'Never trust in the threat ranking of any enemy for it cannot be considered the full article of an opponent's combat abilities. Each battle is a learning experience to hone one's skills. A villain's quirk may not become more dangerous, but their utilisation and versatility of their quirk has no upper bound. Skill, experience and battle tactics can be learnt and improved upon. Even the simplest quirks can have unexpected uses. Do not underestimate them. To do so is to be wilfully ignorant. To be ignorant is to accept defeat.'
—Excerpt from the recovered 'Tenets of Combat' likely authored by an underground hero or vigilante.
Shouta Aizawa walks down a dirt path through the forest UA owns. He's tired and filled with grief. Everything has blurred together since the expulsion of his student and his heart feels no lighter. The rebuke from Nezu afterwards still echoes in his head and haunts his fitful sleep.
But for now, he must close his heart to those feelings. He knows it may not have been the best decision, but all he can think of when he sees that white uniform is Shikoku burning in black fire. All he sees is his mother dying to those flames.
The house is on the outskirts of a forest, always guarded by armed security. Every inch of the forest is covered in monitoring equipment. It's a good system. Even if you could escape the security, you'd have to escape acres of forest.
By the time you could get anywhere, the forest would be swarming with security. Shouta hesitates at the door of the small home. He takes a breath, then knocks.
There is no response. Warily, Shouto pushes the door open.
The home isn't anything special, as mass manufactured as you can get with simple floors and an even simpler floor plan. From the front door, he can see all the way to the patio past the small lounge and dining area. The only things of note are the security systems they don't even attempt to hide.
Lounging languidly on a simpler recliner is his student. Former student, he amends.
"Hello, Sensei," Nagisa says softly, vivid red eyes observing him.
The boy looks healthier and has put on a bit of weight. His wounds and infections are being treated and it shows as his features are relaxed, no longer constantly in pain and trying to manage it. His grey hair is cut short, nothing like the long and tangled mess right after the Sports Festival.
Nagisa raises one hand and waves lazily, making a show of the collars on his arm. It makes Shouta focus on the dark collar around his neck and two red bands flashing slowly on its surface. They're there to send electric pulses should Nagisa leave the house.
It's significantly kinder than the explosive system the military initially insisted on. It had taken all he had to fight against that idea. Yes, the boy has blood on his hands, but everything he did was out of fear and manipulation.
What of Fumikage? An insidious voice asks. Wasn't he scared and manipulated?
He pushes it away.
"You look healthier," Shouta says, taking the only other seat available to him.
"Aren't you afraid I'll attack you?"
Shouta chuckles mirthlessly. "The shock collar will stop you long before I need to use my quirk."
"How rational," Nagisa says. "I've missed that. What do you want from me, Sensei? I don't have any extra information to give. I've told you everything I know."
"I came to see how you're adjusting."
"Well enough. I may be bored out of my mind but that's a good thing." The boy smiles. "What weight is crushing you, Sensei?"
"A mistake I made."
"Ah, you expelled another student, didn't you? That's a terrible habit to have."
"I know," he snarls.
"Oh, I don't mean the expulsion itself. I just mean it makes you predictable. And when you're predictable, it's easy enough to guess your next action."
He doesn't clench his fists. It's a close thing because that sounds too perfect an answer. If Nagisa, who hasn't seen him in years can figure out his actions and the reasons behind them, then wouldn't someone trained by the imperial family be able to figure it out.
Those bastards, he thinks bitterly.
"It's a lovely story you spin for me," Nagisa says to fill the silence. "A student brainwashed by villains being rehabilitated by UA. You turned a PR disaster into a victory and now UA looks progressive. You're changing your exams and instituting a teacher-student exchange program with Toledo Research Institute and Hero Memorial Academy."
Shouta is tangentially aware of that. He's got a stack of paperwork as tall as he is to deal with after camp and sort out those issues. That is, if Nezu even lets him handle anything more important than being a chaperone for the rest of his life.
"And to top it all off, you're expanding. Two more classes and rumour has it that Gang Orca and Kamui Woods are going to teach them. Not to mention all the extra staff that's joining. Nezu truly is amazing."
He ignores the sarcasm.
"How are you doing?"
"Can't complain that I'm being used as a puppet for the story you're telling. House arrest under armed guard is better than anything I've had in years. Food, shelter and even entertainment. You know, I took two showers yesterday." Nagisa smiles. "This isn't a punishment at all. Why would you go so far?"
