Izuku thinks he's going to throw up.
From the corner of his eyes, he catches Ojiro from the front seat turning to look back at him. Ojiro, looking like he's about to pass out, mouths: Holy shit.
Izuku can relate.
"I am coming through the door," All Might announces rather redundantly, "like a normal person."
Holy shit, Izuku thinks.
The rest of the class seems to share the sentiment. There is an excruciating shocked second before everyone erupts in a Present-Mic-ear-splitting cheer. Kirishima, who is a few rows in front of Izuku, is shaking so much that he keeps dropping his paper and pen (presumably to ask for an autograph, which is starting to look like what the whole class is going to do.)
The monkey teenager part of Izuku's brain is urging him to get his hero notes book out, imagine All Might's authentic autograph on YOUR hero analysis, holy SHIT, but the rest of Izuku's brain is currently shut down. Just, just shut down. Empty. Because All Might is here.
For the fourth time: Holy Shit.
"ALL MIGHT IS GOING TO BE TEACHING US. ALL MIGHT."
"THAT'S HIS SILVER AGE COSTUME!"
He really thought yesterday was the best day of his life. Pretty naive of him, he thinks. In UA, it seems like anything is possible.
The class is on a high. All Might smiles—does he ever not?—and it's exactly, exactly like in the pictures, the videos, the movies. He looks like—like he just walked right out of Izuku's dreams.
And there is a lot to be said that, with that—that one smile, a shift of his stance, something ripples through the room. A sense of calmness. Something so inherent that it could be mistaken—or simply is—as nostalgia. Every single kid has grown up seeing that smile, watching that stance, thinking, he's here. Don't worry, he's here. A pavlovian sense of safety.
The chatter fades out almost immediately. All Might smiles, and he says, with that tearfully familiar baritone: "Welcome to Foundational Hero Studies, kids."
Kaminari who has now established himself as the worst whisperer in class, whispers, "I'm going to piss myself, dude."
All Might, who seems to be kind enough not to acknowledge Kaminari's urinal announcement, clears his throat. For a moment, Izuku is struck by how human that tiny gesture is. "For this class, we'll be building up your hero foundation through various trials. Today's trial is a Battle Trial."
He allows a pause where a bunch of fifteen year olds erupt in barbaric cheer once more at the notion of beating people up. And then he continues, "here are costumes made based on your Quirk registrations and requests you sent in. After you change, gather in Ground Beta."
If the UA walls aren't sound-proof, someone would've thought a bunch of fifteen year olds are currently being murdered gruesomely. Izuku himself can't help but feel affected by the hype, biting his lips so he doesn't smile so big it splits his face. He's going to be—in his first Hero training, with All Might ... and with his new friends.
"And don't forget," All Might continues, with the ever-present smile on his face, "from here on out, all of you are officially Heroes."
Everyone's costumes are fantastic, and Izuku is positively enraptured.
Unlike Izuku's handmade costume, most are made and tailored by a variety of supports companies affiliated with UA—and Izuku can recognize some of their (heh) design quirks. Some companies are more apt with specific types of Quirks, and it shows.
The tall student with glasses has the most top-notch costume. Very reminiscent of Ingenium—probably made by the same manufacturer, judging from Iida Tenya's family name; they've been a Hero family for generations. Some others are more lowkey in their designs.
Ojiro-kun's karate gi, for example, is simple. It makes sense, though—he's more comfortable in that outfit than anything else. But Izuku has some ideas to incorporate more defensive (and even offensive) elements to his costume, though, and he wonders if it'd be presumptuous if he talks to Ojiro-kun about them.
"Sick All Might reference!"
Izuku is startled out of his line of thoughts—mutterings, really, he's been muttering—by Kirishima, whose costumes he takes a few seconds to process. Izuku quickly forces himself to politely look at Kirishima in the eye and not literally anywhere else. "Um," he says, then realizes what Kirishima meant. He moves to touch the long ears on his head-gear self-consciously, "oh, it's that obvious huh.."
"I love it," Kirishima says, and it surprises Izuku how genuine he actually sounds.
Izuku swallows and smiles. "Thanks," he says softly.
"Hey, did you make your own costumes too?" Kaminari, who at this point looks to be one package with Kirishima, asks curiously. Kaminari's costume is one of the lowkey ones, though Izuku thinks he himself would never pull it off.. "It looks super legit, though."
