenya swallowed hard as the brass-cast pellets clattered against the tiling.
"Good," said Tenya with a sigh. "How did Hatsume- how did she think this kind of ammunition is a good idea?"
"Perhaps she thought we were up against robots again," said Midoriya thoughtfully. "Besides she gets carried away, often and badly. At any rate, this..." His finger slid across the screen, and his green eyes lit up. "This fauntling – I mean, baby – shall be right rambunctiously confusticating and bebothering for those on the receiving end!"
The fourth type of ammunition was rubber shots (designed to bounce. Watch the trajectory! said the instructions). There was a fifth type, too, and the corner of Tenya's lips shuddered.
"Is that a-" he said. "Did she seriously miniaturize a-"
Midoriya was thrilled, and could Tenya seriously blame him? The concept was genius, and a lot less deadly and more practical than, well, everything else about that glove, too!
"I suppose," he said, "telling her how I turned a phone into a weapon once upon a time did much to stimulate her imagination."
"That's all well and good," said Tenya. "But I thought you said something about a plan? We're up against Bakugou-"
"That I did," said Midoriya. "Do you read ancient tales and legends very often, Iida?" He blinked deviously. "Heroes like fighting honorably in tests of arms. Villains lurk, plot and ambush. We have a building with so many good hiding places, and are supposed to act like villains for once. What do you think, Iida? There are a million ways to ambush a pair of unsuspecting heroes" He took a sharp breath. "I've wanted to do that sort of thing since I was a wee lad!"
Iida Tenya didn't realize it, but just that moment, his eyes rectangular had turned positively round. Now that was unbelievable.
"That's not a bad idea, honest, but really, Midoriya? That's so unfair and unsportsmanlike – and unheroic!"
"Like I said, when a villain, think as villains do," said Midoriya. "Dark Lords aren't meant to be considerate nor kind to their pawns, nor are they supposed to play fair in the slightest (not unless they'd been caught by surprise, which we are trying not to be)."
Then mischief in his face faded, in its place dead seriousness (and Iida would like more of that, thank you very much!) "We can't beat Uraraka and Bakugou in a fair fight, and you know it," he said. "We can, however, make them waste precious time through trickery and misdirection – a stitch in time saves nine, and procrastination is a thief of time, like my father used to say."
Tenya found himself nodding, and nodding, and nodding some more. "It's not... half bad a plan," he said.
A smirk came to his face. If he was to play villain... let's play villain heroically.
"Why, I'm in," he said. "You know what, I changed my mind; let's drop all this disgusting and antiquated tradition of heroism. We can be the best villain team ever, and rule the world together with an ironclad fist!" Then he drew in a deep breath, and began cackling like a mad scientist with a doomsday death ray remote control in his hand.
"Music to my ear," said Midoriya. He stuck out a hand. "Ten minutes, Iida. Can you do it?"
Tenya took his hand. "Ten minutes it is."
Bofur would not admit it to just about anyone, but he had spent the better part of the previous day hounding the elves' kitchen-maids. And before you get the wrong idea, it was only the beer he was after. How exactly to brew the same, mind.
So when he woke up to Dwalin's massive form (for a dwarf) standing in front of his bed loudly declaring it training o'clock, Bofur was all too quick to protest. It simply wasn't enough, Now he was standing there in the shade of a great oak tree yawning and dreaming of elven draught while Kili and Fili were sparring with sticks and boards.
"I do wish we didn't have to spar as much," groaned Ori. Or watch princelings spar, Bofur added.
There simply wasn't much fun seeing two princes go at it with flurries and flourishes. Their moves were good and swift, their feet steady, their blows strong and well-aimed... but too regimented, too... textbook. Fights were only fun as a rule after you'd have a couple tankards, when neither party could move or aim so well or predict each other's move at all. Chaotic, messy, exciting stuff. Much more like real fights if Bofur had anything to say about it.
In fact, bar fights more often than not meant bets. Bets were good; life would be quite a lot more fun if everyone would put down a coin or two for the littlest thing. Not in this company, apparently: The last time he pulled out a betting pool on a spar he earnt himself a dirty look courtesy of the bald dwarf that said "Never do that again". Bofur would like to be in everyone's good grace, thank you very much! Wouldn't do well to be murdered by a company member long before he'd seen heads or tails of Erebor, after all.
