As soon as Bakugou fell, Aizawa immediately launched himself off the bridge after him. He ignored the way his gut lurched and his throat clogged up, forcing himself to focus. Using his capture weapon, he tried to catch Bakugou by his ankle, praying that the force of stopping the kid's fall wouldn't dislocate his hip.

Just because he knew it wouldn't necessarily be a permanent injury didn't mean that it was an acceptable one.

But he must have misjudged the rate he himself was falling as he just missed Bakugou's ankle, the capture weapon swiping empty air just below him. His heart ached as the blonde made no effort to try and grab onto the nearby scarf.

Aizawa blinked back tears of frustration as they both free-falled toward the water. Giving up on avoiding the water completely, he released his capture weapon and tried to dive into the rushing water as neatly as possible.

Hitting the water was painful, although not as bad as it could have been, in his experience. But the current was surprisingly fast for being a river that ran through a city, and the growing darkness outside certainly did not help him reorient himself. Instead, it took him several precious seconds to kick himself up to the surface.

With a gasp, he broke through the surface and rapidly blinked the water out of his eyes. His heart was racing as he splashed around frantically to both keep afloat and find either of the teens that had just—no. He couldn't think about that right now. Find them. Save them.

There was a flash of darkened blonde in his peripherals and he quickly swiveled around and swam head-up freestyle toward him. He dragged the teen out of the river with a firm grip on his wrist, swimming in a painstakingly slow process. Aizawa's chest heaved as he practically crawled onto the bank, tugging Bakugou along with him.

The kid was face-down in the dirt, not moving at all, his chest refusing to rise and fall now that it had been waterlogged to hell and back.

Frantically, the pro hero flipped the kid over and felt for a pulse, but he couldn't tell if there was one or if there wasn't because of how his own heart raced and he could feel the pulsing of blood pumping in his fingers. Instead, he shoved his ear against Bakugou's chest, barely able to keep himself still enough to listen for—or more accurately feel for—a heartbeat.

Nothing.

It became a blur, the way he immediately tried CPR, chest compressions and breaths at counts becoming an automatic function as his mind spun. The hero couldn't even tell if he was doing the correct intervals or if he was giving enough breaths at the right times.

There was something to be said about muscle memory, and this was far from the first (or last) time he would ever use CPR on a victim, but for some reason he just couldn't tell if he was doing it properly.

His senses were too dull to double check, so he was left with trusting his own experience. Of course, that was the very last thing he wanted to trust at that moment, as his so-called 'experience' hadn't done anything to get them out of the loops and had led both him and Bakugou—and possibly even Midoriya, if some of his suspicions were correct—to this point in the first place.

At some point, Aizawa could have sworn he heard the distinct cracking of ribs, but he couldn't really be sure with the way his hearing had gone all fuzzy and distant. He had no sense of time as he repeated the motions like clockwork in a futile attempt to save the kid he had practically left to fend for himself while emotionally compromised.

How could he have ever considered Midoriya's death, no matter how temporary, an acceptable sacrifice in exchange for the freedom to gather intel to get out of the loops? Especially since Bakugou seemed to be attached in all the worst ways to this kid.

Hell, he was attached in all the worst ways possible in this situation, but there was nothing he could do to change that now.

Eventually, the police had evidently arrived, as an officer had literally dragged him off the poor dead kid. The world was still fuzzy, his attention span was short and his vision decided to fade in and out at irregular intervals. He must have given his statement at some point because he found himself at his own apartment instead of the station like he would have normally expected.

It was probably to help him recuperate after this 'traumatic experience.'

He was a fucking hero, he'd been through worse.

Much worse.

But in spite of that, Aizawa was terrified at the prospect that he had been deliberately ignoring: a horrible theory that resided and festered in the back of his mind. Maybe Bakugou's death would trigger the end of the loop. After all, Aizawa had only been dragged in after meeting and helping the kid.