"Oh, thanks. My mom helped me make it," as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he is immediately hit with the realization of how childish it sounds. Izuku blushes.
"That's so cool!" Kaminari says, and it shocks Izuku—once more—how genuine everyone sounds. "My mom laughed at me! She said mine is unimaginative. Can you believe, it's so mean."
"My big sis laughed at mine too," Kirishima sighs. "She said, what are you gonna do, flash the villain to death? Jerk."
Kaminari side-eyes Kirishima's costume. "I mean.."
Kirishima looks honest-to-god offended. "This is most efficient for my Quirk, okay! Oh, hey, Ojiro."
"Hey," Ojiro-kun looks heartened by Kirishima's greetings as he joins the conversation. "Does that mean your mom helps make that too?"
Izuku looks to where Ojiro points—or tries to, anyway. He can't exactly look at his own back. He can't help the pride that slips into his voice when he answers, "oh yeah, she's an engineer, you see."
Kirishima takes a pause from defending his costume. "Wait, holy shit," he says, voice rising with glee, "is that the—the.."
"You, um," Izuku feels both self-conscious and giddy, for some reason, and a little ashamed by it. "You wanna see?"
"Um, hell fucking yes."
"Okay," Izuku says, and unstraps the thing on his back. He's tried wearing the scabbard on his hip—and while more traditional, and something that he's used to in his kendo classes, he finds it hinders his movement and agility. On his back, it's way easier to maneuver, though much less practical to draw (Izuku still finds it difficult to do that with the sword on his hip, let alone on his back). He has ideas to solve this particular problem, but he doesn't have the materials—and facilities—to accomplish that.
(But hey, this is UA.)
Izuku carefully unsheathes his (and his mom's) invention.
Kirishima accepts the object with both hands as if it's the excalibur.
"Don't press any buttons though," Izuku adds, hovering over Kirishima. He doesn't want any accidents, even though.. "this one is more stable than the one I used in, um, the exam, but considerably less powerhouse—"
Kirishima looks as if he doesn't hear him, staring reverently at the sword in his hand. "Holy shit," he whispers. Behind him, both Kaminari and Ojiro seem to be in agreement.
"—it's less lightsaber and more a plasma sword? I did try to make a lightsaber once but it became more of a portable flamethrower and there was this accident with the doormat—"
"Show us."
Izuku breaks off from his ramble to see three pairs of eyes looking at him intensely, with something uncomfortably close to respect. "What?"
"Show us."
"Um," Izuku takes the plasma sword by the handle from Kirishima's hands. "Okay. Stand back a little, please?"
The katana itself isn't a genuine, legit katana. That's not something the Midoriya household can afford. Izuku just needs something sturdy enough and metal (for the magnetic force to work); the edges aren't even sharp, which is Izuku's own preference. He isn't interested in slicing people's hands off (and he isn't nearly as capable enough to do so for at least another thirty years probably), and he just—well, Izuku just doesn't like sharp things.
And anyway, he doesn't think a sword is a tool that will be much useful in modern-day Hero-ing, so this 'katana' is less to stab people and more to whack people into submission (theoretically. He's never done that before).
But this, Izuku thinks as he activates the plasma edge, this he can think a lot of uses for.
"Sweet All Might biceps," Kirishima says. The green glow isn't prominent out in daylight, but it does reflect on Kirishima's currently very round eyes. "Oh, sweet All Might triceps.."
"Midoriya-kun," Ojiro says, sounding just as awe-struck as the next guy, "We've been friends for months and you never showed me this … How could you.."
"I never wanted anything so bad in my entire life," Kaminari wistfully says. "So bad."
Izuku turns it off to the boys' despair. "It's still, um, a prototype though," Izuku says. "This one won't explode like the last one.." this one has a failsafe installed in—the thing will shut down the moment the power goes over the capacity. "I think?"
"Explode?" Ojiro, who has common sense, takes a small step back.
"Worth it, honestly," Kirishima does not.
"You think," Kaminari repeats, looking at Izuku with something like newfound evaluation. "You know, Midoriya, you're kinda crazy now that I think about it."
"Oh. Um."
"It's a compliment," Kaminari assures him.
"Thanks?"
All the students have finished changing, crowding and buzzing in excitement. All Might—All Might!—steps forward, a 7'2" inches brick wall of muscle and pure awesomeness. Seeing him in the classroom is surreal, but seeing him outside—with the cityscape and the sky behind him—is somehow even crazier.
