"I have just one question for everyone-"

It begins like this.

"Are. You. Ready?!"

It's Present Mic on a large stadium screen, his grin wide as he pumps a fist into the air, his chair crashing to the ground behind him in a spur of spinning wheels and too much excitement. It's thousands and thousands of faces, rows upon rows of seats and overwhelming adrenaline pumping through onlooking masses, spreading through every single person.

And it's the stadium-

Exploding.

This is how the Sports Festival begins.

...

...

It's not done proper justice. Just how big of an... event the Sports Festival is.

(The crowds cheer so loud that they become a single voice, they drown any other sound in their thrall and entice more to join in. The intensifying enthusiasm was feverish, catching on quicker and quicker, especially as people amped one another up.)

It's deafening in its sheer volume.

Enough so that UA recommended purchasing specific types of specialty ear plugs alongside tickets, even distributing them among the participants and giving lectures about proper safety gear to anyone that would take the time to listen. And, even if they didn't, they made sure they heard anyways.

Because thousands and thousands of hero fans, of people looking and judging the next generation, demanded attention in a way that other events couldn't.

In this world, it's a tiny bit incomparable. When quirks ran rampant and countries began to draw into themselves, it wasn't exactly safe to hold regularly scheduled large events full of civilians, no matter how many heroes there were, where anyone wanting to make a statement could have a platform. The only difference is that UA had the staff, money, and reputation that typically deterred villains from trying their hand.

And the platform to showcase all the talent and skill they'd carefully gathered only deterred villains even more. As young adults, kids, really, far exceeded the years previous and quirks only grew stronger and stronger as standards rose and people demanded for more and better and-

"Principal Nezu. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Always." Nezu smiles. His ever present smile wide on his face, not faltering even the slightest bit, even when it begins to grow clear that the man only cares to offer him a frown. "Oh my! It's such a surprise to see a representative of the commission making an appearance. I must say this is quite unusual."

"...Yes, I do suppose that the commission typically prefers to take a backseat in the proceedings of UA and its events."

The man is a thin, spindly fellow. Tucked into a freshly pressed suit with slicked back dark green hair and a face not unlike a snapping turtle. It was a rough comparison, only really seen in the shape of his mouth and the roundness of his squished features, but it was a fair comparison nonetheless.

"You seem rather displeased, Toimune Rensa." It's disappointing that he doesn't startle, doesn't even flinch. It takes all the fun out of learning his name behind his back and learning all the little details that would make him uneasy and tense. "Has Yokumiru* failed to live up to expectations then?"

Fairly unlikely. Yokumiru was a hard worker and one that Nezu could tentatively say had gained a modicum of his respect. The man had gained a rather good reputation amongst the hero schools he associated with, nothing more than a commission appointed officer tasked with assessing the heroic growth of students and the overall accomplishments of each school. For both funding and quality standard reasons.

Nezu was certain that he was around somewhere nearby, oftentimes the only official sent in-person to events such as the Sports Festival, when he wasn't acting as a moderator for the hero licensing exams.

"Yokumiru's work has continued to be satisfactory, I assure you." Toimune takes a seat close by. A few chairs away. Close enough to talk but far enough away to not be overly familiar. It's a pointed stance and one that makes Nezu's ears twitch. "The Commission simply is... surprised by UA's decision to continue with the Sports Festival, despite the recent attack."

"...Do you disagree with it?"

It'd taken him a moment to ask it. Stuck, instead, simply watching the stadium from their place far above the regular rows of civilians and heroes that'd come to watch his students conquer. The semi-privacy of the skybox, surrounded only by his co-workers not directly involved in the festival's proceedings and the respected few hero scouts they'd invited in the hopes of networking offers for their classes or students they'd felt could benefit from certain internship offers.

This high up just about every screen in the stadium was within sight, showcasing different angles and close-ups as the first year classes were announced onto the field, gathering before their year's representative.

It was, objectively, the perfect view.

"Far from it, actually. The commission feels that the benefits of continuing on normally far outweigh the backlash, especially given the small likelihood of another attack." He pauses. "If the Sports Festival had been canceled or postponed, it would have caused quite a stir amongst the general public. They would have begun to doubt the safety of the students, even with All Might protecting them. It was fortunate enough that he was present to keep the injuries down to a minimum and to fight off the villains until the other heroes arrived to get the students out of the way."

He lets out a long sigh.

"Frankly, UA is lucky that there were no casualties, and that All Might was there to save them-"

"...Eraserhead."

"I'm sorry?"

He places his tea back down on the small dish he cradles in his hand.

"Make no mistake. All Might provided a substantial amount of relief to our students and finished the fight when, otherwise, it would have been difficult for any other... but it was UA's staff that kept those students alive."

It's easy to find the students of 1-A and pick them from the crowd of first years. He imagines it would be similarly easy even if he hadn't memorized each and every one of their faces. They hold themselves differently. There's a tension and a confidence there that didn't falter under the stress of the audience where the other classes did.

They walked like they had been through hell and were preparing to face it again.

Nezu doesn't think they realize that they truly weren't ready for anything just yet.

But confidence was good. Even if it was in its infancy and could still so easily be broken.

"And I think you'll find that this year's batch is much stronger than they first appear to be. Strong enough to hold their own."

Toimune doesn't respond for a few long moments after Nezu tells him that. And he doesn't need to even glance at him to realize that he's watching the field with a critical eye, as if weighing each and every individual and counting their worth like they were simply numbers on a spreadsheet.

It's strange to watch it in process.

And it's disconcerting, with a new, fresh... awareness that Nezu often had the same look on his face. Hidden under fur and beady eyes and a polite smile that only wavered when he allowed it to, yes, but his thoughts were like numbers jumping and bending, percentages and possibilities and dimensions of alternatives and ever-rotating common denominators; and this thing called compassion and empathy is only a muscle he hadn't exercised as much as he (probably) should have.

"...I see."

Toimune is a UA Business Course Graduate, an alumnus, and maybe that's part of why the Commission chose him to be here today, but Nezu would be willing to bet money that he scored poorly in the analyses section of that course. As many were prone to do.

