Hitoshi woke up in Recovery Girl's office. It was mid-afternoon, and sunlight streamed in through the window and across the other bed. The ceiling tiles above him were as boring as anywhere else in the school, but for a while he had to concentrate to make them stop spinning. He wasn't sure how long it took before he could poke at his head with bandaged hands, running into yet more bandages wrapped around his head and neck

Given the last thing he remembered was Iida's foot flying at his face, it all made sense so far.

Hitoshi sighed and let his hands drop to his sides. Lost twice in a row…

There was a little part of him that accepted that. Bakugō was just stronger, and Hitoshi hadn't been able to get him to respond fast enough. Victory went to the better fighter in a tournament. Bakugō had a heroic Quirk and years of training, and he'd fought real villains during whatever had happened in the USJ incident. Iida might've sealed the deal, but Bakugō was the one who cut Hitoshi off from the top. And Iida was, from what Hitoshi knew, too earnest to genuinely dislike.

Hitoshi's loss to both of them made sense. He was just a bitter kid with a villainous Quirk and a talent for hammering on people's buttons. Heroes always won and villains always lost.

Hitoshi hated that meekness. He loathed the instinct to just bow his head and avert his eyes to keep from being rejected again, even though it kept coming back. Now, worse than ever.

He wasn't going to be the kind of hero who took that lying down.

The usual spike of doubt hit him full in the chest. You're not going to be a hero at all!

But he'd made it this far. He'd gotten to the top four. He'd done it. That wasn't nothing.

It just wasn't enough.

"That's quite a face to be making after a run like yours, dear," said a voice, and Hitoshi blinked until the frustration tears gave up and left him alone. When his vision cleared, he turned his head as far as he could and spotted the school nurse sitting at a desk with her feet dangling off her office chair. "Fourth place in your first year is impressive by any measure."

Hitoshi swallowed and just nodded, because that was what he was supposed to do around adults. "How long have I…?"

"I fixed up your head almost immediately," she told him, "but I decided it'd be best if you slept off the fatigue, especially after you've had to visit me twice in one day. And it doesn't look like you've been taking care of yourself, Shinsō-kun."

What was Hitoshi supposed to say to that? He had insomnia, sure, but it was manageable. His dad's case was way worse, anyway—if he hadn't had a Quirk that made it so he didn't actually need to sleep, Shinsō Hajime wouldn't have made it to thirty.

Still, it didn't pay to argue with people in healthcare. "Maybe not," he hedged.

"No 'maybe' from you, young man," Recovery Girl said sharply, and Hitoshi might've tried getting away from her if he hadn't already been lying down. "I've had to fix entirely too many broken bones this year, so I'd appreciate if you don't contribute to that."

Calendar year or school year? Hitoshi wondered. But instead of saying that, he said, "Sorry."

Recovery Girl sighed, like she didn't believe him. "Apology accepted. Now, you've had a few visitors, but I think one young lady has been waiting for a while now to speak with you. Are you going to be all right if she comes in?"

Hitoshi's first impulse was to say no. His heartbeat thudded uncomfortably as his stomach tried to drop through the bed. He didn't want to talk to Gekkō yet. But at the same time, the idea that she'd been waiting to see him for a while was almost comforting, in a weird way. He was still disappointed in her choices. She was probably still tetchy over having to talk about near-death experiences, even if she downplayed them a lot. It'd be fine.

Hitoshi nodded, levering up on his elbows as Recovery Girl went to get the door.

"Shinsō-kun!"

And instantly, Hitoshi's mood plummeted.

The girl who walked through the office door wasn't Gekkō, but instead Homura. Her hair was a bouncy orange-yellow and her bright eyes were trained on him. He could already see her checking his bandages, like she was surprised he was still wearing them.

"Shinsō-kun, I'm so glad you're awake—" Homura said, seizing the abandoned office chair so she could sit down next to his cot. Then she got a real look at his face. Her hair darkened and shortened, as though cropped close to her head by invisible scissors. "Oh. I-I'm sorry, were you expecting someone else?"

Hitoshi didn't even know what expression was on his face at that exact moment, but it must have been awful if that was her reaction. He tried to rally, saying, "I—no, I wasn't."

Homura didn't buy it for a second. With a knowing look, she said, "I think Gekkō-san went home after your match with Bakugō-san. None of us saw her afterward."

"I don't care where she went," Hitoshi heard himself snap, and then winced at his own tone. "I mean…"

"Shinsō-kun," Homura said, in a tone that made it clear how childishly he was behaving, "that isn't helpful to anyone, least of all you. It might feel better to just react in the moment, but that's not how anyone gets anything done."

Hitoshi didn't respond, resting his chin in his bandaged hands and refusing to look at Homura. So what if it was childish? Today had been that kind of day.