"Well," he smiles, taking his audience in. "Don't you kids look dashing."
The aforementioned kids holler and whoop. Izuku laughs along, half in disbelief. He is in his Hero costume, surrounded by Hero kids, in front of All Might. Izuku thinks it's justified to feel a little crazy.
"Sensei," Iida raises a mechanic hand, and holy hell, does his suit look absolutely sick in the sunlight. What alloy is that, Izuku wonders? They look bulky but they must be quite light to support his speed. "Will we be performing our battle trial in the mock-city from the Entrance Exam?"
"A part of it, yes. This will be an indoor battle trial.."
An indoor battle ... Izuku glances at the area in front of them. Cement, concrete. He glances at his foot-gear. Time to test these things in action, then.
"..in the statistics, most battles occur indoors at a much higher rate. Imprisonment, house arrest, backroom deals … truly intelligent villains hide in shadows.."
Split into villains and heroes, two on two battles. Oh. Izuku had thought they'd maybe use the bots from the Entrance Exam, but this makes more sense. Though he does have some concerns—
"Without basic training?" Asui-san says. (Izuku has more or less remembered most of his classmates' names—partly because he takes notes of their Quirks the moment they went back to class after the Quirk Assessment yesterday—which is admittedly a little creepy. But anyway.)
"What about the scoring system?" Yaoyorozu-san, the girl with the amazing Quirk.
"Can we just kick the shit out of them?"
"Is anyone going to get expelled again?" Uraraka-san, sounding serious with the question despite everything.
"How shall we be split up?" Iida-kun.
"Isn't this cape," Aoyama-kun, the laser navel boy, gestures at his own costume, "super poggers?"
It shouldn't be possible. But for a moment, All Might looks confused.
"Hm," he says, baffled, as if unprepared for the barrage of questions. He pauses for a second. And then he puts up one finger in the universal language of give me one moment, please, and from his pocket he pulls out a—a script.
A notebook that looks so comically small in his hands. "Let me see," he says, "um."
The image of All Might squinting at a notebook like a novice substitute teacher is nothing short of amazing. Something about it makes Izuku pause, even. He's real.
Izuku, a little mystified, watches All Might fumbling with the pages of his teacher notebook. He's not just a magazine cover or a Sunday afternoon rerun. All Might is actually real.
And not just in a physical way, it's more than that. what surprises Izuku the most is the fact that All Might is ... he's a person, Izuku realizes.
"Aha," All Might mutters to himself, having apparently found the right page. "To answer all your questions ... right. Let me start from the beginning.."
Not a very elaborate conflict, but nevertheless does simulate some sort of situational environment. The villain team is allowed five minutes of preparation. Interesting—so that's what UA's hero training curriculum is like. Izuku wishes he has his notebook with him right now to write all his thoughts down … he should get the smaller ones to put in his pockets..
"Hey, Midoriya-kun, you wanna team up with me?" Ojiro-kun says beside him.
Izuku stares for a bit too long at that. "Of course," he says, somehow finding his voice. He'd never been asked to be on anyone's team before, and it throws him … off. "I'd—I'd love to."
Ojiro-kun grins. "Cool! I'll be counting on you."
On the contrary, Izuku will be counting on him. They'd make a good pair, he thinks, what with them being familiar with each other's style and capabilities. Most importantly, Ojiro would cover the base that Izuku's lack the most: offense. Before Izuku can say all this, though, All Might's next words run his blood cold.
"Your teammates and opponents will be chosen by lottery," All might pulls out a comical looking lottery box. "Please form a queue, kids!"
"Aw, that sucks," Ojiro sighs beside him.
Right. Of course.
It makes sense. Pros are often forced to make impromptu team-ups with heroes they might not necessarily know well—a proper battle simulation would at least be loyal at that aspect. It's just that—it's just that—
"Midoriya-kun."
"Yeah?"
"You look," Ojiro considers his words. He looks somewhat concerned. "Well. Greener. You okay?"
"Haha," Izuku wipes his hands on the fabric of his pants. "Nerves. You know."
Ojiro bumps his shoulder lightly. "We might still get on the same team."
That makes Izuku smile a little; Ojiro-kun is so nice. It's just that Izuku, generally, does not trust his luck. "I hope so."
Izuku takes the lot with the others in an orderly queue. Please, stars above, whoever is listening, the Universe—please don't be Kacchan, don't be Kacchan, don't be Kacchan—
"Oh," Uraraka exclaims, running over. "Midoriya-kun, we are team A!"
