PART II

"Today marks the beginning of a special parliamentary inquiry into allegations of corruption and gross incompetence within the National Police Commission. Numerous civil rights violations were committed in the days leading up and during the Kamino Disaster, which claimed nearly five thousand lives and caused over a trillion-yen worth of property damage."

Izuku rode the bullet train from Musutafu to Yokohama, watching the scenery flash by at four-hundred kilometers per hour. He absently listened to the news through his headphones. This was his last free day before the UA entrance exam. Restless, he left Musutafu shortly after his mother went on patrol. She'd been a lot busier lately. Her popularity shot up overnight due to her participation in the disaster relief efforts last June. Izuku disembarked at the newly constructed Kamino Station and with no particular destination he wandered into the city.

"The President of the National Police Commission was unreachable for comment, as was Director Ishikawa of Internal Affairs. The President of the Hero Public Safety Commission stated this morning that she has motioned for incidents of vigilantism and unlawful quirk use during the Kamino Disaster be forgiven on a case-by-case basis, given the extenuating circumstances surrounding the incident. Further inquiries into why critical information was withheld from the National Fire Protection Association and the Hero Public Safety Commission are scheduled for this coming May."

The reconstruction efforts were an inspiring story. The local community came together to provide long term assistance to displaced families. Companies, heroes, and individuals across Japan donated time and labor to rebuild the ruined city. Some spots, like the old industrial park and surrounding areas, still lay charred and ruined, either too hazardous or too expensive to clean up.

Izuku paused at a tall chain link fence, watching an earth-moving crew dig the foundations for a new building. A Shingen Corporation surgery center, according to the large sign zip-tied to the fence. The massive conglomerate had decided to break into the medical industry, or so it seemed. A bulldozer rumbled by, emblazoned with the logo of Mitsubishi Heavy Industries. Izuku's stomach turned. He'd read that construction crews were still finding bodies in some of the hardest hit areas of Kamino. He moved along in a hurry.

"In more uplifting news, yesterday evening the Hero Billboard Chart released the latest Hero rankings for Japan. To no-one's surprise, both All Might and Endeavor retain their respective positions as No. 1 and No. 2. In a stunning upset, the newly minted Wing Hero, Hawks, has claimed the No. 3 position after an unprecedented surge in popularity following his service during the Kamino Disaster. Previously unknown outside of Musutafu, Hawks was not ranked high enough to place in the Top 500 before last evening."

"The Dragoon Hero, Ryukyu, jumped in popularity as well, narrowly beating Best Jeanist to the No. 4 spot. Ryukyu recently returned to active duty following a six month leave of absence. She commented that she and her team are 'back and ready for anything'. Best Jeanist, the nation's fashionable and family-friendly pro, graciously accepted his new position as No. 5, while praising Ryukyu for her 'hard work, exemplary conduct, and unwavering tenacity in the face of adversity'."

Izuku turned off the news, carefully tucking his earbuds into his jacket. He'd only been listening as a distraction. It was something to point his idle thoughts toward; He tended to obsess over silly things otherwise. Like the dozen or so Hero Analysis volumes he'd filled out after the disaster. Or like where the hell Rumi was.

He'd been looking for her for since the resolution of the Kamino Disaster, convinced that the gutted city had been her destination when she'd run away last summer. Where else would she go? It was the only place outside of Musutafu that she had a connection to. It was a good lead, only… he hadn't had much luck. Or time to search, really. All Might's American Dream Plan was quite demanding.

Still, he wandered, trying to walk the city in some semblance of a grid, but that hadn't been terribly effective. Yet. He was determined to find her. Giving up wasn't an option. He passed by the mouth of the new Shingen Waterfront, an industrial district that had sprung up seemingly overnight, taking up a large chunk of shoreline. Shingen seemed to be popping up in more and more places lately. People in the news were torn between praising the success of the economic powerhouse and condemning them for exploitation of the poor, and other heinous business practices.

An argument caught his attention. It was between two men standing between a stack of massive drain culverts and a chain link fence, the tall kind with green mesh stretched tightly over it.

"What the hell is that? Is that what I think it- it IS! Are you fucking stupid?"

"What? Come on, man, chill the fuck out."

"Hell no, you get that shit away from me! Are you trying to get us killed?"

