Spider-Man can recall a handful of times he's ever been this tired. Once against two-bit crook Flint Marko after he somehow got himself some sandy superpowers; a deadly duel with Octavius high atop a zeppelin the scientist had procured for some fakakta scheme; that one time he had to run to first period from Long Island in a race against the clock. But if there was anything that spider bite did to him, it was give him heaping amounts of endurance to work with. Some weeks he could even go up to three days without needing a wink of sleep if he didn't strain himself much. Granted, that didn't mean he could move and think at one-hundred percent for too long either.

It came down to breaking out of that ice. Generating enough force to practically lever himself out of it without dislocating anything took more effort and concentration than he'd have liked. A desperate move; it, along with the cold gnawing on every inch of his body, slowed him down enough for anyone with eyes to notice, even if he was wily enough to compensate.

Call it a handicap. He's going to need it.

Another barrage of ice rips through the hall, just barely evaded by Spider-Man's clever maneuvering. Sprinting up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the opposite wall, he advances down the corridor in a corkscrew with as much of his characteristic spider-agility as he can muster. Todoroki's only a little off-put, still thrown by his escape and how easily Parker can still move after that. Now, all Spider-Man has to do is try and use it.

Once Spider-Man's close he moves for a flurry of attacks; a kick, a punch, what could be a well-placed jab only to be blocked by another structure of ice, hastily made from the floor and walls while Todoroki shuffles back from the steadily approaching Spider-Man, right hand swinging everywhere it needs to. For every inch closer, Todoroki's near-perfect defense and quick reflexes creates another foot between them, a situation only made more inconvenient by Spider-Man's telegraphed attacks.

Todoroki conjures an ice wall to block another one of Spider-Man blows. It shatters yet again, only this time Parker had really put his hips into it. The punch lands like cannon fire and causes Todoroki to stagger back even further, sent briefly off-balance.

Stalling—he can't get to the weapon if I'm still on him. Be relentless, Pete. S'all you're good for.

Spider-Sense tingles a warning, sending him shooting back to safety when Todoroki lowers into a crouch, placing his palm on the floor. Another, larger burst of ice envelopes the world in front of him, needle-sharp ice crystals threatening to rend him apart. A little too slow—there's a cut on his right shoulder, the ice having ripped through his costume and through his skin. The newly made hole in his costume makes the steadily decreasing temperature of the building even more unbearable than it was before; he only wishes it helped numb the pain, but it only seemed to make things worse.

And he's lost sight of Todoroki behind the glacial structure, now blocking the way towards the stairwell.

Fiddlesticks.

There's a lull; maybe he has a second to breathe, but he can't count on Todoroki being too slow to reach the bomb in time. Peter, for his part, doesn't much care about losing, but the thrill of low-stakes competition's gotten to Spider-Man like the first taste of liquor. He is positively fight-drunk, and he simply cannot let Todoroki net a win. At least, not while being such a contemptible showoff about it.

In any case, Spider-Man knew this was a means to slow him down even further. If he wasted his time bashing his head against a wall, then there was no way he'd intercept Todoroki in time.

Well, there were a few ways. He just wasn't especially interested in doing most of them.


Shoto Todoroki did not actually expect to be this tired when he woke up this morning.

When he was set to fight the foreign kid and the strange little purple boy, expectations were low. No one aside from Bakugo had displayed the minimum skill needed to intimidate him, a fact that remains true, but the power some of his classmates displayed made him raise an eyebrow. Between the glass cannon that was Midoriya, Bakugo's explosive might and Parker's brutish strength, he was starting to think that U.A.'s reputation for recruiting only the best actually means something.

He's glad that Parker fights like an idiot. Throws his strength around with the flagrant unruliness of a brawler, masked only by his impressive speed and dexterity. Easy to read as a children's book if you're paying attention, which Todoroki most certainly is.

This last flight makes the fourth floor. If it took Parker long enough to get down that we met on the third, then he must've come from the fifth, Todoroki clinically thinks, sprinting up the stairway as fast as he could move. Parker should be drilling through that ice right now, providing a wide enough window for me to get to the final stairwell and secure victory…!

It's not the most airtight plan, but it should be enough. Underestimating Parker's strength was a mistake he wouldn't make again—which, in his defense, Parker is wholly physically unimpressive at a glance—but he couldn't really believe that the other boy was clever enough, or had enough energy, to come up with a solution that didn't require tearing through whatever was in his way.

Of course, everyone has a plan until the short kid bursts through the floor in front of you.

(Todoroki is not one for expletives, but the phrase fiddlesticks feels appropriate.)


Flying feet-first through the ceiling—which is now the floor—wasn't exactly ideal. On the odd chance Todoroki wasn't momentarily stunned by the show of strength and quick-thinking, he was sort of at the guy's mercy. Plus, there was no guarantee he wouldn't simply keep going, not to mention the serendipity involved in actually landing where Todoroki was; slingshotting himself with his webs was always a bit of a gamble that way.

Luckily, his momentum stalls enough that he doesn't simply crash through the ceiling again, and instead clings to it, peering down at the now stupefied Todoroki beneath him.

With a smirk hidden by his helmet, Peter thinks, Gotcha now.

Furiously, Spider-Man lunges down towards his opponent, arms outstretched and palms held wide. To Todoroki, it might seem as though he's stupidly charging into effective range once more, leaving himself open to another chilling blast of constricting ice, which he would surely not be able to escape again in the state he's in. But in the instant Todoroki's right hand rears back, ready to be swung forward with another blast of ice, Peter's actually paying attention, which makes all the difference.