"Because I made a mistake," Shouta says. "I'm going to find the rest of your class. Rei's safe and we've gotten Kensuke and Toji. I'm not resting until your all safe."
It happens in stages. Nagisa's eyes widen, slowly and in confusion. He cocks his head slightly, processing Shouta's words. He blinks once. Then twice. On the third blink, his eyes glisten.
Nagisa cries openly, still stuck in confusion. Then he laughs between tears, rubbing at his eyes furiously.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
Shouta does his best not to react.
"I'll organise a visit with Rei for you when I'm back," he says once the boy is composed. "Please, stay out of trouble."
Nagisa's grin is sly. Shouta remembers it well form teaching the boy. It reminds him of a time when things were simpler, back before the politics and the endless mistakes.
He carries that warm feeling as he herds his students into the bus later that day.
Midoriya glares at him and makes absolutely no secret of it. There are tiny sparks of green lightning and he looks tense. Perhaps the only thing keeping him from leaping forward and attacking Shouta is Ojiro's arm around his neck in a tight grip.
He lets the children make as much noise as they please during the ride. Let them have a bit of fun before training starts.
Does he take a bit of joy in watching the platform collapse? Not a lot. Does he take a bit of enjoyment in watching them struggle to survive in the forest? Maybe. But they've caused him enough sleepless nights that he doesn't care anymore.
He listens to Mandalay relay the situation in the forest, paying attention to the little boy nearby. Kouta, he knows him to be, the surviving son of the Water Hoses. The kid looks angry and ready to start a fight. Shouta understands his anger, understands his hatred towards other heroes.
Who would want to constantly be told their parents death is a good thing?
"This is a bit mean, Sensei," someone says, pulling him from his thoughts.
Down in the forest, his students are struggling to deal with the seemingly endless swarm of golems. They've been programmed to be aggressive and extremely mobile. From what he's heard, Sero's going to have some serious bruises for the rest of the week.
He looks to Mirio. The third-year stands away from his two peers, smiling broadly, his eyes bright and warm.
"They have to get stronger," he says, walking away.
He's never had the privilege of teaching Mirio Togata but from every report, he's turning into a splendid hero. Maybe a bit more energetic than Shouta wants to deal with, but an ideal leader and hero.
The boy follows Shouta so they won't be overheard. If it was something simple, he would have come with his two peers. The fact that they're not following behind, and Nejire is actively distracting Kouta, means this is private.
"My agency's been looking into a lot of the vigilantes. Things are getting weird. Ever hear of the Lightning Bolts?"
"Just whispers," he admits. "I've been too busy to keep up with the underground."
"Well, let's just say you might want to pay a bit more attention. Because that kid in green might have just started something huge."
Shouta closes his eyes. "I'm not surprised. Stain and that interview."
"Yup. Pretty scathing remarks about the hero industry. I didn't get too much time before you pulled me here, but something's going on with the vigilantes and underground heroes. There's a lot of movement. Way more than usual. And with what's going on over in Vancouver, it looks bad."
Shouta blinks. "Vancouver?"
"Yeah. Looks like their villains and heroes are about to go to war. Looks like it's going to be bloody. Every skirmish so far had a few casualties."
Shouta nods. "I'll talk to a few people and send a message to Nezu. We can't afford that violence reaching Japan. Thank you."
Mirio grins. "No problem. Just don't want to be blindsided again like the stadium." He looks around. "You brought in a lot of security."
An entire squad from a security consultancy firm. Shouta lacked the time to fully trace their money, but he's almost certain they're owned by a private military corporation, even if he doesn't know which. They're dangerous.
Which is good. Dangerous people sometimes provide the best security. They'll be the first ones to deal with any attacks that might happen over the next week. It will give Aizawa and Sekijiro time to deal with possible assailants and call for backup from the hero agencies in the next city. Shouta ensured that they have hardline communications with an agency specialising in rapid response and he'd tested them personally. That agency can have six heroes here in under fifteen minutes, and the rest can have teams over within forty-five minutes.
"Not taking any chances. You three will be working shifts at night with the security guards and the teachers. Don't push yourself too hard."
"Understood."
Togata hesitates, fingers twitching nervously.
"What is it?" Shouta asks.
