Izuku barely moves when the door to his bedroom opens. He does, however, squint his eyes when the light is switched on abruptly. "Mom," he starts softly, and then stops when his eyes find the person—kid—at his door.
Katsuki takes his time to glance around the room: the mess of Izuku's things laying haphazardly on the floor, and then Izuku laying face down in his bed staring at him in surprise. Katsuki then makes his consensus.
"You look like shit," Katsuki says.
"Did my mom tell you to come here?" Izuku says, after a few moments of silence. He gets off his bed gingerly.
"Shut up," Katsuki says. He closes the door of Izuku's bedroom behind him—with casual ease, Izuku notes, as if it's his own home—and shoves a paper bag to Izuku's chest before stomping off. "No one tells me what to do."
Izuku looks into the bag. Inside, incongruous and unexpected, is a piece of driftwood. He looks back to Katsuki's direction.
Katsuki has his face to the aquarium by Izuku's bedside table, a finger absently knocking on the glass. He is wearing a dark blue soccer shirt, number one printed large at the back. Above it is his surname, SAIKI, in bright white.
School started at the same time for the both of them in early April. The last time Izuku saw Katsuki-kun was some time in March—Toju-san had brought over some casseroles and the kid tagged along—but somehow, he feels like Katsuki has grown a little taller. Probably even taller than Izuku's shoulders, now.
"We went to the beach the other day," Katsuki says, not bothering to look at Izuku's way. His voice is carefully flippant. "Thought you'd like something ugly like that."
Izuku pulls out the driftwood. It's not too big—he can saw it a little at the sides and it'll fit the aquarium just fine. It still smells of saltwater. "Thank you," Izuku says. "I really like it."
Katsuki sniffs haughtily as a response. And then the kid turns to squint at him over the shoulder. "Nasty. It's like, six."
It takes Izuku a beat to understand what he means. He looks down at himself, still fully clothed in UA uniform—complete with the blazer. He hadn't bothered to change. He hadn't bothered to do anything at all, in fact. "Oh. Right. Give me a sec."
Katsuki looks back to the aquarium. "Whatever."
When Izuku returns from changing into a sweater in the bathroom outside, Katsuki is inspecting the strawberries grown on the betta tank. After his tank stabilized with Fish a few months ago, Izuku had the confidence to try out new stuff. "They actually. Grow fruits," Katsuki mulls. There is a green, unripe piece of strawberry held carefully between his fingers. The roots of the plant are resting inside the tank, worming in the water.
"Yeah. They're turning out well," Izuku says, standing closer to the tank next to the kid. Yeah, he's gotten taller, alright. "Fish isn't scared of you anymore, Katsuki-kun." Fish, Izuku's betta fish, is pretty antsy around people. Whenever Katsuki shows up, his skin used to change color with horizontal stress stripes. That doesn't happen anymore. The little thing follows Katsuki's finger eagerly at the moment, as if to greet him.
Katsuki huffs. "He better does. I've cleaned his tank a dozen times now," he grumbles. There is a note of affection as he adds under his breath, "the ungrateful ass."
Fish, the accused Ungrateful Ass, swishes back and forth in the tank. It really is six already—the window outside is dark. The sun had gone down and Izuku didn't even realize.
Izuku glances at his bag at the foot of his bed. It's zipped open, with his books strewn a little out of it. He had dropped it the moment he got home from school and then he had—well. He'd done nothing.
Izuku didn't realize that he's been hungry either.
"Let's eat first," Izuku says. "And then we can change the tank water."
"Don't tell me what to do," Katsuki grumbles, but he steps away from the tank and scuttles away. Izuku follows him to Izuku's own living room.
There are two bowls of katsudon on the kitchen table, next to the microwave. A note above it in his mom's hasty handwriting reads: be home at nine. Tell Katsuki-kun I said hi.
Izuku doesn't notice when she'd left. She'd greeted him when he came home two hours ago (she took one concerned look at him, and asked him, did something happen?), but she must've been called to cover shifts; that happens all the time. She did say she's having better work hours now, but—her manager can be very inconsistent. Izuku hopes she won't tire herself out.
Not that Izuku is helping her case.
Izuku glances at Katsuki, who is currently fumbling with Izuku's old rubik cube on the couch. The TV is on, another rerun of Detective Conan as a background noise.
Did something happen? Of course she noticed. She always does, now. She must've been too worried to leave Izuku alone, hence Katsuki-kun.
It's more than a little pathetic on Izuku's part to be watched over by a ten year old, but what's new?
Izuku puts the bowls in the microwave and pulls out some white bread from the cabinet. "My mom said hi."
Katsuki grunts. "My mom said hi too."
As the microwave hums, Izuku heats butter over the pan. Honey toast for dessert would probably be nice; they don't have ice cream right now, but those are good enough eaten solo. With some milk tea, too. They should still have some store brand ones in the fridge, Izuku thinks.
It's nice, having things to do with his hands. The mechanical, routine numbness is nice. He doesn't have to think about some other dumb shit when he's occupied. It's a little hard, after all, to have a mental breakdown with a ten year old watching.
The microwave dings. Izuku turns the stove down to take the food out, but Katsuki beats him to the punch. The kid gruffly sets the table while he's at it—he already knows where the cutleries are, from all their potluck sessions—not bothering to say anything else. Izuku awkwardly hovers, "Katsuki-kun, just let me—"
"Shut up."
Izuku turns back to his toast. He almost smiles.
After dinner—Katsuki doesn't say anything, but Izuku doesn't miss the record time he ate the honey toast. Izuku is kind of proud of that—Katsuki watches, still fumbling with the rubik, as Izuku rummages around the cabinet.
"Aha," Izuku mutters, pulling out the Ugly Saucepan (nicknamed lovingly by the Midoriya household). The Ugly Saucepan is used, more often than not, for things that are definitely not to be consumed. Exhibit A: Izuku puts the driftwood inside and proceeds to fill the saucepan with water.
"You're boiling it," Katsuki observes, leaning against the sink. He's got one side of the rubik's cube solved.
"So it won't float in the tank later on," Izuku explains. "And to sterilize it. Foreign objects can unbalance the tank's ecosystem."
"Nerd," Katsuki mumbles, tinkering with the rubik.