For quite the same reason Bofur wasn't complaining, at least not as much as he would normally have.
"Boring as boring-do, eh, Master Baggins?" He yawned and cast a sideway glance to the hobbit. "Why even bother – what are you doing?"
It was a very, very good question: The hobbit was mumbling.
"Kili's doing a left parry to counter that swipe – but wouldn't an uppercut have done better? Oh, now Fili's angling that shield and ripostling – I'd put some space between them because he's got a longer reach with that stick. I wonder how far they could actually jump? I'd jump right there if I were Kili. Oh, a fabulous block!"
"Master Baggins?" Bofur rolled his eyes despite himself "What are you doing?"
"Oh?" The hobbit looked at him as though he had just been snapped from a slumber too deep. "Oh! Sorry, sorry, my bad!" he said with a really deep bow. "I was just a little lost in, uh, observation."
"Observation?"
Bilbo Baggins nodded. "Lots to learn just from watching people fight." He began scribbling on what looked like Ori's sketchbook. More mysteries: the youngest dwarf in the company did not seem to mind overly much. Last time he went anywhere near Ori's sketchbook (while drunk, mind) he got himself a very dirty look and a bonk over the head with said rolled book for his trouble.
Just then Bofur heard a loud smack. "Oh!" cried the hobbit.
Fili had, not very surprisingly, got through his brother's defense. A whack on the shield's tail end followed by a kick and a block that segued into a shield-bash. One leg-sweep followed, sending the younger princeling tumbling face-down on the grass.
Interesting, he thought. The princelings were learning to fight chaotically at last. Next to him, the hobbit's scrawling was becoming more frantic. "Keep-leg-open-and-watch-for-sweeps," he spelled the words out.
"That was a good scrap," said Dwalin. "And very good thinking, Fili! That's how you fight orcs if – when we get to fight them." He looked to his side. "Gloin, how about coming right here and showing the lads how it's done?" ***
Ochako was cursing herself all the way from the classroom to the waiting room, and then again from the waiting room to the actual training building. She was swimming in thoughts and doubts and annoyance, and not a small amount of fear, too.
Taking her mind off Bakugou for a while – because whoever thought she would make a good team with him was probably out of their mind – there was the matter of Midoriya and his new gauntlet.
Midoriya's new toy was beautiful. Not in an artsy or delicate way, no, quite the opposite. it was just the one Hatsume had given him before with some additions. Now it included a box-like, bulging elbow-pad that tapered down the calf, and a ridge winding round the wrist connecting said box to the palm. Rugged, stylish and, until proven otherwise, functional.
No, the beauty part had nothing to do with shape or design or color. It was how Hatsume had taken basically her entire school day just finishing it up in time for their combat training. And finished all the paperwork that would go with it, too!
A very tiny part of Ochako was right jealous. She did not know if Hatsume had done that much because Midoriya had asked, or because Midoriya had asked. And while part of her was shouting 'You must know!', the other part was screaming 'No you don't!'
Not to mention, a really selfish part of her secretly wanted some nice toys delivered to her table too, darn it! Izuku wasn't the only one with trouble controlling his quirk, was he?
And Bakugou still hadn't said a word to her. How were they supposed to work together again? With a sigh, Ochako switched on her phone – last minute check for any messages or funny memes before switching it off for the duration of the exercise.
"' Entrance Exam Arena Trap Survivors' sent you a message."
Ochako's hands trembled harder. She swallowed quickly. T-this can't be what I think it is, can it?
But it was, and more. Fifty megabytes' worth of diagrams, drawings and instruction no doubt explaining exactly what Izuku's new gauntlet was supposed to achieve was now available at Ochako's fingertip.
Ochako knew all about Midoriya's upgrade now. And she was on the other team.
What should I do?
Gloin and his son might as well had the surname "Axeborn" or something to the same effect. They were stocky and strong as dwarves went, and loved axes to a fault. And when there weren't real axes or real warfare (Gloin would hope Gimli would get to live beyond the scourge of wars, at least for a few years to come), sparring exercises were nearly as good.
He stepped forward into the dirt-ring, brandishing stick and board. On the other end stood Dori the strong, the former guardsman, the infamous dandy with two notorious brothers.
"Been a while, hasn't it?" said Dori.
"Couple years, give or take," said Gloin, and he grinned his beardy grin. Dori might be too well-dressed for a proper dwarf, but Gloin knew better. His heart was in the fight as much as any of the very best.