Spider-Man flicks his wrists, firing two webs at the ceiling, yanking himself upward at an angle and right above Todoroki, disappearing in a flash just as the ice takes form where he'd once been.

Todoroki's fast, but Spider-Man's just a hair faster. The second the taller boy's pivoting around to face his foe, Parker is already on him again. A glob of webbing first, fired almost perfunctorily at his right hand, then his arm, sticking the limb to the solid swath of ice behind him. Todoroki grunts, reflexively trying to pull his hand away to no avail. Another web-ball is fired at his right foot and thigh before he can even think to use it, keeping him almost completely immobile on his right side.

Then, a red-clad fist shoots over Todoroki's left shoulder, crashing into the ice behind him and boring a deep hole on impact. Spider-Man, inches away, lenses reflecting Todoroki's shocked expression.

Coming up with this strategy was a matter of observation; Todoroki's costume made it clear enough that he favored his right side, but the way he used his power cemented it. Either that, or he took being right-handed to heart a little more than most people. But given the fact that Spider-Sense hasn't gone off in the three seconds he finally had the guy trapped, he guesses that his hunch was right and this was one of the few gambles he got lucky on.

Regardless, Peter had figured that in order to escape the webs, he would have to freeze them first. The moment he tries that, Peter will punch him in the face, and likely enjoy it quite a bit.

Speaking of his face, Peter thinks, scanning Todoroki's increasingly aggravated countenance, he's looking like he's putting up with the cold as much as I am.

There was ice creeping up Todoroki's right cheek, little flecks of frost gathering on his neck and eyebrow and falling off with every shuddering breath. His ice-powers were formidable—certainly more than an issue for Spider-Man—but it seemed it came with its downsides.

He isn't immune to his own cold, or is, but to a very limited degree. Peter eyes him up and down again, watching him grow angrier by the millisecond. That must be why he tried to end this so quickly. Prolonged use and exposure causes the typical problems extremely low temperatures do in people. I'm sure his augmented thermoregulation can handle it better, but he's on the clock. Boy, jamming my hand into this ice was a total power move but it's getting really cold.

A beat. Todoroki bares his teeth, growls out something fierce, and then—

Here's a little known fact: Spider-Sense is complicated. More precisely, Peter hasn't actually figured it out yet. Funnily enough, Spider-Man's greatest tool is an utter mystery to him.

Peter threw a few theories at the wall while MJ listened to him ramble a few times, but most never really made sense and others he didn't have the materials to test on hand. Other times, he believes it might be honest to goodness magic, or something very much like it. There wasn't much in the way of a reasonable explanation for why or how, but it seemed to function with such accuracy and clarity that it couldn't really be anything else.

See, it speaks to him. Not that he can have conversations with it, but it communicates in words—or impressions that become words with varying degrees of detail, coupled with that distinct tingling sensation. It tells him there's a weapon in someone's possession in a crowd, or that there's something fast coming at him and the only way to dodge is to duck. Usually, he trusts it. Sometimes, he'll question whether or not it's malfunctioning, as though a nebulously defined sense in the back of his head was some kind of machine that had the capacity to malfunction in the first place.

Right now, it tells him that there's fire. And with his wonted combativeness, Peter replies to it by asking, Fire? I'm surrounded by ice, how could there possibly be a fi—


Minoru Mineta was really hoping he'd have to fight one of the girls. At least then he'd lose to someone that was nice to look at.

The standoffishness that Todoroki had displayed thus far would make Minoru's failure even more demoralizing. Imagining that scornful, stone-faced, too-cool stare as he's frozen solid and any hope of victory was quashed underfoot made him shiver almost as much as the cold. It would be quite the terrible first impression to make in his debut.

Fingers crossed Parker's tougher than he looks. While the guy was a bit on the stranger side—something Minoru can't parse as distinctly American or distinctly Parker—he isn't entirely unpleasant. He seemed confident, at the very least, and seemed to have enough power to back it up if all that booming from downstairs was any indication.

Maybe if he'd gotten a chance to go against that Midoriya kid instead, he could've scored an easy win. Just stick him up with his patented balls so he wouldn't be able to do one of those horrific punches, and—wham! One clean hit and the green goofball's out for the count! All the girls in class would swoon at his impressive display of skill and strength, his adroitness in battle, and the stickiness of his balls!

While the fantasy brightens him up for a spell, he quickly deflates, leaning against the weapon as the time ticks by and the sounds of ice-waves and power-punching stops while the room gets a bit warmer.

Once he realizes that, oh no, they stopped, he devolves into panic yet again.

Oh man! Did Parker win!? Is Todoroki on his way up?! With chattering teeth, Minoru shuffles out through the doorway and anxiously peeks around the corner and down the hall.

And, curiously, the ice coating the walls looked like it was beginning to melt.


Fire bursts from Todoroki's right half, burning through the false ice of his costume and embers eddy around him like the sky over a scorched forest. There's a hollowness in his mismatched eyes; a white-hot wild rage that he had only ever felt in his most private moments. He didn't even realize he had stretched his left arm out, or thought about creating a blast of screaming flames that sent Parker soaring down the hall. He just did.