They return to Izuku's room and work on the tank quietly. Not silently—quietly. Sometimes Katsuki would ask stuff like how does hy-dro-po-nics work or why won't you let me try the electric saw for once dammit? But quietly.
Katsuki places the tiny bucket (with Fish inside it) carefully near Izuku's bedfoot. "Why almond leaf water?"
"It'll help lower the pH of the aquarium."
"pH?"
Izuku pauses. Right. Ten year old. "Um, pH means potential of hydrogen.." Katsuki doesn't ask what's hydrogen, so Izuku continues, "it's sort of a scale to specify the acidity and basicity of water." More precisely, aqueous solution. But Izuku isn't going into all that—he should take care not to set off in a long scientific speech to a grumpy ten year old.
"Acid," Katsuki repeats. There is a tiny frown between his dark brows. "A kid in my class got an acid Quirk."
That makes Izuku pause. Acid Quirks aren't very common; they're considered dangerous, sometimes, since some have the potential to be a hazard.
But of course, Quirklessness is even less common.
Izuku opens his mouth to say something—though he doesn't know what—but Katsuki abruptly stands up to sit nearer in Izuku's space. "Is basi-city," he pronounces the word clumsily, "the opposite of aci-dity?"
Izuku looks at him for a while. Katsuki-kun has a stubborn, closed-off look on his face; the frown is still there. "That's right," Izuku says slowly. "Betta fishes and some plants prefer base. Tap water is too acidic; it can hurt them."
Katsuki grunts. He nods at the floor, where Izuku has pulled out the strawberry plants carefully from the tank and laid them on scrap newspaper. They are still wet. "What're you doing with those."
The roots have to be tidied up every once in a while; they get wild, which is the hassle with planted betta tanks. "You wanna try?"
Izuku hands Katsuki the blunter shears, pointing where he should groom them off. Izuku's room is filled with methodic tic, tic, tic of their cutting. The work isn't necessarily quicker with Katsuki's help, really; he does need Izuku's guidance, and Izuku tries to be more careful with the kid around which makes the work slower sometimes. But it's nicer.
It's funny that Izuku finds solace in the company of a literal kid.
Pathetic, what's new, etc.
When they put the plants back, the tank is much clearer and tidier, less tangled roots and all. The frown on Katsuki's face is different now, more of the questioning kind rather than the I-hate-everyone-and-everything-because-I'm-ten kind. "So the plant … absorbs the fish waste?"
"Waste is nutrients. Absorbing them helps the plants to produce fruit."
Katsuki considers this. And then he says, with a completely serious face, "so your strawberries are from Fish's poop."
The laugh that bubbles out of Izuku's throat surprises himself. And then he says, still smiling. "Yeah. That's right. But all plants that grow are from poop, one way or another."
Katsuki sticks out his tongue. "Yuck."
When they're done it's a little past eight. Izuku insists on walking Katsuki home, as always—their area is safe, but Izuku isn't taking chances.. The first time he did so, Katsuki had thrown a tantrum. He had roared, "you're not my fucking babysitter, shitty nerd!" and kicked Izuku's shin.
This time, Katsuki only rolls his eyes. "Whatever," he says.
"Are you cold?" It gets a little cold at night, even though it's april. "Do you need a scarf?"
"Screw you, 'm not a kid."
Elevator is out of order, per usual. Katsuki must've had to climb the stairs to their apartment when he came.
The station is close, and the streets are fairly empty. Safe, too, but Katsuki is ten and Izuku doesn't want to risk it. Now that the both of them got nothing to do with their hands, though, their walk is silent with not a small degree of awkwardness.
Izuku has both hands in his pocket. The street is moderately quiet at this time of night around their area; their footsteps scrapping gently on the ground, the only noise under the streetlights. "So," Izuku tries. "How's school?"
They don't exactly walk side by side. Katsuki is a few paces ahead of him, giving Izuku a clear view when his shoulders hunch a tall degree. "Seriously?" he says, annoyed, looking at Izuku over said shoulders. "You're gonna ask me that?"
Izuku smiles a little. That's right. That's not really the kind of relationship the both of them have. "Sorry."
Katsuki sniffs. They walk wordlessly, Izuku half-dissociating as they pass through the neighborhood. "Hey."
Izuku looks up. Katsuki isn't looking at him, still walking straight ahead. His shoulders are still hunched a little as he breaks the silence, making his back look smaller like the child he is.
"Isn't this your third day of your hero school, or whatever?" Katsuki says, his volume low and his voice flimsily callous. "Why do you already look like you're gonna die?"
Izuku blinks. That's the first time Izuku thinks he's heard that word come out of Katsuki's mouth. Die. Moreover, that's the first time in who knows how long he's heard himself being brought up in the same sentence with the word die. Kill, yeah—just a few hours ago. But die?
(Semi-trailer truck.)
It's a strange sensation. Izuku doesn't know how he should feel about it.
"I," Izuku tries, and then stops. Unsure. He attempts for a laugh. "I just did something stupid today, is all," Izuku smiles. "Don't worry, Katsuki-kun."
This is the kind of relationship they have.
Katsuki glances at him, before scowling and looking away. "Who the hell is worried," he complains.
"Haha, sorry."
"Whatever."
Izuku would take the train with Katsuki and walk him all the way home, but Katsuki would also kill him if he does so, so he settles with them separating just on the ticket gates. The station is swarming with people. It's a weekday, after all—the first one after a long holiday. People were still getting off work, or going off to hang. Despite Katsuki's insistence that he doesn't feel cold, his cheeks are a little red.
He's taller, but he still does look very much like a kid. "Take care," Izuku tells him. "Come again soon."
Katsuki doesn't reply, which isn't unusual, but he doesn't immediately leave either. He looks up at Izuku, with an intense look on his face that Izuku can't really decipher. And then, "don't die," Katsuki says. "Got it?"
It's not really surprise that Izuku feels. It feels a little more sorry, a little more painful. It feels like a stab to his chest.
"Got it," Izuku says, through the sudden, inexplicable lump in his throat. "Text me when you get home, Katsuki-kun."
"After much consideration, I've decided to solemnly step down from my position as a class president," Ochako says, and with fanfare, presents her friend who is sitting stiffly in his seat. "Everyone please welcome our second, brand new class president!"
