'Quirks are the great equalizer to military power. One person can hold the might of an entire battalion. The imperial family knew this all too well. They and their retainers have been the primary reason Japan was never assaulted during the Dark Age, the New Age or the Golden Age. Their strength has been whispered, but only recently did we witness the true extent of their strength. Taiwan may have had its issues, but in a single moment of anger, twenty-million people died. Even Titan killed fewer people.'
—Excerpt from 'Examining the Japanese Imperial Family: An American's Perspective' by David Hayter.
He does not know what he expects when the message comes. Kirishima and Tokoyami are both gone, and the lack of the warmth and constancy of their friendship—and perhaps the greater knowledge that petty fights can be overcome so long as there is sincerity—trails behind their backs as he bids them goodbye, terrified that perhaps everything they say is a lie, but also knowing his insecurities cannot measure against the final smile Kirishima sends his way.
There is no name attached to the message as he has never felt the right to do so in recent years. Ten digits stare back at him, unique in a way that no other set of digits arranged in that exact order can ever be. Not for the numbers are unique—human counting limits are trivial to someone for whom imaginary numbers are just as real as the rest—as numbers, or that even the order with which the numbers fell but simply because they hold personal significance for Izuku.
The next morning, he wakes up two hours before dawn and heads out, leaving a note plastered to the fridge. He knows his mother will be frantic if he gives no indication that he willingly left and wasn't perhaps kidnapped by the monsters in his mind made real. There is a forest that grows through a large portion of Mustafu, close enough to his home that even with the brace it isn't an insurmountable distance. He hikes the distance, taking joy in the pain of exercise even if his leg feels like a hot thread of pain, and his walk is more an energetic hobble than a brisk hike.
When he reaches the summit, he takes a moment to look around and finds no one else there. There is a tree, thick, knotted and gnarled with age that looms over him. Izuku hobbles to it. There, under the lowest branch, are a set of indentations. He caresses the letters there: 'IM' and 'KB'.
"I haven't been here in years," he says to the wind. "We wrote our names here. Back then, I thought we'd be friends until the very end. Izuku and Katsuki. Kacchan and Deku. Just the two of us. You were gonna be number one, and I'd always be right there with you. What do you want from me?"
He turns and nods towards Kacchan. His once friend looks tired and haunted. He very likely hasn't slept at all over the last few days, and from the way his fingers twitch he seems to be running purely on caffeine to function.
"What do I fucking want?" he snarls. "I fucking want the truth. You don't get to just act like you're quirkless and then turn into… into whatever that shit was."
"The truth? The truth is that you pushed me, and I haven't forgiven you."
"I know what I fucking did. But you don't just get—"
"Why?" he interrupts. "Why do I have to be perfectly honest and open with you. You want the truth. I don't know what that was."
Kacchan watches him, assessing Izuku in a way that only he can. Then, "Bullshit. Fuck, if you knew about that you'd experiment every step of the way." Izuku freezes. "Right there, you bitch. Don't fucking try to lie to me."
Izuku clenches his fists and takes a step forward. "Why does it matter so much to you?"
And then Kaachan is too close, his hands gripping Izuku's shoulders tightly. He stays still, watching Kaachan tremble even as he looks ready to cry. There is no malice in his red eyes, only self-loathing.
"Because I need to know," Kacchan whispers weakly, fearful in a way Izuku has never heard. "I need to know if I…"
Everything he knows of Kacchan rushes to the forefront and he knows, just knows he could say break the boy before him. For a second he considers malice and cruelty, considers shattering every single hope and ambition Kacchan has in much the same vein he has tried to do to Izuku. He considers all of this for a single moment.
And then discards every cruel machination. This is my story, he thinks, and I want it to be kind and just.
He leans forward and wraps his arms around Kacchan's back. He tenses, almost as if he expects Izuku to crush him.
"You did," Izuku says softly as a silk dress on a summer day. Kacchan's shaking intensifies but Izuku only holds him tighter.
"I didn't want to acknowledge the truth. I thought I could hide from it and it nearly broke me. Kacchan... I don't-I can't forgive you, not right now. But I don't hate you and I never will."
His shoulder is wet. "You should," Kaachan says hoarsely, clutching his shoulders tightly. "You fucking should."
"Maybe," Izuku acknowledges. "No one else knows. Just me. And I won't ever tell anyone."