The relief that he courses through him is both exhilarating and embarrassing.
"I'm so excited!" She beams brightly at him. And she does look excited, as if she's happy to get paired with Izuku, of all people. "Let's do our best!"
"Yeah," Izuku replies, finding it in him to smile. Everything is okay, he reminds himself. "Glad to have you, Uraraka-san.."
"And the first two pairs of combat will be the following," All Might announces, "Team A will be the heroes, and Team D will be the villains."
It's really funny how a good day can take turns for the worst within the blink of an eye.
"The villain team may head to the location first for a head start—everyone else may survey the battle in the monitor room."
Really funny.
"Don't be afraid to get hurt and go all out," All Might's voice sounds a little too far away. A familiar timbre that Izuku has memorized like the back of his hands. "If it goes too far, I will stop it."
Right.
This is the worst case scenario. Izuku is painfully aware of it. Worst case scenario.
Combat training. Right. And how is Izuku supposed to fight someone who he can't even look at?
"Midoriya-kun," Uraraka says above her building map. "Are you okay?"
That's the second time anyone's asked that today. Pathetic, as always. "I'm fine," he says. "I love your costume."
She blinks at the non-sequitur. "Oh, thank you."
"The design is awesome," Izuku says. "Shock-absorbant, I think?" and the helmet gear, Izuku has some suspicions—to fend off nausea, most likely. "Practical for your Quirk and it looks, um, great on you."
"MIdoriya-kun," she says nicely. "Are you trying to change the subject?"
Izuku blinks. "Um," his cheeks heat a little. "No," he says lamely. And then, even lamer, "sorry Uraraka-san, it's just—I'm not. I don't like … fighting.." or any kind of confrontation at all, really. Izuku cringes, realizing how ridiculous he sounds. He doesn't like fighting—then why the hell is he in UA? "I'm sorry," he babbles. Uraraka probably thinks he's going to be a deadweight now. "I'll get my head in order—"
"I don't like fighting either," Uraraka says.
Izuku stares, while Uraraka's cheeks actually do flush a little. "I know that sounds, like, dubious since um. What happened yesterday. But I really don't, you know? I wanna be a Rescue Hero, not … an ass-kicking Hero."
"Oh," Izuku doesn't know what to say, mostly because of surprise. Uraraka doesn't seem to mind, though; she shrugs a little. "Dunno. I'm just saying. But hey," she bumps his shoulder—the gesture, for a moment, reminds Izuku of Ojiro-kun. "Plus Ultra and all that, right?" she grins. "I don't like fighting, but I like to win, you know."
Izuku is starting to get it, he thinks.
This is new. This thing, this one specific thing about being surrounded by other people. That contagiousness. If your friend is okay—if your friend is happy, or excited, or determined—you feel it too. You get swept along with it.
Izuku is starting to get it. He's starting to like how this feels—this camaraderie.
"Right," Izuku says. And to his surprise, he finds it easier—however little—to breathe again. And then, before he loses the nerve to say it, "I think you'll make a great Rescue Hero," Izuku blurts. "You did, um. Save me. Twice."
Uraraka pauses for a second. And then, to Izuku's mortification, she suddenly looks shy. In return, that makes Izuku feel shy, so now they're both shifting around each other in mutual embarrassment. She clears her throat. "Thank you," she says, and then she laughs, which makes Izuku laugh too—two kids laughing sheepishly at their awkwardness.
"Well, time's almost up. We really didn't discuss anything, huh," she says as they trot together to the building. "Well, we don't know much about Iida-kun or Bakugou-kun in the first place.."
"Actually," Izuku says. "I might have some ideas."
The layout of the building is fairly simple. She helps out her parents sometimes, but it's not like she knows the art of building construction inside out. However.
Ochako knocks on a wall. It sounds a little hollow. She knows cheap concrete when she sees one.
Oh well. It's for training, after all. From what she's seen of the other kids' Quirk, training probably means all these stuff are going to get destroyed. Destroyed real good. Can't blame UA for being a little stingy on their expenses, for once.
Midoriya-kun's strategy would sound far-fetched if he isn't—well, if he isn't Midoriya-kun. A part of Ochako thinks that it is a little crazy that she's trusting her new classmate so much—but he did destroy a fifteen story tall giant robot to save her life, so. She thinks it's a little justified.