It wasn't on purpose. It never would be. Todoroki doesn't understand how it happened, why it happened, or why he couldn't stop it. To do the unthinkable and use his father's fire unwillingly—it makes him want to scream. Want to freeze off his left hand so he wouldn't even have a method of doing it if he tried.

But he already did. The blackened marks on the ceiling and floor and the steadily liquifying ice around him was evidence enough. Not to mention the utter shame that racked every inch of him like a fever.

Things weren't supposed to be this way. Training wasn't supposed to give him trouble—not on his second day, not ever again. Especially not against any of these insufferable ne'er-do-wells whose juvenile behavior drove him to grind his teeth. U.A. was a means to an end; one where he could finally get it all over with and move on without ever having to think about his father or the blasted sparks in his genes ever again. Now something like this, something so utterly inconsequential, had stoked the flames such that he was pushed to a breaking point he didn't know he had anymore.

No, it wasn't just this. That couldn't be the case.

Maybe if he hadn't gotten into that argument with Fuyumi last night, or hadn't gotten the news that his father would be coming back from that insipid convention in Fukuoka, he would have been just fine. Maybe he would have been in control. Emotions were running high and father's coming back and Parker's stupid mask just wouldn't stop looking through him and his father's coming back and—

It wasn't his fault.

It's his, Todoroki thinks, catching his breath and feeling the rhythm of his heart slow down. As quickly as the flames came, they disappear.


So… That's how he thermoregulates. Fire and ice. Hot and cold. That… I guess that makes sense. Yeah.

Spider-Man lies face-down on the ground in a simmering heap.

That—God that hurts so much. Kinda wanna just pretend I passed out. Could he do that the whole time? Peter picks himself up off the ground, heaving out a few choked noises while the blinding light of Todoroki's fire subsides. The sections of armor that hadn't fallen off were half-melted by the blast, so Peter takes a moment to rip them all off as well as whatever smoldering fabric remained on his chest and forearm. Beneath the costume, his skin runs raw and red with relatively superficial burns. Must've been saving it for if he needed an easy surprise attack.

With a grunt, he stands, looking down the smoky, damp hallway at Todoroki, who looked oddly dour; stood there with his eyes to the ground, hands balled into tremulous fists like he's having an argument with himself. Peter tries to take a cautious step—operative word being try—but finds the pain in his chest worse when he attempts to move at all. But he keeps his eye on Todoroki, weary despite the fact that the other boy hasn't moved.

Now that Peter's getting a good look at him, there's something he didn't notice. That scar over his left eye, revealed by the burning away of his costume—not a fresh one, to be sure, so he didn't have to worry about it now, but it definitely told some kind of story. It, combined with Todoroki's present somber look, made for a somewhat sympathetic sight.

Carefully concentrating on each syllable while straining through the pain, Peter asks, "Are you alright?"

Then, the water pooled at his feet flash-freezes the instant Spider-Sense has anything to say about it. Ice emanated from Todoroki's foot, spreading throughout the hall and turning the temperature down a few degrees.

"You surprised me, Parker," Todoroki starts, walking towards him with that dreary, mathematical look in his eyes back in full force. "Based on that video of you from a few months ago, I really didn't think you would push me this far. I've clearly been slacking, but I'm setting the record straight. Right now." He holds his right hand forward like a weapon, Parker clear in his sights, and manifests biting cold frost that builds and swirls at his fingertips. "There won't be any more surprises. I'm going to show you why I'm better."

And Peter, for his part, keeps his composure better than when they were in this situation before.

But only for a moment. Then, he's ripping himself out of the ice and sprinting towards Todoroki at top-speed. A quick exchange—ice against fist as Spider-Man's mighty blow strikes into a cold defensive pillar, thrusting into it like a nail through plywood. Todoroki's quick to counter, pivoting around to Spider-Man's flank and attempting another great burst from his right hand. Quick on the uptake, Spider-Man wrenches his arm from the ice and belts Todoroki's wrist away, redirecting the blast down the hall and filling it with frost.

In an instant, faster than fast, both students move. Spider-Man follows with a forward jab, and Todoroki with a jagged pillar of ice coming from the wall behind him. Both attacks connect at once—Todoroki's nose drawing blood as the fist lands and pushes him into the wall, and Spider-Man hacking out a painted grunt when the structure sends him crashing opposite of Todoroki.

They lock eyes for a split-second while recovering from their respective wounds, Todoroki wiping his upper lip and Spider-Man adjusting his lopsided helmet. That is when the real fight starts

For as much as both fighters have exhausted themselves, they fight faster and more ferociously than ever. Todoroki, precise, mathematical, playing to his strengths as he spawns wintry havoc in his hand; the primordial power of ice is matched by Spider-Man's monstrous strength; blow-for-blow, they each gain and lose an inch towards victory with every passing moment.

Both wells of stamina, both hardier than they look, and both more than intent on proving a point. Before long, the walls of the fourth floor are torn away one by one, destroyed by fresh ice formations and superpowered punches that shake the structure to its very foundations; bursts of ice shards and bent steel and cracked concrete spit out of the windows and fresh wounds in the building facade. Weblines go taut, freeze, and shatter within moments as Spider-Man bounds around rooms like the chaotic dynamo he is, moving with a grace that belies teenage impetuousness. Todoroki, phenom that he is, responds in kind, matching his opponent in every way.