"I know I shouldn't be asking, but he was in my year and we may not have been close, but Nagisa was a peer. They all were."
Shouta inclines his head. "They'll be just fine. I'll make arrangements for you to see them if you'd like. It might do them good."
-TDB-
Izuku sits away from his classmates, picking at his food. They all look exhausted after the first day of training. Izuku, on the other hand, has become used to this level of intensity.
Gran Torino did beat you to a pulp for three straight weeks.
He doesn't shudder. That was both incredibly useful and incredibly painful. After months fighting nightmares and memetic concepts, it had been necessary to remember how humans fight. I
Kirishima stands from his table and shoots Izuku a smile. Izuku shakes his head, signalling that no, he's not in any mood to talk to someone fairly. At least, he hopes Kirishima gets the message. When Kirishima's smile falters, but he continues, Izuku realises only he has access to his interior monologue at any given time.
And me.
He lets his false cheer vanish, leaving only glacial indifference. It's a warning, a simple question: are you willing to deal with this? Kirishima slows and stops in response, a rather simple no.
Izuku scoffs, disappointed, before returning to his meal.
When he is done, he hands his plate to Mandalay, thanking her sincerely if not with any warmth. He heads past the frenetic and exhausted energy his classmates occupy simply by being in the same room. He nods to Pixiebob who is walking through the hall. There, at least one authority figure knows where he is.
He leaves the hall.
The air outside isn't cold. Fresh certainly, but not cold. He could walk through here with a long shirt at most.
"Where are you going?"
He isn't surprised that someone speaks to him. He felt their shadow before he left the building.
The teenager is blonde and looks only a few years older than Izuku. His eyes are absurdly bright as though there is a headlight behind them.
"For a walk," he answers.
"Well, you shouldn't stay out too long. You never know what'll come and get you at night?"
He can't help his smile. "Like your two friends on patrol?"
The stranger smiles brightly. "Izuku Midoriya, right? I saw that petition you started."
"And?"
"It was good. I liked it." He extends his hand. "Mirio Togata."
Izuku shakes it.
"You already know me." He blinks. "Oh, All Might said you're doing good work."
Mirio cocks his head in confusion. "Did he?"
Izuku shrugs. "He's weird like that. Well, have fun."
"Sure?"
The moon is bright, casting the world in a soft grey. With it like this, he can feel the forest teeming with activity: small rodents flitting from one location to the next, birds in flight, and the many people he doesn't recognise. Given that no one has mentioned them, he assumes they are security.
He walks aimlessly, seeking only to get away from the other humans. The forest is quiet unlike the hall, peaceful not unlike the beach. He brushes his fingers against the trees, savouring the coarse feeling under his fingertips.
Are you going to tell your friends the truth about everything?
"I will," Izuku says, stepping over a thick root. "Camp's only a week long. I've got another few days."
I still don't understand. The truths you speak are your form of power. You spoke a truth of love and the abyss changed for you. Yet, you lied and hide from the truth, from your own power.
"I guess I was afraid of being something more than plain old me."
"Who are you talking to?"
Izuku startles and trips.
At the last moment, he twists into a spin and catches himself. He looks up and sees a boy sitting on a tree branch a few metres up.
"You're really sneaky," Izuku says, smiling. "What are you doing up there? Wouldn't you rather be inside?"
"I don't like your class. You wannabe heroes are too loud and stupid."
Izuku shrugs. "They are very loud. I came out to get away from it."
"So, you see it, right?" the boy asks, suddenly excited. "You see the problem."
"What problem?"
"The hero problem. They just make things worse."
Izuku takes a deep breath. "Okay, I feel like you have a tragic backstory for me to hear. But first, how's about you come down before you fall?"
"I won't fall."
Izuku raises his hand. Then he brings down one finger.
"What"—another finger— "are you"—only two fingers left— "doing?"
He brings down the last finger. Right then and there, an owl that's been hovering in the background smacks right into Kouta. The boy yelps, arms flailing as he falls.
Izuku catches him easily.
"Told you to get down."
He sets the child down, smiling benevolently at him.
The boy smacks him. "You're an asshole, Midoriya."
Izuku ignores it. It doesn't hurt and maybe he is being difficult.
"I never gave you my name. You can call me Izuku if you like. What's yours?" he asks, directing the conversation.
"Kouta."