"After you left the box," Homura said, as though that little exchange hadn't happened, "we were a little worked up. I mean, tensions run high in crowded places. But don't think for a second that 1-C isn't proud to have you with us." Homura's hair cast a glow nearly competing with the sunlight. "Fourth place—"

"—is really impressive for a General Studies student, I know," Hitoshi muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was as much of a nervous gesture as he'd allow himself. "I've heard it all before."

"Especially today, I take it," Homura said wryly, and Hitoshi eyed her. He hadn't known she used sarcasm. "I'm sorry if it sounded patronizing. But coming from me? I didn't even make it past the qualifier. I genuinely do think you've done amazing things today."

Hitoshi glanced back toward her. Then he said, as though the words were being dragged out of him, "…Is it wrong that I'm just… I wish I'd gone further?"

"No," said Homura. "But is that the only issue?"

"Never is," Hitoshi responded sullenly.

Homura pressed her lips together. "I'm listening."

"I don't know if this is a universal experience or anything," Hitoshi began, finally dragging himself into a sitting position against the headboard. Because he'd never had friends to be disappointed by. "But have you ever looked at someone who had all the right tools, and just…refuses to do anything with them? Doesn't it make you angry?"

"I've met people like that," Homura said, and Hitoshi didn't ask who she meant. "But It's not uncommon, I think. Sometimes what looks obvious to one person is really just a false impression, because you can't see everything going on with somebody else. It's usually not simple."

Hitoshi's problems were simple. His Quirk was a villainous one, so he had to prove everyone wrong. He was a bit of a smartass, sure, and he wasn't a fitness freak like other people he could name. But once he got into the Hero course, it'd be fine.

Not that he'd admit any of that to Homura now. They weren't talking about him. Gekkō defied easy categorization. What was the point of having all that power if all she wanted was to goof off?

"Did you ever ask Gekkō-san if she wanted to be a hero?" Homura asked, accurately guessing the shape of Hitoshi's thoughts.

"Of course I—" And Hitoshi bit down on the last word, trawling through his memory for any sign he was right to just say the first thing that came to his mind. Had he ever asked if Gekkō wanted to be a hero? She was in UA, same as him, and she'd taken the practical exam to get into Heroics. But if he was honest, Hitoshi had never seen the same drive in her as he had. She'd failed the written exams, or at least some of them, but was it possible to land in General Studies by boosting her written scores with points from a whole different test?

Had she just been trying to get into UA at all?

"I get the feeling," Homura said distractedly, "that Gekkō-san didn't come here because she wanted to be a hero. Or even a good student. On some days, it really showed." She made a thoughtful noise as her hair burned a little brighter. "Not as much anymore, though. She was really having fun today."

"Not at the end," Hitoshi said, even as he picked at the bandages around his hands. He could kind of see it.

Gekkō was strong, but she didn't care about a lot of things that mattered to other people. He'd tried asking who her favorite hero was, getting a shrug and a vague, "Probably All Might?" in reply. And the Sports Festival didn't mean much for her other than…a way to blow off steam, maybe. Ironic, considering her Quirk.

Hitoshi glanced up at Homura, who looked around for a few seconds before she dragged a folding chair over to the bed, clearly deciding asking Recovery Girl to move would be rude. The school's nurse pretended not to hear the scraping.

"Nobody was really happy with how the tournament went," Homura said, while Hitoshi looked down at the blanket pooled around his waist. She sighed deeply, then went on, "Bakugō-san blew up at Todoroki-kun for not using his flames, you wanted to win everything, and Gekkō-san…kind of just stopped having fun and went home. I wonder if it had something to do with what Midoriya-san said…"

Hitoshi blinked. "What?"

"Oh, I just…" Homura shook her head slowly. "It's just a half-formed thought. I'd have to talk to Midoriya-san or Gekkō-san to know for sure."

"…Okay." Hitoshi didn't know what Bakugō might've done to make it clear how upset he was about whatever happened in the tournament that he hadn't already done, but clearly it'd been memorable. "Have fun with that. Gekkō-san isn't going to want to talk to me."

Homura watched him for any stronger reaction, then her gaze roved around the room, as though looking for a way to continue the conversation. "I think it's a mistake to jump from 'Gekkō-san doesn't care about being a hero' to 'Gekkō-san is too upset to talk to me.'"

It wasn't a mistake if the entire argument was Hitoshi's fault. Gekkō wasn't the one who'd just assumed she'd been invested in hero work and acted like she was betraying trust for not sharing the same dream. Even now, a tiny part of him was pitching a fit in the back of his mind like it'd change anybody's mind.

Hitoshi pinched the bridge of his nose like that would help ward off his headache.

"But… What's this?" She reached for something on the bedside table, picking up a speckled composition notebook. In the white space where a name would go, a purple pen and a familiar neat hand had written "Training Notes: Part Three."

Hitoshi's stomach clenched with sudden dread.