Weary, battered, both callow combatants pant through their fatigue and try to pretend they're still able to stand up straight. There's a fresh bruise on Todoroki's cheek, the result of a wild upward kick that nearly tossed him through the ceiling. The paint on Spider-Man's helmet is scratched, the material dented and warped by the force of an ice barrage he took to the face. Todoroki can't quite help but be a bit surprised Parker was able to stand up after the fact and retort so vigorously.

I'm almost at my limit, Shoto thinks, shakily conjuring a thin mist in his right palm. This will have to be the last move.

Left web-shooter's busted and I'm out on my right. And I think I've lost all feeling in my legs, Peter thinks, rolling his shoulders and leaning forward, ready to rush. If I can't put'im down now, that'll be it for me.

Both warriors prepare to move, locked in a staredown. Peter must admit, Todoroki knows his way around a fight; no matter how unpredictably Peter thinks he's moving, the other boy always has an answer for it.

Whether or not now would be the same, he'd only know if he tried. Todoroki seems to agree, and a tacit deal is made between them: this last clash will decide things.

They both take the first step.

And the voice of All Might breaks the tension, screaming boisterously into their ears with a shocking declaration: "The hero team wins!"

The two teenaged titans pause, eyes going wide, shoulders slumping as their epic battle comes to an anticlimactic end.


As it turned out, Koda had won the day. Koji had surreptitiously slinked past them both while the battle raged on and called down a passing flock of pigeons to distract Mineta while he touched the bomb. The pointy-headed meek boy regretted it wholeheartedly; someone would have to get all those purple balls off of his avian allies. Mineta almost refused.

The four teens, two of whom were battered beyond belief, one of whom was dappled in pigeon pecks, and the last of which was utterly pristine yet carried himself most diffidently, walk back into the observation room as a quiet group.

They are greeted with the strangest sight; All Might, as well as the entire class, were dressed in ponchos. Mittens with individualized designs decorate their palms and knuckles, and some of them were even wearing warm-looking knitted caps. Some had huddled together at a corner—namely Kirishima, Kaminari, Sato, Ashido, and Hagakure—and passed around marshmallows, generously provided by Sato, before standing up to greet their returning classmates.

"A rare sight: this particular session had not one, but two MVPs! Young Koda, for striking while the iron was hot and attaining victory even when the situation looked dire, and young Yaoyorozu, for providing for us these stylish and comfy threads to protect us from Todoroki's quirk!" All Might says, raising his hands and presenting his custom-made mittens to the four stumped students.

Yaoyorozu, also wearing a custom-made but more regal looking poncho, replies with a proud huff. The rest of the class joins All Might in a chorus of droning thank-yous.

Peter asks, "Can—Can I go to… The nurses' office?" He shudders as the air meets his chest, the burn still fresh.

"Why of course!"

"Can I get a marshmallow?" Mineta says, watching as Kirishima chews one down.

Bakugo, poncholess and rigid from exposure to the cold, merely scoffs at the clown show.


A little long-lipped old lady kisses their cheeks. Todoroki and Peter are instantly feeling significantly better, but neither are particularly copacetic either.

"That is the last time either of you boys ever push yourselves so far," Recovery Girl chastises, voice a whisper-yell so as to not disturb the sleeping Midoriya behind the curtain. "Ever. If I have to nurse you both back to health from a training session again, it'll be a no from me, you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," they say in unison, heads bowed in respect.

"And you're lucky you have so much stamina between you both! With how wounded you were, I was afraid one of you would drop dead the second I used my quirk on you. It uses your body's energy, you know, so you're both very lucky!"

"Yes ma'am."

"And another thing: you better tell that teacher o' yours to calm it down with the training sessions! Day two—I'd never. I thought that first boy was some kind of fluke, but it's clear he's running you kids through the ringer."

"Yes ma'am."

"Symbol of Peace they call him! Can barely keep a gaggle of kids from breaking all their cute little bones. Here"—she fishes two plastic-wrapped candies out of her coat, one mango flavored, the other peach—"these will help you feel even better. Now you two run along back to class."

"Thank you ma'am."


The walk back is quiet. They'd be shoulder-to-shoulder if Peter wasn't six inches too short for that.

Peter likes to think they have a sort of silent conversation on the way; he makes it more obvious he'd like to say something when he removes his helmet, holds it under his arm and shamelessly steals glances over at the stern Todoroki as if trying to bait him into speaking first. No bite. The taller boy keeps his eyes forward at all times, gaze set on a distant, ineffable horizon.

I wonder if he'll want to talk about it, Peter thinks, heaving a sigh when they turn another corner. No one answers him, but sometimes he feels like the universe speaks answers through the atmosphere. Yeah. Probably not.

Todoroki, meanwhile, sucks on the peach-flavored candy and thinks on what he could have done different.


When the team battles continue, Denki Kaminari's at a loss for words.

"You seriously don't think Deathtoss is peak?!" he yells without thinking, eliciting a shush from Jiro.

"God—shut up for like, two seconds." Plugging one of her earlobes into the wall, she closes her eyes. "I think Yaoyorozu's reinforcing the room the bomb's in with metal plates, or something."

"Just tell me why though."

"Fine. They're derivative. Their sound's stolen from like, a gazillion better bands." She focuses. Three floors above them, Aoyama asks Yaoyorozu what she thinks of his eyelashes. "They're barely even a distinct unit; the whole vibe changes song to song."

"Being experimental."

"Boring. The word you're looking for is boring." She plucks the jack from the wall, jogging further down the hall. "Plus, Yesterday Pipe Dream is just the crappier version of Phantom Gore. Come on, we gotta get up there before she locks it down."