"They'd send me to prison." Izuku smells something sweet. Nitro-glycerine, or sweat in this case. "They'd have every reason to. You're still fucking trying to save me."
When Kaachan pulls away, Izuku lets him. His face is a rictus of emotions, none of them happy. Kaachan's hands tremble and he stares at them.
"I've killed before." His laugh, when it comes, is equal parts hysteria and bitterness. "There are villains who fucking haven't and I—oh fuck me sideways—I have. Fuck, I can't… You turn into that whenever you die. Why the fuck am I still here?"
Izuku shrugs. "Because the pole ultimately killed me, not you. You just… well, you helped a bit."
"Fuck!" Kacchan turns to the side and lets off an explosion. It leaves a deep gouge in the ground and more than one tree topples over. His chest heaves.
"A-are you done?" Izuku limps past Kaachan to the edge. He sits and lets his legs dangle freely, patting the spot next to him. It takes a few minutes for Kaachan to join him.
"This is so fucked."
Izuku laughs, rubbing his brace. "You have no idea."
"What happens now?"
"I guess that's up to you." He looks to Kachan and forces a smile. "You can choose who you want to be."
"My counsellor says shit like that." Kacchan's hand rises. Tentatively, as though the world watches, he brushes a finger against Izuku's burn scar. "I did this to you."
"Yes." It is a battle not to tense or flinch away as Kacchan traces the outline of the scar. "Would you do it again if you had a second chance?"
"No."
"Then you're not the same person who did this. I don't care what anyone else thinks." He pulls away to face the horizon. The first rays of dawn creep across the dimly lit world.
"We can all change. We're not robots running on the same lines of code. Hinata Ononoki only cared about the law in her youth, but she disregarded that in favour of human compassion. Hawkmoon gave Graviton Lance a chance and together they beat Titan." He reaches out, almost as if to grab the light. "The sun always rises. No matter how terrifying the darkness is, no matter the monsters walking beside you, the sun always rises. And each new day is just a chance to be better."
They sit there in silence as the sun rises. It has been years since they last did so. They aren't friends, not by any stretch. There is too much history there for that, no matter the steps they have both made. But perhaps for one specific moment, this Sunday and no other, this dawn which has a singular quality that can never be replicated, they can both pretend the past is passed.
And then, "You're a fucking bleeding-heart pansy who can't make speeches worth shit."
Izuku's laugh carries across the summit, heard only by the two of them.
-TDB-
Home is quiet. His mother is gone somewhere, and he is glad that she trusts him enough to leave him alone. Because it means he won't have to explain his decisions. Too much time s been spent injured or recovering from injury, and he knows too much of his muscle mass is already gone. Not enough that he looks significantly smaller to other people, but enough that it worries him regardless.
He packs some supplies. Shoulders his bag. Sinks to the darkness below.
He dives deep and quick, not sparing time for any of the residents who won't harm him but for the eye which he uses to accelerate his healing. They all live too high up where time runs close to the real world. No, he needs the patches where time has slowed to a crawl and days here are hours in the real.
Some patches are deadly such as the time he wanders into a world of darkness and barely manages to flee lightning bolts from the ashen one high in his castle. Spiders and anything resembling them are marked for death and fall beneath his shadows. When hunger strikes, he befriends hounds that exist in the corners of time and they show him how to hunt ethereal serpents vaster than worlds. One is enough for him, and he leaves the massive corpse to the hounds though they will have to contend with crows of feathers like glass unshattering. The serpent tastes odd, more a dream of eternity than anything else, but it is surprisingly edible.
He chats with a young god tended to a doll in a dream and listens to their tales of a world consumed by blood and beasthood and the suffering of the past. And whilst interesting, Izuku doesn't really care and vanishes the moment they are focused on the approaching abyss walker.
In an underwater city, he learns the names of slumbering gods but is smart enough not to call them forth. In a place that looks exceedingly like Christian Hell, he barely manages not to get his face crushed by a green giant who slaughters hellish creatures, a song of doom following its steps.
All of this he sees and accepts as a normal day. Every step of the way he trains his body once more until he collapses in exhaustion. And then he gets up to flee a bird larger than his home. At the very least he gets all the cardio he needs this way.
Somehow, he runs all the way to the birth of a universe, not caring that it is hot enough that nothing short of the impossible should manage to witness it. And what is he if not impossible? He watches it and mourns the loss of the true darkness that came before. Regardless, though, he watches the way gravity, electromagnetism and both the strong and weak forces unify into one singular force. He fills his notebooks with the maths of it all, not wanting to forget.