Midoriya didn't look like he was lying, anyways. If anything he looked like his life depended on it, when he laid out his plans.
So, when the wall where her head would've been explodes and Ochako leaps back because her life does depend on that, she thinks, damn. Midoriya-kun wasn't exaggerating, after all; this Bakugou guy really is out for his blood.
Ochako smiles. "Ehe, sorry to disappoint," she says nicely. "Did you think I was Midoriya-kun?"
Bakugou Katsuki glares at her, a vein ticking as he clenches his jaw. Ochako has seen guys like him before, back in her middle school. Guys who think they're so tough. "Where's Deku?"
Cheap concrete, she thinks, glancing at the rubbles of the impact, really just won't do. Maybe she can hook up her parents' company with UA, how about that? Instant money.
"It's a cute mask, isn't it?" Ochako says conversationally, taking off said mask from her head. The green clashes with her costume, but. "I like the ears. Do you?"
"Shut the fuck up," he says, and wow, rude. Even a little scary. Ochako forces her smile through her anxiety. "Where's he?"
"Why, are you BFFs, or something?" she says, honestly curious. Midoriya-kun didn't really offer much explanation. "You guys seem close."
Something about that perhaps stings, because he doesn't waste any preamble to attack.
It's a hard punch. Ochako has never been punched before—and this would've been her first time if only Midoriya-kun didn't tell her one little tip.
"See," Ochako says, leaping to the other side of the hallway. She ignores the way her stomach rumbles in protest, and grits her teeth through it. Her job here is almost done anyway. "He even knew that you'd start with a big right swing."
Even from this far away, and underneath his mask, Ochako can tell that Bakugou's eyes are twitching with the intent to kill. "Fucking round-face—"
"Her name is Uraraka," says Midoriya.
The moment Bakugou turns to the source of his voice, Midoriya fires.
What he fires, to be exact, is two water pistol guns. Two streams of small, high-pressure spurts of water right to Bakugou's face.
The canister is empty within seconds, and there is a shocked, furious moment where Bakugou seems too flabbergasted to even think. And then Midoriya dashes away to the next hallway on the skates of his shoes.
Not a split second after, Bakugou follows with a loud boom and an expletive, leaving Ochako alone in the empty hall.
Rude. Ochako huffs. Is the prospect of beating her up not interesting enough?
Well, anyway. Ochako has another job to do, she thinks, proudly thinking back to the moment where Ochako distracted Bakugou enough that he doesn't realize Midoriya flashing five fingers at her just at the corner of the hall.
Fifth floor. Hell yeah.
Ochako might not be interested in being an ass-kicking Hero, but her hero-quipping skill is pretty good, if she does say so herself.
That was way more risky than necessary on Uraraka's part. Izuku is never doing that again.
The anxiety of watching someone else so close to Kacchan's fist like that—not something Izuku wants to live. Ever again.
Izuku is glad for the battle terrain—the concrete is just perfect for his skates. Rollerblading is an idea that Izuku has cultivated for a few years, the solution on how he could compete against speed-enhancing Quirk. Which, of course, isn't really a competition at all.
Not when Izuku can't even beat Kacchan.
The explosion misses him by a second. Izuku tucks himself when he falls, his elbow guards scraping against the ground in a hard clash. "Midoriya-kun," Uraraka's voice, in his earpiece. "Iida-kun found me out—"
"I don't think you should wait for me, Uraraka-san," Izuku says to his receiver. "I—"
Footsteps in front of him. Izuku doesn't need to look up.
"Midoriya-kun?"
"Don't wait for me," Izuku tells her. There is a beat, before Uraraka's voice comes clear, "Okay."
Bang.
"Another shitty trick," Kacchan says, the familiar timbre of his voice so grating on Izuku's ears. "Deku?"
Izuku has to win. He has to win.
He has to.
That's the scariest part of it all, really. The fact that he dares to even want it. The fact that he wants to win.
"I have more," Izuku replies, and launches himself at Kacchan.
A straight up brawl won't work, of course. Izuku doing push-ups everyday for nine months straight won't beat Kacchan, the number one athlete of Aldera junior high, in a power match. But with the momentum of his weight and the in-line skates, coupled with Kacchan not expecting Izuku to do something so crazy, both of them go down in a topple.
There is another bang and then Izuku only has a few moments to roll away before Kacchan beats down on him—and Izuku does so, with the quickness of a well-trained dog. With a click of his gear, the rollerblades deactivate themselves—they're useless in a close range fight.