"Not takin' that from a Deep Dope fan," Kaminari grumbles, running along after her.


Later, Tokoyami and Ojiro have a most interesting conversation.

"Our enemies are shrouded in darkness," the bird-boy says, his Dark Shadow peeking from his cloak. "Though I burn at its grace… We must bring them into the light, and strike fiercely when they have been revealed to us!"

Ojiro scratches his cheek with his index finger, smiling, though he isn't quite sure why. "Uh… Yeah. Into the light. Let's uh… Do this. I guess?"

Turns out Asui's faster than she seems. It's tail versus tongue, and Ojiro squirms when she wraps it around him and slams him into the ground. Tokoyami, on the other hand, makes for more than a match against Hagakure.


Later, Ashido slides down the halls of the building on a trail of viscous acid. Her teammate Sato almost trips on said acid, and eventually does when he's eaten a handful of marshmallows to activate his quirk before a heated battle with Kirishima and Shoji. A battle that became not-so heated when he landed flat on his face.

Kirishima, ever the gentleman, helped him pick himself up. This was before Sato, in his cognitively dampened state, punted him into a wall hard enough that the hardening hero hopeful was embedded in it, and therefore declared immobilized as per the rules of the training.


"Excellent work today everyone!" All Might announces. Stood akimbo, still in his mittens and poncho, before the worn out crowd of first-years, he smiles like the sun and gives each one an appraising nod as he speaks. "You all—mostly—showed exemplary teamwork and control over your quirks—for a first exercise!"

All Might notices Parker scrunch his nose at that.

"Plus, you all suffered minimal injuries! Barring Midoriya's. And young Ojiro's. And Todoroki's. And Parker's. And speaking of—Kirishima, are you feeling alright?"

Kirishima replies by the o-kay sign with his hand. Truthfully, he's still a little woozy from how fast Sato had sent him flying.

"Great to hear! Now, I'm off to go give Midoriya his evaluation—assuming he is awake by now! You all change and head back to class to rest your heroic little heads!"

Faster than a speeding bullet, he jets off to the heart of the campus, looking over his shoulder briefly to scan the faces of his students as they get further away.

So much was learned today, and yet I leave with even more questions than before. A bag of egotism in young Bakugo, an ever-expanding mystery with Parker and the nature of his abilities, and… Something else with young Todoroki. I'll have to speak with Endeavor about this—his seeming reluctance to use his fire indicates something, but I've no clue what. All Might grimaces. Kids are so complicated these days. Why can't they just devote themselves to the never ending battle against evil like I did?


"Dude," Kaminari begins the moment they hit the back of the changing room, walking in step with Peter before he can find some way to hide himself from the rest of them. "That was awesome. I figured that first fight had everyone fired up, but you two were really going at it. I mean, when Todoroki was all—and you went all wild on him—you were really something else!"

"Ah, thanks." Peter unzips the now burnt up costume, careful not to tear the fabric more than it's already been torn. "It… Really hurt."

Perhaps it was the weariness or coming off the high of a fast-paced fight, but Peter doesn't find Kaminari's social assault as grating as before. Part of him still preferred simply not being perceived to begin with like he's used to, but this was nice, too.

"I can tell." He winces at the memory of Parker getting blasted down the hallway, though is energized by the following memory of Parker standing up in spite of it. Kaminari grin. "But you totally pushed through all that! Really put on a show there ya' weird little foreigner."

Then, a voice calls from behind them both, "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

Both teens turn around, greeted with nothing but empty air and purple balls at the bottom of their periphery. Then they angle their heads down, coming into eye contact with the now shirtless Minoru Mineta who was still covered in little red marks caused by his accostment at the talons of pigeons.

"You didn't do anything!" Kaminari says, furrowing his brow as Mineta's expression shifts from smug to shocked.

"I held down the defense while this guy"—he gestures towards Peter, who blinks bemusedly—"was getting his butt kicked!"

"More like kicking butt! You didn't even get to see it!"

"Well whatever, we still lost anyways." Dejected, Mineta's arms go slack and closes his eyes, dreaming of a world where victory was within their grasp. "Now all the girls are gonna think I'm a total weakling."

"You got stormed by pigeons," Kaminari says. "They were gonna think that even if you won."

With grave seriousness, Mineta bites back. "Oi, you didn't see the look in their eyes! Absolutely ruthless!"

"They're pigeons."

Surrounded by sweaty chuckleheads arguing about the stupidest thing ever. With a quiet, half-hearted grin, Peter goes back to changing, removing his web-shooters and drawing the uniform from his bag. Déjà-futzing-vu.


The rest of the school day passes as normally as a school day can pass in the hallowed halls of U.A. Some of Peter's classmates simply wade their way through time as the teachers drone on and the sun makes its rounds across the sky, while others remain indefatigably attentive. In their homeroom, they gather before the day comes to an end. For better or worse, Mineta and Kaminari have formed a pair, their argument having somehow evolved into a conversation on who the hottest hero-idols are around thirty minutes after it started. Peter doesn't listen in so much as he does orbit them by merit of Kaminari being the only person he'd had an extended dialogue with, but some of it reached him throughout the day.

Still, he throws a look Todoroki's way every so often. Something had happened in that fight and Peter knows it well enough, but he can't place what it was for the life of him. The guy was as enigmatic as they come, never so much as bothering to turn and face him in return.