He finds a quiet spot across a lake of chaos flames. The place is devoid of any entity that he might fear. Good. He's a bit tired of fighting creatures off.
The live wire of One For All is ever-present, always waiting just past the edge of his thoughts. He grasps the power of his mentor's quirk and allows it to flood his body. Physical strength fills him, enters the spots of weakness and empowers them. He looks to his arms and finds them glowing with diffuse light.
"Okay, let's try this." He focuses inwards and lets some of the power bleed off. Sparks of green lightning arc across his fingers. "Even less." More power leaves him, lightning arcing away from his body and towards the darkness until only a dreg of energy remains.
He inhales and savours the strength of his lungs, so much stronger than his baseline. He flexes his hands and knows he could crush a brick without a thought even with this tiny percentage of OFA.
"Two, maybe three percent," he says to the quiet. Considering how little time he's had to focus on his mentor's quirk, he is surprised he even has that much.
He slides into a ready stance. Slowly, ever so slowly, he flows through his katas, favouring technique over speed. Sweat drips down his neck as he fights against One For All, the power wanting nothing more than to be used.
Instinct tells him to stop battling.
"Fine."
His next kick is swift and graceful. He pirouettes with the momentum and strikes with his fist. His movements come faster and faster. Shadows rise, constructs of his imagination, and he shadow-boxes against them. Each strike breaks them, but there is resistance, just a tiny pushback against his limbs. It becomes less a battle and more a dance.
A gust of wind blows by, gargantuan in its intensity. And yet, it doesn't knock him over. Instead, it gives extra weight to his kick. Another gust and his punch comes faster. He can't see what makes the wind for it flits past the edge of his vision. He becomes a whirlwind of movement, grace and motion perfected.
He dances with whatever makes the winds, relaxing more and more as it matches his movements no matter how unexpected. When he leaps high, a gust of wind lifts him higher. When he shatters the ground in an immense axe kick, the wind helps him slide into his next stance.
He doesn't know how long he dances with the creature. It could have been minutes or hours or years. All he knows is that his energy is joyful and sheer.
After one final punch, he stops, panting harshly. His body is bright, steam rising from it and green lightning flickering. He looks to the landscape, sees the hills and valleys formed by the power of his blows. One For All flows through him in its entirety, not the pale vestige he started with.
"How?"
/I granted you a taste of your power, Oh bearer mine/
One gust of wind heralds the creature. It is a dragon—and he rolls his eyes because of course, it is—of a different sort, slender and spindly where the others were gargantuan. And, oddly enough, it doesn't try to be larger than a galaxy. He can't feel the heat of the godflame beating in its chest like the other dragons he's met, nor are its hands even vaguely human-like, and it lacks a tail.
"What are you?" He wants to reach out and touch those thin spikes along its spine and examine the obsidian talons.
/My nature does not matter, oh shadow king/ Its wings tuck in and it lowers its head, bowing almost. /A boon I shall grant you/
"Ummm no. My mother told me never trust deals with mysterious entities."
/Wise she is, oh king mine/ It lifts its head to the skies and opens its maw.
It sings a clear note that echoes across the universe. It tells a story with its song. A race of wish-granters that flew across the world in search of a mythical traveller. And when they found it protected by creatures eternal for no harm would ever truly kill them, not when their ghosts forever resurrected them, they fulfilled the wishes of the undead. And for their kindness, they were slaughtered.
/They took my tail. I am the last, oh king mine, and this shall be my last wish/
This is the last of the wish-granters. Grief crushes him. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. But I can't accept your offer."
/I will save you in time to come/ it pleads and spits in his direction.
A giant sunflower made of shadows lands beside him. It is the same sunflower that he thought might harm Shinsou only a few days ago. Izuku swallows. This creature is the same one that protected his friend from Izuku's power.
/For nothing, friend of the king, I saved
/Freely, the king, my bones you will wear
/Without cost, the king's disciple, my wings to bear
/A boon and a curse, you must accept/
He looks to the dead sunflower. The dragon is honest, whatever else it might be. He would bet his life that the dragon doesn't even know what a lie is. "What happens if I don't?"
