It had gotten far, far out of hand. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Every day, he continued to do what he could for as long as he could handle. Every day, it wasn't enough, and every day, the noose tightened a little more. But for the first time in years, he wasn't just waiting for the next chance to be himself again once he ran out of time.

It was something that, probably, he should not be doing. His PR manager would have a meltdown if she knew he'd become so wrapped up in the lives of some random family. But there were a lot of things that would make her have a meltdown if she knew. It was nowhere near the biggest secret he kept.

And where was the harm? He had spare time. Instead of wasting it, he could help a young Quirkless boy in a way that very few other people could. He could be useful, even like this. How was that anything but good?

"This! This kind of thing," Midoriya cried, holding his phone up as he scooted a little closer to Toshinori on the springy mats of one of the sports center side rooms.

The boy's screen showed a news segment, a video of a slim woman in an auburn cat-themed costume facing off against a hulking giant of an opponent on a city street. The man swung at her with a blow that would knock her head clean off if it connected, but she darted under his fist and struck the edge of his leg while he was off-balance from the swing, bringing him to one knee, then continued around him without stopping and folded his other arm into a joint lock. The man was immobilized on the ground in an instant.

"She's not very tall, and her telekinesis Quirk doesn't give her a combat advantage," Midoriya explained, "but she can still take down people twice her size! That's the kind of technique I need to learn. I can't just rely on pure strength."

"Yet." Toshinori said. "You've barely begun working out! You'll get much stronger in time." It was noticeable now: Midoriya had put on muscle since he'd started. Probably not as much as he could have, since he'd changed his schedule to make room for these agility exercises that were starting to look more and more like parkour. But Toshinori was still immeasurably proud of him.

"That's not what I mean..." Midoriya had that glazed glint in his eye that said he'd thought about this concept, at length, and was about to speak about it, at length. "I'm just not a big person, and I'm probably never going to be. Even with weightlifting, I'm never going to be equal with people who are just larger." Toshinori felt a momentary ping of offense at the notion that Midoriya wouldn't someday buff up to the dimensions of a Mack truck, even though the boy had a point.

Midoriya squinted at him. "...Like you...! You're so tall! You must have been able to take on anyone! You're as tall as, as..."

Don't say All Might—"You know," he interrupted, "I've heard she actually does use her Quirk during combat. Apparently, even if her opponents know about her telepathy, it's still easy to startle them and create an opening by shouting inside their heads."

"Wait, really?" Midoriya looked back at the screen, successfully distracted. "That would explain a couple of other videos..." he glanced back at Toshinori. "How do you know that? Are you a fan?"

"I..." He cleared his throat awkwardly. He couldn't exactly say I had a friendly chat with her team during a hero billboard gala one year. "I'm fairly sure she mentions it in interviews somewhere..."

Midoriya gave him a quizzical look before turning back to his phone. Now he probably thought Toshinori liked to creep on heroes who wore skimpy catgirl outfits. He let out a soft internal sigh.

"It's going to be hard to find a teacher, though..." Midoriya murmured. "The only courses I can find are for martial arts, and... they seem like they're way more about the 'art' than anything else..."

"Yes, those disciplines are mostly organized sports. Actual combat training is usually bundled into hero courses..." he trailed off.

Midoriya sighed. "...because a person's combat style is usually tailored to their Quirk," he finished looking sullen. But... I need something..." he looked up at Toshinori, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Do you have any ideas?"

Oh, he knew how to wrap Toshinori right around his finger with those eyes. "I can ask around..." Toshinori said. "But no matter what combat style you pick, you'll need to have quick feet to use it. Show me again what you've been working on?"

Midoriya hopped to his feet. "Right!" he cried, springing backwards, and Toshinori smiled.

Toshinori thought about it later at home, while mixing up a tasteless protein powder mixture because it had been a very long day and making real food required energy he didn't have right now. Before he embarked on this madcap U.A. escapade, the twenty-one hours he couldn't be himself felt like eternity. But now, between teacher certification, agency work, and Midoriya, he barely had a chance to catch his breath.

Normally, kids taking the U.A. entrance exam didn't have any formal combat experience. They learned technique once they actually made it into the school. But Midoriya was right: the boy did need something extra to give him an edge if he wanted any chance of rising above competitors who had Quirks.

He paused. When had he actually started taking this seriously? He knew U.A.'s policies. It was a hopeless goal. But... something about Midoriya's enthusiasm made him want to hope anyway. And wasn't that the definition of a hero right there? Daring people to hope, even in the face of the impossible.