But then that would mean that this was a failure, and Aizawa would have failed a(nother) kid.

So fuck, if whatever higher beings existed finally decided to take pity on him and the loop began again, he would find Bakugou directly and set everything straight. He would fix this, he swore upon his life.

Maybe it was time to try something different. He didn't know what, exactly, but he would find a way.

He had to.

Bakugou violently sat upright in his bed, choking on the residual feeling of drowning—throat closing up, water clogging his nose and mouth and ears and dark dark cold wet pain.

The tears leaked from the corners of his eyes without permission as he heaved and wheezed. His head spun as he struggled to realize that he had-

He just-

He let-

He gave up and all but threw himself off a bridge.

No use in sugar coating it.

He had spent hours upon hours unable to understand why Deku would continue to do such a thing. Even if he didn't remember each loop, that didn't explain why he always seemed to do it a different way, a different time and place. And why he would continually come back to that-that horrible choice as a solution.

Had he been contemplating it for years? Was it something he had been intending to do all along? Or was this an effect of the looping?

He had been so sure that the latter was the truth, but he wasn't so sure anymore. Had it really just been the loop's fault? Because if that was the case, then Bakugou would have probably done it himself much, much sooner.

It had been eye-opening and horrifying how easy it had been to just pitch himself off the ledge without hesitation. He was tired and at his wit's end, unable to see a hope for the future other than these damned loops and Deku falling off was the final straw on the camel's back, the last nail in the coffin that had been building up for however many fucking loops he'd been through so far.

Bakugou felt empty and numb and horrified and a million other things that were all muted as he stared down in horror. He hadn't noticed anything around him, but not in the way that it had been happening as of late. It wasn't that his surroundings were all fuzzy and incomprehensible.

No, he knew what was there, he just didn't care.

Nothing mattered except Midoriya who had just…

And as he stood there, frozen with indecision and horror, all it had taken was a little intrusive thought about how he should have been the one pitching off the edge, and down he went.

He hadn't had the time to think logically, or to think at all. He simply fell and that was that.

He was going to die, and maybe that was the answer to it all along. Fuck all of the nonsense the Takaki-fucker had been spewing about key words or whatever. All he could hope for in that moment was that his death would end this stupid time loop and he wouldn't have to do anything ever again.

So when he finally spun around and noticed Aizawa rushing toward him, he didn't feel anything but surprise and sadness. What if the only way out was death? He didn't want Aizawa to have to die, or for Aizawa to have to watch Bakugou die.

But it was too late and he fell over the edge into the water.

He was pretty sure that Aizawa had jumped in after him, even launching his weird scarf thing after him. But the pro hero had missed and he couldn't help but feel bad that the tired man was trying so hard to help him when it was all his fault anyway. Despite that guilt, he couldn't seem to force himself to grab onto it like the Aizawa must have been hoping for.

And then he hit the surface of the water hard and fast, the cold quickly overtaking him and his lungs only taking in liters of water. It was murky and dark and he couldn't tell which way was up or down and he felt himself drifting away, unable to even work up a panic as he slowly drowned.

He thought he felt something grip his ankle… although it might have been his wrist. Or was it his neck? He couldn't breathe so that seemed right...

His fist suddenly flared with pain and he was jerked out of his thoughts. It took him a moment to realize that he had slammed his fist into the wall of his bedroom and made a huge dent in it. Reluctantly, he pulled back his fist to inspect it and stared at the newly red and bleeding knuckles that were beginning to bruise.

Now that his thoughts were clear—or rather, clearer than they had been—he tried to make sense of the thoughts that had quickly rushed through his head mere moments before he gave up and, well…

Maybe the Takaki-fucker just wanted to drive him insane or have him die by his own hand as payback for bullying his daughter—a punishment that couldn't be traced back to him. But even if that was the case, it was all convoluted and too complicated to be true.

Besides, why would he have brought Aizawa into the loops? He was a pro hero and more than able to get Takaki arrested for it. It could have been an accident, but that didn't seem likely if this was all supposed to be some grand master plan.