Iida-kun stands up from his desk. It's a bit of a relief to see that he's capable of being sheepish, albeit it's not very apparent if you don't know where to look. But Ochako doesn't miss the slight stutter he has when he pushes his glasses, as he proceeds to bow dignifiedly to the entire class. The rest of the class oooohs with intrigue at this turn of events.
Ochako grins. "Iida-kun was able to unite people so coolly in a time of crisis! I believe that he would be much more suited for the job. Considering my legitimacy as a class president in my three hours reign, I hope you guys can accept my decision. Over and out."
The kids holler and whoop as Iida takes his stand on the podium. "Iida for president!" Kirishima chers. "And Uraraka for ex-president, but respectfully and with vibes!" Ochako curtsies at this honorable mention of her vibes.
"Attention everyone! We will now commence the ceremony of Iida's coronation and Uraraka's anti-coronation.."
"Aizawa-sensei, can we use the class speaker to turn on some music for vibes purposes?"
"No, and please get this over with."
Iida clears his throat at his spot on the podium when the last of the cheerings die out. "If it is the wish of our class president, then I could not possibly refuse. I am looking forward to serving my duty to this class alongside Yaoyorozu-kun."
"Exit sign king!"
"Alright, let's get on with it," Aizawa-sensei makes a gesture with his hand as if waving off all the teenage excitement. "Sit down. Do not touch the speaker, Ashido. For today's Foundational Hero Studies, it has been decided that you will be supervised by a three-man team composing of me, All Might, and one more Hero.."
So they'll still be doing the training, after all. Ochako thought it would perhaps be cancelled considering the security breach at the first recess, but—well, it is UA, after all.
"Today's Hero studies," Aizawa-sensei announces, "will be a rescue training."
Ochako is so excited she could die.
The rest of the class seems to share the same excitement, whispering to each other in high spirit. Aizawa-sensei glares until everyone shuts up. "Disasters, shipwreck, and everything in between. This is an essential training in Heroics, and it will do you well to take it seriously. The activity is off-campus. We'll be taking the bus."
Ochako designed her outfit—well, more like she put some notes in her costume request—to fit this sort of scenario, but some kids shift into UA's PE uniform because their costumes wouldn't suit the activity well. Who apparently includes—
"Midoriya-kun," she says, "why are you in your PE uniform?"
Midoriya looks up at her. In the few days where they've gotten to know each other, Ochako notices that he always has this look on his face whenever she calls out to him; this surprised sort of look as if he couldn't believe that she was talking to him. She wonders if that's just with her, or if he's like that with everyone.
Not that it's offensive, it's just sort of … curious, in an endearing kind of way. He blinks at her, a little distractedly. "Oh. Um. My PE uniform got, uh, a little messed up from yesterday's Battle Trial.."
His voice drops at the mention of Battle Trial. Ochako frowns a little, before slapping a smile on her face. "Oh, I see. I'm sure the Supports company will patch it up well. I miss your bunny ears."
Midoriya smiles at her—that little unsure smile, like he isn't quite certain that smiling is a good thing. "Yeah," he says. "I miss it too."
The other kids are slowly trickling out of the building into the lot, talking eagerly to each other. Ochako says, "hey, you don't have to tell me, but. Did everything go okay? When Aizawa-sensei talked to you and Bakugou-kun."
It happened after homeroom. Before Aizawa-sensei left, he had requested Midoriya and Bakugou to talk to him—which was why neither were present in the cafeteria when the whole alarm thing went down. Midoriya came back to the class looking a little dazed afterwards. Actually, he has been sort of quiet the whole day. He isn't the most active student in class so far, but he just has this look on him.
"Oh," Midoriya laughs a little. It's not very well-faked. "It was okay. He just, um, warned us about … our behaviors. It wasn't anything serious."
Nothing serious, huh?
Ochako doesn't really know what went down exactly in yesterday's Battle Trial. After Midoriya's abrupt instruction for her to go on her own, the communications went silent for a while. She had been confronting Iida-kun—and oh, that was seriously fun, she should reconsider her ass-kicking career direction, really—and then All Might's voice came on their intercoms. The match had been suspended.
It was a surprise, and sort of a disappointment—again, it was seriously fun, messing with Iida-kun—but when she went back, the atmosphere was … not great.
They had returned to the monitor room with all the other kids. Both Midoriya and Bakugou were already there. They did look battered—and yeah, Midoriya's costume was all messed up, now that she thinks about it—but their wounds didn't look too serious. Both of them had identical bruises on their respective cheeks, though, which would be sort of funny if only they didn't look so..
Murderous isn't quite the right way to put it. Deathly, maybe. Both of them looked upset. Very upset. Neither spoke, neither looked at each other, or anyone else. They were so quiet, standing a few paces apart from each other, bruises and all. The other kids looked as confused as Ochako felt, if somewhat concerned—but All Might was tense.
It was an odd view. He still had that dazzling, ever-present smile on his face. But when he spoke, Ochako knew, instinctively, that something went wrong. She just wasn't quite sure what it was. She still isn't.
She didn't really notice before. But today, watching Midoriya from the corner of her eyes, she does. Midoriya and Bakugou. It's the little stuff, so small that you wouldn't catch it if you're not actively looking at it. They sit right in front of each other, but whenever there are group discussions, or worksheets are being passed, they never interact. Even though it's obvious—where's Deku?—that they know each other. And they know each other well.
Something definitely happened. And if Aizawa-sensei needed to talk to them, doesn't that mean All Might felt the need to report whatever it was to him? Nothing serious is just pushing it.
And one other thing. Ochako eyes Midoriya's freckled left cheek, now unblemished. She had been instructed by All Might to take Midoriya to Recovery Girl while he talked to Bakugou (about what?). Recovery Girl had lectured Midoriya for a full five minute.
Midoriya had told her his Quirk before the battle trial started. Well, he didn't tell her—she asked. He almost looked like he didn't want to tell her.
There are a lot of types of Quirks, and each type branches into multiples, and so on and so forth. Ochako isn't really sure how Regeneration Quirk works—her Quirk studies scores are quite bad, heh—but she is sure that there are different kinds of it; each Quirks are unique in its properties and conditions, even if they are the same type.
But isn't it strange that Recovery Girl had to fix him up?
"That's great, then," Ochako says. "Hey, you want to sit with me in the bus? Looks like we're going soon."