Curious, Izuku slowed as he passed, until he stood unseen on the other side of the culverts. One of the two was clearly upset with something the other had. Drugs? Trigger? A wave of anxiety had Izuku strongly reconsidering his choice of free time activities.

"Aw, you're overreacting. Don't be a pussy."

"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize that enjoying having unbroken legs made me a pussy."

"Pfft, that broken leg stuff is bullshit, Mirko ain't real."

Izuku's heart leapt into his throat. Mirko!?

"Are you… What? Do you live under a rock? Two weeks ago, Tamomaki was waving something like that around and now he can't fucking walk. His granny feeds him dinner through a fucking tube. Mirko shattered his face, then she broke his goddamn spine. Paralyzed him from the waist down."

All thoughts of leaving evaporated. Izuku crept closer, despite the backflips his stomach was doing. What was the chance that they were talking about his Mirko? He got his phone out and held it at the ready. His mother's work number on speed dial. Just in case since he might be about to do something wildly stupid.

"W-wait… Jin Tamomaki? That Tamomaki?" Whichever one was holding the illicit item sounded increasingly uncertain that 'Mirko' was just a story. "I… I heard that was because of a motorcycle accident."

"He was riding his motorcycle when he got his shit fucked up man. Mirko just grabbed the bike by the handlebars and tossed it – and Tamomaki – into the side of a building. He was doing like, twenty over when it happened too. I'm telling you, that shit? And Mirko? It's. Bad. News. All of it."

"H-hey, wait, you're just fucking around, right? Right?"

"Nah, man, nah. I'm out. I can't be seen talking to you until after you ditch that thing. If you're smart, then you'll throw it in the river and skip town for a few months. She'll find you otherwise. Always does."

One of them, the that knew about Mirko, was leaving. Now or never! Izuku took a breath, swallowed, and ran around the stack of culverts. "W-wait!" He had a good look at the two of them now. One was tall and skinny, and he was the one walking away. The other was of average height, patchy facial hair, and an oblong box tucked under his arm. The one with the box turned around and let out a high-pitched scream, falling back onto his rear. The tall one ducked into a crouch, shielding his head, when his friend screamed.

"Who- Who the hell are you! You a cop?" The shorter one fumbled with that oblong box he had been carrying, pulling out a shotgun of all things, one that had been shortened significantly. Illegally so. On his knees, he pointed it in Izuku's general direction, though his hands shook so violently he couldn't hold it still.

Izuku screeched to a halt and threw up his hands. "W-w-wait! Don't shoot!" He squeaked, wide eyed. "I'm not a cop!"

"Ogawa, what the hell are you doing, he's just a kid!" The taller of the two hissed, pale in the face. He stood carefully, slowly, watching his friend with wide eyes. "Put…" He swallowed, "Put it away. Hurry! Before someone sees!"

"N-N-No! He was listening, spying on us!"

"Ogawa! He's a kid!"

Izuku looked between the two and teetered on the edge between pissing himself on the spot and turning to run. The man with the gun, Ogawa, wasn't listening to his taller, calmer friend. That was very much not good for Izuku's survival prospects. "I didn't see anything, or hear anything, I swear! I, I don't even know who you are, I just wanted to ask him a question!" He pointed at the tall one slowly, as not to spook Ogawa into blasting his face off.

"Him? Murata?" Ogawa lowered his gun just a bit.

"Me?!" Murata pointed at himself.

Izuku gulped and doubled down with a nod. "I heard," he licked his lips, glancing at the muzzle of the shotgun, "I mean, I didn't hear anything, but… you, you mentioned 'Mirko'. I've been looking for her. For months. If you can tell me where to find her," He stepped forward carefully, standing a little straighter, fear overridden by determination. "If you can tell me anything… Please."

Murata smacked his palm into his forehead with a groan and dragged it down his face. "Fucking… why? Why me? Why today?" He huffed, looked at Izuku, and jerked his head towards the street. "Fine, ask, but not here. And Ogawa, would you put that goddamn thing away already!? Come on kid, walk and talk." With that, he turned and strode away on long legs.

Izuku scrambled after Murata, struggling to match his long-legged pace. As he passed by Ogawa, Izuku made a point to look away. He couldn't afford to lose his nerve, and the idea of getting shot was pretty high up on the list of things that unnerved him.

"So… so where can I find Mirko?"

