A/N: Ohayo~! Hope you're all well out there. Quarantine's been... well, it's quarantine. My high-risk ass be totally not motivated to edit any of my works, but I got through two more chapters for this story. Finally...

Anywho, here it is, y'all. Hope I didn't scare anyone off with that sex scene (ain't trying to traumatize; trust me, I can do so much worse XD)!

Enjoy, and please R&R.

Plus Ultra!

Chapter 08 Oddity

A couplet of knocks disturbed Shota's manic cleaning spree—Can You Stand The Rain ended just as the noise ricocheted off the walls. The pro-hero sighed and swiped a hand through his hair, peeling a purple bandana from his hairline. He shook his hair out, letting the waves regain their volume.

His house was designed minimalist: a kitchen with a good-sized table ebbed against the staircase on the right; a door leading to a compact TV room and office in the back through the kitchen, through which, a small garage could be accessed; upstairs, a loft bedroom with double-stacked floored mattresses, completed with loads of blankets, on one end, and a miniature office set-up with an impressive bookcase on the other; on the left side of the loft was a bathroom between bed and sufficing office, and a single-door balcony that existed above the garage. Eri's toys, his paperwork, and the cats' beds and toys could be found here and there, like little pebbles decorating a crafted pond in a high-budget plaza. The house allowed for natural light and had good ventilation due to its petite, but comfortable size.

Easy enough to clean. But Shota cleaned everything with unwavering strictness—everything had to be spotless, germ-less, and, therefore, rational.

Rational? He sighed, pondering over his thoughts. Old habits never died easily. Everything had to be right—more fitting, but it would come with some self-conditioning. He leaned the vacuum against the bathroom door before heading downstairs, tossing his bleach-smelling bandana into his hamper on the other side of the loft bedroom he and his daughter shared. All the windows were opened and there were scented candles lit to fend off chemical aromas. Everything was in place, shimmering. Pre-Eri. A bit of a mess did not shake him, though. His little mess of white hair could absolutely destroy the house, and he would simply laugh. And then they would clean it again.

Another series of heavy knocks startled him when he got to the first floor, causing him to suck in his breath. "Coming," he said with no real intention of being heard. Sushi curled up against his foot, purring at him. When Shota took a step, the tabby pawed at his other foot. Shota tripped and growled at him, "Sushi, no."

The cat scurried off, his usual game with the human companion he had acquired while the latter was at U.A. as a student.

When Shota opened the door, partially surprised to see Vlad King standing over him with his usual scowling mug, Shota said, "Yeah…no." He proceeded to shut the door. "Naw, man…"

"Hold on, Eraser," Vlad said, catching the door with his foot and a hand.

Shota crinkled his nose at the other man. "Pass. Not interested."

"Quit playing. I just want to talk," Vlad King insisted. The shorter man looked up at him with an unamused, unconvinced expression, lifting an eyebrow. "Can I come in?"

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today," Shota said, grimly, opening the door. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Vlad stepped in, removing his shoes as his colleague shut the door. "Just me. I thought seeing you two would be a good move to make."

"Or did you just want to see a broken man struggle?" Shota passed him into the immediate kitchen, gesturing at the two-person table lodged against the side of the staircase. "I'll pour you a pint. Hope you're a brandy guy." He staggered when the other pro-hero suddenly grabbed his shoulder. "What?"

"Here," Vlad said, handing him a slightly-wrinkled pamphlet. Young Parenting Exclusive, it was called, with a picture of a four-person family on a beach, each member smiling and laughing. "They do meetings on the weekends. Downtown. Maybe you'd be interested, with this new task at hand."

Shota squinted, raising an eyebrow at it and at the holder. "Um… Thanks." To him, though, their wide smiles only made them look constipated.

"Just think of it as a visitor's gift," Vlad said, proudly.

"Yeah…okay." With a sarcastic (Totoro) smile, Shota added, "Wow, it's laminated!" After receiving a very unamused glare from Vlad, he placed it on the table. "Can we drink now? I feel like you're just here to annoy me, so I'm gonna need a little something," he said, turning on his heel to find himself already in the kitchen.

This time, Vlad took a seat at the table, his knee nearly hitting the other chair. "Why do you expect the worst-case scenario when it comes to me?"

"No stress," Shota retrieved the promissory bottle from the rack and started dispensing the liquor into two glass cups. "For the most part, I expect nothing…from anyone; just watch, observe. That way, I'm rarely disappointed, but always on guard." Despite such sarcasm and cynicism, his words held true to his white-knuckled philosophies. A defense mechanism, really. He set down one of the cups before the other teacher, taking a drink of his. "Right you are, here."