/One untruth and a pair of truths this one Eao shall impart
/Elder, free once more, hunt the heart of fire it shall
/Naraka, ally to come, betrayed by your shadow hands
/Mother, beloved by all, madness will befall/
He freezes and swallows. There is a risk to what the lie might be, but he doesn't like the idea of his mother harmed. "Fine. I'll accept."
/You wish to save, oh hero mine.
/The power to save one friend, your boon shall be.
/The knowledge to save one friend, your curse shall be/
Light consumes the dragon. Its scales fall away as its flesh disintegrates. Izuku watches sadly as the dragon dies. When the light recedes, all that remains are its bones. Izuku bows his head and mourns the dragon.
He leaves and returns home just in time for dinner. He sneaks to the bathroom and showers before his mother can get a look at all the various fluids covering him, or the fact that he's clad in a dream. He kisses his mother on the cheek before bed.
"Promise I'll make you dinner this week."
-TDB-
The next morning comes too quickly. Izuku groans, stretching his sore muscles. In the bathroom he sees the person in the mirror: some of his hair is white and braided only on one side; a large burn scar runs down the same side; deep lines mar this boy's face. Izuku sighs but forces a smile. It tugs at his scar, and though it looks horrific he doesn't care how other people see him anymore.
He grabs his medication from the drawer. He removes a red pill and pops it in his mouth.
Why are you taking those? Mikumo Atakani asks.
Izuku chokes, coughing harshly. "Why are you back?" he asks once he can breathe properly. "I just got rid of you."
Mikumo laughs. I am the untold truth. I am the keeper, the lock and key. And I was busy doing stuff. I only managed to kill one of those ghosts. They need to start paying rent if they want to stay.
Izuku leans forward and washes his face with frigid water. He scrubs at it, hoping in vain that the voice will leave. It does not. If anything, it starts organising the monsters in his head and feeds some of them to the echo of the godflame burning in the back of his mind.
He looks to the medication. "Is there even any point in taking this stuff anymore?"
Mikumo hums in consideration. I am not your enemy, Izuku. But I will play the part of the villain if I must. What harm is there in taking those pills? Has your life not been more… stable, perhaps?
"Oh, so villains attacking my class is considered stable?" He frowns. "Did you know what would happen when I died?"
Does it matter? He hears the snap and pop of burning parasites, and shiver. Take your pills. I will remember the lies.
The voice leaves, taking with it whatever creatures had hitched a ride in the recesses of his mind, and Izuku does the same. What other choice does he have but to walk forward and stand tall against the monsters he sees in the waking world?
He steps over a dead cat, and after his shadow crosses it nothing remains, not even a splatter of blood. Bitterness colours his laugh. When he looks to the rising sun and lets his eyes unfocus, it is joined by a few more, all of them orbiting as electrons do—not that he cares for the analogy of an outdated model.
"Is this my curse?"
He grins at a couple who stare at him and watches them scurry away. Izuku shrugs and decides to forget their fear and the nightmares hiding half a step out of lock with reality.
The class is quiet, and he is one of the first there. Kaminari and Sero chat quietly between themselves but fall quiet when Izuku appears, as do Yaoyorozu and Todoroki who both watch the spectacle. He braces for the worst.
"Midoriya, rumour has it you took on that purple thing by yourself," Sero says casually.
It is not, at all, what he expects. "Ummm, y-yeah."
"God damn it," Kaminari snarls as Sero claps him on the shoulder.
"Told you so. Give me my money man." Izuku watches incredulously as notes exchange hands. "Had a bet going on the rumour was true. Kaminari here though you were too sweet to harm a fly."
"Midoriya, sweet?" Kirishima says just before wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Nice, maybe. But sweet. Have you seen him smile?"
Izuku flushes and pulls away. "M-my smile isn't scary."
Kirishima grins. "Believe what you want, but when you're annoyed that smile is the scariest shit I've ever seen."
They sit and Izuku lets Kirishima drone on about some sports team or other between card tricks.
"I can't believe he tried to dive. No one falls for that anymore. He definitely deserved that red card. Four of diamonds." Izuku shows the card to Kirishima. "How do you always do that? Anyway, I still say the quirkless soccer league is way better. That's just pure, raw skill and human physical ability. Everyone's on the same playing field."
Ashido pops up behind Kirishima and leans heavily on his shoulder. "You're just upset you never won any one-on-ones against me."
Kirishima bats her hands away. "Oh, come on. It's not like you ever played fair."