"No idea." Came the clipped response.

"What, but you said- "

Murata stopped so abruptly that Izuku almost crashed into him. "I said you could ask your questions, not that I can answer them. I don't know where she is, or how to find her."

Izuku spluttered. "But you have to know something."

Murata looked at him for a long moment before he started walking again. "Why the hell are you looking for Mirko? She's bad news. People tend to find themselves crippled after meeting her." They walked along the fence at the border of the Waterfront. In the distance, a row of massive container ships sat moored beneath a series of equally massive cranes. Billions and billions of yen worth of cargo containers were loaded onto the ships with incredible speed. The Shingen Corporation never rested, or so it seemed.

Frustrated, Izuku ran in front of Murata and stopped him. "She wouldn't hurt me." He glared. "And you sure seem to know nothing and a lot about her at the same time."

Murata rolled his eyes. "Because it's my job, kid. Literally. I work Shingen Counterintelligence. I know a whole lot of nothing about Mirko. Know what she does but not where she stays. Know who people say she is but not who she really is. Hell, I've never even seen her myself." He looked down at Izuku. "Why are you so determined to find her anyway, this some schoolyard crush? I'll tell you right now, it won't end well. I wasn't exaggerating when I said she likes to cripple people."

Izuku puffed out his cheeks. This wasn't going anywhere, and he really didn't like how this Murata was talking about Rumi. Were they even talking about the same person? A lightbulb went off in his head. "Wait, Mirko, describe her. Even if you haven't seen her yourself, you have to know to someone who has." He pulled out his phone and started flipping through his photo album.

"Female, short, brown skin, red eyes, white rabbit ears. Young, around sixteen or so. Hell of a roundhouse kick." Murata rattled all that off without pause. "Large bust." He added as an afterthought. "What? Don't give me that look, it's a legitimate physical descriptor for an unidentified woman."

Izuku's scowl evaporated and his heart leapt to his throat. They had to be talking about the same Mirko- Rumi. Izuku was both relieved and troubled; he wasn't sure he liked the implications here. If Murata was a reliable source of information, then Izuku's hunch had been right. Rumi was in Kamino, and she was running around town starting fights. Although… that did sound like something she would do. Rumi was well known for being… belligerent at times. All the more reason to find her sooner than later.

"This is why I'm looking." Izuku turned his phone to show Murata a photo of Rumi, Katsuki, and himself. Rumi stood in the middle, with her arms slung around their necks. It was a happy photo, despite's Katsuki's sour expression, and one of Izuku's favorites.

The man groaned. "Well… guess that answers that." He eyed Izuku critically, then sighed. "Ah… shit… Look, I don't know where she lives, but she's seen around Southside more than anywhere else. She runs with some… less than reputable people. So, if I were you, I'd stop nosing around." He gestured with an empty hand, searching for the right words, "Kid, whatever you're looking for – if you find it – I doubt you're going to like it. Kamino has a way of chewing up good people."

Rumi slammed the door behind her, rubbing at the frost clinging to her eyelashes. "Yo, 'Giri, delivery!" She slid the package, a small thing, down the bar and past Shigaraki, who pointedly ignored her existence. A fist sized portal swallowed it up and snapped shut without a sound.

"Ah, Rumi Usagiyama. Earlier than expected, thank you. Would you care for something to drink?"

"That'd be great, something hot please." Rumi flashed him a crooked smile and plopped herself onto a barstool. She tugged her hat off and shook out her hair, then unwound the scarf from her neck. "Uh, it's fucking freezing out there, by the way. Case you were wonderin'." A deep shiver ran through her as she unbuttoned her coat. Getting a heavier one was at the top of her to-do list.

"No shit, it's February. What did you expect?" Rasped Shigaraki.

Rumi blinked and bobbled her head, looking back and forth between Shigaraki and Kurogiri. She clapped her hands to her cheeks with a gasp. "Oh! It speaks! I didn't think it could. Kurogiri, quick, alert the media!"

Shigaraki snarled something dark into the creepy hand-mask thing he wore.

"I do not believe that contacting the media is a wise decision Rumi Usagiyama."

Rumi groaned and leaned forward, resting her arms on the bar. "It was a joke, 'Giri. A joke. You know, humor."

"Ah, I see. Forgive me."

"Why are you here." Shigaraki hissed.