"Fucking shit."
Kacchan shakes the water out of his hair harshly. His open shoulders are now gleaming under the light—but not with sweat. He takes what's left of the water balloons Izuku had slammed into his hand gears—storage tanks, Izuku is 100% sure; containing Kacchan's sweat, his Quirk, that will now be diluted with water—when the both of them clashed. He inspects them for a second before throwing them to the ground in a splat. "You think something like this can stop me?"
No. Not really. But Izuku has to try. He has to keep trying.
He wants to win.
Kacchan is faster than him. Stronger than him. His melee attack can stand to a few metres, but—Izuku doesn't have any data on his support item; what if they can do longer? He can assume, but Kacchan is smart. Kacchan has always been smart, and he knows his own Quirk inside out. But.
(Nitroglycerin in the air. The ashen, burnt sugar scent he knows so well.)
Izuku knows Kacchan's Quirk inside out, too. It's the first one he ever analyzed, after all.
That's why Izuku has chosen to store water balloons and tanks inside the compartments of his utility belt. Because Izuku doesn't trust his chances. Izuku doesn't trust his luck. The Universe, Izuku, et cetera: a tragicomedy.
Using his Quirks have always put a strain on Kacchan's arms. If Izuku wants to stand a chance at all, he has to destroy Kacchan's gears.
Izuku unsheathes his sword.
The building is silent. Uraraka and Iida are a few floors above them. The artificialness of the cityscape has never felt so blatant—there are no other sounds at all. No humming electricity, no living organisms. Just them, two boys, standing face to face. And everything else in between.
Something flits across Kacchan's face. It's not unreadable, not really—Kacchan has never been unreadable to Izuku. Izuku just doesn't—he just—
Why is—
"Look at me," Kacchan says, and the look on his face is anger—but it's not the one that Izuku knows.
Izuku's grip falters.
"Fucking look at me!"
The only thing that saves Izuku's head from blunt trauma courtesy to Kacchan's knee is all those months of training being drilled into his head. He's panicking. He's panicking, and if he panics—
(He'll mess up and it'll all be over and he'll go home to his mom empty handed and that's if he even goes home at all.)
Another explosion before Kacchan closes in.
He's saving on his fires. Izuku is right, then—the gears must be storage tanks. Izuku's water tactic might work for some time, but how long? How long until Kacchan produces enough sweat again? And how long can Izuku hold out his attacks?
Because his sword feels really stupidly useless in his hands right now.
"Running away again, Deku?" Kacchan says, his voice a rough gravel. When he misses an attack, he gets hasty. "You think I didn't notice that you've been running away from me? I said fucking look at me!" And when he gets hasty, that'll lead to—
An opening. There is an opening. It's small, but it's there.
Use your whole body when you attack, Toshinori-san voice, unbidden, rings gently in his head. Like so.
Izuku twists his waist, aims his sword. If he aims right, if it hits—and it will hit—
Are you having violent thoughts?
The world screeches into a halt.
His sword stops in the air, and oh, wow, he thinks. In that stupid, irrational split second. There is an opening, an opening right there, and all he has to do is extend-twist-and-hit. All he has to do—
Is to hit Kacchan.
(Violence.)
(Izuku thinks he's made a mistake.)
He can't do it, he realizes—a dumb, slow epiphany laced with awe, with dread. He can't do it. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to hurt—he doesn't want to hurt anyone.
Not even Kacchan.
His hesitation costs him. It could've been a kick, or just a swat—but there is a force against the dull blade of his cheap, low-grade katana and it falls to the ground with a clang. He stares at it, shocked at himself. Shocked, even after all this time, at his own incompetence.
The opening is gone, and then Kacchan's fist meets his cheekbone.
Kapow. Stars across his eyes. Scatter-brained.
Oh. Right.
He knows this, Izuku thinks, in the split second where he tastes blood, in the split second where he looks, unseeing, at the way Kacchan's eyes flash red, in the split second before the pain hits in a burst of firelights. Izuku knows a lot about pain.
Izuku is in pain a lot. Emotional pain, really, is practically the crux of Izuku's everything. The bane of his existence and the core of it: the insane, illogical, erratic beat of his heart in a crowded place. The irrational fear every hour of his life when everything is perfectly fine, really, nothing is wrong everything is fine. The knowledge that he's made his mom cry again and again and again.