(It was not something many had an aptitude for, very often overlooked, and- disappointingly enough, not a skill many felt the need to hone.

Or they simply thought boasting meager capabilities was enough to call themselves a prodigy.)

Because Toimune looks at the first years and, yes, he sees survivors and fighters amongst the mix, but he does not see what sets them apart. He does not see the few outside of 1-A that carry themselves in similar fashion but all too regularly blend into the background. He doesn't see the people behind the confidence and potential.

All he can focus on is the rawness, the youth, and the mistakes that still need to be processed through- still need to be taught and nurtured and cut into a blade of their own making- and Toimune only understands that it'll take time, effort, patience, and that it'll make the numbers on his oh-so important spreadsheet look bad.

Especially when all he can pick out are the things that are wrong and need to be fixed and not the things that are good and wonderful startling discoveries that make Nezu's head spin, just trying to calculate every variable-

"For UA's sake, I hope you're correct."

Nezu is not in the habit of asking questions of people he doesn't know whether to label ally or enemy. This isn't an intellectual discussion. The Commission doesn't like to discuss things- they like to send threats and warnings and little pink slips that he laughed at or tore to shreds because he had more than enough dirt on them to tear their favorite playthings down- but he can think of thousands of possible answers, so he'll ask anyways: "My, why would UA need to worry?"

Toimune is not a very concise man.

He likes to pause and mull over his words, as if testing them in his head before he says them. In other people, Nezu would find the time taken to thoughtfully go over each word to be a tad endearing but, here, it makes Nezu's tail twitch and has him almost wondering if someone is telepathically sending him a script.

(They're not. At least, Nezu doesn't believe so.

Though he doesn't doubt that he's heavily monitored by bugs and recording devices and probably trying to remember the short list of things he could say and the long list of things he couldn't.

...Sometimes, Nezu is just so, dreadfully, tired of it all. That most everyone these days seems to be bound by some other third-party and can never just say what they think. Without already radicalized ideas and no intention to be open-minded. Or, simply, woefully underprepared to defend their thought process. Or too timid to ever do so.)

"There's a possibility that the public only sees them as victims, Principal." Toimune remarks, not unkindly. "A traumatic event... an unprecedented villain attack... especially in a place previously thought to be completely safe..."

He trails off. And he's saying the right words, he'd thought about them long enough to have figured out where to hit with a low blow and how to appeal to his conscience at the same time-

But Toimune doesn't know quite what nerves not to pick at just yet.

"Imagine the backlash the school would receive, should the public see the stresses of such an event. I imagine that you would lose a fair number of endorsements."

It was not a wrong assumption to make. That Nezu would find an interest in the money and backing potentially lost as a result of the villains from the USJ but to phrase it in such a way, to honestly believe that he would care more about simple numbers than the health of his...!

Nezu picks up his tea and takes a sip.

It helps to hide how he's not smiling anymore.

He has to wonder how truly... awful his image and reputation has grown that, so often nowadays, his values and integrity and his empathy were being so thoroughly challenged and put up to the task. And how reasonable it must seem to those outside his acumen. "Have I truly grown so cruel...?" It's a quiet murmur, kept to himself, and Toimune continues without having heard a word.

"I believe one of your students was injured during the attack on the USJ?"

"Yes, a young Tsuyu Asui."

"Tell me, did it not cross your mind to remove her from the competition? For mental duress? While her name has not been released to the public for privacy sake, it would be unfortunate if she were to cause a scene-"

He doesn't even attempt to keep the annoyance out of his tone. "UA offers excellent counseling sessions to any students that reach out and each student from 1-A was required to attend a counseling session, as per field regulations. To those that need it, additional support has already been made available and been continually given." He's almost out of tea, even though his sips are small and slow. "My apologies, I fail to see how Miss Asui's psychological state falls under the HPSC's purview."

Toimune, at least, seems to realize that he needs to tread lightly. There's sweat collecting on his brow and tension in his shoulders. "...After the attack, the public needs to be assured that the students at the forefront are both well and truly prepared to handle themselves in the future." Yes, Nezu is quite aware of that, it's part of the reason he had agreed with the decision to continue with the Sports Festival in the first place. Just below the fact that, if they had postponed or canceled it, then 1-A would have felt the effects of it and received personal, scathing reactions and lost, not only an opportunity for their future, but a return to normalcy as well. "If a student shows signs of failing, or being unprepared, then-"

Nezu is not normally an expressive creature, but he does know how to get his emotions across.

"The Commission wants 1-A to perform well. That's all."

"To keep up appearances."

Toimune makes the concession with a reluctant nod.

"I understand the need. More than many realize." Nezu breathes, voice quiet and sharp. "But UA is not in the habit of valuing its reputation over the mental health and well-being of our students, if anyone on that field was disturbed by the events of the USJ and chose this very moment to... what did you call it? Cause a scene. Then UA will do what it has always tried to do. Offer them whatever help they may need."

"Ah, Principal, allow me to rephrase-"

"We are not concerned about the public reaction, Toimune."

"If I may-"

"UA's students will do as they have always done," Nezu says simply, "perform within their capabilities and to the best of their current ability. If they do not have what it takes to be heroes then they won't be. As an alumni of this school, I would hope that you've grown to understand that concept by now, yes?"

It's an exceedingly low blow that sours Toimune instantly and cuts through the thin walls of formalities that he'd tried to maintain.

"All I am saying, Nezu-" It's petty, really, the blatant disrespect, and use of his name without permission, instead of one of his many titles, but Nezu imagines that the Commission already plans to give him a slap on the wrist for it. "-is that the Commission wants no surprises. If these students don't perform within a higher degree of years past then, perhaps, the HPSC and the Board need to reassess UA's standards and current staff to find a more... qualified and appropriate faculty that will help soothe some of the public worries. Especially considering UA had to fire a teacher for discrimination and falsifying paperwork; unfortunate, that such a disreputable man was lying under your nose."

It's laughable. That the Commission truly, somehow, still tries to masquerade their so-called 'control' over him.