It didn't help that, at this point, he would do just about anything to bring that bright overjoyed sparkle into the boy's eyes. Oh, this had gotten far out of hand.

He knew a number of pins and locks himself, but he had no idea how to break the moves down into steps that could be taught to someone else. And even if he did, he questioned how plausible it was for sickly salaryman Toshinori Yagi to be teaching advanced combat. If the boy's news club friends learned about that, it would be all over.

What else could he do, though? He could use his connections to find Midoriya an excellent tutor, but if All Might—or All Might's personal secretary—hired a teacher for a random kid, it would create a lot of questions that he was not prepared to answer.

He turned off the blender and stared dully at the brownish slurry that slowly pooled at the bottom. And then the sight suddenly, sharply brought a string of decades-old memories into sharp focus: training sessions where it didn't matter how hard he punched, because his blows never landed; sessions he learned to do while fasted because otherwise his lunch would just end up on the floor, looking a lot like the mess inside his blender right now. His opponent had been nowhere near as strong as him, but he didn't need to be. He would feint and dodge straight through Toshinori's head-on assault and take him down with a single, well-placed, devastating blow, then laugh about how little force it took to bring the wielder of One For All to his knees.

A shudder ran through him. Oh, no. He did know someone who would be perfect for this, didn't he? Someone who practiced the kind of moves Midoriya was looking for. Someone who knew the connection between Toshinori Yagi and All Might. Someone who had even been a certified U.A. homeroom teacher, responsible for the supplemental combat training of a whole classroom of students.

The best possible person to help Midoriya. But also: the worst possible person.

He grimaced at the sludgy concoction in front of him. Maybe he ought to make real food, food that didn't remind him of something he'd puked up onto a training mat in his youth. But then his side throbbed, reminding him how much longer he would have to stand upright to do that, so instead he let out a sigh of resignation and carried the blender cup back into the living room, sinking into his recliner and trying not to look too hard at what he was sipping.

Asking Torino for anything was a bad idea. He should just try and tutor Midoriya himself. If the kid broke some bones, so be it. He'd been out of touch with his old mentor for so long that he was deathly afraid of what might happen if he tried to reconnect.

But Midoriya had asked him for help, specifically...

Well, he'd ask around. And maybe, maybe, very gingerly send a message to the address he was fairly-sure-but-not-quite-certain was still current. In the meantime, his other duties beckoned, the ones that didn't involve punching people.

The teacher certification courseroom was constantly frigid, but somehow his brain always managed to overheat about five minutes in. Today they were going over district grading standards, and how to create tests that conformed to national guidelines. The slideshow projected on the wall seemed to have only the barest connection to what the instructor was actually saying, and the reference manual was the length of a small novel.

The red tape of academic paperwork was shaping up to be even more convoluted than the red tape of hero paperwork, which was something he didn't even know was physically possible. Why had he decided this would be a good way to spend his last remaining years, again...?

Once class got out, he shuffled off into the hallway with the rest of the harried-looking, sleep-deprived people foolish enough to choose teaching as their profession. He pulled out his phone to message dispatch, and... there were three missed calls. Not dispatch alerts; phone calls. There were precious few people who actually had his number. He had just enough time to read the name and feel a chill dump over his head like a bucket of ice water before the phone started ringing again, making him jump.

Shit. Shit. Should he pretend that he'd changed his number? Or died? Perhaps now was a good time to suddenly retire and never be seen again. Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to ask around for help?

He hovered his thumb over the answer button, then suddenly realized—his voice—he glanced around, ducked down another hallway, saw several people from class heading into the nearby restrooms. Well, that idea was out. Did this building lock their janitorial closets?

They did not. By the time he squeezed himself past the mess of mops and stacked toilet paper rolls and ducked to avoid the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling, the call had gone to voicemail. But the silence wouldn't last for long; he knew this from experience.

He reached into One For All. It obligingly bowled him over with a head rush and a ping as his shirt's top button snapped away and ricocheted off the wall—damn it, he always forgot to unbutton it before he did this—then the phone lit up with another incoming call, nearly making him drop it again. He scrambled to juggle the device back into his hands, and his suddenly-much-larger shoulder knocked into the shelving next to him, sending a small avalanche of cleaning products crashing to the floor.

Oh, this was a terrible idea. He should not answer this. He should block the number and get a restraining order.

...No. He was a grown adult. A grown, mature, collected adult. He was All Might. All Might could handle a single phone call.

He put on his most dazzling smile and pressed the answer button. "Torino!" he boomed, in a voice that hopefully sounded effortlessly self-confident.