"See that young Gimli doesn't overtake you any time soon, kinsman."
"Let's hope he does," said Gloin, "through no fault of my own. Baruk Khazad!"
"Baruk Khazad!" cried Dori, and then it began.
They did not rush each other. Rushing was not how dwarves fought. Instead they each took measured steps at each other, like two glaciers about to crash. Because when they did crash, it did not matter how much of a noise they make. No, dwarves fighting was all about who would walk away.
There was a loud, dull, double thud as they met. In fact Gloin had to take a single step back: Dori had never gotten weaker, while Gloin, well, had. But he'd got a little faster, too, and more agile. He broke off the lock and swung back at the edge of Dori's shield. A startled Dori took a half-step back: the hit glanced off the center of his shield.
Then came the dance, because it could hardly be called anything else. The sticks flew not in a flurry, but in swift and heavy blows calculated on the fly. The boards remained not in a place, but moved and shifted about to cover and deflect. Always a parry followed by a counter swing. Always strafing around, stocky feet never stopping. Always feinting, always sending false signals, always aiming for the cracks.
Their legs must have made dozens upon dozens of rounds about each other now, and the ground itself was scourged by their feet. Was it any surprise that among dwarves occasionally blood enemies knew each other better than brothers?
Finally it was Dori who made a swipe in too wide an arc. Gloin put everything he had into a single bash, and as Dori shuddered backwards tore his shield from his grip with a mighty swing.
"I yield," claimed Dori, hands raised, and Gloin let down his stick. His shield was in one piece no more: it was dented and cracked all over, and its boss was bent to the breaking point courtesy of Dori's strongest blow. He raised it high: a shattered shield might not look like much to other folk, but to a steady dwarf it was a proof of bravery second only to bodily wounds.
Then Gloin looked down at the younger dwarves. This is how dwarves fight, he had half a mind to speak, but ended up not saying anything at all. Proper dwarves should act more than talk, and his performance had done the part of speaking already.
Dwalin looked impressed. Well, more impressed than he normally was about Gloin at any rate.
"Good, good, very good!" he said. "Now, let's see... Ah, Gloin, if you wouldn't mind testing the new blood? Master Bilbo Baggins, care to show us how much you've learned in the craft of war?"
At once the dwarven rank went alive with mutters.
Gloin just went cross-eyed. Is this a joke?
But Dwalin looked dead serious, and there was no arguing with a serious Dwalin.
Bakugou Katsuki was angry with a capital A.
In fact, he had been in a constant state of rage ever since they told him their middle school in the middle of nowhere now had two students going on into U.A.
But anger hardly described the storm within him. Katsuki was angry, and confused, and anxious. He was more than a little scared, too, if he had half a mind to admit to himself. The last one he brushed away, because he had never thought himself anything but a hero and heroes were supposed to be fearless, weren't they?
Now Katsuki was intelligent. He'd learnt how to write his own name in Kanji long before he was in first grade. He designed his own hero uniform down to the calculations. On a good day he could do logarithm in his head while brushing teeth and cursing at germs.
So when he saw Deku acting not like himself, his first thought had been save yourself. He would never admit that Deku had frightened him in any way, shape or form, but the truth was what it was: Deku cowed you into submission.
But Katsuki was intelligent, and when he was not too prideful to ignore it he could think up a lot of things. For the past week his wisdom had been screaming at him almost non-stop. Something isn't right, it had said. Something is wrong with Deku, it had said. And, flowing naturally from that, this is not just about you and your grudge.
Much as it pained Katsuki to admit it, he thought his subconscious wisdom had made sense. The insignificant Deku might have hit a tipping point. Cracked. Snapped. Turned to the dark side. Taken the first step to villaindom, worst case scenario.
Someone had to be pulling his strings. Someone had to be, because Deku might be brave on a good day but never hateful. Never threatening. Never malicious.
And just as someone was driving Deku into straight-up villainy, someone had to stop him.
Katsuki would be that someone. Because he was a hero. Heroes protected innocents. Heroes took down threats to the peace like Deku on a rampage. And who better than Katsuki? He was powerful. He was the best. He was invincible-
Then Katsuki's mind snapped to that incident a year ago. The lowest point in his career. What sort of hero would let himself be held at the mercy of a villain to the point he needed someone to bail him out?