The older pro-hero sipped the liquid after inspecting it, raising his eyebrows. "Whoa. Is that imported?"

Shota sat on the opposite side of the table from him. "It's from where I grew up."

"It's strong."

"It's kiwi."

"Huh."

"Saddle up."

"Here goes." Vlad took another drink.

"So…" The pause lasted longer than Shota intended. He set his drink down on the table and leaned back. "Why are you really here?"

"Suspicious as always."

"After years of knowing each other, you've never visited me. Not even for my birthday."

Vlad swirled the liquid in his mouth and gulped it. "You don't celebrate."

"How would you know?" Shota inhaled another mouthful.

"You celebrate alone?" Vlad retracted his neck in question, eyebrows scrunching down. "Like, make yourself a cake with candles on, and everything?"

Shota nearly choked, snickering under the alcohol before safely swallowing. "I'm not that pathetic." A moment passed with the two of them savoring the brandy before he noticed his guest staring at him. "What? Something on my face?"

Vlad chuckled and shook his head. "You…actually cleaned up. I mean, your eyes are still saggy—"

Shota cocked an eyebrow. "Heh?"

"—and you still talk like someone stepped on your cat. But you're actually wearing something other than your costume. And your sleeping bag. Wait a minute, you're shaving now?"

"Just felt like going bald, all right?" Shota narrowed his eyes at the other man, uncaring, really, for what he had to say about his current appearance. "What's the big deal?"

"Please. As if the rational Eraserhead would do something that impulsive."

"I didn't know shaving my face was impulsive…"

"Well, you never cared before."

"True."

"So? What changed?"

"Eri said it's scratchy. But I actually did just…feel like shaving it off." The younger pro-hero shrugged.

"So, you did it because the girl doesn't like it. And why would that matter to her?" Vlad craned his neck, as if to lead on his thought. "How would she—"

"Don't be weird," Shota snapped, looking at his empty glass. As if sensing Vlad's skepticism, he added, "We play rough. All that normal family stuff."

"Seems so unlike you."

"This matters to you because…?" Shota asked, opening the nearest window to its full stretch. "She needs light in her life. Midoriya and Mirio sparked it, but I have to maintain it." He drank slowly first, then tossed the rest back. "I don't exactly fit the image, but I'm doing my best to give it to her. Lord knows she's become mine. Smoke?"

Vlad shook his head, raising his eyebrows as if in surprise. "I will never understand you." In response, Shota hummed, leaning on the pane with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. "You of all people, frolicking with a child."

"If it makes her smile, I'll gladly make a fool out of myself." Shota lit a cigarette after shoving open one of the windows. "It's the most rational way to parent. Or love. Least that's what I think."

"Seems that you've barely left the house. Haven't seen you around school."

"Aw, you miss me?" Shota teased, causing Vlad to scratch at his chin. "Yeah. I've been hermitting here with her. Mr. Principal and I had an agreement about it."

"Why?"

"Intense family bonding."

"You think you can give that to her?"

"This is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, isn't it?"

"Could be. I'm not sure."

"Well, I'll be damned if I don't at least try. But I know enough about her to know we're moving forward now." After puffing a cloud, Shota averted his attention to the world outside the window. "When you have a kid, you're not just there for nurturing or discipline, or money. Everything you do—how you carry yourself, how you talk, how you dress—you're being studied by inexperienced eyes. You gotta set the example." Another puff in the form of a relieved sigh. "So, for days now, I've been on my best behavior."

"You really are committed, huh?"

"If you're gonna half-ass it, you shouldn't be a parent." After a moment, he continued, "If you ain't prepared to give a child all you can, then what's the point of it all?" Vlad's mouth hung wide open when he looked back at him. "That's just my two cents. Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble, but…she woke me up."

"I guess. I see that."

"Eri's name actually means 'break reason.' Can you imagine that?" Shota said, baffled. "It's either ironic or symbolic as hell, I'm not sure which— Do stop staring at me."

"Don't mind me," Vlad King excused. "I'm just shocked."

"Or as my kids would say: you're shook."

"I never thought you of all people would be the one to change this much. Like that saying with the old dog."

Shota replied, "I'd like to think I'm in the tail-end of my prime." The two men laughed briefly, and then the Erasing Hero sighed nicotine-vapor out the window as if he were on his way to his execution. "Listen. About the meeting—"

"It was probably underhanded of me to bring up your family history," Vlad suggested.

"Yeah, that was an asshole move," Shota agreed, taking his hair out of the band and shaking out the shaggy locks. "But I was going to say that Eri and I are getting along with things just fine. And you still owe me that drink."

"Yeah, yeah." Vlad's nostrils flared, but he smiled. "Well, tell her the douche-canoe says hi." Shota nodded, a smug smirk on his face. "Who even calls people that? Like, what the hell?"