"Toshinori!" his mentor snarled, and he realized he'd been wrong, he wasn't a grown adult at all, he was 18 years old again and cowering. "You sent a handwritten letter in this day and age? I haven't lived at that address for years! It's a good thing they forward my mail!"

Toshinori wasn't so sure it was a good thing. "I-I wasn't aware you had moved."

"Yes, because you haven't spoken to me in five years! Five years of radio silence, and you only bother to reach out when you're trying to get something from me?"

"I just... wanted to ask your expert advice..." Toshinori stammered.

"Don't pull your humble act on me. So you finally found someone, huh? Took you long enough!"

"I—no. I thought I made that clear in the letter. This isn't about One For All."

There was a beat of silence. "Are you serious? You aren't training a successor yet, but you are goofing off with some random kid?"

"I'm looking," Toshinori shot back, with a bit too much heat. It was amazing how little time it took for his old mentor to burrow right back under his skin. "I'm taking a position at U.A. next year to try and find someone." He heard Torino take a breath, and cut him off before he could launch into an objection. "And yes, I know it's cutting things close. I'm working as fast as I can."

"That's not what I was going to say!" Torino exclaimed. "You're gonna be teaching at U.A.!? Why is this the first I'm hearing about this? Why didn't you put that in your letter!?"

"I..." Shit, he hadn't actually meant to let that slip. It was stressful enough to learn how to teach without the blistering judgment of an actual past faculty member hovering over his head.

Torino let out a short barking laugh. "What on earth does Nezu think you're qualified to teach? Showboating 101? My god, he has no idea what he's in for. This is gonna be better than reality TV."

Toshinori sighed. Talking to his mentor was a bit like voluntarily becoming a piñata. And Torino wondered why he didn't try harder to stay in touch...

"All right, I'll grill you about that later," Torino said. He'd always been quick to notice when Toshinori had rolled over and given up on a subject. "Tell me more about this kid you're trying to ruin."

Toshinori obliged, grateful to get off the subject of teaching. He told Torino about Midoriya, and the sludge villain, and the sports center, and the boy's dreams of being a Quirkless hero.

"Gee, this sounds familiar," Torino said. "But it's definitely not about One For All, right? You're definitely not reenacting your childhood like the most predictable schmuck in the known universe."

"...so he's looking for a more agility-based combat style, like yours," Toshinori continued, letting the words slide off his back, because he was a composed and mature adult who did not let petty-yet-devastatingly-accurate insults stab him in the heart, and who certainly didn't retaliate with immature little digs of his own. "He's also a little short, so he could use someone who knows how to compensate for a small stature."

"That's right, not everyone can rely on being freakishly huge like you." Torino shifted the phone, and Toshinori could hear the faint clicks and clacks of a keyboard. "Aw, is this him? With the green hair? Looking like he's having a heart attack? He's cute. The article's saying something about a beach?"

Oh, he'd found an article on the cleanup project? "He set that up himself! This is what I'm saying. He's not just another daydreamer. He's proactive!"

"Toshinori, I wish I could make you hear how smitten you sound right now," The amusement dripped from Torino's voice. "How about this: I'll come up there, and we can catch up, and I can see where he's at, and we can work from there to figure out what he needs. I want to meet the kid that caught the eye of the great All Might."

Toshinori swallowed. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "No, I don't want to trouble you, I just hoped you could point me to where I could look for—"

"Toshinori," Torino cut him off. "I live less than an hour away. You've got no excuse. You afraid I'm gonna kick the crap out of your wonder child?"

A little, yes. But more than that... "It's... complicated to explain," Toshinori muttered.

"What's complicated? Are you pulling something funny to keep the kid out of the media? You know I can keep your secrets."

"He..." Torino wouldn't stop until he unraveled this whole debacle, would he? The man was like an old, grizzled dog with a bone when he set his mind on a topic. Polite deflection only made him fixate harder. "...he doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know I'm All Might."

There was a brief moment of silence. "...kid, I've told you a hundred times: baseball caps and sunglasses don't do a damn thing to disguise you. People play along because they're being nice, not because they're fooled."

"Wh—I know that! And that was one time. I never tried it again!"

"Then how does he not know? Are you giving him online lessons or something?"

Toshinori's gut churned. He really could not have this conversation. Torino knew he'd been badly injured five years ago, but he wasn't aware of anything beyond that. All he saw was the same All Might coverage everyone else watched on TV, and that coverage showed a hale and healthy hero, invincible as ever. Toshinori didn't want him to see anything beyond that.