"Oh, a young lady dropped this off while Shinsō-kun was resting," said Recovery Girl, looking up from her computer.

"Was it Gekkō-san?" Hitoshi asked, as Homura handed him the notebook.

"It was. She was quite concerned, but also in a rush," Recovery Girl remarked as she turned back to her desk. "When I asked if she'd like to wait until you were awake, she said she wasn't sure you'd like to see her."

Hitoshi flipped the notebook open as soon as Homura handed it to him, scanning pages of data and notes as Recovery Girl's words sank in like needles. He wasn't sure if Gekkō had started using indigo ink just to be funny. Whatever the joke was, it wasn't funny anymore. He didn't know if the punchline even existed.

"Shinsō-san?" Homura asked. "Is something wrong?"

I don't know what the hell this means, Hitoshi thought, instead of saying anything. The dog-eared pages had pencil lines crowded into the margins. He covered his mouth with his left hand, trying to think through a fog of hurt and fear. Why would Gekkō give Hitoshi another of these notebooks? Why now?

"Shinsō-san?" Homura asked again.

"I—" And that was when he reached the end. The last page in the book was a mass of penciled imprints, having been mostly obliterated by an eraser used so forcefully that it almost ripped the page. If Hitoshi checked carefully, he might've been able to make out some of it, but the only remaining line stood out first.

"I've got a new notebook," it read, "but I figured you might like to see how far you've come."

His fingers tightened around the spine of the notebook as he flipped it closed, nearly bending the cover.

Last time, Gekkō had handed over the notes about his progress because she said she didn't think he believed he was improving. Seeing the data, even in wonky handwriting or cramped between comments about Quirks and the day's homework, had helped. It meant she was paying attention. That she'd forced her weird friends into helping him improve.

Hitoshi had no fucking idea if this was a real attempt to encourage him or another consolation prize, like getting fourth place in a tournament with only three podium spaces.

"Shinsō-san," Homura began, and Hitoshi couldn't quite make himself look at her. "What is that?"

Hitoshi couldn't decide, at least for a second, whether he even wanted Homura to know. This was personal. It was about him, and…

Homura caught the flung notebook between her hands, like trying to stop a sword. Hitoshi heard her open the book and start turning pages, but he turned his gaze squarely out the window. She could read whatever she wanted.

"Gekkō-san wrote all this?" Homura asked, after about thirty seconds.

"…Mostly."

"She must care a lot about you," Homura said.

Hitoshi didn't answer and didn't look at her.

The first hint he got of Homura's frustration was when she sighed deeply.

The second was when the notebook hit him in the back of the head. It was a lot like being slapped.

"Ow! What the hell?" When Hitoshi looked, though, he fell silent with his mouth slightly open.

Homura's hair was a wild inferno that licked at the ceiling and her eyebrows were like tiny torches. "Quit being so stubborn!"

"Don't roughhouse in here!" Recovery Girl scolded, somewhere behind all the fire.

Homura's fire banked, a bit, but she still glared at Hitoshi with her eyes like embers. "I won't pretend to know what happened between you two, or even what you're really fighting about in the first place." She took a deep breath and her hair sank further, now only climbing across her shoulders. "But I think this was supposed to be a peace offering. She cares about you, you ambitious jerk, and you already know that!"

Hitoshi bit down on the first three responses that came to mind, because Homura was still talking. Even if he didn't like it when people meddled in his business, Homura was about the next best thing to justified—as class rep, she meddled. It was her entire role to take over and interfere where Midnight-sensei might come on too strong.

"You're overthinking things," Homura said. "I saw how Gekkō-san acted all day, up until your fight. She might not be super outgoing, but nobody who gets that invested in people gives up just because of an argument."

Hitoshi swallowed. He didn't know if Homura's impression was right. His hadn't been. "And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'll knock your heads together until it's okay again." Homura sat down again with a huff, plucking the much-abused notebook from the bed. She suddenly paused, then deflated a bit as her hair almost went out. "…Not that I want to try, given how far you both got today. You're both tough and smart and should really figure this stuff out on your own, you know?"

"Are you quite finished riling Shinsō-kun up?" Recovery Girl asked, as Homura suddenly blushed deep blue over her usual grayish cast.

"I am. I'm really sorry," Homura said, frantic. "My temper just flared!"

"I saw," said Recovery Girl.

"Right, right," Homura mumbled. She bowed to Hitoshi before she left, nerves abandoning her. "See you tomorrow, Shinsō-san. I'll be on hand to help sort things out!"

Hitoshi watched her go, then turned his attention back to Recovery Girl.

"If you're feeling better, you can head home."

"I…" Hitoshi sighed. "Okay. Thanks for looking after me."

He'd put off the inevitable breakdown until tomorrow. For now, he needed to see his parents' faces when they finally got the time to see how far he'd come.