(But he'd broken those chains many, many years ago.)

"The Commission wants a clean festival that does nothing but reignite the public's faith and trust in heroes. We seem to be astoundingly short of it, these days, with people enticed and caught up in symbols like Halo and Stain who preach nothing but anarchy and terrorism."

It's laughable.

It's genuinely so laughable.

That the Commission thinks they can weather all the changes that come to the world and never turn with the tide.

"Ooh, no surprises? Well, I can certainly say that you don't need to worry about anything from me." Nezu smiles. "After all, I am simply a Principal that wants nothing more than to see my students succeed."

Toimune casts him a suspicious look.

Which is a tiny bit unfair, truly.

But then they're both looking back down to the stage, where the first-years stand in their classes, and listen to the speech that their year's representative had been tasked with preparing-

"I'm going to win."

It rings out in the dead silence.

The resulting pandemonium is really quite comical.

Toimune has his face buried behind one hand. "Your... representative?"

He sips the last bit of his tea. "Bakugou Katsuki. He came first in the Hero Exams." He smiles. "He was also one of the top ten scorers in the written general examinations. It was only logical to have him be the first year's representative."

"This is the exact attitude we don't want the public to see." Toimune hissed between clenched teeth. "This is the exact thing that dissenters preach about our heroes, about arrogance and their images-"

"Toimune Rensa, you don't know a challenge when you see one, do you?"

-0-

It's deafening, even with the earplugs.

"Aa, he's going to bring us all down with him, isn't he?"

"All the other classes already hate us, this is only going to make it worse!"

There's seemingly endless shouting and jeering, hell, the crowd seemed split between going wild at Bakugou's sheer audacity or joining in on the anger that fell in shouts from the other classes. Not that anyone from 1-A could really blame them for the reaction. Bakugou was certainly... something. And no one else seemed to have the- er, pleasure of knowing that it wasn't a pointed slight and that this was just the typical behavior of their explosive classmate.

Honestly, they didn't think Bakugou even cared about their reaction. He only cared about those strong enough to go toe-to-toe with him.

"I know he's a manly guy, but this is kinda ridiculous!"

"We're screwed."

It unfortunately meant their class was all too used to his terrible attitude.

"Hey, Midoriya, think you can talk some sense into him?" It's Ojiro that asks it, after noticing the many, many glares their class were getting and how, quite suddenly, it didn't feel very safe on the field anymore. "Maybe get him to give a proper speech? You've known him since you were kids, right? That should count for something."

Midoriya gives him a blank stare.

"...No."

Ojiro doesn't know what to make of that reaction.

Before Midoriya is blinking and shaking his head and the odd expression washes away, back into the nervous, gentle smile that always seemed to take over his face. "Sorry, but I think Kacchan already has his own sense, so there's not really anything I can try and convince him of." He sighs. "But... it doesn't seem all that bad, I mean- not everyone looks upset by it?"

"What?"

Midoriya is observant, that much is obvious within minutes of meeting the guy, so he picks it out rather quickly but it takes Ojiro a good while before he even notices what he's looking at. It's hard- what with some of the classes mixing together in their riot against Bakugou- but, eventually, he picks out that a fairly large chunk of the students around them, while definitely looking annoyed and miffed, aren't joining in on the jeering their class is receiving.

Ojiro doesn't think he's seen any of them before.

"I don't recognize any of them."

They're rather far back as well. A tad bit separated from the other student groups and it's a little strange, considering Midnight had adamantly ushered them into their places before taking her own place on the stage next to Bakugou, and- Ojiro has to stop and stare at Midoriya and the mutters that were putting thoughts into his head that he didn't even know he was thinking.

"They were announced onto the field after us and the other hero course."

"Oh," it's Momo that murmurs it, her eyes lighting up in recognition where others didn't or didn't speak up about, "that's Class 1-C. They're a non-Hero Course." She's a little hard to hear but 1-A makes due, leaning in with strained ears. "I believe their class has the highest scores in general examinations. Or at least the highest average."

"So they're a bunch of smarties, huh?"

("I wonder if any of them tutor."

"I wonder if any of the hot girls in the class tutor.")

"Well, at least they're not looking like they want to kill us. I don't think I could handle everyone acting like that."

Momo smiles. "It might be... Iida and I have met their Class President and Vice President, they seemed to have a high level of integrity and professionalism, so maybe that extends to the rest of their classmates as well?"

It was a simple theory but the best they had.

"Umino and Ikimaru-san." She tried to find the pair in the sea of students but, unfortunately, it seemed as if their striking blue could only get lost in the crowd of similarly colored uniforms. It may also be hard because they were both quite short compared to the rest of their classmates. "Sorry, I- I can't seem to find them."

"Nah, I've heard that class has been weird since day one!" Mina chirps excitedly, unable to help but add in her own two cents, especially as Midnight was busy making sure Bakugou got off stage without somehow, inexplicably, making things worse by being himself. "Haven't you guys heard all the rumors about them going around? It's crazy!"

"Rumors?"

There's a gleam in her eyes that spells gossip.

"They got a teacher fired by the Principal himself!"

It's hard to believe her. Especially when it has Hagakure gasping and quickly jumping in herself, her arms flapping as she tries her best to steal their attention, as if waiting for them to pick her from the masses and not the least bit patient about it: "I heard there was a secret romance and the teacher tried to keep them apart, but they planted evidence to defeat him so they could finally be together~" She squealed. "Isn't it cute? A forbidden romance!"

Now they just straight up don't believe either of them.

"...Why would the Principal fire a teacher for a couple of students to go out on a date?"

Put like that, it makes Hagakure freeze. She stammers. "M-Maybe he... thought they were sweet...?"

She squeaks at the lack of response.

"You know, I actually heard something about that sort of thing-" Mina whispers and Hagakure perks back up. "-it's not the same, but someone in one of the other classes must have overheard them talking about it-"

The crowd is still riled. Howling their recourse with a gleeful enthusiasm that infected everyone and pulled them into the throng. It was enough to have Midnight snapping her whip with a crack that shocked the crowd and forced their attention on her wide grin and her microphone. She's drawing them back into their excitement, not as well as Present Mic would, had he been on stage, but still well enough that the tension began to seep away and the first years could only watch and wait as she worked her own peculiar brand of magic.