Izuku kneels so that they're eye-level. He extends his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
The boy stares blankly at the hand. "What are you doing?"
"This is where you shake my hand."
"I know what a fucking handshake is. Why are you acting like…"
"Why am I not treating you like a child?" Kouta nods. "Why should I? So, are you going to shake my hand or what?"
The boy frowns, his face scrunching up as he decides. Finally, he sighs and gives the most half-assed handshake Izuku has ever experienced. Still, it means he can be taught some manners.
He's not a dog.
"Now we know each other," Izuku says, smiling. "That means you can tell me how you know my name."
"I saw you on the news," Kouta says.
Izuku rubs his eyes, mildly embarrassed. Sure, his classmates and his counsellor knowing is one thing. But a random kid he's never met knowing him makes him uncomfortable.
"Yeah. That was weird."
"How old was she?" Kouta asks bluntly.
Instantly, his cheer dies. Oh, his smile stays present but the warmth in his gaze fades away, replaced by utter desolation. There is nothing but cold, alien logic to his gaze.
"No older than twelve," he says slowly, observing Kouta as a hawk would a mouse. "Maybe a bit younger. Too young. Why?"
"A real hero would have saved her. There weren't any. And even then, they let it be like that."
"Heroes can't be everywhere. They can only save the people in front of them and make society better one person at a time."
Kouta shakes his head vigorously. "No. They're making everything worse. You're the only one who sees how heroes are ruining everything. That they shouldn't be praised."
"What about All Might?"
"He's the strongest but everything stays the same. It's the same fights and villains and he doesn't do anything. And all the rest of them… they just act like spoilt brats. They don't deserve the praise." Kouta's eyes harden. "They shouldn't be praised for dying."
With startling clarity, he understands. Slowly, he asks, "Kouta, where are your parents?"
"Dead."
Izuku swallows nervously, not sure how to proceed. It's eerie hearing Stain's ideology spoken through the lens of a little boy. And yet, Izuku isn't totally against his words. They are childish and naive, buy maybe that's why be finds them so endearing.
"Everyone says you should be proud, don't they? They think they're making it better by reminding you of that."
"You see, you do get it."
"I do, you're doing something pretty interesting," Izuku says gently. "A lot of people do it. Right now, you're taking my words out of context to support your argument."
"What?"
"I said we shouldn't praise the current system and that we should try and fix its problems. Not that we should get rid of heroes. I'm sorry about what happened to your parents. I don't know them and I don't know how it happened, but I know one thing about parents. No matter what, they would want you to be happy. You're allowed to be angry but you need to move past everyone else."
"I'm not going to forget them," Kouta snarls, stepping back. He's shaking, trembling with anger.
"I never said that. I never said you have to move on from them. But you have to move on from the random strangers telling you how to feel."
For a moment, he thinks his words have reached the boy. Then, the boy punches him in the crotch.
Izuku's eyes widen and he tips over.
"You're a random stranger," Kouto screams in his high voice, stalking past Izuku's crumpled form.
Huh, I didn't know you still worked down there
"Shut up," he groans weakly, rising to sit.
He leans against a tree for a few minutes as his body recovers from the violent and unexpected attack. Once he can stand without a blinding flare of pain, he trudges back to the hall, checking that Kouta did, in fact, go back.
There's a nice warm mattress waiting for him. He stumbles to his mattress in the corner and closes his eyes.
He isn't surprised by the light surrounding him. He has seen this corridor many, many times before. As always, he reaches out and touches the rainbow light that makes up the walls. This time, it feels cold and haunting and sends a chill up his arm.
He looks forward, expecting to see one of the many fiery eyes.
There is no one watching him. There is nothing but a gaping emptiness. It is a space devoid of any warmth or happiness or joy.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, understanding. "I should have saved you."
Why?
He turns and sees Mikumo, dark of hair and standing taller than Izuku. All he can make out are his facial features. Everything else is hazy.
"Because I want to save everyone."
You can't save everyone.
"I need to try but I didn't even try. I need to be better."
His brother smiles a mad grin. I saved you from the dying fire.
"Mikumo, what did you—"
I gave you a clean slate. Everything you do now is your choice. Now, wake up.
Someone's shaking him awake. His eyes snap open, the misty haze of sleep passing in a single instant.
It is Kirishima, his features a mask of worry. There's something wary in his gaze.