The younger man muttered, "Oopsie," and continued to say, "Trust me, I can do worse," before the other homeroom teacher could question. Shota scrunched his eyebrows down in thought before speaking again, staring at the cigarette between his fingers. "Actually, I do want to apologize for my own underhanded jabs at you. Especially didn't mean to bring your kids into it."

Vlad King waved at him. "Yeah, well, consider it over and done with. I threw punches at you; you threw some back at me. Things canceled out. No worries." Shota took another drag, staring out the window. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Heh?"

"Did you adopt Eri because of guilt?" Shota squinted, still facing away from his fellow teacher. He knew exactly where this was going, and braced himself with another long drag. "Overhaul's idea of a Quirk-affecting weapon… Your Quirk takes another person's Quirk away for a moment. Sounds like Overhaul got inspiration from you—"

"I already know." And truthfully, he did. He had stumbled across such thoughts of direct redemption for his indirect influence on Eri's trauma. Of course, those thoughts of self-dreading roared at him in the darkest of nights when he watched her sleep peacefully in his bed. Of course, he wanted nothing more than to magically whisk away his daughter's memories of Chisaki. "But that's not why. See, I'm not one to pity—that does no good for anyone." Shota sighed out nicotine air. "I adopted her because I wanted to. I loved her the moment I saw her. I knew she belonged with me, and that I could give her her best shot. That's what differentiates pity and empathy."

"Well," Vlad said, "that I can respect."

"It's just my outlook. Pay no mind." A pause. "I just wish she didn't have to suffer for so long with him."

"You smoke in front of the girl?"

Shota rolled his eyes slowly before turning back to his guest. "She knows her father has bad habits, too. What, am I supposed to lie or something?"

Vlad shrugged. "If you want to protect her—"

"Lying and protecting are different," Shota said taking in some smoke and quickly releasing it. "I do what I can to make the world safe and sound for her, and that does not include lying to her. Lying only makes her ill-prepared for the real world and resentful towards me." Withholding information, though, was another case.

"I'm just saying…"

"Shop's closed to unwanted parenting advice." Shota brought the cigarette to his mouth again. "And I doubt that's what Sensei sent you here for. Right?" He took a long drag.

"The vice principal has his own responsibilities to handle," Vlad King said, plainly. "So, consider yourself lucky he's so worried about you."

Shota chuckled sarcastically and shook his head. "You're Hound Dog's dog, then? That's poetic, in a way."

After a while, the older hero asked, "So, where's the kid?"

"Play…" Shota said, holding his breath, soon releasing another smoke puff, "date. I'm picking her up around three." Shota checked the digital clock over his visitor's head. "Oh. Right. The chicken…" He took a final inhale before dabbing out the butt, and then waltzed to the kitchen with his drink, opening the freezer to retrieve a haunch of chicken breasts, setting the package on a plate by the sink. He exhaled smoke through the nearest window, fanning it outside with a hand. "Eri wanted chicken ramen last week, but I didn't have time to make it for her. Lucky for me, her tastes are a lot like mine. But I will admit that she's a tad pickier than I am…"

"Holy shit, Eraser. Like, holy shit."

Shota, drying off the first of four plates and setting it in the cabinet, muttered again, "That's, like, two oopsies, dude."

Vlad froze. "…Huh?"

"Huh, what?"

"You said oopsie. What is that, part of your stutter-dribble?"

"What a stupid thing to say." Turning to place a cup in its original spot in another cabinet, the younger pro-hero met his visitor's eyes briefly before rolling them, a lifetime habit whenever he would explain things. "It's just something Eri and I say when someone curses." He gestured to a medium-sized mason jar by the sink, which held a concoction of bills and coins to sum up about twenty or so dollars. "Rated T curses are a dollar. Rated R's are five."

"Really…?"

"That's all me, so far. Eri hasn't gotten brave enough to try and spring one on me. Yet." Shota fingered at a small stain on the counter from breakfast. "I know it's coming."

"You crazy?" Vlad astonished, watching the shorter hero open the pantry and jot down a shopping list on his phone.

"Not really, no," Shota remarked, sarcastically, eyes still glued to his phone. "Though, she did make me a little mad when she got her horn stuck in the wall. Right there." He pointed at a small gouge in the wall, half-heartedly hidden by a fake orchid, and chuckled lovingly. "See, she was chasing Dude around and ended up slipping on the wood. Good times." Putting the phone in his back pocket, he moseyed on over to the sink again to clear the dishrack in a few swift movements.

"She's destroying your house and you haven't shown her any kind of structure?"