It was a nice background noise that hid the students that didn't care to not be silent.

"-someone got hospitalized trying to defend their crushes honor and I heard someone even got expelled because of it!"

Eyes roll. "As if."

Honestly, it was a nice way to pass the time. A distracting way of it too. It pulled their thoughts away from the ever-watchful camera's and the eyes that pierced like hawks, giving the anxious few that needed something else to focus on exactly what they needed. It helped that there weren't any microphones listening in on them either.

Mina took that as good enough permission to run her mouth as she pleased.

Unfortunately, so did others.

"...I heard that they like to use their quirks behind the teacher's back," it's small, at first, a simple murmur from someone none of them knew and couldn't see, but was close enough to overhear, "they have a bunch of surveillance quirks too. I bet it's easy for them."

Mina's brow furrows. "Hey, don't you think that's a little-"

"I wonder if they're using them to blackmail the staff."

"I mean, seriously."

"Hey-!"

It's one thing to insinuate something unbelievable and not actually believe it. It was another to whisper things that had real repercussions to them. Like illegal quirk usage and manipulation-

"They never talk to anyone anymore. They're always in their little groups, I wouldn't be surprised if they were hiding something."

-spoken in hissed words like a snake in the grass. Until people truly believed them.

It's a hidden thrum amongst the first years. Well interspersed between those too focused on their own things to even listen and those who simply didn't care to, but it was still enough. It was still violent assumptions and cruel rumors flung from twisted tongues tainted by little fears and too much ignorance and apathy to hold it in.

"-heard that four students went missing-"

"There has to be something wrong with them. I mean, why aren't they upset too?"

"-one of them's wrong-"

"They're weird."

It's... strange. But it was an unfortunate aspect of being considered at the top of UA, especially given the antisocial nature of their teacher who didn't particularly care to follow the school's predetermined curriculum and, instead, set his pace based off his observations of his students, because absolutely none of them- aside from, perhaps, Mina and Hagakure, but even they were in the dark- was that Class 1-A very rarely had time to interact with the other students. Especially not with the General Education courses. And they didn't know what to make of the wide berth that Class 1-C seemed to be receiving, one that they didn't appear to care about even acknowledging, too busy and absorbed in their own hushed conversations and focus.

At least none of them seemed offended by the minimal whispers going around.

"Geez, people are so rude nowadays." Mina scowls, unable to really do anything in response. "I can't believe them..."

"Aa, weren't you just talking about them behind their back too though?"

"That's different! I wasn't saying mean or creepy things," she hisses, her cheeks flushing, "Hagakure and I were just talking about a cute couple that may or may not even exist!" They can't see it but they're pretty sure, given the noises of confirmation that Hagakure was making, that she was nodding along with everything Mina said. "We are not the same."

It doesn't much matter. It's an admittedly small interaction, not any more than a few minutes long, and just as quickly as it'd come, it was gone again. That's why it seemed forgettable at that moment. And why it seemed so innocuous, especially when no one seemed truly concerned- it was more like they were talking about the weather, all too blasé and already aware of the things that'd been spread.

Maybe that's why they don't think too deeply about it.

And Midoriya doesn't end up mentioning it- there's too many things on his mind, too many stresses, and it seems to be only another one to add to the bunch- but his eyes catch a flash of purple in the crowd of students. It's only a glimpse, really. But it sends a shiver up his spine and makes him swallow. Drawing up memories of angry indigo eyes and terror he hadn't been prepared for and the feeling of being swallowed whole-

He still doesn't know whether it's a good feeling or not. He still doesn't know why it makes him curious and anxious all the same. Most of all, though, he can't help but find it familiar too. Enough that it makes his insides crackle with that unknown power he was still learning and desperate to control and that hunger, deep in his belly, telling him that he needs to scream his name to the heavens before someone drags him down and back into the deep.

If he's not prepared, he'll be left behind.

"It's just... I don't get why they aren't angry about it? I mean, I'm in his class and I'm even kinda mad about what Bakugou said."

"Tch. Isn't it obvious?"

"...What is?"

"They want to prove him wrong."

(Aoyama's stomach is turning. There's turmoil clenching in his gut and he sucks in a deep breath to steel himself but, at least, he can take solace in the fact that this event won't turn into a disaster and he can focus, instead, on the things ahead of him and not the things behind him-

"One of them nearly beat another student to death."

"A villain, it has to be- right under the teacher's noses-"

"They're terrifying- They're crazy-"

-his stomach is suddenly hurting again. Enough that he can't even look at the accusers that he'd found himself in the midst of as he dragged his feet, he can only stare at the class he'd only ever seen in passing and wonder if there was someone amongst them that was feeling like the world was eating him alive too.)

-0-

The television is an older model.

It'd never been something they'd thought to update, not when there didn't seem to be any need to. But now- Now Fumiyo wanted a flat screen, she wanted the biggest screen she could find with the best quality there is on the market, and she wanted to be able to have the speakers so loud that they hurt her ears. Until Present Mic's announcements and the cheering of the crowd deafened her and began to grow so frustratingly annoying that she would begin to hate the sound. And, even then, she still wasn't sure if it would be good enough.

"Do you see him?"

It makes her voice hum with life, sparking like endless static and white noise that was getting hard to understand. It would have been a shout, if she hadn't been shaking with anxiety and excitement and worry and just- a thousand emotions that were absolutely overwhelming.

"He said he was participating. They said he was participating." Her voice is raising, her shoulders are tense and her eyes are flicking back and forth in frustration. Desperate for some answer that was eluding her. "They said it was a mistake and that everything was okay. Midnight met with us afterwards, she apologized for everything, she promised to protect him-"

"Fumi."

"Oh, god. I wish I had a lie-detecting quirk. What if they changed their minds? They always do, 'Mu. What are we going to do-?"

"Fumiyo."