A blush enters Midoriya's cheeks. There it is again—that soft surprise, that little unsure smile. "Are you sure? I mean—" he sputters, realizing how that sounds. "I'd love to, it's just—"
Ochako laughs. "C'mon, let's pick the best seats."
"Okay," Midoriya says.
Midoriya-kun apologized to her, on the way to the nurse's office. He apologized for "ruining the Battle Trial". He apologized again this morning, before class—quiet eyes and an unsure look.
It's not her place to pry, Ochako decides. Not yet. Some people don't like to tell others their Quirk as a matter of privacy—Ochako gets that. And some people don't like to tell others about whatever is going on between them and their … 'close friend'.
If he doesn't want people to know, for whatever reason—she'll roll with it, and she'll make sure it stays that way. Ochako doesn't like people screwing with her friends. And Ochako has decided that Izuku is her friend the moment he fell down a fifteen stories high to save her from a literal giant robot.
The bus is rowdy along the way. Ashido still persists in attempting to get Aizawa-sensei allow her the aux cord (the latter refuses, repetitively, and somewhat threateningly, but it's quickly obvious to everyone that Ashido Mina is the bravest student in class). Everyone is talking to each other in high spirit, except maybe the quiet ice kid and Bakugou, who are both sitting at the back of the bus.
Ochako doesn't miss Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ojiro trying to cheer Midoriya-kun up, though. The three of them are sitting right across Ochako and Midoriya—a team of boys doing their hardest to make Midoriya laugh. It seems like Ochako isn't the only one who notices Midoriya being upset. Kaminari and Kirishima are both in the middle of a very over the top anecdote involving boxer briefs and a naked Kaminari.
But the surprise comes down to Iida-kun.
"Midoriya-kun," Iida-kun says, with the seriousness of someone in a deathbed. "I have wanted to talk to you ever since the first day. But there has not been a right moment where I could possibly have the chance to do so."
"Um," says Midoriya, who looks kind of scared by this abrupt confrontation. "Okay..?"
"I would like to apologize. I misjudged you at the Entrance Exam. It pains me to admit this, but it deserves to be said," Iida takes a deep, solemn breath. "You are a better Hero than I."
Midoriya looks scared and lost.
"You presented a clear morality and judgement that begets commendation!" Iida continues, and Ochako is pretty sure the whole bus is watching as their newly inaugurated class president goes on his speech. "My apology aside, I would like to express my admiration of your accomplishment. You truly set the standard for me of what it means to be a Hero student! Moreover—"
"I think, what Iida-kun means," Ochako cuts in, with a giggle, "is that he wants to be your friend, Midoriya-kun."
"Iida," Kirishima says sincerely, "your straightforwardness is straight up adorable, bro. Really manly, 10/10."
Iida clears his throat. There is that sheepishness again. Ochako kinda gets it now—Iida comes off as uptight, but he is actually just very straightforward. "Thank you, Kirishima-kun. Anyway. Uraraka-kun is right. Indeed, I would like to be your friend, Midoriya-kun."
"I think you broke him," Ojiro observes, nodding at Midoriya, whose face is so red that it complements his hair.
Beside Midoriya, Tsuyu raises her hand, joining in the conversation. "I would like to be his friend too. Hello, Midoriya-chan, I believe we never talked before. Call me Tsuyu-chan. You too, Ojiro-chan, Iida-chan—we never talked before either."
The rest of the others start to introduce themselves too. Everyone is so lively that they talk over each other a lot, cracking jokes and telling more anecdotes. Midoriya looks overwhelmed at first, but as the conversation continues on he seems to relax, and he even talks sometimes—quietly, but with a smile. Ochako considers that a success. From the look on the other three, they seem to think the same too. He'll be fine, Ochako thinks. Midoriya-kun is pretty tough, after all. By the end of the bus ride, Ochako is now mostly acquainted with everyone in the class.
(Everyone except Bakugou, maybe, who didn't say a thing the whole ride. But she did talk with him in the Battle Trial. Did that count? Oh well.)
"Stop messing around, you lot," Aizawa-sensei says. "Walk in an orderly fashion. Or whatever. Our guest lecturer today is—"
"SPACE HERO THIRTEEN," Ochako screams.
"In an orderly fashion," he repeats with a pained voice.
Both Kirishima and Midoriya are asking each other whether they got any pen for Thirteen to sign an autograph with. Ochako is absolutely losing her shit.
The USJ—what a name—is a highly impressive, meticulously designed simulation area of various disasters. "Flood wrecks, fires, landslides. All of you will be separated into teams," Thirteen—Thirteen!—says. "Teamwork is essential in Heroics, and more so in rescue work. This will be a great opportunity for you kids to get your feet wet! Sorry, can't resist a little pun."
"All Might will not be joining us today," Aizawa-sensei says, to the disappointment of some. He himself looks somewhat disgruntled by this news, but then again, he always looks disgruntled. "But everything will still go according to plan. Please listen to Pro-Hero Thirteen's instructions—none of the simulations will endanger your life, but stupidity is generally not accepted in UA, and certainly not in my class."
Thirteen laughs. They have the friendliest laugh. Ochako wants to hyperventilate. "Don't worry, it will be very safe. I'm looking forward to working with you kids! Before we start, I have just one little thing to say," they pause. "Actually, I have a lot. Please do allow me to monologue a little.
"I'm sure you are all aware of what my Quirk, Black Hole, does. I use it in rescue works to extravacate debris, and save injured people in disasters. But make no mistake—my Quirk is a very dangerous Quirk. Which is no different than any of your Quirks. As you have seen in your Quirk assessment test with Aizawa-senpai, all Quirks have the potential to do all sorts of things—no Quirks are inherently dangerous, or safe. No Quirks are inherently meant to harm others, but they have the potential to do so. It is a tool, and here, you will learn to use it as a tool to save others. I hope all of you will leave this lesson with that understanding in mind. That is all."
There is a moment of silence before the class erupts in claps and shouts. Ochako almost cries. She will be a fan until she dies. And she will, no matter what, get a photo with Thirteen. None of them are allowed to bring phones, but she will beg Aizawa-sensei to take the picture even if it costs her her UA studentship.