Why do you care? Peter asks himself, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the ceiling. It's not like you plan to stick around and play therapist. Total schmendrik doesn't even admit I gave him a hard time after he tried to act all tough. He scowls at the light fixture overhead. It bothered him that this bothered him so much, and he can certainly tell that Todoroki's moving on just fine.

While he's monologuing, other students chat amongst themselves about the battle trials. Peter caught his name mentioned once or twice along with Todoroki's, usually in hushed tones from across the room that they seemed to think he couldn't hear. A likely byproduct of how unapproachable both of them seemed at a glance.

The classroom door slides open languidly, catching the attention of the class and halting most of the gossip. Behind it, Midoriya, still looking a little worse for wear but far better than he did just a few hours ago.

"Midoriya's back you guys!" calls Kirishima, and that sounds the alarm to have the bulk of the class flocking towards him in a way that makes Peter feel oh-so left out.

In an effort to not feel that way, and to prove that he can be more sociable than the likes of Todoroki, he joins them. They assail him with a volley of compliments; his reflexes, his determination, his strategic talent. The green-haired lad doesn't seem to know how to take it, going red in the cheeks and a little harried at the sight of so many people.

Peter, a little more demure than he'd like to be, cuts in as well. "You did… Really good out there."

Things go eerily quiet the very second he speaks in a way that makes him want to shrivel up into a single one-dimensional point so that no one can see him. A few of them, namely Ashido and Kirishima, turn to him with mild surprise. Then, it shifts to joy.

"Damn, Midoriya," Kirishima continues, turning back to face the shyest student among them, "you've even got Parker talking! You really blew all our minds!"

The bulk of them laugh, and Peter does too. Or rather, he forces himself to. Had he really been that distant during the rest of the battle trials? He supposed he didn't really talk to anyone, but he barely knows the language!

As Peter silently grouses, Midoriya's blush grows deeper. "Thank—Thank you…"

"The name's Eijiro Kirishima!" says Eijiro Kirishima with such genuine energy and enthusiasm. Somehow, this gets the ball rolling, and each student present takes a moment to formally introduce themselves.

"Call me Tsu. Ribbit."

"I go by the name… Aoyama Yu—"

"I'm Mina Ashido! Sick moves out there!"

"Just call me Sato!"

Peter smiles, unbidden, suddenly overcome with a warm feeling he can't quite place. Whatever jealousy he might have felt was supplanted by that feeling; it's charming, more so than anything he ever saw back home. Classmates gathered around to show their concern and admiration for a student who, in spite of his insecurity and significant underdog status in that fight, could win the day and the hearts of his peers.

It's something he might have wished for about a year ago, but that time's gone now. The attention's better left to someone who earned it.

"Peter Parker," he says, flashing Midoriya a desultory peace sign for fear that not doing anything with his hands might look weird. They briefly make eye contact, just for the moment, the shock and joy so vivid in those green eyes of his.

And then his vision is suffused with deep, dark purple as Mineta hops high enough to completely block Peter's direct line of sight.

"And I'm Mineta!"


"So I'm trying to ask Uraraka out for a bite to eat, and she just immediately bolts for Midoriya the second she sees him!"

Kaminari, Parker, and Mineta stand side-by-side in order of tallest to shortest outside the tall doors of the school as the sun sets on another day well-spent. Without his consent, Peter's mind kept drifting to the vicious cycle that was his entire life, so he was thankful for the much-needed distraction.

"I guess you just weren't captivating enough for her," Mineta comments, regarding the blond with a smug grin. "That, and you're going too fast. It's only the second day, hot shot; you've gotta let things simmer."

"Buzz off, man. What do you know?"

"Oh, I know things, Kaminari."

"Uh-huh, sure. Parker, what do you think?"

"She is… A… girl? So—"

Kaminari snaps his fingers like he's had an epiphany. "Exactly. Girls can be so fickle, right? I'm sure next week it'll be my chance, eh?"

Aaaand we're approaching oblique misogyny somehow. Again, déjà-vu. Peter rolls his eyes. I really gotta break the language barrier.

As they continue walking towards the outermost exit, they hear a voice call from near the entrance. Specifically, the booming voice of Present Mic, accompanied by the sight of him standing in the doorframe and raising beckoning someone over with one hand.

"Peter Parker! Before ya' go, please report to me for a quick info-dump! And no you cannot just leave and pretend you didn't know! I do, in fact, see you looking at me!"

After exchanging a quick, rueful look with his two—well, could he call them friends after only a day and some change? Whatever the case, he jogs off back to the building and meets the teacher at the door, passing through the entrance and following close behind.

"You're not in trouble," Mic clarifies. "Just a little clerical stuff—your situation's still under close scrutiny after all this time. How've your first two days been, kiddo?"

Peter's lips form a thin line. "Could be better, could be worse. I thought we had everything cleared."

"Well, mostly everything. See, that little stunt you pulled a few months back got a lot of heads turning kiddo, as I'm sure you were told." Present Mic turns a corner, coming around to a stairwell Peter, who keeps on at his heels, did not know was there. "Some, like us, were just looking for what was best for your situation. A few others… Didn't really agree!"

"... In what regard?"