She sniffs, her eyes watery and her frosty white hair frazzled.

"You're overthinking again and jumping to conclusions."

She knew that, of course, she knew that, but it was hard to help and she didn't appreciate him pointing it out.

"Take it one step at a time. There's over one hundred kids out there. He's not going to be the center of attention."

His arm is warm around her shoulders, his large hand soothing where it rubbed circles into her. "I'm fine." She says. "I'm fine. I just- Over a hundred kids out there and there's only one of mine. Why can't they just only show him instead?"

Her husband laughs at her.

She doesn't find it very funny.

"He has his phone. I told him to call me immediately if anything happened again," Hitomu assures her, all too coherent and logical, "and he hasn't. Everything will be fine."

She doesn't point out that he's staring at the screen with a sharp expression of his own, one that he only reserved for when he was intensely focused on something he deemed too important to look away from. That he had one of his legs up, his elbow resting on his knee, so he could lay his head on a fist that was clenched so tight his knuckles were a brilliant white.

"It feels like just yesterday I could carry him around under one arm." Fumiyo whispers. "He was so tiny when he was born and now he's taller than me and almost as tall as you."

It's hard to look at him sometimes, seeing how old he's gotten. She would always see him as a newborn, as a toddler with a gummy smile, and as a bratty little know-it-all when he got in the right mood. It scared her. That so many years could pass by so quickly, as if she had only blinked and they were gone, and it was only when she looked back that she even noticed.

"You know, when he first said he wanted to be a hero, I thought it was just because of all those figures we used to get him and all those cartoons going to his head-"

She stops.

She lets her hands fall to her lap.

"I just want him to know how much I support him, Hitomu."

"He's a good kid."

"...I think he forgets that a lot." She runs her hands over her legs. There's a lack of sensation, not completely, and no matter how much she improved and continued to improve, there was nothing that could turn back the clock for her. "Sometimes I'm afraid he thinks that I blame him. And I don't... I don't know how to tell him how much I just want him to have everything in the world."

"He knows."

"Does he?"

Her husband is silent. She squeezes his hand, hoping that he'll respond. That he won't let the cheering and crowd chatter wash over them, setting the mood as something quiet and slightly somber until she could see her son's face and see that he was happy.

"He's been working hard. So hard, Hitomu." She murmurs. "I know how much he's done. And how difficult it is for him. And he should be proud of all he's managed, no matter what happens, but I don't know... I don't know if he knows how proud I am-"

"I really think you're overthinking this." He tells her. And he finally looks away from the screen as the stadium waits for the first event to be set in motion, switching to commercials and ads as everything falls into place, and things behind the scenes are taking place that they didn't care to see. "He adores you, Fumi. Of course he knows you're proud of him. And, yes, I know he might sometimes doubt himself, but trust that he won't doubt us. He knows where we are. And where we'll be for him."

It makes her insides squeeze.

"...I want him to win."

"Oh?"

Of course she wants him to win. He was her son and this was his dream, it was just- It was hard not to imagine all the times she'd wandered by his room, late at night, and seen his lights on. That, when she snuck a peek in, she would find him with headphones on, listening to whatever podcast or stream or musician that helped him focus, as homework and books and study materials surrounded him. And, if he wasn't hard at work in the middle of the night, she would find him passed out with only a textbook as a pillow.

Sometimes the cat curled up in a ball on his back.

"I want him to punch all those hero kids. In the face." She doesn't, not really. But if he's going to fight- if he's going to win- she wants him to dominate. "Oh. God. Hitomu."

He raises a brow.

(He's pointedly ignoring the commercial for Midnight's womens underwear line and the fact that he's pretty sure his wife buys exclusively from that brand. It is not something he wants to associate with his son's teacher.)

"...Does he even know how to throw a punch?"

He stares at her.

"I know he's been going to the gym and practicing but- but- has anyone ever taught him? Do we know-?!"

Fumiyo can only stop and stare as her husband laughs at her, at how his whole body shakes as he tries and fails to keep it in. His soft laughter escaping him despite his best efforts. She loves the sound, it never failed to make her heart skip and her mood grow light. Like all her overthinking and worries were so far away. "Are you forgetting that he sent a boy to the hospital, Fumi?"

Aa, right.

"Well he got sent there too. So did he really win?"

"Yes." Hitomu sounds proud. Too proud. Especially for how much humor taints his voice. "Given how we found a girl in his room the day after, I would certainly say so-"

She gasps, "You're incorrigible."

"I'm joking." He paused, tilting his head. "Maybe not. But I really don't think we need to be worried about whether or not he'll be able to handle himself, just if people will finally let him."

She knows he's right. Her husband seemed to always find a way to be right.

It didn't stop her from worrying, even as the Sports Festival resumed and Present Mic began the official countdown for the obstacle course race that'd been prepared.

"Oh, Hitoshi... I hope it's been worth all the effort."

...

...

She's not worried.

She's not.

"You're pacing."

"Just getting my steps in."

"You're not that much of a muscle-head, dear."

She doesn't respond and she doesn't stop pacing. It's not something that she'd ever admit to being, especially not to her little purple haired student, even if Medama might tell him in secret eventually, but Sorano was a worrier at heart.

"Sora. You trained him, you know what he can do."

"It's not him."

It's the other ones. The brats that she wasn't aware of. The few that got in not because of the strength of their quirks but the strength of their personality and commitment. There was no doubt in her mind that Shinsou- her apprentice, even if she'd never officially labeled him as such- could run circles around the many, many students that would rely only on what genetics afforded them.

But it was the ones that had the experience, the training, the dedication and the years and time on him that she was really worried about. Because they could grind him into dust.

"He's got a couple months on him at most, Yui. He's good. He's a hard worker. He's definitely at a higher level than what I expected he would be at by now." He followed her instructions to an almost startling degree of perfection, if it wasn't for the fact that she knew he was doing more in the gym than she'd recommend for his body to take, she would almost think him a robot. As it was, she was surprised he hadn't collapsed from exhaustion and overwork just yet, and she was just waiting for the day where he would need to learn that lesson. "But..."