"I'm 5'3 and a girl. I still dribbled until you fell over how many times exactly? Hm?" Kirishima face turns a shade of red just shy of his hair. "At least all the hair product makes you a bit taller."
Izuku flicks a card and it lands erect in Kirishima's hair. Ashido chuckles as she tugs the card out. "See. More product than I use."
"You—"
The conversation dies out as Kaachan enters and takes his seat. No one says anything for a long pause. And then, without looking back, Kaachan gives them all the middle finger.
Izuku snickers because of course Kacchan would do that. Iida comes in later with Uraraka and Tokoyami, and though it takes him a few minutes he does manage to get everyone in their seats when Aizawa enters.
Their teacher is still covered in bandages, looking more a mummy than anything else. And Izuku isn't too sure how many evolutionary forms their teacher will go through before reaching the final stage—a caterpillar, then a hero, and now a mummy.
"Huh, you're all quiet. Great. Let's get some announcements out of the way before you hear some horribly incorrect rumours. Mineta's withdrawn from the academy."
Izuku blinks. "W-what?"
"You heard me right," he says bluntly. "Hagakure and Kouda are also taking a leave of absence whilst they recover."
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tokoyami's fists clench. More importantly, he sees Dark Shadow's luminous eyes observing him unseen to anyone else.
"And.. and Asui?" Ashido asks fearfully.
"She'll be here later today. Last minute medical check-ups."
A relieved sigh follows that, and the tiniest fraction of the tension now permeating the class bleeds away.
"Aren't you going to tell us why they're gone?" Jirou asks.
"Oh, you mean break at least twelve laws regarding privacy and more school policy than I remember?" Aizawa asks snidely. "Sure. I'll do that."
Jirou wilts beneath his glare.
And then, "That was fucking unnecessary you mummified cunt," Kacchan says, his feet still on the table. "I'm the resident fucking asshole. Get your own damned niche, you inconsistently written, shitty ass side character."
Izuku can't help the laugh that escapes his lips. And though Aizawa glares at him, too many people are already laughing for it to matter.
"I guess I'll skip the rest of the announcements."
And though that moment brings some levity to the class, the tension remains, taut and ready to snap at the slightest tug. He tries focusing on anything but why those three aren't here anymore—you, you, always you, the monster playing at humanity—such as his lessons.
"That's not technically incorrect," Izuku says looking outside the window. "It just has to do with English being a mess of contradictions. 'An' is used before words like horrific and hotel because the first letter isn't pronounced in French. Admittedly it fell out of fashion for a few centuries until Hero notably revived the practice."
"Midoriya." Izuku blinks, and looks to Present Mic, only now just noticing everyone staring at him.
"W-what?"
Present Mic hums. "Come see me after class."
Izuku goes back to watching the outside world, enjoying how bright and simple it is. There aren't any hidden spaces or patches of impossible logic. No, just birds and trees and people and something that looks like a person stretched out over a few metres. Izuku blinks and it is gone when he looks again.
And when class is over, he waits patiently for Present Mic to finish packing his bags.
"Midoriya, how many languages do you speak?" Present Mic shoulders his bag, the leather sort with a single strap.
He frowns. "J-Japanese and a bit of English."
"I haven't had anyone correct me on that yet. I'm surprised you know Hero used such eccentric language. Not too many people in Japan notice that."
"Why not?"
"Because 'an' and 'a' get lost in translation. You'd have to read the English transcripts." He pats Izuku on the shoulder which makes him tense. "You want to see something interesting?"
He hands Izuku the sheaf of paper in his hands. He sees his name and frowns. "This was last week's homework essay."
"I asked you to find a topic you found interesting and write about it. That's an essay on the Voynich Manuscript and its ties to the Indo-Iranian branch of languages, notably the Caspian Dilami translation of the Atharva Veda." Present Mic smiles. "I was planning on submitting this for peer review with your permission."
His eyes widen and he takes a step back. "W-why? There's no-nothing there."
"Considering that you haven't noticed I've been speaking French and English interchangeably, I'm willing to take a chance that there is something there."
It takes him a moment to go over their conversation, and really focus on the words Present Mic was saying. And yes, he does recognise the other languages his teacher was speaking.
You speak the litanies of dead gods, Mikumo says. The words of all men are known to you.
"O-okay," Izuku says, removing a pocket tissue before nay blood runs down his nose.
"Are you okay? I can take you to the nurse's office."