But if that was the case, well damn was it working.

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT?! ARE YOU TRYING TO BREAK THE WALLS OR SOME SHIT? GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THIS HOUSE AND TO SCHOOL, YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" his mother screamed at him, quickly bringing a scowl to his pensive face.

School, yeah right. That was the last of his worries at the moment.

With a sigh, he flopped back onto his bed and let himself drift back to sleep, the soothing blackness slowly overtaking his vision and mind. Yesterday was just… too much.

Sleep was good.

Sleep...

His ruby eyes shot up in frustration, staring at the ceiling as he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

How the hell could he just sleep, knowing what he had done, knowing that he would probably have to face Aizawa, who had done everything he could to save him, knowing that it was all Bakugou's fault and he was doing the same thing to the pro hero that Deku had been doing to him?

Aizawa bolted upright in his bed, stifling the lingering feelings of anger and regret and guilt while forcing his determination to shine through, Plus Ultra style. Although that was the motto he taught by, he recognized that it wasn't the best thing to live by. While pushing through was an important thing in life, pushing too much past your breaking point didn't always end well for everyone.

But in this case, there was nothing else if he didn't get out of this fucking loop, pushing past the emotional build-up that seemed to follow him around. A side effect of the quirk, confirmed by the younger Takaki.

So, despite the complete and utter embarrassment he would normally feel, he forced himself to exclaim a proud, yet still tired and meek, "Plus Ultra…!"

And with the exclamation, he forced himself out of bed and onto his feet. He felt a strange feeling all across his skin, not a physical one, but some kind of phantom touch that made him want to shake it off. It was awful, in a mundane sort of way, so he just brushed it off (metaphorically) and continued through the routine of the day.

Aizawa pushed himself into a faster pace, quickly letting the cats out of the cabinet and forcing himself to only pet them for a short while before switching gears and preparing to leave the safety of his apartment.

Outside, he would have to face the truth, whatever that may be, and the harsh and crushing reality. But if there was one thing he had learned from the years he had spent as a heroics teacher, it was that while ignorance was bliss, fiction could never overwrite fact. Or as his students like to put it more simply: regardless of what you believe or see, that does not change what is actually there.

And so, after both mentally and physically preparing, he left the emotional comfort of his cats and apartment, speed walking toward Bakugou's address with a purpose.

Honestly, the entire way there was a blur, and before he knew it, Aizawa was standing in front of Bakugou's house, breathing heavily and heart pounding. He took a minute to calm himself and think about what he was going to say to the kid before he allowed himself to knock on the door.

Much to his surprise (and frustration), a blonde woman that was practically the spitting image of Bakugou Katsuki, except older and obviously a female, answered the door.

He froze in surprise, barely schooling his expression to boredom in time for the woman to get a good enough glance at him. Fuck fuck fuck, what was he supposed to do now? It was very unlikely that Bakugou had decided to tell his mother, especially since he had never mentioned anything about it before, but then again, there was no telling. But also, if Aizawa let it slip and the kid hadn't told his mom, there would likely be a bigger issue.

So covert it was. Time to bullshit, he supposed.

"Who the hell are you?" the woman drawled, narrowing her deep ruby eyes at the pro hero.

Aizawa struggled valiantly to hold back a snort at how similar Bakugou and his mother were, "I'm a pro hero, Eraserhead, sorry for disturbing you…" fuck fuck fuck, what was else he supposed to say here?

"I've never heard of you," she crossed her arms and rested them against her chest, taking a step back and subtly pushing the door a bit more closed, "And why are you here?"

"I'm an underground hero, ma'am, so that's part of the job," he quickly whipped out his hero license from one of his many hidden pockets and handed it to her, "I have reason to believe that a quirk of a villain may have affected your son, so I'd like to speak with him to make sure. This is a time-sensitive matter, so I hope you can forgive my general lack of procedure in this case."