"There was a bit of concern after the news really started breaking and got to the right people. A couple thoughts here n' there that you might end up encouraging foreign heroes to intervene in countries with no jurisdiction, or get more unlicensed youth to participate," Mic explains, coming to the top of the stairs and turning down another hallway. "Nasty stuff that didn't turn out to be true at all—but you did go viral enough for there to be a little outcry. So they wanted to, for lack of a nicer term, teach you a lesson!"

"How come I haven't heard any of this until now?"

"I don't assume you've been surfing the local side of the web in your free time, right? Hasn't really made it to as far as any English-speaking countries, but as for why we kept it from you… Just didn't wanna stress you out about it!"

"Right." Peter rolls his eyes at that, making sure that Mic doesn't notice when he does. "So I'm being punished for saving people now?"

"Technically, you should've been a few months ago! For as much as we commend your efforts, such behavior isn't officially condoned by U.A. or the government! We staggered it as much as we could, but you know how these things are."

They come to a room at the end of the hall, Mic opening the door and moving over to a desk, topped with tall stacks of papers that Peter can only imagine are not especially pleasant to carry around, much less read.

"I'm fifteen, Mr. Yamada. I cannot stress to you enough how much I don't know how these things are."

"Ya got me there! One moment." The pro hero walks behind the desk, sifting through some papers for a beat or two. He clicks his tongue. "Here it is! Meant to give this to you before your first Heroics class, but some things came up around lunch time."

Mic hands Peter the paper. In pitch-black ink and symbols he's gotten a better hang of understanding in the last few days, it reads as a schedule. For his technical crime, he's to spend his Tuesday evenings and Sunday mornings performing mandatory community service, starting today, at a location chosen at the discretion of the school's principal. Such activities would include, but are not limited to: assisting with regular functions at various hero and law enforcement agencies, reporting to the World Heroes Association Musutafu Headquarters for menial labor, and assisting with custodial services at said locations.

"They're making me a part-time unpaid janitor?"

"Only for your first and second term!" Mic adds, raising his hands and shrugging his shoulders. "Now, if it were me, you wouldn't be doin' any of that, but the law's the law. Principal Nezu and I did call the location you were meant to be at today to give you a free time off to get ready, but startin' this Sunday, the responsibility falls to you. We'll update ya' on where you need to be and when you need to be there."

Sighing, Peter folds the paper and jams in his pocket. Well, this might be pretty awesome. Maybe it'll get me an inch closer to someone that can get me out of here.

"I know, I know, it's totally not cool." In an effort to create some levity, Mic speaks with some strange high-pitched impression of a teenager. "But! Consider this an enrichment opportunity. You'll get to meet some heroes, really understand the nitty gritty of things—plus, you get to learn plenty of life skills that—"

"Did someone tell you to say all this?"

"Yyyy-ep!"


Home, if he could call it that, feels like he never left. Except the television's on, and Sandwich is posted up in front of the stand with his head between his paws, staring up at the shifting colors on the screen without a care in the world. Upon entering, Peter sits down next to him, plucks the remote from the space it sat by the little hound's side, and flips to another channel.

"Good day at school today," he says, making the dog's ears pick up just slightly. "Broke one of my web-shooters fighting a total jerk, made some friends—I think. Turns out I've got community service, if you can believe it."

Sandwich replies with a dissatisfied Bwerf.

"Oh don't you start—just 'cuz you've been bored all day doesn't mean you have it especially hard. You're a dog. You don't even have to pay taxes."

A discontented Bworf.

"Well, yeah, neither do I. But it's something I'm looking forward to. All that's down the road for you is an empty backyard and eating a bunch of food you don't even know tastes like dirt for the rest of your life… Y'know, maybe dogs don't have it that great."

An agreeable Yap!


At night, Peter Parker dreams of red hair.

Red. Crimson? Scarlet. Todoroki's left side. Vermillion! There's a lot of ways to describe Mary Jane Watson's hair, but the most important thing is that it's hers.

She used to tie it up into a neat little bun when they studied together; he'd count all the times she'd suck her teeth and make a tchip sound when she made a mistake and had to undo it. It'd take her a second, see, because she's tired from spending the day drafting up cover letters for high school internships.

"Modeling agencies, today," MJ would say. "Next week, maybe an acting gig."

Her biggest role thus far was as the heroine of a web series that ran out of money and couldn't continue; a little derivative and puerile—beneath her, but she had a fun time. They shot their scenes with a camcorder on location in Cooper Square one day, and the director got pooped on by a pigeon. Pigeons?

She'll make it big one day, he believes in her. Believes in the warm feeling of her sitting cross-legged next to him on the couch and—she took Ben's spot. Not in his heart, no, just—the couch. The old musty couch he'd spilled cranberry juice and latke crumbs on countless times. Fabric feels—wrong!

The dream kaleidoscopes—he's still with MJ, still with her red hair and her green eyes like Midoriya's and the go get'em tigers, but things are different, and there's something.

Something. Something. It's eating him up inside. And, that Yaoyorozu girl's funny looking. Pretty. Tall. She can make mittens out of herself. Something with turning lipids into other forms of matter. Real alchemy happening in her body. Body. Warm. Thermoregulation. Fire-scorched skin on his chest. MJ would've hated to watch him fight. Why'd he bring her with him that day. He knows she hates it. He wanted to reassure her—because he thought he could win if she was watching. Wanted her to stop worrying so much and it cost him it cost him so much and it hurt her he knows it did he knows he knows why did he have to bring her with him why did she have to watch him break

Did

she

speak

at your

funeral?


The shrill sound of his phone's alarm gives Peter an out.