Even Aizawa-sensei allows the kids to go rowdy for a few moments before he finally makes a sign for the kids to pipe down. It is difficult, because that was some seriously deep, inspiring, and the coolest stuff Thirteen just said, but the kids manage.
"All right," Aizawa-sensei says. "Pro-Hero Thirteen is one of the best rescue hero out there, and I believe you will keep their words in mind—"
"In my heart," Ochako whispers loudly, to the agreement of the others. Aizawa levels a stare at her before sighing, and continues, "again, do not do anything stupid. Now, we will separate you into—" he stops abruptly.
There is a beat—and then suddenly, silence.
It isn't noticeable, but the USJ has been brimming with background noises. Aside from them, the various machinery in the building lets out a soft hum, the water fountain with its ripples—and then suddenly, they stop. Following it, the lights black out.
It doesn't plunge the arena into darkness, courtesy to the sunlight pouring feely from the greenhouse windows around the walls, but it still surprises her. The kids look at each other in confusion, and Ochako even thinks that this might be some kind of surprise training, until—
"Everyone gather and stay in a group. Do not move. Those are Villains," Aizawa-sensei puts on his goggles. "Thirteen, protect the students."
Ochako doesn't know what it is—maybe it's the tone of Aizawa-sensei's voice, or the sudden tense line of his shoulders that makes him look even taller, somehow—but she knows that he's being serious.
And then she sees them, the Villains. Honest to god Villains, coming out of a portal. A whole lot of them. And Ochako sees it—the monster. There is no other way to describe the creature. It's a monster, a monster and a group of villains.
And then it gets worse.
Everything gets so much worse.
Izuku gasps and tastes chlorine in his mouth. His back hits a hard surface, and Izuku blinks water out of his eyes as he stares right into the sky.
No, not the sky. The sky above the glass dome of the USJ.
"You okay, Midoriya-chan?"
There is a moment of vertigo where he tries to make sense of things. Right. There was—right, the warp Villain. Oh, god. They said they want to k—they want to kill All Might—
Oh, shit.
Izuku gets up a little too quickly and coughs water out of his lungs. "Th—thank you, Asui-san."
"Call me Tsuyu-chan," she reminds him.
They are in the shipwreck zone. The Villain separated them all—to pick them off one by one, possibly. You will be tortured and slain, they'd said. Greetings, we are the League of Villains.
They want to kill them all. They want to kill All Might. They said—Was All Might not meant to be in attendance in this juncture? They know UA's schedule. They know that All Might was supposed to be here. Which means that the infiltration, the media break-in—all planned. These Villains are dangerous. They need to find cover immediately.
And yet, what Izuku says is: "There is no way they can kill All Might."
He sounds childish, even to himself. Petulant, hopeful, in disbelief. But it's just—it's just an impossible notion, to kill All Might. It just doesn't feel real. And yet, and yet..
Asui—Tsuyu looks at him. She's calm—even back when she rescued Izuku from the underwater villain. "I think they wouldn't go this far if they weren't sure they couldn't pull it off, Midoriya-chan," she says. "They must've figured out a way to kill him."
They go inside the boat before the Villains could clock their positions—there are perhaps a dozen of them in the water—though they've probably figured out where they are, since it's the only possible location in the faux lake. To Izuku's caution, the Villains seem to prefer keeping their berth—wary of Izuku and Asui's Quirks, maybe?
"Yeah, I think so too," Asui says, and Izuku turns at her.
Izuku blinks. "Have I been—"
"Saying everything out loud, yes."
Despite everything, Izuku goes shy. And then he laughs.
It's a hysterical, not-nice-sounding laugh. Asui stares at him as he does this, which is probably a way to assure his classmates that Izuku is legit batshit insane. "Sorry," Izuku says, and then he realizes he's trembling. His hands are shaking, and it's not just from the cold. "I'm just—I'm, I don't know."
It feels surreal. Like he is in some fever dream, some nightmare. A group of Villains just infiltrated UA. UA, one of the best Hero Institutions in the world. They want to kill All Might. Izuku just can't comprehend any of it.
"It's okay," Asui says. She's so calm. Izuku should feel ashamed of himself—that's how a Hero is supposed to be, right? Calm under pressure? "So what's our plan?"
"What?"
"Well, you look like you're looking for something," she says, gesturing at him. "What are you looking for? What's our plan?"
Izuku pauses in the middle of his activity. He looks up at her from where he is—crouching as he rummages around the cabinets in the steering panel. The both of them have entered the nearest hiding point they could find, which is the observation deck that also functions as the control room of the ship. "I'm looking for—I think—" Izuku struggles to put his disordered thoughts into proper, comprehensible words. "I think they don't know what our Quirks are," he says finally. "They're cautious. I think we might have a chance."
"Okay," Asui says immediately, and the immediate agreement is a whiplash. "So we're going to work together to beat them, right?"
"Uh—yes. It's our only chance, I think."
"Okay. Then you should know my Quirk. I can do everything that a frog does," she says, and Izuku thinks back to when Asui decommissioned that Villain in the water like it was nothing. She's strong. "Jumping really high, utilizing my tongue as a lasso, scaling, everything. I can secrete toxins but they're useless. What's your Quirk?"
Asui doesn't speak too quickly, like how Izuku does sometimes, but she says things in succession without any hesitation, which gives the same effect. But more efficient. "My Quirk is—a type of regeneration," Izuku says, somewhat weakly. But he feels a little bit calmer now; Asui's level-headedness is contagious. "You don't, um, have to worry about me getting hurt, but that's the extent of it.."
"You aren't an offensive type," Asui concludes, and despite the very messed up, life-or-death situation they're both in, Izuku still finds it in himself to be embarrassed of his stupid, useless Quirk. "Okay. So the plan?"
After a beat of uncertainty, Izuku tells her. And then, to his absolute astonishment, she nods. "Okay. Let's do it," whatever expression of disbelief is apparent on Izuku's face is apparently strong enough that she feels compelled to add, "Midoriya-chan. I watched your Battle Trial. Despite the suspension of the match, I think you are a decent strategist. I also heard about the Entrance Exam. We haven't been friends for very long, but I'll opt to trust you in this situation. By the way, I also say everything that I'm thinking."
"..right," Izuku says.