"Uhh, did ya miss the whole thing where I delivered a mysterious little box to our misty friend here? Cause I thought that was, ya know, pretty obvious." She slapped her palm on the bar top. "Can you see through those," she wriggled her fingers and made a face, "fingers?"

Shigaraki made a choking noise, scratching at his throat with a twitching, spider-like hand. "You made your delivery, now get out. We're closed. Permanently."

Her drink made heavy thunk when Kurogiri set it down in front of her. Hot chocolate, with a spear of peppermint candy, a layer of marshmallow, a healthy dollop of whipped cream, and a cherry on top. With a microplane zester, Kurogiri finished it off with a dusting of dark chocolate.

Rumi's eyes widened immensely. "Ho ho ho-ly shit, my dude. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to make my ass fatter than it already is." She didn't have much of a sweet tooth until winter came around, then all bets were off. She liked to take the easy way out and blame it on her rabbit-like instincts: When you're hungry and there's snow on the ground, anything goes.

She leered over the top of her drink, fully aware of the new whipped cream moustache she was sporting. "The service 'round here suggests otherwise, Shiggy." The way the heat seeped into her frozen hands hurt in a strangely pleasant way.

Before Shigaraki could lunge across the room and disintegrate her face, the door clattered open, letting in a gust of frigid wind. Rumi's second least favorite person trundled into the bar. "Oi! Close the damn door!" Rumi pulled her coat tight around her neck. She swore she heard Shigaraki hiss.

Giran clomped into the bar. He blinked, looking over them. "Well, y'all must be the sorriest bunch of social rejects I've ever seen congregate in this lovely city."

Rumi sneered into her drink, ignoring Giran in much the same way that Shigaraki had ignored her earlier.

"Giran, welcome. Are you here for business?" Kurogiri was once again rubbing down a spotless glass with a pristine white rag. Was nothing dirty behind the bar?

"Hm? Ah, nah. Well… sorta. You remember back in the day, say, eight or so years ago, when I dropped off some… ah… reading material for safe keeping?"

Rumi whipped around in her seat, hackles raised, and teeth bared. "Eight years? So was that before or after you abandoned a seven-year-old orphan with a stolen purse in the middle of Tokyo?" She spat the words with thousand-degree fury.

"Woah, woah, woah. Bunny. Chill." Giran held up his hands and smiled an oily smile. "I thought I told ya, that weren't nothin' personal. Just business. I felt awful about it at the time."

"And I thought I told you that I'd break your fucking spine if I saw you again. Or are we just saying made up shit now?" She planted one foot on the floor and braced herself against the bar, setting herself up to kick Giran's head off his shoulders. Shigaraki watched with a flicker of glee in his one visible eye. Creepy fucker was probably itching to kill someone. Try it you bitch, I dare you. Try, so I can drag your ass straight to jail.

Kurogiri sighed and pointed to a sign hung over the bar. It read NO FIGHTING OR KILLING ON PREMESIS. "Need I remind you that physical conflict is not permitted within this establishment?"

Rumi was first to break the stare down, turning back to her drink with a huff. Shigaraki sighed in a disappointed way and shuffled off to god knows where. Giran's lighter clicked and that familiar menthol smoke crept into her nose like a cancer. She covertly swiped an angry tear from the corner of her eye.

"Man," Giran chuckled, "Tough crowd tonight. Kurogiri, if you don't mind? I'm on a bit of a tight schedule tonight." Kurogiri said something agreeable and warped both himself and Giran to some unknown destination.

Alone, Rumi rubbed at her face tiredly. She pulled her phone out and checked the time. She wasn't particularly concerned with the actual hour of the day, but with how much time had elapsed on her timer. She had a few hours left, no worries yet. Resting her chin on the bar, she stood her phone up on one of its corners, and with the opposite corner under the tip of her finger, she lazily spun it around with her thumb. The reflection of the booths behind her flickered in the dormant screen.

She should get in contact with Hawks. Thus far, she had no evidence of any villainous activity from Kurogiri. It was starting to look like this was a wild goose chase after all. And what a terrible thought that was. If this had been for nothing, then did that mean the Kamino Disaster was avoidable in the first place? All those people… If Rumi hadn't been at Manda Station that day, would Toga have killed those police officers? Would the rioting have even happened?