Shota stopped for a moment and rolled his eyes to their full extent. "Oh, boy…"

"—Rules?" Vlad grunted, downing the rest of his brandy. "I mean, Jesus. That's surprising of you."

Shota groaned. "I'm getting tired of you already… It was an accident. She's technically still a toddler—even younger in the head, in that she's never been exposed to anything outside of a lab room. I kind of expected my house to get a little beat-up when she got comfortable." He looked around the small kitchen in thought. "I expected worse, actually. Much worse."

"So, you did nothing?"

Shota finally looked at the taller, older pro-hero, casually dangerous from across the room. "For your information, I handle her just fine. The details of how, Vlad, are none of your concern. Anything else?"

"What, do you smack her around or something?" Vlad asked, waiting an extra moment while Shota downed his alcohol in a split second.

Shota stared at him for an extended period of time, squinting. "Yeah. All the time. Thank God Mr. Principal didn't give me his blessing to adopt her. I'm such a prick."

Vlad shook his head. "Could do without the snark."

"And I without the interrogation. What, are you a social worker now? Because last time I checked, I only have to deal with one asinine parent-sitter," Shota said, voice raspy before he swallowed a second time. "I just said our business is our business. And for your information…part two…" he said, viciously (awkwardly), before continuing, "discipline is one thing. I would never hurt my daughter." He clutched the stem of the cup so hard that it almost winced. "Don't confuse discipline for abuse. They're different." Trust me, he almost wanted to say.

"Yeah?" Vlad asked, unconvinced and amused, as the younger teacher administered lubricant to his irritated eyes. "How so?"

"Teaching versus punishing. Can't you see I'm busy with this?" After wiping a tear streak from the eye he missed, Shota blinked a few times before dragging his eyes to the other man. "Nice try, but that's all you're getting out of me."

Vlad put his hands up, defensively. "I'm being weary of the child. You of all people should know what an unstable household, with alcohol and tobacco present, does to a child."

"Mm-hm. Yeah. Principal Nezu wouldn't've given me his blessing if he, in any way, suspected I might cause Eri pain." He took his and Vlad's glasses to the sink and started washing. "I don't have to answer to you. We done?"

Vlad chuckled in disbelief. "God, I don't know, Eraser. Are we?" He spun around to face the younger man's back. "You have the child, yes, but there are still eyes and ears all over you two. Around the school, the media, everyone wants to know about the underground Erasing Hero's sudden interest in humanitarianism." The public's sudden infatuation with him and his daughter had plagued the news and papers for months now—though Shota knew how to hide himself and Eri from the cameras with strict precision. Enough so as to nearly drive Shota back into his minimalist-style house until winter, his only reasons for leaving the safety and privacy of his house were his teaching job and Eri's need to run around at the park.

"You make it sound so noble, so dramatic." Shota spun back around, leaning against the counter. "Well, I quit acting and I quit writing a long time ago. Since you seem to enjoy dumpster-diving about me, you should have caught that."

"It's nothing more than curiosity about the man who somehow leads a stronger group of heroes-in-training than I do," Vlad commented.

"Well, since you're so intrigued by me," Shota taunted, with a smirk bordering on sadistic, "keep reading my files. Go ahead. Let me warn you: junior year was a whirlwind, buddy. Girlfriend and I were in heat beyond our own comprehension."

"Be serious."

"—goddamn bottle of vodka in my stomach and John Michael Montgomery on the radio."

"Eraser."

"—going at it like a pack of starving wolves."

"Eraser!"

"What?"

"Your name'll be dragged through the mud if anyone hears about any of that, I'm sure. But maybe you should let the public into your life."

"No."

"Take advantage of the whole new hype about you getting a kid. Get more money."

"Yeah. Okay." Shota took in some more brandy, and after a moment, Vlad noticed he was nearly finished with the bottle. "The public and their love of drama and lies and puffed-up 'superheroes.' Anything for the status quo, doesn't matter if it's morally right or logical."

"Isn't money important?"

"The hell d'ya think you're talking to? But it's about how you get it."

"And as a hero, isn't broadcasting the key to getting more money?"

"If that's all there is to pro-heroism nowadays, then I'm truly scared for my kiddos."

"Money's money."

"Even blood money?" Shota challenged, his eyes gaining distance with the pause that followed. Then, he scowled and shook his head. "There's more to pro-heroing than that. That's why it's called being a hero, not a celebrity. Some find it, some don't. I don't need a paparazzi stalking me to get more money."

"A man so preoccupied with dodging the media, who, ironically, resorts to thrusting his students in front of every camera he sees," Vlad remarked, a tad playfully.

"You want to go now?" Shota tested. "It's like that?"