Bakugou-san just narrowed her eyes further, uncrossing her arms and taking a step closer while pushing her shoulders back to make herself seem bigger. But before she could say anything, there was a voice that came from behind her.

"E-eraserhead?" the kid intoned with an upward lilt at the end, a pathetic mimic of a question.

His mother whipped around to face him, "You know this hero?"

Bakugou nodded uncharacteristically slowly, "Yeah. He's De-M-Izuku's favorite underground hero. He's… He's pretty cool."

Eraserhead tried his damnedest not to blush at that admission, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. Regardless of that, the woman finally stood down and let him into the house, hesitantly agreeing when Bakugou stressed the importance of speaking to Eraserhead alone, his voice never rising above a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa felt that she had only agreed because of his very unusual mannerisms.

Of course, only Aizawa and Bakugou had any idea as to why he was acting this way, and that made his heart ache for the teenager who had gone through way too much.

The unusually calm blonde led him to his room, which turned out to be a normal looking room: not a mess, but not exactly pristine either. Honestly, it wasn't all that uncharacteristic for this kid, for all of the week's worth of loops or so he'd known him. But the juxtaposition between the kid he'd met and the kid he saw now was disheartening.

But Aizawa should really cut the crap, none of this had been a walk in the park from the very beginning and they were so close to a solution, he could feel it.

They just had to push forward and keep going.

Despite his determination, his mouth refused to form the words to get the ball rolling, to prompt Bakugou with questions to hopefully come to conclusions and solutions. Instead, all he could see was the miserably blank expression on the kid's face as he let himself fall.

How could he have the words to say after that? It wasn't his fault, but it wasn't Aizawa's either. There was no good or right in this situation, only misery and anguish and a slight of betrayal and regret.

Bakugou flopped face-down onto his bed, letting out a small grunt as he hit the mattress with what was probably more force than he had intended. He rolled his head to the side so he could steal a glance at the pro hero, clearly also at a loss for words.

But the kid had more guts than Aizawa had given him credit for, which was saying something considering how gusty and arrogant the kid tended to be.

"I… I don't really know what that was back there. It was just… so much easier," he grimaced, "But obviously that didn't solve anything and dying clearly isn't the solution to the loops, but I just… I just can't watch him die," Bakugou all but wailed before burrowing his head under his pillow.

Aizawa didn't really know what to make of that, what to say to that. He also didn't want Midoriya to die, but he didn't want Bakugou to die either. He didn't want any of this, but this is what he had. So instead of trying to articulate himself, he stepped forward and carefully rested his hand on the kid's shoulder, hoping that a little reassurance would be enough to convey his feelings and intentions.

Words never were his strong suit, after all.

Instead, Bakugou just reached back to smack his hand away, "I don't need that crap! What I need is for this all to stop! I can't do this anymore! No more! Please!" he sobbed into his pillow.

Aizawa's lip quivered before he could try to stop it.

He couldn't help but agree with the kid's pleading, but this was reality and they had to face it, otherwise nothing would change.

He reluctantly lowered his hand and stood there for a moment, quietly breathing and waiting for… waiting for something to happen. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure. So he just remained still, letting the air flow through his lungs and and his heart pump blood through his veins diligently.

You want to be a hero, yes?" Aizawa intoned softly, knowing the answer to that question already.

Bakugou just raised his arm without looking back up at the hero, instead flipping him off with a shaky hand, sniffles barely audible through the pillow shoved in his face.

"Sometimes, you have to do what no one else will," he continued.

The teen just took in a deep breath and kept his arm and middle finger up.

"But most importantly…"

"Shut up!" Bakugou cried.

"You have to help yourself when-"

"I said to shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Aizawa took another step forward, "When nobody else will. But I am here, and you can do this. We can do this. You just have to stick with it, keep at it. I swear on my hero license that we will end these loops."