"Hey, you alright? You were muttering a lot in your sleep."
Izuku blinks slowly, trying to grasp the details of the dream. But it's like trying to hold water with an open hand.
"There was something important in that dream," he says, swallowing.
Kirishima watches him slowly. "Well, get back to sleep," he says after a moment. "I'll keep watch."
He nods. "Yeah."
He heads out without eating.
Izuku trains his quirk for the first time. Everything he's done up until now has been raw combat training in one form or another: Jin Mo-Ri who taught him the foundations of form and technique in the months before the entrance exam; Ojiro and Iida who proved adept sparring partners, both more technically competent in a fight and both with different lessons to be learnt; and Gran Torino who taught him to use his quirks interchangeably without hesitating, a single quirk rather than a mishmash of abilities to call on.
Right now, he's working on making air blasts. During the Sports Festival, he needed to break a few fingers to generate a shockwave until the very last kick which left a deep gouge.
He settles into a common back stance, breathing calmly. He's a bit out of the way of his peers at his own insistence. Somewhere in the back, he can hear Bakugou destroying something with a crazed roar and in the corner of his vision he can see Sero swinging from one tree to the next till he crashes head first. It's an amusing diversion, certainly more entertaining than Aoyama being sick for the third time from quirk overuse or watching Sato and Yaoyorozu gorge themselves.
One For All flows through his limbs, strengthening them. He directs most of it to his legs, watching green sparks manifest.
Then, in one sudden and violent motion, he kicks. At the apex of his kick, he stops, sending as much force through his leg as he can.
It isn't an awe-inspiring trench or even a shallow gouge. Izuku frowns, air buffeting his face and tussling his hair.
"Why isn't this working?" he asks, after the fourth failed attempt.
You're thinking it through too much. It wasn't just a kick then; it was Renewal Taekwondo. There's a difference in intent.
Izuku rolls his eyes. Lets One For All Fade. Activates it again.
There's still a bit of lag, made worse when he tries to specify a portion of his body to amplify. It's a weakness he still has, something that stops him effectively flowing from one offence to another. Gran Torino had mercilessly taken advantage of it. Whilst it doesn't matter against people who aren't physical monstrosities, anyone as fast or faster can mercilessly take advantage of that gap.
So, he practices, flexing One For All active before letting it fade. He practices letting it activate only in one limb without much success and almost breaks his pelvis doing so. Apparently, moving at extreme speeds isn't good for the human body—or whatever bits are still human given that he has crystal in his bones and a dragon's spine in his back—which is unfortunate.
There needs to be a minimum amount of One For All in his entire body to make it safe just to handle the internal forces and torques generated.
Maybe it is petty, but he doesn't stop training when he feels a shadow approach him. He knows its shape well enough to know who it is. All he does is shift gears to something less intense.
"Midoriya, we need to talk," Aizawa says, likely sick of being ignored.
Izuku doesn't look up from the shadow spheres he's juggling. Three of them right now, though the fourth had dissipated under the sunlight. One of them is about to shatter.
"What's there to say?" he asks casually. "Unless you're here to apologise to me."
"Not everything is about you."
"Then why are you here?" he asks snidely. "If it's not about me, why are you telling me? If it has nothing to do with me in the slightest, why are you trying to justify yourself to me?"
"Because you've isolated yourself from your classmates."
"Because I'm angry," Izuku snaps. "And it's not fair to take it out on them. But you, you keep on making things worse. You went after my mother and then you expelled my friend."
"We're not here to talk about your mother."
"And yet, here we are, talking about her."
"I haven't said one word to her since then and I've apologised to her."
"Yeah, in a letter that was written by someone else."
"So what? I've kept my end of that apology. I haven't done anything even if I don't believe she is good for you. Because I don't, for a single moment, believe you are in any way, shape, or form, fit to make decisions regarding your own health."
Izuku grits his teeth so hard they feel like they're about to break. "I'm better."
"Yes, you are. But you don't care about your own death. It means nothing to you even though the ramifications on your psyche are evident in everything you do."
Izuku stills. He doesn't care that one of the spheres hits his head or that the other two dissipate with his lack of concentration.
"Like what? Being willing to move on. That's what you seem completely incapable of doing. I moved on from Bakugou. I moved on from what you said. I moved on from the Stadium. I fucking moved on, not because there's something wrong with me, but because there's no point dwelling on the past. Why can't you move on?"