He could just hang up now, and actually block Torino's number. But he'd already said too much to walk it back now. And no matter what he did, several people would be learning about his condition fairly soon. Maybe he could use this as a test run for the upcoming U.A. staff meeting from hell.

He took a deep breath. Somehow, even as himself, he felt fragile. "...Do you remember, when I first got One For All, how I sometimes looked different when I didn't pay attention to it?"

"...Oh. Yeah, I remember that." Torino chuckled. "I could always tell when you got distracted in training. You'd get less... exaggerated. And your hair would deflate." The Quirk had always affected his appearance, to Nana and Torino's endless confusion and amusement. But after about a decade, holding onto it became so second-nature that he didn't even let go of it in his sleep, and he almost forgot that he had ever looked different. Even at his sickest or most overworked, it was always something he had to consciously choose to release, which he almost never did. And he never outright lost his hold on it... not before the injury.

"But it was never a big enough difference to fool anyone," Torino continued. "You're still you, whether or not you're using your Quirk."

Toshinori sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It hadn't been a big difference... back then.

He heard more clacking on the other end of the line. "Your kid is gonna be at this beach thing, right? If you're too busy to spend time with your crusty old mentor, then I'll just go say hello on my own."

"N-no," he yelped. Wait, did he just yelp? All Might didn't yelp. "Don't. Don't do that. Please." He leaned against the supply shelf, feeling the last tiny shreds of control he had over his life slipping through his fingers with every word that came through the tinny phone speaker. "I'll introduce you. Just... please, play along. Don't tell him who I am."

Torino scoffed. "If he really can't figure it out, then you need to find a better trainee. But I can keep your secrets."

"...Thank you."

"You're welcome. Looking forward to your brilliant disguise, Toshinori."

A sinking feeling spread through the place where his stomach used to be. That would make one of them.

The cleanup event started early on a Sunday. The beach was already bustling by the time Toshinori arrived at the crack of dawn, swarms of people streaming in and out of a big crew tent, hurrying up and down the stairs next to him, erecting signs and tables, and going over final plans so that things would be ready when the public woke. Midoriya had said he wanted to come early and watch the setup, but he wasn't here yet. Toshinori had quietly hoped the boy would show up before Torino did, to put a buffer between him and his mentor and prevent them from having the conversation he was dreading. But that was looking less and less likely.

He stood up on the concrete walkway, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out over the bustling scene to try and distract himself from the nervousness running up and down his spine. He could spot people from at least a dozen different companies down there. That number was a bare minimum as soon as any event involved the public. And even if it had just been a private thing, Mt. Lady still would have needed to work with at least three different city departments to legally touch any of this.

Midoriya had seemed so shocked when Toshinori first pointed that out, so confused that a hero couldn't just sweep in and fix everything on a whim. Toshinori supposed that was part of the reason heroes had such appeal. They took the messy pile of moving parts that made up public service and gave it a simple facade: the hero, saving the day. Heroes were easy to understand, so they were easy to rally behind. Of course, none of it was ever as simple or straightforward as it seemed, but the public didn't need to know about all that.

There were a lot of things that people didn't need to know. A lot of things that only caused trouble. Sometimes, the simple, pretty version of things was better for everyone.

Well, at least the coordinators bustling along below didn't have the pinched, stressed look they usually did under the pressure of a tight budget. Toshinori smiled. It was fairly common knowledge among the agencies by now that All Might had some kind of business in Musutafu at the moment, which made it entirely plausible that the #1 hero had gotten wind of what was going on at the beach. He couldn't make it himself, busy man that he was, but his agency had quietly offered to match Mt. Lady's expenses for the event.

Across the street, one of the city buses came to a stop, and Toshinori froze as he saw a short, hunched figure make his way down the bus steps and towards the crosswalk, casting a long blue shadow over the orange-washed scenery.

Torino looked... exactly the same as Toshinori remembered him five years ago in that hospital hallway. He hobbled along with a nondescript wooden cane in his hand and a permanently sour expression creased into his face. He didn't seem to notice Toshinori as he cast his eyes around the commotion at the beach. And why would he? He was looking for a musclebound giant, not the willowy shade of a person hunkered off to the side.

Toshinori watched from the corner of his eye as Torino crossed the street and slowly meandered his way over to the beach park entrance, until he was standing on the opposite side of the stairs. He was, amusingly enough, dressed for the occasion, wearing sandals and a colorful shirt that Toshinori had gotten him some number of eons ago when he stopped by Hawaii on one of his stateside visits. His old mentor squinted down at the crew tent, then pulled out his phone with a huff.