Izuku waves away the concern. "Happens all the time. S-send it if you want."
He is out the door before Present Mic can respond. The bathroom is empty, thankfully enough. Nobody is around to watch him reach into his nose and grasp the serpent's head before pulling out the rest of it, nearly a metre long. Its body is only partly physical. Most of it is a dream of its parent that Izuku ate in the abyss.
Every time I think I've seen you do something weird, you pull some new shit out of some orifice.
"Shut up, Mikumo." He crushes the serpent and flushes it down the toilet. "You do not get to say that when you're literally a manifestation of my psychosis brought back to life by a wish-granting dragon. Do you even understand how absurd your existence is?"
Is that what you believe me to be?
He shoves Mikumo further into the recesses of his mind before heading for lunch. His friends are already gathered at a table. He raises a brow as there are two tables joined together, Kaminari, Sero, and Jirou all joining the usual group.
Izuku freezes at the sight of Asui who laughs easily with Shinsou. She sees Izuku and waves. "Your powers are bullshit, Midoriya."
He takes a deep breath and sits, forcing a smile. "They are." He grabs three decks of cards from his bag. "A-are we playing anything?"
"Let's play the ultimate game." Kirishima claps his hands together. "Whoever wins gets a favour from everyone playing."
"We are not gambling," Iida says. "That goes against the code of conduct—"
"That only covers an exchange of goods," Uraraka says, smiling broadly. "It doesn't mention favours."
"But, but—"
"You should read the code of conduct better."
Izuku hands out cards warily, watching Uraraka because he's never seen anyone shut down Iida so effectively. They play a variation of crazy-eights, and with the limited amount of time, the three people with the highest count are eliminated each round. Ojiro, Kaminari, and Jirou don't make it past the first round.
"So, Midoriya," Uraraka asks and plays a seven to skip Kirishima's turn. "What did Present Mic want from you?"
Two Jokers and a two are played before it's Izuku's turn. He's tempted to roll his eyes because he knew it was coming and plays an ace of spades. "He just wanted to talk to me about last week's essay."
Tokoyami ends the round with a three of diamonds. Izuku doesn't need to check their cards to know Ashido, Sero, and Tokoyami won't make it through. He shuffles the decks, puts one way, and hands out a fresh round of cards.
"Did you talk to Ectoplasm?" Shinsou asks, playing an eight to change the suit to hearts.
"Haven't seen him yet." Izuku's joker makes Kirishima curse even as his friend picks up five cards.
"I sense a story," Uraraka says. "I want it." She is still smiling kindly when she closes the current round of play, ruining whatever ambition Kirishima or Asui had for winning.
It leaves only him and Uraraka in the finals. He lets Kirishima shuffle the cards.
Shinsou coughs. "He thinks university level maths is easy."
Izuku has to catch the deck of cards when Kirishima drops it. He sighs, not paying any attention to everyone who is watching him.
"H-he's exaggerating." Izuku hands out cards until he and Uraraka have five each.
"Do I look like the type to exaggerate?"
"He raises a good point, man," Kirishima says. "Shinsou looks too tired to exaggerate."
Statistically, getting a hand to close the game on your first turn is low, but this variation of crazy-eights lets people play double and triples of the same card number. It isn't impossible, just rare. Izuku is forced to blink when Urarka does so.
"I guess I win," she says cheerfully.
Izuku looks at his cards numbly, wondering exactly why he agreed to this nonsense.
"Don't worry, I won't make you do anything too embarrassing," Uraraka reassures, but it sends a chill down his spine despite her perpetually sunny smile. He sneaks a glance at Shinsou and sees him fixated on her, a small smile gracing his features.
Later, after their final lesson, maths with Ectoplasm, he stays behind. He hasn't really spoken to the man before.
"Yes, Midoriya?"
"Doesn't Support make better prosthetics?" he blurts out before his mind can catch up with what he said. Izuku flushes a very bright red.
Ectoplasm takes a step with his peg leg and the clack of wood on tile echoes across the room.
"That's exactly the issue," Ectoplasm says, not in the slightest insulted. "Anything better counts as a Support item when you're a hero and I don't care enough to deal with the licensing paperwork. Was that all you wanted to ask?"
"N-no. I was helping Shinsou—"
"General Studies, I believe?"
"Um, yeah. I was helping him with some homework and he said I should show you these." He hands Ectoplasm the papers.