"Ever the sensitive type…"

"No. Let's do it. I got time." Shota set down the bottle. "I'm the one obsessed with media exposure?" He paused, squinting at the other hero with alcohol swirling his woody irises to a foggy smoke.

"All right." Vlad shook his head and took the bottle, hiding it behind his own body on the counter. "You've had enough."

"Look at all the emotional distress I've had to resolve and— and the parents I've had to console, and you're only bothered that my students were on the news? Do you think they wanted to endure the U.S.J. incident? Hosu? The training camp attack? For God's sake, Bakugo's abduction? No." Shota stared at his opposer for an extended moment, all sarcasm, nonchalance, and amusement drained from his stone-cold, dead-serious scowl. "Yeah, you can blame all that on me. Go ahead! Should I have seen those attacks coming? Yes. Should I have thought through the situation better and prevented them from harming my students? Hell yeah!"

Vlad sighed, and Shota got in his face. "All right."

"My kids did what was necessary, when it was necessary, regardless of who saw, who had cameras, who would be shamed or praised. They reacted, Vlad. You didn't. And I was too slow to protect them, so they compensated and held their own."

"I didn't come to fight, Eraser—"

"Our time in the limelight is over. Do you hear me, Sekijiro?" he growled. He took a step back, but leveled his glare from dangerous to a calmer type of storm. "Now, it's about the kids, and my kids were terrified beyond their wit's end. If I c-… If I could…shield them from those memories, I would. Instead of criticizing me, look into your students' well-beings and you tell me if that glory is worth it. Let me tell you, it's not. After each of those incidents, it took me days to get my kids' eyes out of my head. It's not worth it."

Vlad snorted. "Says the man who expels more than he graduates. I know my facts, man. Don't try to act like I don't. I see through you—"

"I'm sorry. Am I supposed to be frightened by you? My students and I almost died at the U.S.J., while you were off kissing your ass goodbye."

"I was present with the rest of the faculty while you were taking your beauty nap."

"Oh, I'm sorry for getting the shit knocked out of me. Since you did a little background check on me, I did some on you," Shota said, a sadistic glint in his eye, in his grin. "Heard Snipe had to drag you out, kicking and screaming from your hiding place in the bathroom. I've said it before: you're a coward."

"Okay, man. Chill."

"Yeah, see, ain't so fun being on the other side of the invasion-of-privacy schtick, is it?"

"Chill, man."

"—Spare me the trouble and realize who really sees through who." Shota squinted at him. "And don't bring any of my kids into this again. Final warning."

"Don't tell me the cold Eraserhead actually has a functioning heart after all those expulsions. Finally found a group worth your 'valuable' time?"

"Grow up. Go play in the file cabinets some more and you'll see why I did what I did."

"Don't act like you know everything."

"I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"There's a door with your face-print on it."

Only then did Vlad realize Shota had kept his mouth running all the way to the front porch. He threw his hands up, defeated. "Subtlety. The Erasing Hero's specialty."

Shota winked. "You know it. You should've caught on sooner. Are you okay?" Vlad's eyes narrowed, causing the other hero to smirk. "C'mon, man. I'm just worried about your mental state, is all."

"Screw off. I just came here to see how you were doing with the kid, but I see you're doing average." With a taunting, amused raise-of-brow, Shota shrugged, humbly. "Just make sure to keep your temper—"

"Nope," Shota said. "Uh-uh."

"Closed off from advice. Right."

"Y'know, everyone's so wound up in telling me what to do and how to do it that they forget who really volunteered for this job in the first place."

"You consider parenthood work?"

"If it is, it's the best damn promotion I've ever received." Shota waved his hand at the other hero in a shooing motion. "Now, piss off. Go. Go, boy!" He kicked a stray pebble that had wandered its way into the foyer out the door. "Go get the stick!"

"I'd keep my guard up, Eraser." Vlad crossed his arms. The more he spoke, the more Shota's face sagged and drained of any expression beside unflinching annoyance and twitching irritation. "With all the kids you claim to care so much about, it would be a shame for them to see me lay you out—"

Shota's previous countenance broke into an unnaturally wide smile as he announced, "Thanks for stopping by!" and promptly slammed the door with earth-rattling force, reverberating off the windows and living room TV stand. Only then did he allow his agitation to morph sarcastic-stoicism into a rather unpleasant grimace, muttering to himself, "Twat-waffle." After standing there in the silence of an empty house, he stalked to the kitchen, sliding the bullshit handout Vlad had arrived with from the long table to the trash, casually, as he passed it. "Oh, no. I was going to use that for…"

He walked away—in fact, he walked all the way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and then the pantry to start formulating another way to get his daughter to willingly eat her vegetables. Since the last time they clashed at the dinner table, Eri had taken an anti-green vow—anything green and/or leafy was banished from her little mouth. Shota nearly drove himself up the wall and off the balcony trying to reason with her that she had had spinach before; and just because it was green did not mean it would taste like bell peppers. Thus, he found himself engrossed in the debate of the century until Eri gave him a look that meant he was the worst father in the history of fatherhood.