No, no, no, he shook his head. Neither the time nor place to think about that. Even pro-heroes admitted how strong and how amazing he was, fending off the slime villain as he did. Of course he was strong and amazing. He was Bakugou Katsuki, and that was synonym for awesome.
Calm yourself, steel yourself, beat the shit out of Deku. Business as usual.
The more brutal part of Katsuki, that had no business being inside a hero whatsoever, wanted to grab Deku by the neck, break both his arms and rearrange his face without anaesthetics.
The more rational and heroic part of him shouted it down. There is a time for beating the crap out of Deku, it said. Now's the time for answers.
Answer, huh. Bakugou could live with it. If he was to be a bit rough, well, it was training. Besides, it wasn't like heroes never manhandled villains. All Might should know that much.
Shouldn't he?
"Bakugou?"
Katsuki turned around and saw his so-called partners looking at him intently. How annoying. He could do this better when he was alone. "What is it, moonface?"
"Um-" Uraraka was looking back and forth and decidedly not at him. "I-I was just trying to say, let's be real careful, 'kay? Midoriya's kind of... sort of..."
"Of course he's dangerous, stupid."
Uraraka blinked, blinked and blinked some more. "Eh?"
How annoying. "Here's the deal," he said. If she wasn't going to look at Katsuki's face, no reason for him to do likewise. "We're gonna bust in there, make a whole lotta noise and draw Deku to an open place so I can punch him in the face."
Uraraka huffed. "Look, there's a time for attitude and this isn't it, okay?" she said. "We have to work together and-"
An explosion went off in Katsuki's palm.
"Tell you what, moonface. You're still in my good graces. See to it that you fucking remain there." His iron sole stamped so hard on the concrete step Katsuki thought he heard it crunch underneath. "Why not start by staying out of my fucking way?" he drawled, and thought he heard Uraraka reeling back. He ignored her.
Katsuki was an asshole, and he knew it. Didn't mean he couldn't try to protect a patently useless silly girl from a blatantly dangerous Deku.
Thorin had been spending time in the company of the only one who made any kind of sense of late: his cousin Balin – and yes he did realize how much he sounded like the Tharkun at that.
"Durin's Day," said Thorin. "We do have some time to spare; with luck and if we push on fast enough we might be able to go all the way around Mirkwood and avoid any more elves altogether."
"That is one month's worth of travel, and not much safer." said Balin. "Dol Guldur lies in the way, and evil things come out of those ruins at night – and in broad daylight on an ill day.."
"Depending on what you would like to face; spiders and elves or more goblins." said Thorin, picking up his goblet. "It has been a very long while indeed since any of Durin's folk passed by that way. In fact, I thought Gandalf would rather we took the long trek: we've just enough time to do that, if we could indeed get through the Misty Mountains swiftly enough."
"You suspected the wizard knew of the secret of the Door?"
"There is nothing, I suspect, that he doesn't," said Thorin. "We are only here, Balin, by dint of lucky coincidences; and I don't think much of coincidences. We've played straight into the wizard's hands. He holds all the cards."
Balin glanced at his cousin's face. "I don't personally have any qualm against the present arrangements," he said slowly. "Nor does most of the Company. They'd treat us well, better than we could have asked for at the height of Thror's reign. Master Elrond gave us his words, and if Gandalf had wished ruin upon us of Durin's folk he had so many chances to do so had he half a mind.."
"That's not the point," said Thorin. "I suspect Gandalf wanted us to succeed, but it isn't so much gold that he desired, but something else from our quest. Gold and silver might furnish a wizard quite well, but his heart is not in it, you see. I suspect something very dire is afoot, something we did not expect to take place and would have done well without, but is already under way with or without us!"
Now Balin sat in silent for a while. "I know it is a bitter cup to swallow, cousin," he finally said. "but the truth none the less. Perhaps the day may come that dwarves would suffer no more injustices, in my lifetime if we are steadfast and lucky, but not today and not here." His cousin reclined against his seat, tired and weary. "You read the old books as well as I do. There are worse shame than being beholden to elves and wizards, and the charity of a hobbit."
Thorin smirked. "Seems you don't understand me as well as I think you do, cousin."
"Do I not?"
Thorin shook his head emphatically. "I may be proud, as are all of our line, Balin," he said. "Not stupid. The trolls were armored, if you recall. And not shabby armor put together from pilfered corpses. They are of goblin make – clever and cunning."