Bakugou finally shifted his head to the side, his quivering lips and tear-stained cheeks now visible and heartbreaking, "A-and we'll… we'll keep Deku alive… r-right? W-we will, right?"

"Yeah, kid. I promise."

Aizawa just opened his arms awkwardly and Bakugou all but launched himself into them, clutching at the pro hero's shirt and bawling into them like he had never had been comforted through a sobbing session in his life.

At some point, there was a soft knock on the door before it quietly creaked open to reveal the kid's mom. Bakugou didn't seem to notice as he nudged his head further into Aizawa's chest, so the pro hero just swiveled his head and tried to shoot the mother a reassuring smile.

Not that smiling was his strong suit, but it wasn't like he knew what to say to the woman as he held her crying son. He certainly couldn't explain the entire time loop situation without creating problems, but not saying anything still left a bad taste in his mouth.

Regardless of his conflicted emotions, the smile had apparently been enough to placate the woman, who promptly left with a melancholic smile. With the gesture of trust and approval from Bakugou-san, Aizawa let his eyes slide shut and his arms wrapped tighter around Bakugou, drawing comfort from the grip as much as he was giving it.

They continued to stand there for an undetermined amount of time, just reveling in each other's presence and taking the time to reassure themselves and prepare for what they would have to do next.

Not that either of them were entirely certain of how to proceed.

At some point, the blonde kid who had unabashedly cried in his arms pulled away, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Aizawa felt similarly, but if he were honest, he also needed the comfort they had shared in that moment. After all, they were the only ones stuck in this loop, the only people to really know what this had been like and would continue to be as they struggled to escape it.

When they finally looked at each other directly, Bakugou wiped at his eyes, trying (and failing) to discreetly get rid of the tears that threatened to fall from his lashes. But despite those tears, his head slowly tilted his head down before bringing it up again, his gaze lowering with hopelessness and then rising to meet Aizawa's full of determination.

There was a fire in those eyes as he spoke with a firm voice, "I think I have an idea."

Midoriya once again found himself being called to the front office. As he made his way there, trusting his muscle memory to lead him there without issues, he let his mind wander in an attempt to ignore the growing dread and frustration among other urges.

The day had started off strange, he had felt so overwhelmed for no apparent reason, struggling to even drag himself out of bed, much less go to the hell-hole that was his school. But then, after barely managing to make it into his seat in time for homeroom, Kacchan's empty seat was glaringly obvious and struck Midoriya with confusion and a sense of dread.

It was well known—to the observant teen who had known him all his life, at least—that Kacchan would rather die than skip a day of school and ruin his perfect school record. Well, he probably wouldn't go to that extreme, but the point was made. If he was sick, he just slapped on a mask and powered through the day as best as he could, usually able to act well enough that nobody except Midoriya ever seemed to notice that he was sick.

So, clearly, with Bakugou missing and the uncomfortable anxiety pooling in his gut, the precedent was set: nothing would go right that day.

And sure enough, halfway through the third hour, he was told to go to the principal's office with no reason given—as per usual. After all, this was far from the first time he had been called to the office for some minor infraction—or to deliver a poorly concealed threat to do worse in class or else they would make him regret it—and it likely wouldn't be the last.

The real problem with having an overactive mind was that it was easy to find other things to distract yourself with, but those things quickly dried up, and you end up overthinking your current problem.

Which was why it came as no surprise when he started panicking by the time he finally reached the menacing door.

He steeled his nerves and knocked, barely managing to keep himself from falling apart as he thrummed with anxiety. But instead of being met with the sickly sweet, passive aggressive face of the secretary, he was greeted with a soft, concerned expression.

Midoriya had always hated that expression, even though pity was much better than the scorn he was usually met with at every turn. She led him into the office, back to where the principal sat with another man. The secretary lingered at his side, gently nudging him forward in a way that she never had before.

What was going on here?