A tight, nauseous sensation started to crawl up Toshinori's chest, and his lung prickled with pain. This was the last chance he had to walk away. There was no possible way to explain this side of himself. But he didn't walk away, just stood there, frozen.

Torino fiddled with his phone, and Toshinori flinched as his ringtone went off in his pocket. Torino glanced sideways at the noise for a brief moment before gazing back out towards the beach again. Then Toshinori saw Torino's eyes widen, and the man turned, and looked this time. He met Toshinori's eyes, and Toshinori saw the spark of recognition, and the shock that spread across his mentor's face. Toshinori stared back, fighting down the urge to run, to hide, the nausea creeping up his throat now. He had no idea what to say. Every phrase that came to mind felt horribly wrong.

"Toshinori?" Torino finally asked. "What the hell? What..."

Toshinori felt oddly floaty, detached, like someone else was here instead of him, and he was just watching. Meanwhile, Torino gestured futilely. "I saw you live on TV last night! What is this!?"

They were starting to draw curious stares from some of the workers hurrying past them. Toshinori made a beckoning motion, and Torino glanced at the people walking by, then followed Toshinori down the walkway that bordered the beach, further away from the entrance.

"I told you," Toshinori said quietly, "I look different now when I let go of One For All. I'm fine while I'm using the Quirk. I just can't use it all the time now, that's all." It was a half-assed, unfair explanation, and Toshinori knew it. But there were no good excuses to give.

"I don't care if you're fine while you're using it!" Torino cried. "Look at you! Are you okay? What—" he rubbed one temple, then trailed off.

Toshinori squirmed as Torino stared at him, looking shell-shocked. He had been expecting an avalanche of scolding and insults. Silence was somehow a hundred times worse. "...I really am fine while I'm using it," he repeated. "Look, I..." he glanced around. Up ahead was another set of stairs that led down to the beach. The base of the stairs was buried in trash, but you could walk down far enough to hide from sight of the street.

"Here!" He hurried over, down the stairs. Torino followed, looking down at him from the top of the walkway. Toshinori reached into One For All, and Torino took a step back in surprise as Toshinori suddenly ballooned into the form that everyone was familiar with.

"See!" he called up, his voice booming. But Torino just stared down at him, disbelief on his face. He did not look comforted.

"That's insane..." He finally muttered. "Change back. That's grotesque."

That... was not at all the reaction he was hoping for. He wasn't sure what reaction he was hoping for, honestly.

It was at that moment he remembered the other reason he decided not to show up as All Might... because showing up as All Might would mean releasing his Quirk, and releasing his Quirk meant explaining even more uncomfortable issues. Maybe... maybe he could just stay like this for now. He felt more secure as All Might, anyway. But no, Midoriya would be showing up at any moment, and he didn't want that bundle of questions on top of everything else.

He had frontloaded all his hero work into the early hours in the morning to prepare for today. He already felt ragged along the edges. But maybe, just once, he could convince his Quirk to play nice as it left...

As soon as he released the Quirk, he could instantly tell it would not play nice. His lung burned and a wet, coppery cough welled up in his throat. He tried to keep it down, but he couldn't, he never could—he turned away as he coughed into his hand, but apparently he didn't turn fast enough.

"Holy—" Torino hurried down the stairs. "What the hell, Toshinori!"

"It's..."

"Don't you dare say it's not as bad as it seems," Torino snapped.

He fished around in his pocket for some tissues. "...it's just because I take blood thinners for my lung..." he said. "It's the only side-effect of the entire change. Miss Shuzenji said there's no way around it, not with the way the Quirk spikes my blood pressure."

Torino was not having any of it. "Did she say that?" he asked. "Or did she say the only way around it was to stop using your Quirk?"

The scolding stung worse than his lung did. He never should have reached out. This whole meeting had been a huge mistake.

"How long can you even use it like this?" Torino continued.

Toshinori glanced away as he made his way back up the steps, pressing his lips together.

"Toshinori," Torino repeated, voice flat. "How long?"

Even the detached, numb feeling couldn't dull the shame that burned like coals in his gut. "It depends on the day, and what I'm doing, but... around three hours a day, give or take."

"Three..." Torino trailed off, then let out a harsh breath that somehow cut deeper than everything else he'd said so far.

Silence stretched between them. Torino looked at him, then stared out at the red-shot ocean, face somber. Again, Toshinori desperately wished he would do anything else. Interrogate him, yell at him, hit him... he could handle those things, but he couldn't handle this oppressively heavy silence.