"Were they now?" said Balin.
"I am sure. As if I would ever forget the make of arms borne by Azog and his bodyguards at the gate of Moria" Thorin said. "That is the moment I realized we will need the help of elves, or men, or really anyone who hated goblins more than they desired our treasures, in such way as would keep our pride intact and them from our hoards."
Balin reeled back; now his brows were furrowed and the creases on his forehead made him look far older than he was. "What did the elf and the wizard tell you, cousin?"
Thorin took a sip of elf-draught from his goblet. To his great chagrin they did taste alright. "Terrible tiding," he said truthfully. "Had we crossed the Misty Mountains last year at this point, they said, a couple of scouts – nay, a map detailing shortcuts and less-traveled mountain paths would be enough. But this year... goblins are swarming out and about. The Misty Mountains and beyond are in an uproar."
"What?" Balin exclaimed. "But that doesn't make any sense! Our road has been quiet so far but for the trolls!"
"Did you see the elves on the road?" said Thorin. "Armed to the teeth and ears. I haven't seen an elf as well-clad in gleaming steel in my entire life! Not once were their songs silly and daft, merry even: those are war hymns on their lips, and had Thranduil's host came to our aid that day even you would have heard them!" He drew a stiff breath. "And the rampart. This little manor's rampart had elves patrolling atop, equally as armed and armored. They knew, Balin. They knew and had been making preparations for a while, I am sure."
"They could be bluffing," said Balin. "The trail cross the Misty Mountains could be perfectly safe and free of goblins, if they have indeed been stepping up the patrol."
Thorin picked up a loaf of bread. "Perhaps. But what if they aren't, and the Misty Mountains is as full of goblins as they come?" He took a massive bite off it and chewed like it was an enemy's head. "The elf Elrond suggested we could have the entire host of Longbeards at our disposal and would have trouble crossing the Misty Mountains at all. What if he is right?"
Balin did not answer. In fact, he was sitting there at the table, absorbed in the sunlight dancing at the window-sill. Thorin did not push him.
"Do you remember Moria?"
Balin crossed his arm for long, and then brought his pipe to his mouth equally as long. "We haven't spoken about it for years, cousin," he said at last. "What's the occasion?"
"I think of Moria often," said Thorin. "Not the battle, but Khazad-dum itself. Where Durin's Folk is meant to be. And I thought-" He fell silent for a moment. "-if our history is meant to happen. If our kin is meant to be scattered all across the four corners of the earth. If we would ever reclaim a home home – or just a reprieve before the next catastrophe."
"It isn't like you to be defeatist," said Balin. "It's ill wisdom to call off the expedition now if that's what you're insinuating-"
"Of course not," said Thorin. "Merely thinking how much we would have to part with, to afford an army of mercenary elves if that is indeed what they're trying to sell me. The thought of parting with so much gold yet unearned is not comforting, you see." There was a dry chuckle in his throat. "Neither is the consideration of whether they would slit our throats in our sleep. Uncomfortable, harrowing thoughts that makes you ill at the dinner table."
"You're sounding a little like the hobbit."
"I don't think that is at all a bad thing," said Thorin. "At any rate he keeps the Company better entertained than an endless keg of good ale, burglar or not; and entertainment might be in sore supply in the days to come."
There was a time Yagi Toshinori thought teaching was dull, boring and so easy he could do it with eyes closed. Well, not any longer.
The moment he saw the spark in young Bakugou's eyes, and another spark in young Midoriya's eyes, he knew trouble was afoot. Then he saw a curl on their respective lips that screamed violence and mischief, and it was all he could do not to scream "Lesson! Cancelled!" and gesturing wildly in the way only he could.
This was not how if was meant to be. This was not what he intended.
When he had suggested Nedzu to adapt the curriculum towards greater student cooperation and teamwork, he had done it for young Midoriya's sake. Because with his control of One For All he wasn't going to be the kind of hero like All Might, who would stand in the front line and punch villains until they give up. No, he was supposed to be the unassuming boy who nobody would think a hero, who'd watch and observe and then pull out his sling and land a shot at the evil-doer's back before they knew what hit them.
It was not heroic, but it was what Midoriya was good for. And though he had had no degree in pedagogy whatsoever, and his skull might be incredibly thick, it was basic wisdom better to let a child do what he was meant to do rather than what others thought was good for him.