"Now you're changing the narrative and making yourself out to be the victim. Something you always do."
"Fuck you," Izuku shouts. "Fuck you and your bullshit. Give me one good reason to justify expelling Fumikage. One."
Aizawa crosses his arms. "Does joining a paramilitary organisation opposed to UA count?"
"What?"
"He joined a paramilitary organisation," Aizawa repeats. "I can't ignore that. He made that choice on his own. No one forced him to hide or lie. He could have come to us, could have us the truth. He kept his quirk a secret from—"
"I did the same," Izuku snaps.
"Yes, and then you came clean. You didn't go out and join a military group."
"Why didn't you try to convince him? He's an idiot but he isn't cruel or evil."
Aizawa raises one hand. "A thousand lives." He raises the other. "A dozen here. Which would you choose to save?"
"Neither. I'd save both. I'd never go into a situation willing to sacrifice them."
Aizawa closes the hand with a dozen lives in it. "That's the choice he was willing to make, the choice he insisted I should be able to make if it ever came to your class. I'm sorry that it hurts, but his path diverged from heroics and he's never going to walk that road again."
"You don't know that."
"You're right, I don't. The only thing I can hope for is that he doesn't do anything worse. I can only hope he walks away from his foolishness." Aizawa sighs, looking so tired. "In truth, I think he's only going keep walking down that road and he's never going to look back."
"Tell me whom and I'll help him. I don't care."
"You know, maybe you can. Just go ask your father. He works for them."
Izuku's eyes widen. "No."
"Yes. Your father who works for the imperial family. You father who threatened to burn down UA. That's the group your friend joined." Aizawa steps forward. "So maybe I didn't make the best choice but forgive me for not trusting a person who joined them. Forgive me for not trusting someone who lied about their quirk constantly and never came forward. Forgive me for choosing not to help someone working with a group that killed twenty million people."
He glares at Aizawa. He stares down a man he once respected, a man he once considered a mentor and maybe a friend in the future. Someone he thought he could trust—and in many ways, he did trust Aizawa with the truth of his quirk.
All Izuku sees now is a petty man on a vendetta, lashing out at everyone for his past mistakes. He sees the person he could become one day if he keeps playing the victim. And maybe he still is by blaming Aizawa, but Izuku doesn't care anymore.
"No," he says deep as the void that is his kingdom. "Never."
He says it with the slightest hint of the songthatwillendlife and no doubt his eyes burn like bolts of green lightning, bright with dark knowledge. And maybe the temperature drops and the sky seems to darken because the dreaming dead gods within want to be let free to rampage and consume everything.
"A truth: I know what my father did and I trust him more than you." He grins, an unending maw of crystal teeth fit to consume gods. "Another truth: I want to be a hero, but not at UA. Not with you."
-TDB-
The second day of camp begins without much fanfare. They are woken at the crack of dawn, just before the sun rises. He still feels angry and bitter after the confrontation with Aizawa, but he's willing to walk his own path now more than ever.
He is changing when he feels the approaching shadow, uncertain of who it is. He pulls his shirt down fully and turns, seeing Iida. His classmate looks uncertain, wary even, and hesitates before he speaks.
"Can we talk?"
"Are you done being angry with me?" Izuku asks.
"You're the one who was angry with me."
"Because I was worried. And yes, I know how hypocritical that is. It's just that I didn't know what to say and you just kept on making things worse." He takes a breath to calm down. "Look, I don't claim to understand how you feel about Stain and I was wrong with how I handled things in class. I shouldn't have said it the way I said."
"Midoriya, I don't—"
"Just let me finish. Please. I'm trying to figure out the words and if you interrupt me, it's hard. Okay?"
"Alright."
"I didn't consider your feelings when I said that. Because once I start hurting my friends because of my beliefs, then maybe there's something wrong with my methods. And your methods were why I said you were wrong, why I said Stain was wrong. Doesn't that make me wrong as well? And even if it doesn't, I can't excuse being petty and spiteful to you. It doesn't excuse not being a better friend to you."
Guilt and fear drive his words. Guilt at everything that's happened between them and fear that if he doesn't speak now then maybe their relationship will crumble.
"I never told you."