"If it's enough, it's enough."

"Yui. "

Her wife is a petite woman. Small and thin with straight black hair and brilliant blue eyes. She's not very entertained by the sight of Sora pacing back and forth in front of the tv as she knits, yarn looped around her fingers and her face pinched sour. "You're being distracting for no reason. You taught him what you could, it's up to him to make the most of it. You know that."

It's the same sort of thing that Sora preaches. It's the attitude she's always lived her life by.

It was just... she knew what people with quirks were capable of, especially when they lacked the control to properly use them. Especially when they had the control to properly use them. "If he lets his thoughts and anxiety get to him, he's going to get absolutely steamrolled." To be completely realistic, there was a very good chance that he didn't even make it to the final event. Tenacity and desperation and the need to push forward would only get him so far. And the time he'd been learning under her was, admittedly, frighteningly short. "He still freezes up sometimes. He thinks too much about what he could do that he never gets around to actually doing it."

"Which kid is this again?"

Her wife is being purposely contrite.

"The one that Medama gushes about whenever we visit."

"Uh-huh. And you think our darling niece has such poor taste that she would bring a wimp around to your class." Sora sighs. She knows she has a point, the sarcasm glaringly obvious, but Shinsou wasn't like the typical sort that she taught. He was much gentler and kinder and she could only beat so much of that out of him without being unnecessarily cruel. "You've covered his bases, right? Then that should be enough."

"You just want me to get out of the way of the tv."

"Yes. If we bought this thing to watch it, I want to actually watch it. As lovely as you are, I'm not really in the mood right now." Sora purses her lips at her. Yui continues to knit like she isn't smiling with snark and good-humor. "Besides, Medama said there was a surprise for us. And all her friends are participating. I want to see them."

Sora doesn't like sitting down and doing nothing, waiting for things to happen, so she doesn't. She does stop pacing though. Moving to stand behind the couch with her knee bouncing her in place.

There were plenty of things she could think of that she hadn't yet taught the young Shinsou. And, since he'd been transparent about his intentions for the Sports Festival from the start, she knew that she'd already covered all the necessities and all that she had planned and all that was physically possible in the time-frame he'd given her.

("Look. Kid. I'm going to tell you right now that I'm not winning this thing for you." She tells him it in a thin, serious voice. Only partially aware of the fact that her niece is watching from afar with a curious tilt to her head and a look of coldness that one could only get from knowing what it's like to push against the world and have it push back. To the point that it leaves you broken.

Shinsou doesn't have that look yet. He has something like it, something close, and maybe that's why Medama had been drawn to him in the first place. Why she'd seen something in him that felt a tiny bit familiar and a tiny bit like understanding.

Shinsou Hitoshi doesn't fight like his life is on the line. But that's fair, not many people do. And maybe she'd gotten used to the kind of kids that frequent her gym. The ones that already had calluses and scars on their fists and knuckles so thick and terrible that they matched her own.

"No one is going to do that for you."

He's giving her a strange look.

He's on the floor, shoved down and struggling to control his breathing. And she doesn't mention that she could step on his throat right now and snap his neck in seconds. That he's in a feeble, pathetic position and the fact that he hasn't gotten up yet tells her that he's used to the punches and beatdowns and he's used to just laying there and taking them and hoping that they would pass him by. That he's at least used to mercy and pity.

It's not the first meeting but it's one of them- before she's learnt his personality, his integrity, and what makes him strive forward as a person. And she's seen enough soft-skinned wannabe's that she doesn't want any of them near her. But Medama knows that. She wouldn't have brought him around unless she thought he might actually do something with himself.

There's a look in his eyes. A fire. Telling her that he doesn't want to just sit there and take it, disappearing into nothingness and obscurity.

"I do not care who you're fighting or why. I don't ask those sorts of questions," she doesn't, she wasn't a liability and she knew that some of her patrons didn't have good reputations, and there was a reason Medama and Shinsou typically used a more private training space and only interacted with a select few of the patrons she trusted, "you can tell me all your life goals and I will do my best to help you get there, but that's on you. That's your decision. What I want to know is if you're going to put in the work because one of these days you're going to run into someone much, much stronger than you and the only thing-"

He opens his mouth. She shushes him.

"-the only thing that's going to separate you from them is not going to be your quirk. Though brainwashing is certainly useful."

His face pales and she rolls her eyes, wondering if he really thought that it was a secret. When he was friends with her niece and was so very, very quick to try and hide it from her. She didn't care, not really, she's met far more dangerous people with far more innocuous quirks in her lifetime. Brainwashing was just par for the course.

"It's going to be whether or not you realize first that it's either them or you."

He doesn't look like he understands but she doesn't think he will. Not yet. Not until he knows what it's like to be gasping for air as something in his lungs chokes him from the inside out. It's not something she wishes he'll ever learn, but she knows that- with his quirk, with the dream he has- there's eventually going to be someone that decides. On a whim. That he's not worth the breath he breathes. And will do anything to make that fact known.

"Be. Prepared." It's not a lesson she's had to put into words before. It's not one she likes to talk about. It makes her body shake but her hands steady and it makes Medama cold all the way down to the bone. "'Cause, kid, I'm being serious here. If you get into a fight like that. That's all you can do."

He swallows.

"This is a hard lesson and I hope you don't ever need it. But I want you to apply it where you can, okay? And you've got to be ready to put in the work now because you won't have the time later. People aren't always going to be merciful and wait for you to get strong enough." She lets him pick himself up and dust himself off. There's a wince as he puts too much weight on one of his legs and she'll have to show him how to properly ice it later but, for now, he'll need to work through it. "If you don't take this seriously then I won't waste another second on you, got it?"

"...Yeah."

"Good."

Medama isn't watching much anymore. She's not sure where she'd gone actually, maybe off to the restroom, she's not sure. She wouldn't be surprised if the conversation had brought up bad memories that she'd rather forget but couldn't ever. Sora knows she'll be fine though. She always is.

"Next lesson: How to take a punch."

Shinsou Hitoshi is already fairly good at that one. Now to teach him how to use it against them.)