Pain is funny. The conditions of pain, human pain, are abstract. There are no metrics for it. His mom crying is pain. Classmates' laughter is pain. Extra toe joint is pain. Waking up everyday is pain.
But physical pain. Oh, physical pain.
A toothache. Hangnail. Skinned knee. Papercut. Stubbed toe. Burnt tongue.
20 metres to the ground. A pair of scissors. Semi-trailer truck.
His once best friend's fist.
Izuku knows a lot about pain, he thinks. He knows pain intimately.
And that's why, that's why he knows that everytime it hits—and it doesn't matter how many times Izuku has been hit before—it will always feel like it's the first time. One: the shock. The numbness. The skin-deep surprise. Two: the distinct sensation of wildfire spreading across his cheek. Three: the sad little noise bubbling out of his throat like a cracked whip.
The impact of the punch leaves him reeling. Disoriented. Izuku blinks the tears and the stars out of his eyes, stumbling backwards. His cheek is a painful pulse, throbbing like it's alive.
And then Izuku is five again.
Five years old. Kindergarten graduate, skinny-limbed, freckled cheek. Hero wanna-be—my sidekick, said the familiar, grating voice: you're gonna be my sidekick, Deku! Five years old. Wide-eyed, a hand hesitantly raised to hold his bruising cheek. Shoulders raised into a flinch, looking up with some kind of awe as if he couldn't believe that Kacchan, of all people, would hurt him like that.
And Kacchan looks back. Kacchan looks down. Always taller than Deku, bigger than Deku, stronger than Deku. Mouth set in a mean line. Face twisted—always so disgusted, always so angry. A crackling fist raised and ready to set off.
Kacchan looks down at him. At Deku's pathetic, shrivelling form, shaking under his glare, his strength, his everything. It's what Kacchan does; he would look down at Deku's cowardice, and he would sneer.
But not this time.
Not this time.
Izuku looks up, and Kacchan looks back. And the look on his face—
"You didn't fucking answer."
For a moment, Izuku's mind goes blank. "What," he says, despite the pain, despite the everything between them.
"Don't fucking play stupid!"
Izuku flinches, and then—he looks. He looks at him.
(For the first time since.. since..)
Kacchan is shaking. It's anger on his face, but there is also something else. Something Izuku doesn't want to see, or acknowledge.
Right, Izuku thinks, muddled. The last time they met had been—at the teacher's office. Both of them were accepted to UA, and the teachers had said congratulations, congratulations, even you, Midoriya, and then in the alley Kacchan had shoved him and asked—
"Why didn't you tell them?" Kacchan asks. An echo of the past. A nauseating deja vu. "Why didn't you tell them it was me?"
Don't say it. Not that. izuku has done so well—so, so well not to think about it. He's been doing so good, please, Izuku has been doing so good. Don't.
"Why didn't you tell them that I told you to kill yourself?"
Izuku shakes.
Izuku has made a mistake.
He wants to be a hero. He has always wanted to be a hero. So now, now is the being a hero part. And what does that mean? Does that mean he has to hurt people? Izuku can't do that.
He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to. He doesn't like this. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. No one. No one. Not even Kacchan. No one, he can never hurt anyone—
Are you having violent thoughts?
(Izuku has never been a very good liar.)
For the first time in his life, Izuku punches back.
He doesn't even know when he moves. There is only a flare of something furious and unrecognizable bubbling in his chest and then: kapow. His knuckles meet the crest of Kacchan's cheekbones.
Oh, a distant, apathetic part of Izuku thinks. So this is how it feels like. So this is how it feels like to inflict pain on someone else—on someone that's not himself.
The punch surprises them both. Izuku watches—almost fascinated, almost in a trance—at how Kacchan stumbles back from the impact. He watches the way surprise spreads throughout Kacchan's face like wildfire. He watches the way Kacchan's eyes widen, a flash of red, as they look at Izuku with some kind of awe.
As if he couldn't believe that Izuku, of all people, would hurt him like that.
So that's how I look like, Izuku thinks. Hot-cold with unnamed emotion. Fist trembling with the knowledge that it has kissed skin. So this is how it feels like, to be on the other side of the wall.
And Izuku has so many things to say. So many, and yet—
"So what," Izuku says, and his voice is shaking so hard and so twisted he doesn't recognize himself. "You feel bad? Is that it?"
Match forgotten. UA forgotten. Only two boys in a fake, papier-mache city, and everything else between them.