The stranger was clearly irritated with the principal, and the oblivious administrator continued prattling on about irrelevant—not to mention greatly exaggerated—facts about the school's accomplishments. Although, from what little he heard as he came in, most of it was bragging on Kacchan and pretending that his performance was a reflection of the rest of the school instead of the outlier than he was.

Midoriya blinked as he was ushered into the room, staring curiously at the unknown man and struggling to keep his disdain for the principal from showing in his expression. That was a constant endeavor, if he was being honest, and he had no idea how successful he was in that regard.

But then the man caught his eye, and something quickly flashed across the man's face, but he must have had experience in hiding his thoughts because it disappeared just as fast as it had initially appeared.

Interesting. Why did he feel as though he knew who this man was? He didn't think he had ever met this stranger before but…

He just couldn't put his finger on it, so he shrugged it off and went to sit in the familiar chair across from the principal, adjacent to the tired-looking man. Now that he was closer, it was clear that his man was weary and bone-tired, which he related to in spirit.

You didn't have to miss sleep to be tired, sometimes dealing with people was enough to make you want to sleep forever, and this man was that feeling personified.

"Ah, don't sit, Midoriya," the way the principal all but spat his name left chills in his spine, but then again, it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

Although, being asked not to sit down was new.

Midoriya let out a verbal affirmation out of sheer habit, uncertain as to why he couldn't sit. But the instructions were clear enough, so it wasn't like he could disobey. Especially not in front of any company.

Was this an inspector of some kind? Or was this someone from the school board of directors that had finally decided to expel the quirkless kid from their school and bribe or threaten him into silence?

Either way, apparently, it didn't matter, because the principal ignored him entirely, "Well, he's here now. Go off and do whatever you need. I hope you know what you're doing."

The man got up from his seat with haste, though not anything less than gracefully, and not-so-gently placed (read: slammed) his hand onto the desk, "Thank you for your time."

The man didn't sound like he was grateful for the principal's time. He sounded like he'd rather be literally anywhere else in the world at that moment, but here he was, silently guiding Midoriya away from the school, taking shortcuts that the man couldn't possibly have known about without attending the school at some point.

But even then, some of the shortcuts were of his own ingenuity and trial and error. No one should know about them, and yet this man did.

Who was this guy?

But he knew better than to speak up, especially since this man looked like he was super worked-up. Sure, Midoriya wanted to do several regrettable things to himself, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to test this man's patience. This guy just exuded intimidating vibes, and his expression and posture weren't exactly helping matters either.

Even if he wouldn't mind getting beaten black and blue at the moment, he wasn't sure that it would be wise to have it done at the hand of this stranger. It was clearly dangerous.

So he simply trailed after the man, refraining from saying a word even as they made their way out of the school in record time, lest he say something that upset him.

Amidst the silence, however, his overactive brain slowly stirred back into awareness from being surprised into silence. Midoriya couldn't help but try to analyze the man in hopes of figuring out why he was familiar, and why he had such a dangerous, yet calming aura to him.

But regardless of his racing mind in the background, he tried his very best to keep his lips on lock and key, holding back his annoying mumbling habit that he was so well known for.

Though maybe most hated for was a better expression in this case.

Midoriya's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he bumped into the strange man. His heart skipped a beat as he stumbled back and barely managed to stay on his feet. Anxiety began to thrum in his heart again as he frantically tried to get out a coherent apology. The more he tried, the worse his syllables got—becoming a huge jumbled mess that would probably be enough to make anyone frustrated with him.

So much for not pissing this man off.

The man spun on his heel and faced Midoriya, an unreadable expression covering the contempt that he was sure to be feeling. But instead of telling him off or even smacking him around, the man just blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry about it, kid. It was my fault for stopping so suddenly," he sighed before crouching down in front of Midoriya, "Did you hear what I was saying?"

"N-no?" Crap! The man had been talking? He hadn't even noticed. How much had he missed?