"There's a lot more hero students this year," Yui muses quietly, "usually there's only around twenty or thirty and however many they have in reserve. I wonder if they've gotten a better batch this year."

Sora groans. "That's both good and bad news." Good news, no one would go easy on her student and he might actually get some good fights in and really have a chance to shine. Bad news, that meant more variety and more opponents and she wasn't sure how quick on his feet he was against quirks, considering she didn't have one and therefore couldn't give him any practical examples when she was teaching him one-on-one. And, well, Medama didn't exactly have a quirk that was conducive to practical experience either, when she'd had her act as an example.

"He'll be fine. He had yo~u as a teacher."

"Don't flirt. I thought you said you weren't in the mood?"

Her wife giggles.

...

...

"Oy, Kamui Woods! Over here, over here!"

He tenses up, quick to stand up from his seat and tear his eyes away from one of the many screens up in one of the stadium's room. The lanyard around his neck feels uncomfortable against his chest, swinging with every step as he follows the sound of his fellow hero.

She's excitable, with wide eyes and her support gear extravagant-

"I've come to lend a paw and help." She cheers, her skirt fluttering as she spun in place. "Wild, wild... Pussycat!"

"Ragdoll." He greets politely, unsure of how to properly introduce himself to his senior. Especially when her themed-greeting was so... iconic. "A pleasure to meet you. I hope we work well together."

"It's only me today but I've been placed in-charge of our little hero alliance," she winks, "as a special request from UA, you're appointed to act as a team member for a very special security detail that's absolutely paws-itively top secret! With my quirk: Search, we'll find any villains in no time!"

"Of course. I will do my best."

"That's the right cat-titude, rookie!"

Kamui Woods doesn't know what a good response to that would be so he decides that the safe decision is to just nod along and wait for her to inform him of any information she needed to; considering that she was, in fact, given the position as leader by UA's personal request. He's almost certain it was entirely due to her quirk, rather than her seniority, what with her being able to survey large groups of people at once. Even if it would take a few seconds to switch between them. It would certainly make it easier to find criminals amongst the civilians, if there were any.

The security detail at UA had actually been a very selective and intensive process that had had his agency working overtime, trying desperately to make sure that he was even able to be a part of it.

It was certainly an honor. One that had a lot of competition. Not only because it was a high paying job but also because of the sure boost to his reputation and rankings, especially in light of recent events.

He wouldn't say it out loud but his circumstances had seemed... strange.

After struggling to get himself out there- even as high rank as he already was, he was still considered a rookie on the hero scene- he'd managed to score an official assignment working as a hero running general security.

Only to receive a personal request from the Principal of UA to agree to a reassigned position that had very little details listed, not even expected duties beyond the most basic, but offered an even higher paying position and a promise for significant exposure in front of the public. There was essentially no time to deliberate over it and Kamui Woods had been rather astonished to find himself quickly whisked into a phone-interview with UA's Principal, feeling like his life was on the line the whole time, before being tasked with a questionnaire that asked both the strangest and most... disturbingly odd questions based around scenarios that he could hardly imagine ever actually happening. It was apparently a personality and morality test that the Principal himself had created.

And all he'd received for it was a pink and white lanyard, a security badge, a room to wait in, and the knowledge that he'd be working under Ragdoll of the Wild Wild Pussycats and would be debriefed on the exact nature of his position at the stadium.

"Are you ready then, Kamui? It's time to meet the team," she chirps, hiding her smile behind a large paw, "or are you going to get distracted by the tv again? Something interesting I hope!"

He glances back and wishes she hadn't noticed his intense stare at the Festival proceedings happening behind him, even though it was only Present Mic doing shoutouts to UA's sponsors as well as the list of general rules that the Festival always followed. He wished she hadn't noticed but he supposed Ragdoll's quirk gave her a leg up on people in that way.

"My apologies, it won't happen again."

She hums, leaning forward with deep interest, her eyes unblinkingly wide. He's heard the rumors that she had a third eyelid but seeing it in-person was an entirely different experience.

"I guess I'm not too curious, after all that's dangerous for a kitten like me!" She eventually chirps, after a moment. "So let's down to business, Kamui!"

Ragdoll doesn't waste any time after that.

...

...

And it's quiet.

The hallways are concrete. They're cold. And the privacy of the sector hasn't been interrupted just yet, it wouldn't be. There's doors lining the wall. Thick and sound-proof. With the echo of her heels on the ground being the only sound that pierces through the silence. It feels like she's casting shadows, far too big for her own body.

It feels...

Lonely.

And her heels continue to click. The only sound to comfort her. The only sound to remind her how lucky she is.

She still has so much work to get done.

-0-

She has her eyes closed for the longest time. It feels like hours and, perhaps, that's not inaccurate.

It wouldn't matter though.

The tunnel is nothing but dark and too many people squished together. It's sweaty and somehow both hot and cold at the same time. It doesn't matter though. There's sweat collecting on her brow, her hands are fisted on her lap, and she's struggling not to listen to the whispers around her. The conversation that has nothing to do with anything but makes her heart thud in her chest because it's all too distracting.

She needs- She needs to focus.

It won't work if she's not focused.

"...Kiko?"

But Iki isn't a distraction. He's never a distraction. And she feels her lips tremble with exertion as she answers him: "Y-Yes?" It feels like she's whispering. She might be. It's hard enough just to speak.

"Your eyes. They're glowing." He points out, voice soft. His tail is curled around his leg and he's carefully shuffling away from anyone that accidentally steps too close. "Are you... Are you okay?"

The truth is...

The truth is...

She doesn't know.

"I don't know."

"Oh."

He bites his bottom lip, his sharp teeth not quite digging into the skin but growing close.

"Is it about what Recovery Girl...?"

"Recovery Girl can go screw herself." She snaps. Then slams her mouth shut, hoping no one had heard the anger and the contempt that fueled her voice. She goes quiet again. "I... I shouldn't have told you about that."