"I knew you weren't doing as much as you did before..." Torino said, his voice subdued, still looking out at the ocean. He didn't sound like he was talking to Toshinori as much as himself. "But you looked fine, on TV... I told myself, if you could deadlift freight trains, then of course you had to be fine..."

Toshinori stood by the stairs, clutching his bloody handful of tissues. He had always wondered whether Torino had bought the act he sold everyone, or whether he never reached out over these five years because he was disgusted by Toshinori's insistence at keeping up a facade. But apparently, even his mentor had been fooled... or had let himself be fooled.

Finally, after another long pause, Torino spoke. "She'd be so furious if she saw you like this," he murmured.

There was no accusation in the words, but they were a slap to the face all the same. Why had he ever reached out with that letter? Because he liked being kicked even harder while he was already down?

Did you know I always worried about who I would pick? she had said. I wondered how in the world I could ever decide on the right person. But when I met you, I knew it couldn't be anyone else. Her smile had been warm, conspiratorial. But there had been sadness in it too. You're going to do incredible things. You'll be the one to do justice to this power.

But he'd failed her, hadn't he? He failed her at her death, he failed her when trying to bring her killer to justice, he was failing her now. "I already think about that every day," he hissed. "You don't need to remind me. I know I've been selfish. I know her Quirk deserves better than this. I'm trying—"

"She wouldn't be mad at you, you idiot," Torino snapped, startling him into silence.

After a long moment, he sighed and ran a hand down his face. "...I promised her I'd take care of you," he finally said, voice low.

Toshinori didn't reply. Had he really promised that? After Nana passed away, Torino's training regiment became nothing but beating the daylights out of Toshinori at every opportunity, physically and verbally. If he did make that promise, then he had failed her too.

The waves kept up their steady rhythm against the seawall, oblivious to them and their insignificant little conversation. Then Toshinori saw movement in the distance. He looked down the walkway, and an immediate sense of relief flooded through him. It was Midoriya, jogging towards them.

Torino glanced up. "Ah, the new generation, right on time," he said wryly. "Your not-successor."

"Who knows nothing about my connection to All Might," Toshinori reminded him.

"...it's a brilliant disguise, all right." Torino sighed, gave Toshinori one last look, then glanced back down at the approaching kid. A familiar, dangerous-looking glint came into his eyes. "Okay, let's meet this little bundle of joy."

"...Be nice," Toshinori warned. He knew that look too well.

"Pah, being nice is your game," Torino snorted. "Never got a kid up to snuff by being nice."

Midoriya had his trademark bright grin as he ran up with his backpack over one shoulder, slowing down to a walk and approaching a little more cautiously than he usually did as he eyed the newcomer standing next to Toshinori. He glanced up at Toshinori, then back at Torino, whose severe demeanor had suddenly vanished, replaced by the cheerful, doddering air of a senior citizen who spent his time staring at clouds and feeding pigeons at the park.

"Why, hello there!" Torino warbled in his best senile-grandpa voice, and Toshinori suppressed a groan. Not this act again.

"...Hello!" Midoriya chirped back, still hanging back a little behind Toshinori, a polite look of skepticism on his face as he took in the diminutive, harmless-looking old man.

"Midoriya, this is Sorahiko Torino, my old mentor." Toshinori said. "I think I mentioned that he also taught at U.A., so he may have advice on how to train for the exam."

"Right!" Midoriya cried. "You taught while All Might was a student!"

Toshinori frowned. That info wasn't supposed to be on the Internet. The boy had doubtless done some far-too-detailed digging into old faculty book scans or something of the sort. Hopefully he hadn't seen anything else incriminating. Bringing him and Torino together had been such a bad, bad idea...

"Oh-ho, you did your homework!" Torino cried. "I was his homeroom teacher, in fact!"

Midoriya's eyes lit up, and he skipped forward, hesitance forgotten. "Really? What was he like?"

Torino scratched his bristly chin in exaggerated thoughtfulness. "He was a memorable boy, that's for sure... not too smart." Midoriya's face froze in an expression halfway between elation and confusion, and Toshinori opened his mouth, then sighed and shut it again. He had known this would happen, so he wasn't sure why he felt so offended anyway.

"O-oh..." Midoriya said. "Really?"

"Oh, yes... all brawn and no brains, that one. I have plenty of stories, I'm sure you'd love 'em."

"Perhaps we shouldn't talk poorly of people when they can't defend themselves," Toshinori interjected, shooting him a baleful look.