The boat they're in is a small passenger ferry. Izuku has tried to look everywhere in the control room, but he couldn't find what he's looking for. He roams around the deck until he finds a hatch. He climbs down the ladder under it and assumes that he will somehow get where he needs to be, because they're quite literally trapped and he doesn't have any other options.
The ferry is so small that there are barely any passageways for him to fit through—it must've been designed to only occupy a small group of people—but it's a real ship, so there must be—
Izuku worms his way through the hold and there it is: the engine room. Izuku has never seen one in real life before, but he's pretty sure that it is the engine room. Pretty sure. The moment Izuku manages to get his hands on the hatch of the room, a force hits the ship.
It feels like an earthquake. Izuku tries to take hold of anything to keep himself from kissing the ground, but he kisses the ground anyway. A moment later, Asui—Tsuyu's voice echoes through the hatch Izuku climbed from—"They're sinking the ship!"
As if on cue, Izuku feels it as the ship starts to sink. Well, crap, right? Always, always the odds stacked against him. How many seconds until water starts trickling in and Izuku's plan will be shot to hell? How many seconds until—
—stop.
Stop. Stop. He wants to throw up. He forces the bile down. Stop. He has to stop panicking. When he panics, he screws everything up. Everything—and he can't, he can't afford to do that, not this time, he can't, he can't, so stop. He's got to stop. Don't think about it.
This time, it's not just him on the line. There is Asui, too, waiting for him on the deck. Trusting his plan. Izuku can't die if he's going to bring his friend with him.
He won't, not when someone other than him could die.
Think. This is a passenger ferry—a hybrid ship, most likely. It uses battery and hybrid power as a standard means of propulsion. What he's looking for must be in the engine room. Izuku opens the hatch—
And there they are. The engine room works double as a battery room, it seems, for a ship this small. Numerous lithium-ion batteries the width of Izuku's waist stacks up from floor to ceiling. A large ship would have as much as 4.3MWh capacity—equivalent to what a household consumes a year—but Izuku doubts it for this one. But that's fine—the current should be enough, if his calculations are right. He starts to work.
The only items from his original costume that he brings is the utility belt. Inside, he takes out an assortment of mechanic tools and a pair of thin rubber gloves. He thanks whatever possessed him to have the foresight to keep them in a waterproof bag—if he hasn't, they'd be practically useless unless he's planning to fry himself to death.
Ha. Maybe next time.
He has to work fast. He only needs one battery—they're heavy, but lighter than he'd thought they'd be. He just needs to—shit, where is the cathode—
Circuits are one of the first things his mother has ever taught him to make. This one is no different, he tells himself, just on a different scale. Though his mother certainly never taught him on how to make a haywire circuit. She also never taught him to walk through a sinking ship while carrying a contraption of a 5 kilogramme battery and aforementioned haywire circuit in wet clothes. Izuku is just a disappointment to his mother all around.
"Asui-s—Tsuyu-chan!" Climbing a ladder while holding an electrical hazard, in hindsight, is not a good idea. "Now! Get ready!"
Tsuyu starts to do what Izuku instructed as "attracting attention", which apparently translates to her as "flinging various objects at a group of literal Villains surrounding them". Judging from the angry shouts, though, it seems to work.
With much less attentiveness that he ought to have, Izuku manages to get on the upper deck to Tsuyu's side—the letter is currently taking a hold of an entire ship anchor with her tongue and throwing it to the nearest Villain in the water. Izuku knows that her tongue can carry a lot of mass, but that's just simply crazy. No time for Quirk analysis, though. "Don't let yourself get—"
"—into the water, got it," she nods at him. "I'm ready."
"Okay," Izuku says, hugging the contraption close to his chest, and turning to look over the deck. They have been staying in water so far—all of them have Water Quirks, he's sure, since they know the USJ area in this infiltration—but The Villains seem aggravated now; all of them are swimming very close to the ship. Only three to four metres further, tops. But that's good. That's enough.
After all, if you throw a 1500 watts toaster in the ocean the electricity it generates could travel as far as 100 metres. And chlorinated water, luckily for them, has more or less the same conductivity range as sea water.
And even children know what happens if you put a toaster in a bathtub.
Izuku throws the contraption into the water. There is a splash. Electricity doesn't necessarily make a sound like it does in the movies—not in this case, anyway—but the shocked shouts of the Villain can be heard well enough. Asui wraps her tongue around him and they escape in a high jump.
"Great job," she says, when they land on an artificial shore.
She wasn't exaggerating—she can jump really high. It was a shock, flying through the air like that, but Izuku doesn't even have it in himself to address his acrophobia. "I didn't know if it would work," Izuku says automatically. Izuku's hands are still shaking, and he isn't sure if the numbness he feels is from the cold, or if he feels so numb he can't feel the cold. "I didn't even know if the battery has power in it."
It was stupid and crazy. Even if he knew that it would work, he could've seriously injured Tsuyu. The Villains—Izuku could see some bodies floating in the water. Did he… did he k—
"It worked," Tsuyu says. She still seems calm. Seems. Her throat moves as she swallows. "Thank you, Midoriya-chan."
Izuku laughs—that same shaking, incredulous laugh. "No—thank you," Izuku says. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been able to escape."
She shrugs. "And vice versa. What should we do now?"
"We should find help," Izuku says immediately. It's the most logical move. They should follow the waterside to the exit and avoid any confrontations. "There are too many of them out there. Thirteen and Aizawa-sensei need reinforcements.."
Izuku trails. Too many of them. Reinforcements. Aizawa-sensei is—
Tsuyu also goes quiet. She seems to come to the same train of thought, because she says, "Aizawa-sensei is in the central plaza all by himself. He may be struggling. "
Aizawa-sensei is alone. With those Villains. And that monster.
But they'd just get in the way. Izuku would just get in the way. Right? What if they hinder sensei's work? What if they—
"On our way to the exit," Izuku says, and it's so stupid. So stupid. "Maybe we can—we can try to see the situation … and if he looks like he needs help.."
"Okay," Tsuyu says. "Let's do it."
She sounds so calm, so determined that for a moment, Izuku thinks it might not be that stupid an idea. Even if Izuku is useless, Tsuyu is strong—strong enough to incapacitate Villains all by herself. Izuku nods, spurred by Tsuyu's agreement. "Okay. Let's go."
It's a mistake.