There's a sharp pain in his neck and he quickly realizes he fell asleep with the helmet of his new and freshly damaged costume on as well as his damaged web-shooter clasped around his left wrist. He'd spent a few minutes trying to bump out the dents in the helmet left by Todoroki, but couldn't quite get it even; now it's a lumpy mess with a cracked lens, and his web-shooter certainly needed better care than he could give it in this apartment. At some point he must have gotten so bored he lost focus enough to lose consciousness.

He sits up, curses as the sun bleeds through the crack of the lens and strikes him in the eye, and hears Sandwich let out an irreverent Werf.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Peter drawls, pulling the helmet off and letting his hair free. "No salty food before bed. The things pre-packaged noodles do to a guy."


Amajiki left him texts asking whether or not the community service went well, and if he was enjoying himself. There's a response he could give, for sure, but he doesn't much feel like it. Yesterday and the night before weigh down on his thoughts and movements; blood runs through his circulatory system like treacle, shoulders remain slumped as he languidly walks across rooftops to the school building, only straightening up when he needs to put a bit more into a jump. There's none of that usual flamboyance or love of movement, no monologue to break the monotony of a commute. He just moves, or forces himself to.

Upon reaching the last stretch, he notices something peculiar: significantly more noise came from around the school than the last few days, a cacophony of frenzied voices all screaming over each other. News vans and people with microphones and tall shoulder-strapped cameras set upon the passing students like flocks of vultures.

Geez, I figured All Might was a big deal but this' a little much. Peter lands on the concrete somewhere hidden, far enough away from the walled-off campus that he would still need to go through the bustling crowd to get there. Glad I was wearing my mask in the videos so no one'll really recognize me if they remember, but I wouldn't want to get caught up in this kerfuffle either way… I should really stop narrating my way through everything that happens to me. It's gotta be a symptom of something. With a quick stretch and his goal clear, Peter gets a running start. Effortlessly he leaps over the crowd blocking the entrance, shocking some of the rapacious reporters and shifting their focus to him.

It shocks him that some of them still find it in themselves to ask questions while he's already in the air.

"What's it like to learn under All Might?!"

"How's All Might's workload?!"

"Can you give All Might my number?!"

He lands in a crouch, quickly picking himself up and finding himself relieved in the fact that they didn't seem to dare breaching the threshold into the school premises. His little show even steered a few of them away from an odd few other students, who slunk out of sight and through the entrance while the encroaching mobs were briefly distracted.

Peter bids them farewell with a sly wave, only turning back when he hears the great steel doors slam shut.

Up the stairs, down the hollow halls with window-walls, he keeps on to homeroom with his head in the clouds. Today isn't a pleasant day thus far for poor Peter Parker for reasons he can't quite understand or articulate, and whether or not that would change was up to the capricious whims of fate. Often he'd just battle this sort of creeping ennui with a midnight patrol, but he can't have that yet. No—all he has are the ordinary responsibilities thrust upon him in this extraordinary world, and he would have to remain content with that for now.

"Parker," he hears someone say from behind, dry and sonorous and familiar.

He turns to face Shoto Todoroki, a little perplexed. Todoroki, ideally dressed in uniform, since healed from whatever injuries Peter managed to inflict on him the evening prior, stands there stiff as a board, shoulders squared and face shadowed by his bangs under the pale light of the morning sun filtered through the windows. There's no expression on his face that Peter can interpret; no anger, no concern, not even spite. Just an emptiness—the absolute absence of feeling, as though he purged it all in an effort to maximize efficiency.

"What happened yesterday," Todoroki continues, "our fight. You're clearly worth your salt—I won't deny that." He takes one imperious step forward, almost robotic in his movement. Peter goes tense, staring back intently. "But the gap between us is there, and it'll only widen from hereon. Be assured that when the time comes for us to test ourselves against one another again… You won't stand a chance."

Peter goes tense, staring back intently. For a moment, he seems like a rabbit caught in the clutches of a hawk, wide-eyed and choked to silence. But Todoroki spots a cryptic twinkle in his eye, something he hadn't seen before. Then, most confoundingly, Parker smiles, unconcealed by any costume. It's a small, only imperceptible slope of his lips. Almost disconcerting combined with that intense gaze. Like he'd heard a joke he can't find it in himself to laugh at, but considered entertaining all the same.

Nohe smiles because, unbeknownst to Todoroki, he's thankful. Thankful because he found something to hold on to. Something to enjoy in these dire straits.

Something to look forward to in the short-term: mopping the floor with Shoto Todoroki.

"I'm looking forward to it."

And Spider-Man is more than up for the challenge!

End.


A/N: I do not enjoy writing fight scenes ngl.

For clarification since i brought it up in the chapter extra but never anywhere else: this Peter stands at 5'3. I just find him being shorter to start very funny. Angry little guy. Also, yes I know there's a mention of the door sliding when a few chapters ago I forgot they slide n described it sorta as a swinging door. I am a fic writer who mostly kinda wings it as we go. Pls expect little and for things to go over my head, but also gimme pointers on how to improve. I ain't getting paid to do this and school be kickin my ass.

Bit of a longer chapter tho. More 'experimental' for me I guess! If you liked, lemme know, if I came on too strong, also lemme know! I'm just glad to be at the fun part o the story, honestly. Review at your leisure.

Say, what's your favorite type of theme park ride? I'm a biiiig rollercoaster fan.