Torino made a show of considering it. "Mm, I suppose. He's got enough people singing his praises, though, doesn't he? I think he can handle a little critique now and then." He turned back towards Midoriya. "Well, anyway, let's see what you can do, kid."

Torino took a deep breath, and Toshinori barely had time to register a jolt of alarm before the man shot forward with a burst of air and lashed out with his cane, sweeping Midoriya's ankle from under him and sending him toppling backwards. Toshinori lurched forward, but Midoriya was already reacting, his practice kicking in, tucking his head and twisting into the gravity instead of against it—he tumbled back in a roll that wasn't elegant, but did the job. He didn't quite stick the recovery, splaying out in a wide-eyed mess of limbs on the ground, but he looked unhurt, and had even maneuvered around his backpack safely.

"Torino!" Toshinori wheezed. "Don't—not on concrete!"

"He's fine, isn't he? Since when are you such a mother hen?" Torino gave a wolfish grin and thumbed his nose, his voice back to its normal gravelly octave. "Nice reaction time." He held out a hand to help Midoriya back to his feet.

"T-thanks?" Midoriya said, looking stunned and a little wary of Torino's outstretched hand. That tended to be the general reaction from people when Torino made his switch from cheerful geriatric to wraithlike demon. Maybe Toshinori hadn't been the brightest bulb at school, but at least he didn't get a kick out of assaulting kids. Just gently, harmlessly teasing them.

Midoriya gingerly got to his feet. "How long've you been training?" Torino asked, and Midoriya quickly bounced back from the surprise attack, filling up the conversation with a detailed report of everything he'd been up to in the last few months as they made their way slowly back towards the beach park entrance.

A few members of the public were already starting to congregate by the time they made it back. Toshinori noticed several kids that looked Midoriya's age. Right, this had probably made waves at his school. Which meant...

"Midoriya!" Right on cue, the news club kids burst through the crowd. "Look at everyone who showed up!" Toshinori stepped aside from the stampede as they engulfed Midoriya. The kid was on his own for this one.

Torino hung back next to Toshinori as well, eyebrows raised. "They helped Midoriya set this up," Toshinori said to him in a low voice. "They're part of his school's newspaper club. They're... extremely imaginative."

Torino chuckled. "Are they? You don't seem thrilled. I thought you loved showing off for the media."

Then the tallest kid, a lanky boy with equally lanky black hair, squinted at Toshinori. "Wait..." he said. "Are you Mr. Yagi?"

That got an explosive reaction out of the other kids. "What!?"

Torino raised an eyebrow. "You have a reputation, huh?"

"Yeah!" one of the kids cried. "He's training Midoriya to get into U.A.! He's a secret underground hero! At least... we thought he was...?" Now that they were looking at him in person, they apparently weren't so sure anymore.

"Wow, a hero? Really?" Torino gave him a look of exaggerated surprise. "How... imaginative." Toshinori had to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands. "How'd you kids figure that out?"

"Well..."
"He knew a lot about agencies, and we kinda... figured..."
"Are you a hero? What's your Quirk?"

Somehow, all his media expertise vanished like smoke when faced by a pack of ravenously curious kids who hadn't learned how to throw softball questions yet. "Ah, um..." he fumbled. But it was Midoriya who spoke up next, eyes narrowed.

"He's Quirkless, like me," he said, louder than usual, raising his chin a little. The whole group immediately backpedaled.

"Oh! I didn't mean to just assume..."
"Sorry, Mr. Yagi! Sorry, Midoriya."
"That's cool too! It makes sense!"
"Hey, Midoriya, did you go to the staff tent yet?"
"Oh right! Yeah, come with us!"

"I, I'd rather stay here for now..." Midoriya mumbled, but they would have none of it.

"They said they'd have free stuff for us! Come on!" And they swept him off like a tidal wave. "It was nice to meet you, sir!" a few of them called back. Midoriya glanced back with a piteous look as the group herded him along.

Torino watched the whirlwind of children as they wandered off, leaning on his cane. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Toshinori.

"You told him you're Quirkless?" he asked. His voice had a bite to it.

The guilt curled around his chest like a vice. "I told him I was born Quirkless," he replied, cringing at how weaselly the words sounded the moment they left his mouth.

"You saw his face just now. It obviously means a lot to him. What's he gonna do when he finds out you've been lying to him?"

"He's not going to do anything, because he's not going to find out." Torino just stared at him, silently goading him into putting his foot further down his throat, and he obliged, because he became a hopeless mess of a human being around his mentor. "Sometimes people need All Might. Sometimes they need someone who knows what it's like to be Quirkless. There's nothing wrong with giving people what they need to be happy."