The moment they enter the central plaza, they know it's a mistake. It's ridiculous, really. Izuku always thought he was a realist. He knew he was stupid, but he didn't know he was this stupid.
A mess of bodies on the floor. Villains—crooked arms, crooked legs. The floor of the plaza, in some spots, are in rubles. And at the centre of it all, stands a white-haired Villain with a collection of disfigured human hands attached all over his body. And next to him is the monster. With Aizawa-sensei under it, unmoving.
It's a mistake. Izuku's mouth is dry, nausea and fear gripping his chest like vice. It's a—
"Aw, lookie here," the Villain drawls. "We have an audience. Eraserhead, hey, look! Your students are here to watch their teacher … getting fucked up."
A shiver runs up Izuku's spine. He can't see the Villain's face behind the assortment of disfigured hands, but there is just enough hint of teeth in that wide, manic grin. And then the grin abruptly shuts up. "Hey, I said look. Look, bitch. Nomu, raise his head."
With that command, the monster grabs hold of Aizawa-sensei's head—so small and fragile in between its massive fingers—and raises him up. Aizawa-sensei's face was covered in red, red blood. Izuku isn't even sure if he's conscious. "Look, Eraserhead! You teachers oughta keep your eyes on your cute little students. Ah, ah," he tuts at them, and Izuku could feel Asui freeze next to him. Her hand just grabbed Izuku to pull him, her fingers clamping cold on Izuku's wrist. "Were you going to run? Oh, but whatever will happen to your teacher if you do such a thing?"
The grin is impossibly wide now. Splitting his face. Gleeful, and utterly remorseless.
"Hey, I know. What about a science experiment? That seems fun," the Villain says. "D'you think human head can be crushed like a grape?"
And then he laughs. A high, jarring, joyful sound. Gleeful. Remorseless. Izuku doesn't know what to do. Izuku doesn't know—he didn't know—
So stupid. So naive. See the situation and see if he needs help. What a childish, immature way of thinking. Who does Izuku think he is?
All those shows he watched as a kid. All those Hero news he follows regularly, even now. The articles, news clipping, the hundreds of recordings he collects like stamps. It doesn't matter. He never knew before. He never knew, never truly knew, until now. So this. So this is a Villain. A single thought in his vacant, delirious head: so this is what Villains are like.
And Izuku is nothing but a Hero wanna-be. An impostor with the most useless Quirk in the world.
The laughter stops. A sudden silence pierces the plaza. "Aw, is he dead already? Fucking boring," the Villain says, scratching his neck harshly, thoughtlessly, and horror grips Izuku's heart. Aizawa-sensei is—it can't be. No. but that's not impossible, is it?
Izuku, of all people, knows how easily people die.
A black mist appears behind the Villain—his ally, the Villain with the Warp Quirk. "Shigaraki Tomura," they greet.
"Ahh, Kurogiri, my friend," the Villain—Shigaraki Tomura—turns, extending his arms as if he is presenting a show. His attention seems to have moved from Izuku and Asui entirely. "Is Thirteen dead? Wonderful."
"Thirteen is incapacitated," they reply. Izuku wants to throw up. "But I am afraid one of the students has escaped."
Hope blindsides Izuku. One of the students—so the others are still alive. Still alive. And one of them is getting help. This will be over soon, he thinks pathetically, hopefully. This will be over soon, and Aizawa-sensei might be saved—
"Huh?" Shigaraki Tomura says, his voice flat. "Huh? Huh? Did I hear that right?"
The Warp Villain doesn't reply. And then, Shigaraki Tomura screams.
"Kurogiri, you fucking useless piece of shit. Ahh. Ahhh, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
His words echo in the plaza, furious and mad in the truest sense of the word. Izuku can still feel Tsuyu's hand gripping him like her life depends on it. Both of them are nailed in place, afraid to even breathe.
Shigaraki Tomura goes quiet for a moment. And then he speaks. His words are not exactly calm, but they lack the tinge of tantrum fury from before. "We can't beat them with reinforcements. Not yet. Need to grind more, y'know? Ahh. Time to retreat, I guess ... ah. Game over. Don't you hate game overs? Fucking game over. Oh, but," and just like that, Shigaraki Tomura turns to look at them—at Tsuyu and Izuku. His attention, cold and unforgiving, is on them once more. "What about some loots?"
Izuku's blood runs cold.
It might be Izuku's imagination, but he thinks he sees a glimpse of the Villain's eyes behind the disfigured hand: a glimpse of dark, dark eyes. Unfeeling eyes. The Villain says, "we don't get to kill All Might today. So why don't we kill some of his students before we leave? You know, to say hi."
He's quicker than he looks. One moment he's at the centre of the plaza, and in the next, he's closed the distance between them. The Villain reaches out his hand.
In that split moment, everything clicks in Izuku's head. In that split moment, he knows what he has to do. His body moves, nearly on its own, with a familiar sense of urgency. It makes the absolute, most perfect sense.
If anyone should die, it should be him.
Asui falls to the floor with his shove with an alarmed shout, but before Izuku could even think of his next action, the Villain wraps his hand around his neck.
It's instinct, he supposes. Izuku doesn't even realize when his hands move in reflex to grip onto the Villain's chokehold, desperately pulling. He doesn't even register the way his survival instinct kicks in, distressed, the way his brain screams let go let go let go let go—and then—
"Oh, shit," the Villain laughs, laughs, laughs. "Look at you, pushing your friend out of the way. What a Hero."
(And then.)
And then the pain hits.
He doesn't know what's happening. A distant, far away piece of his mind thinks, ah, this must be the Villain's Quirk. The rest of his mind is screaming.
He's choking. He's choking. His neck feels like fire his skin feels like paper he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't even scream. The entire world feels like the color red. His neck is falling apart, he could feel it, something smells sweet and sour and copper stuck in his adam's apple, he could feel—
The pain abruptly stops. Izuku gasps.
"Like teacher, like student," the Villain says. A little of the humor is gone from his voice. "Aren't you both the coolest?"
Izuku blinks tears and stars out of his eyes. Aizawa-sensei's eyes are open, bloodshot red, staring at them—at the Villain. Turning off whatever that painful Quirk is. "Don't touch my students," Aizawa-sensei says. And despite his position, crushed under the monster, his voice is a low, dangerous baritone.