"Because you didn't trust me. Because I didn't care more about you and that's not fair. I might be saying this wrong, and maybe I shouldn't, but I'm sorry about what happened to your brother. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you. I'm sorry I didn't consider how you felt."
Iida shuffles awkwardly. "It's okay.
"No, it's not. I think, more than anything, I need to come clean and tell you all the truth."
"What are you talking about?"
"My quirk. It's different. Just like Shouto's."
"That's good, I guess. I had Todoroki helping me the entire time. He threatened to call you if I didn't let him help."
Izuku chuckles. "That sounds like him."
"Yeah. He was helpful tracking Stain down." Iida shakes his head, smiling. "He kept me safe more than a few times. I don't know, he could just see things, you know?"
"See things?"
"Yeah, He said he got it from his dad. He could see how the… how the victims died. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a lot more he saw."
The sight of the godflame, Mikumo says. It birthed the arrow of time. I suppose seeing the past and future isn't so farfetched.
Something about that sentence makes the back of his brain itch. He puts it aside because he has other matters to consider. Such as training.
They are, once again, split up for individual training. Izuku ignores that persistent itch in the back of his mind as he walks past the training grounds, glaring at Aizawa.
He heads deep into the forest, far from any of his classmates. He walks for over an hour before he finally stops.
One For All fills him and grants him strength. He kicks at a tree with every iota of the quirk that he can manage safely.
He watches it tip over. Good. He keeps training his quirk, learning more and more of the limits he can reach. Right now, safely, it feels like he can hold a good quarter of One For All and utilise it effectively without worry of damage. It has something to do with the crystals in his bone and whatever other changes have occurred to his body.
Watching the change as he draws on more of One For All is interesting. At the lower end, his body develops a mild glow. But as he increases, the sparks of green lightning intensify.
Doing so allows him to ignore the itch in the back of his mind. Seeing the past and future, Mikumo had said so innocuously.
Izuku kicks another tree in frustration.
By evening, that scratch has become an all-consuming sense of frustration. He taps his foot rapidly, twitching and unintentionally creating a burst of wind.
When the sun sets, he heads back. The hour-long walk does nothing to soothe him in the slightest. If anything, he's twitchier and more annoyed than ever.
He sees his cohorts making dinner.
Kirishima waves at him. "Hey, how was training?"
"Good," he says absently, scanning the area.
When he sees Shouto, he can no longer hold it back. He's somewhere in the back carrying logs for the bonfire.
Izuku stalks over. He taps Shouto on the shoulder. The moment he turns, Izuku punches Shouto suddenly and without hesitation.
His friend stumbles back, dropping his pile of logs with a loud clatter. Shouto glares at him, baring his teeth in warning. In that pitch-black eye, he sees the end of time itself.
"Midoriya, what the hell?"
He ignores them.
"You knew," Izuku shouts, shaking with anger. "You fucking knew he'd leave."
Shouto licks his cracked lip. "Yeah."
He leaps forward and slams into Shouto. They tumble forward, biting and punching and kicking and screaming every obscenity possible. They've danced this dance a dozen times before and it is always brutal.
All he wants right now is to strangle Shouto.
"You asshole!" Izuku roars, elbowing Shouto in the throat.
He takes a brutal knee to the groin for his trouble. Fuck it, he's taken worse. He twists around Shouto's blow and punches him in the kidney.
Before he can process it, there's an ice fist in his face. He lists to the side, then snaps forward, headbutting Shouto.
Strong hands pull him back. He's put into a submission hold rapidly, fast enough that it disorientates him.
He wants to flex and break the hold until a strong tail wraps around his waist, pinning him fully.
"Calm down," Ojiro hisses.
He sees Shouto being held, surprisingly, by Bakugou. "Calm the fuck down!" Bakugou roars, applying more pressure. Shouto winces slightly.
Izuku doesn't care that he's making a scene but right now, he could care less that Asui looks disappointed or that Ochaco looks fearful. They have no right to look at him like that, not when they have no idea why he's so angry.
"You fucking knew," he snarls.
Shouto raises a single perfect brow. "And?"
Izuku glares at Shouto. "I hate you."
"Feeling's mutual."
"Oh, come on. You guys are friends," Kirishima says.
Izuku would shake his head if not for the fact that Ojiro is keeping him in place. "Let go."
"Not happening," Ojioro says.
"Bakugou, get Shouto of here," Iida says strongly, disappointed.