With the skin-tight suit, Izuku can't tell what expression he makes as he goes through the papers. Then, he turns around and grabs a piece of chalk, and writes a question on the board.
"Answer this if you can," Ectoplasm says.
Izuku grabs the piece of chalk and begins answering the question. He doesn't let any embarrassment show over the fact that there's a huge gap between the question and his answer because Izuku is nowhere near that tall. He writes across all three boards, leaving scribbles on the sides explaining the assumptions he's making for the proof.
He wipes off chalk dust and turns back to Ectoplasm.
"Where did you learn this?"
"T-this was easy. It's not like I tried writing up the grand unifying theory." He shrugs. "Actually, I'd need a few dozen more boards to even try."
"Well, I suppose I'll pull you out of class."
"But I like maths."
Ectoplasm laughs, deep and full-bellied. "There's no point in wasting your talents. Midoriya, you used a Laplace Transform to answer a question that I used as a bonus at Mustafu University when I was an assistant teacher. I had grown adults with maths degrees complaining about the difficulty of it."
"It's nothing special."
"Go home, Midoriya. I'll see about getting you a placement exam."
The next day, instead of having maths in the morning, he is called to Principal Nezu's office and given a maths exam. Under the watchful gaze of the principal, he answers the two questions and gets through only three of the bonus questions at the end. They aren't hard, but Izuku can only write so fast when he's nervous and the principal makes him want to flee in terror.
He deflects the questions of his classmates until they get the hint that he doesn't want to about it. Once classes are over he packs quickly because there are things he wants to do. Except the door is blocked by what looks like an army of students.
"What business do you have with this class?" Iiad asks, gesturing wildly.
"Oh, we just wanted to see the competition," a blonde boy at the front says, looking them over. "Rather disappointing I must say. The vaunted 1-A with students that placed lower than us. You see, some of us are wondering why no one's been moved up when you're down three students. Especially the general studies students."
Do you wish to know a truth, Shadowshield? Mikumo asks. One free of cost.
"Fuck you, you shitty side character. Who the hell do you think you are taking up the spotlight? You think anyone's going to remember your generic ass threat or your poor as fuck dialogue?"
"Oh, the villain-in-training needs to speak up every now and then, I suppose."
That sets Izuku off and he walks forward.
Do not fear a mimic for mimicry is fear, Mikumo whispers. Say his name without fear.
"Hey there. Monoma, right?"
Once named a fear has no power.
The blonde blinks, startled. "How do—"
"Look, I kinda promised my mom I'd cook dinner for her, and you're blocking the door."
That throws him for a loop, leaves him unbalanced. "What?"
"You know, I get why you're upset with the way the entrance exam and class placements are done. I really do. What I don't get is why you're threatening us." He glares at Monoma, enjoying the way he steps back. "If you have a problem, why don't you start a petition and take it to the school board. It's not like we can change school policy.
"So, stop calling Bakugou a villain when you have no interest in following legal procedure. Because I'd put my name on a petition. But I'd never agree with someone who thinks they can attack people who've done nothing other than trying to learn just because you feel slighted."
Izuku grins and it makes everyone fall silent. He lets just the slightest hint of the nightmares he's seen peak through the smile and is pleased when they move out the way.
"There it is," he hears Kirishima shout.
He claps Monoma on the shoulder. "N-now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cooking to do."
-TDB-
"How are you?"
Fumikage Tokoyami looks up, yawning. He is tired from watching the children last night. He does not regret it for they are always a delight to watch and interact with. Even though some days they make elaborate pranks.
"Tired. The children were… more difficult than I anticipated. And I argued with my father."
"I'm sorry."
He blinks, trying to understand why Midoriya is sorry. He attributes it simply to Midoriya's nature.
"It is not your fault. I simply have never learnt how to deal with his silence. With his unspoken expectations."
"Still, it can't be fun arguing with your parents."
"No. But it is what is. Life is sometimes cruel in the hand it deals." Fumikage looks away "He is an intimidating man. Tall and built like a mountain. Just as silent. I… sometimes antagonise him needlessly."
Izuku sits. "You wanted to talk?"
"I was remiss in my actions," Fumikage says from his perch on the sand. "I promised to aid you through your difficulties. I thought merely that aiding you in understanding what is and is not would be adequate."