She regrets it. She regrets it immensely. There were other people hurt worse than her, that had their own things to deal with, and she felt pathetic. That she'd gone to Ikimaru and spilled her secrets and her soft tears and given him someone else to worry about. When their friends had been shoved to the curb and all she'd managed to do was hug them and hold on tight and wish, desperately, that everything could work itself out.

"She's right. You know. I shouldn't even be out here, not with-"

Her hands clench the arms of her wheelchair.

Ikimaru is watching her. He's holding his tongue because he doesn't know what to say- what words he can offer as comfort- and what he can do when they're lacking in privacy and it feels like, already, there are eyes watching them and just... too many people around.

"Thank you for not telling Shinsou and Medama." She whispers to him. "They don't need to deal with me too. When they're both having their own stuff to deal with."

"They would've understood," he tells her, "they wouldn't have thought of you like that-"

"I know. I know that."

She lets out a deep shuddering breath. Her head is spinning, it feels like there's weight crushing her, and she's having a hard time keeping her eyes closed. Her glowing gaze a secret in the throng of students preparing to use their quirks. It doesn't provide anything, nothing but an aesthetical value that provides nothing to her vision or her overall actual sight.

"Did you know that when... When Midnight came around, asking us about our dreams and goals for the future... I lied." Kiko mumbles. "I lied and said I wanted to be, fuck. I don't even know. A psychologist? A therapist? I mean, geez. What else was I going to say? If I had told her the truth she would've just told me that it's impossible."

Ikimaru squeezes her shoulder.

"I guess I just didn't want to hear it again..."

She wants to punch something. She wants to destroy and maim and she just wants to stop feeling tired and she wants people to stop looking at her legs, pointing at her, and thinking they know everything. She hates the assumption- that she didn't know what it was like. To feel. To run. To push herself forward by the palm of her hands and the skin on her back.

"There are disabled heroes." He offers, voice quiet. It makes her lips quirk upwards and reminds her of her family and the kind things they would say. Like they didn't know they were just lying to themselves and to her. "There are all kinds of heroes out there. It's not- It's not impossible, Kiko. Don't give up just because people aren't... because people don't want to let you."

"It's alright, Iki. You don't have to try and fix me and I don't... I don't need comfort. It doesn't hurt anymore." It doesn't feel like anything anymore. Just dull ghost pains from nerves that didn't work anymore and a flash of a memory that was so quick and so sudden that she has a horrible time even trying to recall it. "Some part of me wants to believe it's possible, you know? That maybe if I keep telling myself that there's still a chance that someone will come along and make it possible without- without trying to put me back together again."

"Kiko...!"

The Sports Festival is a chance for aspiring heroes to shine. It's a chance for those in 1-C to shove their way to the front and steal the show from those that are too cocky to realize that there's someone watching their back and waiting for the chance to kick them down and, if that chance is given, they'll take it without hesitation.

And Kiko knows she can't kick. She can't shove and run forward into the spotlight like others can- like Shinsou and the rest of the class could.

But she knows what she can do.

And she refuses to be seen as useless.

"As I am now, I don't have the means to run beside you." Her eyes are hooded and glowing green, her mouth is twisted into something like a sneer and there's rage and anger and the desperate want to prove people wrong howling inside of her. It's a beastial need. "But that doesn't mean I'll be waiting here in the background."

She won't listen to Recovery Girl and people like her. Who only meant well but didn't think anything about how cruel it was to steal away a person's dreams for something that had already taken so much from them. And, maybe, it makes her a bad person- maybe it makes her terrible- but Kiko sometimes wished she was cruel like that too.

"I'm selfish, Iki." She whispered through heavy breaths. "No... Hisoo. "

His eyes are wide as they meet her glowing own. His name is easy on her tongue. Lovely and wonderful and she loves that he doesn't flush at its use, that he doesn't stutter or stammer like he normally would. That he knows that all it is is Kiko reaching out to him and knowing that he'll be there.

"I'm sorry I have to ask this of you," she may not be able to do it all herself, but if he's there then she thinks, maybe, maybe it will be okay, "Please. Support me. So I can give our classmates the first push."

Kiko is well aware of what she can and can't do by herself.

If it's him though, if it's Ikimaru- If it's Hisoo or her friends, then she thinks it's worth pushing herself just a little bit more than she previously thought possible. She thinks it's worth going to the brink, if it means she gives someone else a chance to run then... then maybe it isn't so bad that she can't really honestly join them.

Ikimaru laughs, it's light and airy and she wants to hug him. "What else would I be doing, Kiko?" His eyes crinkle. "Don't worry about that sort of thing. I'll always have your back."

It's hard to find the words.

And her smile may be strained but it's blinding, even in the dark of the tunnel, and, even if her eyes glow green, it's what really shines about her. Ikimaru wishes she understood that, she didn't need to be anybody more than who she already was.

"Aren't you just filled with excitement?!"

The stadium cheers in response, endless cries as the first countdown dings.

"It's only the start of the first event and already we're gaining almost too much momentum to handle- I don't know about you folks, but I can't wait to see these students in action!"

It's a dark tunnel. It's a creeping sensation, like a shiver up their spines. The anticipation is immense, palpable, and it's only growing as another number goes down. As another second counts them closer to the very beginning. To the very first moment that thousands would catch the first glimpse of the hero students that would be their future- the nameless and the unknown and the ever so lauded class that already faced true villains and survived without loss.

It was a historic moment.

And one that had them all watching closely, knowing instantly that it would surely be something to remember.

"Only seconds away now... So I'll ask again-"

It's funny.

How quickly the world goes silent. It's not truly without sound but it's hushed. Swallowed. Like the calm before the storm. And no one could have expected things to turn out the way they did, no one could have expected that, as Present Mic's voice had dropped low, and as his question turned almost biting, that things would go the way they did.

"Are you ready?"

No.

No.

They are not.

("Hisoo?"

"Yeah?"

"...Thank you."

"It's not something you even need to thank me for, you know? I would've been here either way. After all," his grin is toothy, his hands are firm and warm, "you're my friend, aren't you?")

The tunnel collapses.

...This is how the Sports Festival really begins.