But now, as he narrowed the choices to a sautéed mustards and daikon radish salad or chopped-up pickled cucumbers, a tremor occurred in his back pocket, causing him to jolt. Plucking out his phone and hoisting it between his shoulder and ear, he said, "Wotcher."

"Mr. Aizawa," it was the woman whose child Eri was now friends with, "I need you to come get your daughter."

"Uh, okay," Shota replied, frowning slightly as he shut the fridge and started for the door, snatching the keys and slipping on his shoes. "Is there a problem?"

"I will explain— Yes. There is."

"Give me twenty."

"How about fifteen?" And she hung up.

Shota closed his car door, scowling at his phone, and tossed it on the passenger's side. "Wow, lady." The Chevelle awoke with a growl and then a purr as Chicken Fried jiggled the bass-bumping stereos on either side of the car. Sighing, he shifted the gear and pulled out of the driveway.

##

Mrs. Miura sat on the stoop of a stout, modern house with Eri when Shota arrived, her eyes shooting straight into his before he could put the car in park. Upon noticing this, he cocked an eyebrow and if he had not immediately turned his attention on his daughter when he stepped out, he would have guessed that he was the one in trouble. The housewife stood, gripped Eri's wrist, and stormed over to the pro-hero. "There a reason you're dragging my kid around?" He looked down briefly at Eri. "Hey, baby girl." She dodged his eyes, casting them aside with a slight pout and water building up in the red of her irises. Shota squinted, sensing the trepidation evident in her shrugging posture.

"Take her. Please," Mrs. Miura thrusted Eri at him.

"Hey." Shota caught a stumbling Eri, glancing quickly between his daughter and the other parent. He frowned, after making sure Eri was all right. "Are you crazy?"

"I don't think the girls should have any more playdates."

"Okay, fine," Shota agreed, temper piqued by her treatment of his daughter. With a hand on Eri's shoulder, he scowled at Mrs. Miura. Not breaking his contact from her, Shota reached for his daughter's hand, who zipped around to hide behind his leg, face buried in his thigh. She was sure to keep her hands to herself. For his safety. "But where do you get off handling my child like that?"

The other parent shrugged. "I just said what the problem was."

Shota's jaw clenched as his glare narrowed on Mrs. Miura, unblinking. "You don't touch my kid."

"I'm not trying to start anything. I'm trying to end it."

"Then bye," Shota said, turning with his daughter following. Then he stopped. Sure, this was his easiest option—to just leave, walk away from bullshit the moment it starts. But was it Eri's? He looked down at her, who stared in bemusement back. Shota sighed heavily, turning back to the other parent with an exhausted scowl. "Okay. Is there something I'm missing? Honestly. I thought they were good friends." As he spoke, he became aware of the slightly pointier tip of Eri's horn in his leg, and instant dread yanked at his stomach.

"Aside from your daughter using her Quirk," the way she spat it out reminded him of Jong, growing up, "on my dog, they were."

Somewhere between confused and shocked, he glanced down at his daughter, noticed how she winced and hid behind his hip, and concluded this indeed was the truth…but also that it was an accident. "I see."

"My thirteen-year-old labradoodle is reduced to a puppy, and all you say is 'I see'?!"

"Am I supposed to say something more dramatic?" Shota sighed again, remembered his composure and that he was still being watched—echoes of his conversation with Vlad King—and bowed at half his standing height. But he still glared at her. "I apologize. My daughter's Quirk is still a tad unstable, and I take full responsibility for her actions."

Eri watched her father with wideset eyes, a shard of regret in her chest. She was unsure if he was upset or when he was going to scold her later. But more so, seeing him take the blame for her recklessness was far worse than any amount of lecturing he would subject her to. "Daddy—"

"It's obvious we have some more work to do to get it under control." Shota stood at full height, staring the woman in the eyes.

Mrs. Miura was taken aback, but readjusted her scowl and crossed her arms. "I hope so. If my daughter had been reborn, or whatever Eri's Quirk is—"

"I understand your concern, and I'm relieved your daughter is all right." He gently reached back, reeled his daughter to stand in front of him, no matter how she pulled back, and placed his hands on her shoulders. Eri gave him a look as if he were going to shove her off a cliff. "Thank you for having her over, Mrs. Miura." He shifted his eyes to his daughter with an expectant gaze, having only to say "El?" for her to understand.