She was about to show herself out so she could call Hawks, when she saw something odd in the reflection on her phone. A computer monitor bolted to the wall at about chest height. Without moving, she went over the floorplan and the layout of all the seats in the bar. There wasn't a comfortable way to view the screen from any of them. It wasn't particularly large, it definitely wasn't a TV, and it was currently switched on, judging by the status LED in the corner, but the screen was blank. If it was a computer, then there was no visible keyboard or mouse.

Puzzling out why it might be there, she stared it down. Drawn to it. She needed to know, and she would find out. Her eyes stung as she forgot to blink. Black tendrils crept in on the edge of her vision as she hyper-focused on the screen, and only the screen. All else was forgotten. It seemed to whisper at her. Drawing her in, little flashes of emotion, of knowledge she didn't have flitting through her mind, taunting her. Promise, reassurance, encouragement, trust, faith, reward, determination, authority, power, disdain, disgust, anger, wrath, hate, hate, hate, hatehatehateHATEHATEHATEHATE.

The weight of everything crashed into Rumi, crushing her. Power incomprehensible ripped the air from her lungs, pinned her in place, flayed her mind, body, and soul. Something was in her head. She screamed bloody murder, but no sound came out. Her mouth didn't even open. She desperately tried her phone, but it only slipped from her trembling hands.

Welcome home, my dear.

And then it all vanished. The bar was quiet. Peaceful.

Rumi dove over the bar and retched in the sink with a broken sob.

"What the hell are you doing?" Shigaraki rasped from somewhere behind her.

Her whimper echoed in the sink. She stood on unsteady legs and turned the tap, rinsing her sick from the stainless steel. "None of your f-fucking business. Just… ate something bad." She glared over her shoulder. His visible eye widened for a moment, with something bordering on recognition. He glanced over at the monitor on the wall, only for a second.

Fuck. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

He stared at her for a moment, taking in the details of her face. "Cold water helps." He sounded almost sympathetic as he retrieved an orange from the small fridge under the bar, carefully keeping the pad of his little finger from touching the rind.

She nodded after a while, somewhat confused. Rumi was expecting something more… derisive? Biting? She wasn't sure exactly, but Shigaraki had a rather nasty attitude, so it wouldn't have been surprising. In hindsight though, she was grateful that he held his tongue. She was frayed enough as it was and didn't know how much more she could take before breaking down. She carefully watched him as he shuffled back to wherever he came from. He left without another word.

Struck with a sudden sense of claustrophobia, Rumi hurriedly threw on her coat and started bundling up. The frigid breeze outside seemed much more appealing than spending another minute here. As she was about to leave, Giran and Kurogiri returned through a whisper quiet portal.

Giran set a water-damaged cardboard box on the bar and started picking through it.

Kurogiri's eyes swiveled between her, the sink, and the abandoned hot chocolate where she had previously sat. "Are you unwell, Rumi Usagiyama?"

Weirdly perceptive, what the hell? "Uh, I just… I guess I ate something that… disagreed with me?" Her cheeks reddened, and she scratched at the base of one ear. Though Kurogiri was calm, as he always was, she couldn't shake the childish feeling of getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Strange as he was, Rumi appreciated Kurogiri in some small way. She almost felt bad for spying on him for the government. Almost.

Giran sniffed the air and grimaced. "You puke?"

The claustrophobia faded, somewhat, as she latched on to the distraction. "Fuck off, Giran." She sneered, baring sharp teeth at the slimy broker.

He shook his head and went back to a magazine he had been flipping through. "Kids these days. No goddamn respect."

Rumi eyed the cover. "Porn? Really?" She leaned in. "I thought you were a man of means. Is porn really the best you can do?" Okay, so maybe Rumi wanted more than a distraction. Maybe she wanted to fight something.

Giran smiled crookedly, peering over his pink lenses, "Nah, strictly business. I buy 'em for the articles. Though I can't say I mind the view." He tossed her a magazine from the box. "Knock yourself out kid, might learn something in the process." He chuckled at his own joke and laid his magazine on the bar, before taking out a pen and a tiny center-stitched notebook.

"'Business', sure." Rumi caught the magazine, an ancient issue of Lust, and debated on rolling it up to smack Giran senseless. But as she watched him, she quickly realized that he wasn't completely full of shit. He was looking over an article, printed in English, superimposed over the image of a nude woman, spread eagle, with a terribly dated hair style. How tasteful.