Izuku Midoriya, his… friend—yes, it felt right to call him that—frowns, an expression that he so commonly uses that Fumikage wants to erase it and teach him a new expression. It pulls at his scars, a reminder of Fumikage's greatest failing.
"I think it helped a lot." Midoriya reaches out and lets the tide wash over his hand.
Fumikage scoffs. "Not enough. I thought that perhaps I understood shadows and darkness. I realise now that I was a child mired in false nihilism seeking meaning to something I found inherently meaningless."
"I'm not going to point out which words you used w-wrong."
"I thank you for that." He raises his hand and lets the light of the moon filter through the gaps between his fingers. "It does not change my intent. I believed it all so simple. I spoke of chains seeking to drag me when I knew nothing of the dark below."
He says it this time with the full weight of understanding. When he says it, he lets his memory of the impossibility that became of Midoriya lend credence to this simple word that seems to embody everything that could never be in the real world. The phrase is the loudest silence, the cold flame of creation, broken space and sundered time all wrapped up in a promise of smoky blood.
He looks to Midoriya and sees the way his friend stills and then relaxes the same way you do a large dog running at you at dusk, fangs bared and mouth frothing until it jumps on you and licks your face in greeting. That instance of hesitance in seeing what potentially can be a threat and having that fear alleviated is what he sees in Midoriya.
"You barely even saw it."
"Perchance a glimpse of freedom is enough to unshackle oneself." He clenches his raised hand, the moon's luminescence blotted out. "I do not wish to stumble blindly in ignorance. By what means may I truly repay your debt if I do not know your struggle?"
"A lot of people are asking for a lot of answers these days."
"Who else can even begin to understand your battles if not I." Darkness wafts off his fist. From it, his first companion and sometimes ally rises.
Dark Shadow is truly massive, and almost immediately Fumikage feels his energy drain. He steels himself for to show even the slightest weakness is to fail, and failure against Dark Shadow is always a portent of doom.
Prince of crows, it greets snidely before turning to Midoriya. You smell of the dreaming dead and crystal nightmares and carrion corpses.
"That's an upgrade," Midoriya says and flicks Dark Shadow's encroaching claw away casually, as though not worried.
The malice of Dark Shadow permeates the air, the weight of knowledge lost pushing against his shoulders, and makes Fumikage fearful. He tastes blood and knows he has bitten through his tongue. He leans over to spit the blood out.
Perhaps he would if a hand hasn't closed around his beak.
"Swallow it." Midoriya's eyes are bright, glowing green with a promise of wisdom that should never be known.
He glances at Dark Shadow who watches indifferently and knows it will not aid him. Traitor, he thinks as he swallows the blood.
Midoriya lets go. "The blood of kings must not be spilt. Tell me, oh crow mine," Midoriya—no, this is something that wears Midoriya's skin, a wish with intent—says, "do you wish to become strong?"
"What are you?"
A dying wish, perhaps, Dark Shadow muses. He accepts.
"No," Fumikage snaps, backing away from the two—three, perhaps if you count Midoriya's flesh body—of them. "You will not make my choices." He pulls on the chain that binds him to Dark Shadow and watches it flow back to his body.
"The wish of my bearer," the thing says. "A boon to save. Accept my offer you must, oh crow mine. Save you, this king shall."
It reaches out with Midoriya's hand.
"Honour your debt, oh prince mine. Knowledge already paid for, this one Eao offers. And from strength does knowledge spring forth."
There is a promise there, one he is terrified to accept. To accept is to know, and now he is aware that some things can never be unlearnt once known. And yet, he feels the chains of duty and obligation that bind him to Izuku Midoriya.
He takes the hand and for a single wavering moment, he sees what it truly is, sees the dragon behind the boy, a wish in its maw and the memory of a hunt beneath its wings.
"Show me," he whispers.
The world shatters. The real fades away. Only true dark remains.
A/N:
This may concern only one person or perhaps an entire horde but I know the Bakugou scene does not play into your expectations. I know a lot of people have wanted him to be in essence burnt at the stake. But ultimately, for Izuku to do so, is completely disingenuous to his character both in canon and in this story. In fact, that conversation blindsided me as well. I wanted shit to go down but Izuku refused. And I feel this is more honest than anything else I could have written.
That's all from me for now. Thank you for reading this. If you enjoyed the story leave a favourite and if you have any questions just drop a review. But know all of that is unnecessary, and as always your readership is quite enough for me. Cheers.