Eri braved Mrs. Miura's fire-like eyes in short glances, fidgeting with her hands. "Thank you, Mrs. Miura, for having me. And I'm really sorry about Bixy." Remembering what her father had done, she too bowed.

The woman knew it was for the best of her family to stay away from someone with a quirk as unpredictable and effective as the girl before her, perhaps even all Quirk-users in general, but she could not deny that this was still a child. When she looked up at Shota, she noticed a slight look-what-you-did shadow in his long stare. She instinctively glanced over her shoulder to see her own daughter in the upstairs window, obviously crying to have now lost a friend. "It's…all right, Eri." She looked up again at Shota, who squinted at first, but then nodded.

"Come on, piglet." In seconds, the car made a right turn back to the road and when the curving neighborhood was replaced by angular streets, Shota let out a long sigh and leaned back in his seat. "A real whiner, that one. Christ." He chanced a peek at his daughter to see her aimlessly grooming the purple Care Bear she had left in the backseat the night before. "Hey." Eri slowly looked up at him. "Between her and your teacher, who do you think could win in a fight? I mean, Mrs. Miura's fierce, but Ms. Akiko's a top-button type of woman with razor teeth. She thinned me out real good for that one bake sale with the whole anti-sugar thing—"

"I don't know, Daddy," Eri said without much thought.

Shota looked at her again, briefly, in response to the monotone in her voice. Genuinely worried, not that his face showed it, he said, quietly. "I'm sorry that happened, sweetheart."

"It's okay," Eri said with a certain owlish tone unfitting for a child her age. No kid should have to accept this. It was not fair. "It's not your fault. It was never your fault."

"Level with me," Shota said, unable, after five minutes of dwelling and pondering, to ease the unease in the pit of his stomach. The nausea of missing something. "When you used your Quirk, what…happened?" Eri stared at him in question. "What I mean is, were you trying to do something or…did it just come out?"

"I…" Eri thought hard. "I wanted to see if I could put it only in one finger. I thought if I did, I wouldn't lose control. But it didn't work…" She dipped her chin to her chest, biting her bottom lip. "Bixy just jumped in front of me."

Shota said after a while, "I get it that you wanted to get a better feel for your gift, baby—and I'm sorry I haven't had the time to start working on it with you like I promised." Eri winced, sensing a lecture, hoping he would not yell. "But listen to me: that doesn't mean you get to experiment—uh, play with it. Especially when you're not with me."

With a soundless sigh and a queasy stomach, Eri accepted, "Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Think of it as a house rule. No Quirk-using without my okay."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, because you didn't know. That's my fault for not establishing that sooner. And I'm sorry I didn't." Shota smoothed his bangs from his face and sighed heavily. "But next time you use your Quirk without my permission, you will be." Shota let the car come to a gentle stop at the red light. "Not only because you can hurt someone else, but more importantly because you might hurt yourself."

"I won't do anything like that again," Eri agreed, something a tad more like herself.

"Thank you," Shota said. "Right now, though… I should've let Mrs. Miura have it for yanking at you like she did."

"But you did already."

"I'm still not satisfied."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Have you ever…lost a friend?" Eri asked. Shota signaled and turned right after a Vahns delivery truck. "Did you ever have to say bye to a friend, and never talk again?"

Normally, Shota would have snickered and gave some sarcastic, maybe even cold-hearted remark about whichever past friendship he cut off. But he simply kept his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel, and his face still. "Yeah. It's happened to me a few times."

"What did you do?" Eri set her toy on her lap, hugging it to her, pressing her nose to the synthetic fabric of the purple hair on the head. "It's not a good feeling."

"Well…" In all his past, failed friendships and associations, he simply dissociated. Cut the entire history down the middle and watch it burn, claiming it was an irrational relationship to begin with and coercing himself for not trusting his gut sooner. Thus, another impenetrable wall was constructed from the ashes, and he would turn his attention elsewhere with better knowledge, more caution, and less trust. Detachment was just too easy, now; and yes, at times he scared himself when he had these thoughts. But he knew he had to protect himself. He learned the harshest of ways that a house of steel was the most rational means of survival, letting in only a select few—his daughter and Katsuki, since they reconnected. That was it. They were enough. As long as he could watch over and protect them, and as long as his own vulnerabilities that were spilled in confidence were kept as such, that was enough. For both he had had to rebuild and relearn how to give a damn, and in return, they taught him how to trust in others.

"Daddy?" Eri scrunched her tiny eyebrows down a tad in her father's unusual silence.