There is something almost—almost—like a flinch, in the tense line of Kacchan's shoulders. Kacchan has never been unreadable. Not to Izuku. Never.
Izuku doesn't know why it surprises him so much. Why it upsets him so much.
He takes a good look on Kacchan's face. Never unreadable to Izuku.
"Holy shit," Izuku says, softly. Angrily. "You do."
After—after all these years, and all it takes is—
(20 metres to the ground. A pair of scissors. Semi-trailer truck.)
"Is that why you chased me here, leaving your—" Izuku is so, so angry he can't even speak. "Is this your priority, you prioritize this over the—this? To ask me that—that stupid question?"
That day. The day they stopped talking to each other, in that alley. Why didn't you tell them? Nothing about UA. Nothing about Izuku's stupid plan on being a Hero. Just that, just: why didn't you fucking tell them that I told you to—
Izuku has known, he thinks. He made a choice. They all made choices. Kacchan chose to do all those things to him over the years. And Izuku chose to climb over the fence.
(Correlation. Causation?)
What did he say to Uraraka, not half an hour ago? Knowing Kacchan, his goal will be to find me. He knew. He knew that Kacchan has been—
"Kacchan. Is that all you've been thinking about?" Izuku says. "Kacchan, look at me."
"Fuck you," Kacchan says, and he sounds a little too rough, a little too fragile, that Izuku can't help but hit him with all he's got.
His fist doesn't connect. His movement was too messy, uncoordinated, stupid—Kacchan's got his right fist in a tight grip, and in return, Izuku got Kacchan's fist in his grip. A power match. A stupid choice, of course; Kacchan is stronger than him.
"You don't deserve that," Izuku says. His muscles strain under Kacchan's strength, but he doesn't care. His voice sounds messed up, raw, like he's about to cry. He hates it. "You don't deserve to feel like that. You don't deserve to—"
"Shut the fuck up!"
You don't deserve to feel bad. Not now. Not now that it looks like Izuku might—might be able to get his life together. Kacchan doesn't deserve to—
Because this is Izuku's pain. Izuku's. Kacchan doesn't deserve to have it.
(Are you having violent thoughts?)
That's right. Kacchan already has everything, after all. Does he have to take this from Izuku too?
Kacchan is stronger. His grip slips, the momentum shifts—and Izuku's back meets a wall with a bang.
The breath is beaten out of him in a choking gasp. Sloppy. Idiotic. He should know better. What is Ojiro-kun thinking right now, watching Izuku throw all those months of training to waste? What is, what would..
What would Toshinori-san think?
Izuku's shoulder burns under Kacchan's grip as he pins him to concrete. His face is so close to Izuku, scrunches up like he's in pain. It's not just anger—it's not the anger that Izuku recognizes so well.
He hates that Kacchan looks so lost. He hates that Kacchan just looks so much like a—like a boy. Unsure, flinching, torn up. Angry. Angry, but not just to Izuku, and isn't that just unfair? Things are not supposed to be like this. And maybe that's why Izuku has been avoiding him so much (running away, as he's put it). Because he doesn't want to see this.
Kacchan's other hand is raised in a fist, raised to hit. A crackling fist raised and ready to set off: a familiar sight.
Ah. Izuku gets it.
Here he is, in the same position Izuku's always been in all those years. He gets it now. It doesn't matter if Izuku's managed to snub a place in UA, or if Izuku's managed to get himself a little messed up Quirk. It doesn't even matter if Izuku fights back.
"Deku," Kacchan says, "Fucking answer me."
That fist. Izuku watches it tremble, for the first time in god knows how long. "Aren't you going to hit me?" he says, and there is something nasty coiling in his gut, slipping out of his control. Something cold and a little too familiar. "Aren't you—"
BANG. Izuku's ears ring, ring, ring. Above him, ahead of him. An immovable object of victory. He's a representation of what Izuku can never be. Things are not supposed to be like this.
Kacchan doesn't have the right to be hurt.
"Shut up," Kacchan growls, hisses, begs. "Why? Why?"
How could Izuku forget? How dare he?
Because life is hard. Life is so, so hard, and Izuku just doesn't make the cut, and that's why, that's why—
Oh, he thinks. So that's why.
"Aren't you going to kill me?" Deku says.
"Attention to both teams," All Might's voice, in their earpiece. The exact baritone of it that Izuku knows so well—I am here—just like in the movies. The pavlovian sense of safety. "The match is suspended!"
But Izuku knows.
He lost.