Hell, now that he thought about it, why the hell was he even willingly following this stranger? That was dangerous, even if the principal had let him go without a care, that wasn't much of a guarantee for his safety. After all, the principal had never really bothered with his safety, nor did he care much for the quirkless in general.

The man just sighed again, "Don't worry about it, kid. I just asked if you had noticed Bakugou's absence, that was all."

"K-Kacchan?" he stopped his stuttering storm short, "I-I mean I did but… why do you know he was absent? A-and why do you c-care if I noticed?"

"That's because I believe he was affected by a quirk that requires my assistance to fix it," he responded, appearing as though his mind was elsewhere and this situation was all boring and mundane to him.

Midoriya felt his eyebrows furrow as his brain began racing through an array of possibilities, "A-a quirk? What kind of quirk?"

Clearly it couldn't be too serious, otherwise this man wouldn't be acting so casually at the moment and would likely be more frantic about the entire situation. But then again, it couldn't be too mundane and unimportant if Kacchan of all people needed help.

Actually, who they hell was this guy if he was supposed to be helping anyone with quirk issues? A quirk specialist? Or a doctor? But he didn't look like either of those...

The man huffed out a bit of laughter, although he clearly tried to stifle it, and Midoriya turned bright red, "You're thinking good thoughts, kid. You're on the right track. I'm actually a pro hero that also got caught up in the same quirk, and we need your help."

"M-my help?" he squeaked, "Why could you possibly n-need my help… unless the deactivation requirements… wait a minute?! A pro hero?! Oh my gosh oh my gosh how did I not see it before! You're the Eraserhead! Incredible! I got to meet Eraserhead!"

Midoriya was practically vibrating in his excitement, all but forgetting the topic at hand. Then he froze again.

"But wait, why would you need me, then? You're an amazing underground pro."

The hero just stared at him blankly as though he had just asked a dumb question. Maybe he had? His teachers said that he did that all the time, so it wasn't as if that would be out of the blue for him.

"The real question, kid, is why you know who I am," he smirked and stood up straight, towering over Midoriya, "But anyway, we're not entirely sure how the quirk works so Bakugou suggested that you were good with quirks. Not to mention there is a chance that you might have been exposed to the quirk effects as well."

"Me? Exposed? A-and good with quirks? Wh-what does that mean? You must be ta-talking about the wrong B-Bakugou here! Th-there's no way he would ever say that about m-me!" he frantically waved his hands, hoping that he conveyed exactly how ridiculous and insane this entire situation was. Kacchan? Speak highly of him? Not in a million years!

Eraserhead just sighed and began walking once more—now that he thought about it—towards Kacchan's house, "Don't worry about it, kid. I'm just doing my job, trust me on this."

"A-alright," he affirmed, reluctantly trailing after the pro hero he admired so much.

His disbelief was quelled by the pure excitement that bubbled up in his chest at getting to meet Eraserhead! ERASERHEAD! The dread and overwhelming numbness that had been building all morning easily dispersed in the face of his new-found enthusiasm. He would follow this pro hero to the ends of the earth!

Or rather he would, if the ends of the earth in this case didn't lead right back to Kacchan. Normally he would think this a prank, but Kacchan didn't do this kind of thing (despised it, actually). He was the kind of person that was blunt and straightforward in hating you. And there was no way that he could have gotten Eraserhead in on it.

Through the excitement, anxiety began to creep back in. But he continued to trail after the hero, doubt lingering as he steeled himself to face Kacchan.

They finally reached Kacchan's house, and Kacchan's mom let them in with a worried expression, only increasing Midoriya's growing anxiety. He was led upstairs to Kacchan's room, if he was remembering correctly—it had been almost a decade since he had been invited into the blonde's bedroom, after all. But when he finally came face to face with Kacchan, it felt like the world ground to a halt.

It only took one look at Kacchan's red and blotchy face with dried tear stains for him to be concerned.

And when Kacchan opened his mouth to speak who knew what, Midoriya burst out in tears.