Shota glanced at her through the rearview mirror, crushed at the sight, but mindful that if he looked away, he might miss something. "Sometimes, things just don't work out. But that doesn't mean there aren't other people out there who will be nice to you. We just have to keep trying, right?" he offered, receiving no recognition that he had said as much. When the light permitted, he accelerated to ten-over the speed limit and let the vehicle cruise. Pre-Eri, his natural response to a pouting child would be either to let time take care of it or simply reprimand said child, if the sulking continued on for more than his short patience could tolerate. But when he begrudgingly studied the small crease just above his daughter's brow, the withdrawal in her slumped shoulders…he knew he had to do something. He knew she was embarrassed that Mrs. Miura disallowed her and Sumi from ever talking again, but a particular hunch pressed that she was probably embarrassed to have been caught playing with her Quirk. "Baby," he said, "can I ask you one more thing about today?"

Eri, who forced her attention to her father as soon as he had spoken, pressed her lips together. "Okay."

"When you used your Quirk on the dog,"—he almost did not want to know, but he had to find out—"how did you stop him from disappearing? How did you stop your gift from spiraling out of control?"

"Mrs. Miura moved him away right when I touched him. She had a broom."

Eri watched her father's eyebrow raise, felt the car slow down as if in warning. "Did she push you with the broom?" He asked this in a low, growling voice.

"No," she said, unsure what he meant by that. "And I didn't mean to touch him, too. He just ran to me."

"Okay." The muscles in Shota's shoulders unraveled in throbbing releases, and he took a steadying breath. "Eri. Your Quirk is a very powerful one—a kind one, too. But right now, it's really unstable. When things are unstable, like I said, people can get hurt. You can get hurt. So, I need you to really follow my words and not use it unless I say so. Okay? I promise that everything will be okay, but I need you to really listen."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do I have to do it with just you?"

"Because I can erase Rewind if things get crazy."

"What if you get really hurt and you can't—"

"I will. Don't you worry."

"But—"

"Eri." They met eyes. "Daddy's got you. Okay?"

"I understand, Daddy," Eri agreed, finally, with a smile. "No Quirking. I don't want to worry you."

"Thank you, El-Belle," Shota said. "How about we try for this weekend? We're not going to go crazy and do an all-out battle or a twenty-mile run. Baby steps."

"Okay!" Eri bounced up in her car seat, hearing that.

And Shota smiled softly. It's the least I can do…for what's coming on Friday, anyway… His stomach twisted at the thought of the many reactions and worst-case scenarios that would take the small family by storm. He prayed that God would have mercy on the pediatrician, whoever he was going to be, but more so, he prayed that Eri would not relapse into distrustful silence again. They came way too far—he hoped—for the sturdier foundation he laid and the bricks they stacked together to come crumbling down at the first vaccination. His heart darkened, and he made a final prayer. A prayer that Chisaki and everyone associated with him would burn in the Nine Circles of the Inferno consciously, feel every flame flicking at their bare, melting skin, even after all life had ceased.

When he looked back in the rearview mirror, though, and saw how the golden sunlight sparkled Eri's hair like thawing ice, his heart warmed. "So, remember when you asked for chicken miso ramen last week, and I said no 'cause I was swamped?"

"Uh-huh…?"

"Guess what I'm making for dinner tonight."

Eri gasped in excitement, her playdate disaster forgotten for now. "Really, Daddy?!" Shota chuckled. "Yummy!"

##

Later, when Shota had tucked in and kissed his daughter good night, he had gone out on the small balcony of his modest, no-wasted-space house for a smoke while aimlessly scrolling the parenting section of Pinterest—scoffing here and there at the born-again mothers who only fed their kids homegrown kale, who swore to cannibalize on any parent who responded to tantrums with stern warnings as opposed to breathing fully and gazing into your child's eyes because they are little angels trying to learn how to fly and you are the wind supporting them. "Wow," he said, closing the app. As expected, the worst place to go for parenting critique was the internet…well, that or his own family. Not that he felt he truly needed it anymore; he'd heard from his students and colleagues that he was a good father, better than anyone expected, and he felt it most days. But curiosity was curiosity, and frankly, the web article called "Why Your Daughter Hates It When You Look at Her" caught his attention, only to then lose it when the author claimed that soul-searching stares with the child would be in order. No words. No emotion. No touching. Just sit there and stare at each other, feeling their energy joining in the quiet space as one being.

Shota had had enough within seconds and took the longest of drag.

Mr. Principal displayed across the top of his screen, accompanied by a familiar phone number. Shota stared at the screen for two more moments before tapping the left side to accept the call. "Mr. Principal, sir."

"Good evening, Aizawa."

"A tad late for a house call, don't you think?"

"Yes," Nezu said with a chuckle. "But I have a proposition for you, and I have a feeling you're the best suitable candidate for this task."

In minutes of the conversation, he was choking on nicotine-polluted air.

R&R!