Izuku barely manages it, but he takes a gulp of air, and breathes—in relief, in joy, in hysterics. The pain stopped. There is a wetness on the skin of his neck, and he can feel blood trickling down his shirt—but the Villain's Quirk must've been stopped before it manages to destroy a major artery. Otherwise, Izuku would be—
"So cool. But you know, Eraserhead. That's such a Hero mindset," the Villain says, in mocking pity. "Keep your eyes open, okay? Let me show you how us Villains get things done."
His chokehold is still tight, holding Izuku by the throat like a cattle to be bled, and then—Izuku doesn't see the knife so much as he senses its presence: a glint of metal slipping from underneath the Villain's clothes.
"'Cuz, you know, us Villains can just do this."
The blade sinks into Izuku's chest like tofu. And then, with an abrupt, cruel movement, it twists.
"Aha, see?" someone says. "Much more efficient."
The scream is wrenched out of Izuku's throat like a tooth with a bolt cutter.
His brain malfunctions. His senses are—there are—there is nothing. There is nothing in the world other than Izuku and this pain. Burst of firelights. This foreign object plunging into his ribs, this hot flash white red burn that makes his nerves sing, and Izuku is sinking. Izuku is singing. Izuku is screaming. Everything is the color red again. And—
The knife twists again. And again. And again.
"—doriya! Midoriya! Stop! Stop, don't touch him, you bastard, don't—"
(Violence.)
Someone is screaming. No, someone is laughing. No, someone is screaming—someone is crying, someone is—
(Pain. Physical pain.)
It doesn't seem real. Nothing seems real. The pain is—it's not quick. It's not slow. It's nothing like Izuku has ever felt before. A steady, steady buzz of firelights cracking his chest open. Like someone lit fireworks inside his ribcage. Like it's the first time Izuku really understands the meaning of the word flesh and torn open.
Oh, so this is how it feels like, Izuku thinks.
The knife sticks out of his chest—an incongruous, surreal sight. He looks down, watching the way the blood stains through his UA uniform, the size of it expanding and spreading like spilled chocolate milk. Like wildfire. So this is how it feels like. Izuku's sob tastes like copper, chlorine, and tears.
What a waste. He's sure the dry cleaning fee will be expensive.
(The most underrated kind of pain.)
He had thought of it before. He's always wondered. Fantasized about it, really, so many times: plunging a blade into himself. But he never tried it. So this—ripped apart, he's being ripped apart, gutted like a fish, bled like a cattle—is how it feels like.
(Are you having violent thoughts?)
He can't hear anything other than the thunderclap of his heartbeat, drumming in his ears. The knife pulls out. Izuku chokes on a mouthful of blood.
And then there is a voice. A familiar voice, a pavlovian sense of safety.
"Have no fear," All MIght says, somewhere far away. "For I have come."
All Might is here. It's over, Izuku thinks, watching his blood colors the UA symbols of his uniform into red. It's over.
He isn't sure when the Villain—right, there is a Villain—lets him go. Not sure when he hits the ground, gasping, trying to breathe, clutching, spasming, writhing, laughing, crying—
He isn't sure how long he lays there, bleeding like a faucet. Time feels slow, feels too much and too fast, feels like semi-trailer truck running at 70mph, like a twenty-metres fall to concrete. Izuku feels more open wound than boy. He isn't sure when the Villain leaves (laughs, laughs, laughs), when All Might comes, isn't sure what's happening, he isn't sure when Aizawa-sensei runs to Izuku's side, when he starts pressing on Izuku's wound, saying, "Midoriya, Midoriya, listen to me. You're going to be okay."
It feels cold. It feels familiar. "Sen—" he coughs. Copper sweet. Tear salt. The world is spinning, fading, bloating in on itself. He feels like melted ice cream. He feels like a bloody hangnail. Feels like raw, flapping fish. It hurts where Aizawa-sensei's hands press down on him. "Sensei—"
"Don't talk," the voice above him says. Sensei. Aizawa-sensei. "Help is here. Just hang on for a little bit. Just—"
Izuku has to tell him something, he thinks. There is something important that he has to say. "Sensei.. r-remember when you—asked—ngh—"
"Midoriya—"
"—my soft—softball—throw in m-middle school and I said I don't—" he coughs wetly. It burns. It hurts. It's important. It's really important, he has to tell him, he has to tell sensei. It's so hard to breathe. "D-don't remember?"
"Midoriya, don't talk—"
"I lied," Izuku says, and he wants to laugh but it hurts so bad. His voice sounds messed up, hoarse and watery and weak and disgusting. "I lied. I r-remember it perfectly."
"Midoriya, please—" Aizawa-sensei's face is a blur above him, but Izuku thinks there is something familiar about the expression on his face. "Don't talk. Breathe. Hang on. Please."
Aizawa-sensei's palms are the only warmth he feels, a solid thing on his chest. They burn, but in a nice way, because it's so cold. It's better to feel pain than nothing at all. Izuku remembers the exact number, no matter how much he wants to forget. "Twenty-three. It was t-twenty-three metres."
He didn't even reach the average—it was half the average. It was pathetic. Kacchan hit sixty-seven metres. And Izuku remembers—he was shaking so bad, so ashamed of his own existence that he couldn't even throw a softball properly—
"I tried three times," Izuku says, babbles, copper on his tongue. He coughs, sputters, and wheezes. Can't breathe. Can't. His eyes feel heavy. He isn't sure if he manages to get any of his words out. "Three times, but it was the best I could do, the first time I couldn't even—" he gasps, tries to breathe. Can't. Can't.
He's bleeding out. Bled out cattle. Wrung out laundry. A puddle of chocolate milk, broken mug all over the floor. He thinks he hears his name being called. Midoriya, Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku. He thinks he's seen the expression on Aizawa-sensei's on his mother's face. Everything hurts. Everything—is not all there—
This familiar sensation of nothingness that he knows so well. So well. Ah. He's going to die. He's going to die. He's going to die. Izuku is going to die. Death is sudden and abrupt, like the end of a cliff. And pain, this kind of pain, is an all encapsulating agony so big and boisterous it swallows him whole. All around him. Fits itself on him like a glove.
He's dying. He's going to die. He's going to die. He's—
He's missed this.
This is what I've been looking for, Izuku thinks.
And then he dies.