Giran counted down three paragraphs, then two sentences into that paragraph, then seven words into that sentence, where he took the first letter of that word, and scribbled it down in his little notebook. Then he did it again, only this time he counted to a different number for each step.

It clicked in her head and she snapped her fingers. "No shit. A book cipher?"

Giran waggled his eyebrows at her. "Got it in one. Always knew you had potential, kid. See, our friend Kurogiri here," He jabbed his pen at the bartender, "made a rather large and last-minute request, so here I am hunting through my records to see what I've got to offer. Gotta dredge up some old contacts. Lotta ancient history in here." He thumped the side of the box.

"Huh, and here I though you were just being a fuckin' creep." Giran chuckled and went back to his 'article'. "So, out of literally every printed text in the world, why did you choose," she waved her hand at the sad old box, "this… pile of smut?" There were at least fifty magazines there, it had to be simpler to use just one book instead. It would certainly be easier to store or move.

"Nudie mags were a lot more common twenty-five, thirty years ago. They come an' go, but never really disappear. Kinda like old vinyl records. 'sides, they say if you love what you do then you'll never work a day in your life." He winked at her and her skin crawled.

"Huh… alright then. Seems sleazy and overcomplicated, but whatever. You do you… I guess." Rumi thumbed through the copy of Lust. This one seemed somewhat less… vulgar. Curiously, one of the pages seemed thicker than the others. It was the centerfold. Not sure if she was going to regret it, Rumi carefully unfolded the page. Her eyes widened, and she let out a low whistle.

Giran snickered as Rumi carefully turned the magazine sideways to get a better view of the foldout.

Fixated as she was, she let the laughter slide. "Giran. You interested in making amends for your cruel, cold, and heartless betrayal of a lost little girl with no family or home to speak of?"

He actually flinched at that. Maybe he did have a conscious. Or maybe she just caught him off guard. Either way, he rolled his eyes and leaned back, crossing his arms. "Not how I'd describe it… but whadda ya have in mind?"

Rumi, ever so gently, pried open the staples in the spine of the magazine and extracted the centerfold page. She carefully folded the old paper up and slipped it into her coat. "You can start by getting me a sewing machine. A nice one. Good enough to make support items."

"SMASH!"

The Zero Pointer, head cratered, fell with a long and thunderous rumble. Ochaco gawked at the slow fall. "N-no way!" The boy who crushed it, Izuku Midoriya, plummeted. He didn't look like he was going to have a pleasant landing. Ochaco kinda-sorta panicked. She wobbled to her feet, whimpering when she put weight on her bad leg. "Oh no, no-no-no, oh gosh, oh jeez!" SMACK! In hindsight, she probably didn't need to hit him so hard, but in her defense, he was falling to his death. He stopped falling about a meter above the asphalt.

"Ah! Release!" Gravity took hold of Midoriya again, and he flopped onto ground. "Oh, urp-" Ochaco turned and expelled the remains of her breakfast. She groaned, wiping at her mouth. "So embarrassing… H-hey, are you okay?"

The boy grinned tightly, showing a lot of teeth, but it was obvious that he was in a lot of pain. He didn't look too good. His right arm was pulverized, and the skin on it had developed a squicky purple hue, like it was one giant bruise. His left leg looked much the same through the tears in his track pants, bloody, and bent at odd angles. His eyes darted around, and he was rapidly muttering something about getting more points.

Ochaco grabbed his left arm and helped him up. She supported his weight across her shoulders so he wouldn't have to balance on his good leg. The buzzer went off, and Present Mic yelled: Time!

The entrance exam was over.

Midoriya hissed through his teeth. "A-are you okay, Uraraka?"

She didn't really know him, aside from a brief conversation at the front door to the testing center. He was sort of awkward and plain looking, but then again, so was she. His quirk was impressive, but also horrifying. Seriously, he broke his arm and his leg in like, a bajillion places! Was that normal!?

He seemed sweet, but not really like someone who would catch her eye. In the moment though, the daring, the willpower, the concern he showed, and the reckless – and super irresponsible! – selflessness had her stomach do a little flip.

Ochaco hoped Midoriya didn't sacrifice his chance at getting into UA just to save her.