It wasn't like Midoriya could seriously hope to fight Bakugou one-on-one. Toshinori had seen the video recordings. The explosive young man whose everything from hair to palm to personality were explosive was a force to be reckoned with: you could throw him into the thick of combat alongside most pro-heroes and he would not let down.
How would Midoriya deal with fighting him? Without much control at all of his quirk?
No, he couldn't be-
Fear was gnawing at his gut.
He couldn't be thinking of using those bullets, could he?
A cornered rat could bite off a finger, and young Midoriya was a lot more than that. He was a tiger cub, young and so full of spirit. Cornering him while he had just had those claws replaced with mono-molecular cutters? Bad, bad, bad idea.
Don't do it, Midoriya. You don't want to. You must not. You hear me?
But then he saw Midoriya stand up. Toshinori lifted his brow: Midoriya was removing shots from his glove, and then Iida was putting them away. For a second Toshinori thought his protege had heard his inner mumble. But no, he hadn't – there was no way he could have. It was only his sense of heroism and not wanting to hurt people.
The other side of the exercise wasn't quite as optimistic. The grin on young Bakugou's face did not become any less murderous. If the looks of things were of any indication, he was frightening his own partner. Young Uraraka looked like she was about to panic. Toshinori thought of Bakugou's costume design, and realized if he'd gone all out it wouldn't be much better than Midoriya slinging around explosive shots meant for taking down tanks.
Calm down, Toshinori. All Might. Calm down, and let the children prove themselves. If things go wrong... you are the teacher. You can call it stop.
Toshinori listened to himself. It might be a mistake... but for the sake of educating these children, it was a risk he would have to take.
"Exercise! Start!"
Notes and Fanon:
- Dori's family: Almost entirely fanon, inspired by many preexisting fanfic, the most prominent being MarieJacquelyn's An Expected Journey and ISeeFire's Homeward Bound - and a bit of my own touch too. Both are my recommended reading for the Hobbit fandom.
- Why move the combat training to the afternoon? Mostly to make it so Mei has time to fix Izuku/Bilbo the new glove. Mei had got five hours, from the beginning of their classes to early in the afternoon, to upgrade it with the design specified in chapter 4. Given her ingenuity this much should be more than enough.
- What is there in Izuku's gloves? Five types of ammo: Hollow (point) - basically a sling-bullet with a hollow inside, Incendiary - same as above, but filled with flammable oil to be ignited by friction, shaped charge - a bullet with a diamond-shaped frame with explosives inside, rubber shots - exactly what it says on the tin, and a fifth type that would become apparent in the next chapter.
Now I haven't done the exact maths, but I suspect even Bilbo can shoot a sling bullet twice as "hard" as the normal, unaugmented slinger - translated into terminal velocity. I've read somewhere that sling bullets are shot in the ballpark of 40-50 meters per second, and in the right hands are as deadly as a .44 Magnum. Doubling that figure, and you have ~100 meters per second. Nowhere near an anti-materiel rifle proper (1450 mps for the IWS-2000, as Google tells me), but factoring in the additional bullet mass and it's about as good as any firearm that doesn't leave your target a bloody mess. Augmented with OFA at even 5%, and there you have your light-tank-busting, Deathclaw-murderizing AMR.
Do I want Bilbo/Izuku to actually shoot that at anyone? Not if I don't want them to wallow in guilt for the rest of their life, I don't.
- On the recharacterization of Katsuki: This is probably the most controversial part of this chapter, following up on the controversial "villain-speech" by Izuku several chapters ago and takes into consideration Katsuki's later characterization too.
Here's the deal: Katsuki has never *not* thought himself a hero. He might be either extremely arrogant (very early on) or fraught with inferiority-superiority complex (later on) and a huge jerk in both cases, but deep inside he always think himself if not an outright hero, then a hero material. What heroes do all the time - saving people - must have rubbed off on him at least as much as not losing or giving up. He just doesn't show it; mostly because until at least the Summer Camp arc there's no real situation where he really had to stand back and think, "do I need to save people?"
By introducing a situation where Izuku more or less had forced him to think about the hero-villain dichotomy, then, Katsuki is forced to start thinking more about what makes a hero a hero several arcs too early. He's still a jerk - no working around that - but he might be getting a bit better than he does in canon here...