"Oh, don't even get me started on All Might!" Torino shot back. "Do you seriously think you're going to be able to keep this—" he gestured at Toshinori, "—under wraps forever? Forget the kid, what's the nation going to do when they figure out their Symbol of Peace isn't even real?"

"Can you please keep your voice down," he hissed, glancing at the clumps of people nearest to them.

Torino kept going, his tone a low growl. "Is that gonna be your legacy? Getting people's hopes up by lying to their faces? Anyone can do that. It never ends well."

Fury filled his chest and made his damaged lung burn. But he was not going to cough and sputter and look pathetic, not right now. He didn't have to fall for every obvious piece of bait Torino threw in front of him like he was still eighteen. He turned away and snatched up a stray piece of plastic from the sand like it had personally offended him.

"You can't keep this up forever, Toshinori," Torino said from behind him, but Toshinori didn't reply, and his mentor didn't push it any farther.

It didn't take long before Midoriya found them again, laden down with a Mt. Lady-branded lanyard and water bottle and several minutes worth of excited chatter about the sponsors that had come to show support for the event. Toshinori animatedly asked him for details, and after a few moments, Torino grudgingly joined the conversation. Their prior discussion wasn't over, but it was over for today.

Like Midoriya predicted, they were able to clean the entire beach in a single day. Mt Lady did the impressive, heavy lifting, filling up whole recycling bins in a single armful, while her staff handed out gloves and garbage bags to anyone who wanted to trail a safe distance behind her and help clean up the smaller odds and ends she left behind. The three of them wandered along and combed through the sand for bits of trash while they chatted. Torino regaled Midoriya with embarrassing stories about All Might's school days, while Toshinori lamented how it sure was a shame that All Might didn't have better mentors to keep him on the straight and narrow back when he was a student.

They also talked about Midoriya's training. Torino had obviously come prepared, and tackled the subject with the expertise of a seasoned schoolteacher, to Toshinori's wonder and mild envy. He hoped he'd be able to act that experienced by the time he was done with all those damnable instructor courses, but he doubted it.

By the end of the day, Midoriya's phone was loaded with links to instructional videos, they'd made a few tweaks to his training regimen, and Torino agreed to come down once or twice every week to tutor him in person. When Midoriya stammered at the offer and asked what he'd want for compensation, Torino just told him that helping him reconnect with his old student was reward enough. Toshinori quailed a little at the look Torino shot him when he said that.

Even though all they did was talk and leisurely pick up trash, Toshinori had been up since three in the morning and was utterly exhausted by late afternoon. Still, he didn't want to cut things short, so he stuck through it. He'd been through worse things than enjoying a day on the beach.

By sunset, Mt Lady had gotten the last of the big items loaded away and the event had mostly wound down. He and Midoriya waved Torino goodbye as the old man got back on a bus to the train station. Once Torino was gone, Toshinori made his way back along the walkway and leaned against the railing. What he really wanted was to sit down, but there weren't any benches nearby. A moment later, Midoriya joined him, looking out over the transformed beach. The sand was spotless, sparkling pink in the light, like the heaps of refuse had never been there.

"I've never actually seen it clean before..." Midoriya said, looking awestruck. "And it really only took them one day..."

"What do you mean, 'them?'" Toshinori replied. "This happened because of you! Be proud of yourself!"

Midoriya made a noncommittal noise, then fidgeted and glanced to the side in the way he did when he wanted to ask for something he didn't think he was allowed to ask for. Toshinori reached out an arm, and Midoriya gratefully leaned against him, resting his head against his side.

"Thank you for encouraging me," he murmured. "You helped me remember that... that I can still make a difference."

He rested a hand on the boy's ever-disheveled green curls. "Of course you can," he said. "And it won't stop here. You're going to do incredible things."

Midoriya sniffed and clung to him tighter. He'd gotten better about the crying, too, and besides, it felt impossible to scold him in the rare times he did do it now.

Without warning, Torino's words cut through his mind.

You can't keep this up forever, Toshinori.

It really had gotten out of hand. But standing here, looking out over the pristine coast, he couldn't bring himself to see it as a bad thing.

Notes:

1) Posting made-up backstory in order to try and tempt canon into providing more All Might backstory to contradict me. Prove me wrong, cowards! I was in the "All Might never had a different weakened form before his injury" camp until Vigilantes made pre-injury Small-Might canonical, so this is a compromise between the two.