"I can walk on my own."
Izuku glares, doing his absolute best not to tear out of Ojiro's grasp and jump on Shouto. It would be easy, but it would mean hurting Ojiro and he, unlike Shouto, doesn't deserve that.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks tiredly. "You should have trusted me."
"Because he wouldn't be happy here."
"What?"
"His path diverged from yours a long time ago. You want to change society, make it better for everyone. He wants to save everyone and your methods are too different. I'm sorry."
"What the fuck is even going on?" Bakugou snaps. "The fuck bullshit plot point is this?"
"Shut up," Izuku snaps back, before turning to Shouto. "You don't get to say that."
"He deserves to be happy and he'd never be happy lying to himself. I'm sorry, but he won't be happy at UA. There's no future where he can be happy here."
"Fuck this shit," Bakugou says, letting go of Shouto and shoving him towards Iida. "This is not my fucking character arc. I don't fucking care."
"If I let go, will you stay still?" Ojiro asks once someone has dragged Shouto away.
Izuku considers that. His limbs shake with all the fury he's failing to restrain. More than anything, he just feels embarrassed by all the eyes watching him.
"I'm going to take a walk before I punch someone," he says calmly.
"So, you want to explain what that was about?" Ojiro asks, expression both disappointed and worried. "Why you're acting out?"
That expression is mirrored in everyone around him.
"No," he says bluntly.
"Let him go," Ochaco says.
Ojiro does so. Izuku turns around, stalking past them. His arms tremble and he feels his shadow vibrate as he struggles to control his rage.
"Do you want to bring Kouta some food?"
He tears the box out of her hands. "Fine."
He doesn't look back.
-TDB-
Fumikage hates being on the floor. He hates being forced to the floor. He hates being whacked on the head by someone he barely knows.
He also hates using a knife. The blunt training knife is nearby, resting innocently beneath a man's foot.
"You've never used one before," his trainer for the morning says. "I thought you had some experience with them."
"None," Fumikage growls, annoyed.
He's trying to learn how to fight with a knife. The white blades are powerful weapons, he knows, but not in the hands of someone who cannot use them. And since he's given away his sword—why did I give it up right after I got it?—he must learn to use what he has.
Yes, he can summon a pack of hounds or a murder of glass crows, but it means nothing if someone closes the distance fast enough or if they're already away from him fighting another enemy. Besides, he can tell that these knives are supremely suited for killing abyssal monsters.
It also gave him something to do instead of getting lost all morning. The offer of training had come about after a few minutes of watching children sparring in one of the halls, all armed with different weapons. When the session had ended, the instructor had extended the offer for training.
"Well, you're learning faster than most people," the man says, helping Fumikage to his feet.
They're not in a training hall any longer, but rather on the outskirts of a field. There's a group of twelve people who have been training all morning as well. Training to use their quirks. It is like UA—and though that thought brings him pain, he forces it down—except that there is a level of efficient brutality to the way they use their quirks. There is no flash or showing off, no shouting out moves or posing. No, they attack to cripple and kill.
"They're brutally simple."
It is a stark difference to how he has fought. Efficiency is something he's never really trained for. Compared to the twelve people sparring, he may as well be a showman.
"Yes. They're a suppression squad."
Fumikage makes a sound of confusion.
"Inquisitor," their trainer, the same man who is training him today, says politely. "Rumour has it that you don't read the dossiers."
He closes his eyes, embarrassed. Deep in his soul, he feels chains rattling. His dragon and hounds and crows all angered that their master was insulted. He tugs on the chains in reprimand, forcing them to behave.
"No, I don't," he says.
I probably should.
Reading them, however, means fully accepting what he has done. It is another step forward, another chain around his neck. One day, his actions will have to be accounted for. He'll have to stand before his mother and father and tell them the truth, explain why he hasn't responded to a single call or message. Before his friends, he'll have to explain why he thought this was the right decision, and a part of him doesn't want to do that because he knows Izuku will forgive him, will accept what he has done and will always accept him despite his mistakes.
Fumikage doesn't deserve forgiveness.
"This is one of our suppression teams," the trainer says. "They're made up of people with quirks and they're some of our most effective combatants. Those kids are new. Guardswoman Izanami has a few trained teams under her command, though I suppose you have command of them as well."
Special Asset, he thinks, feeling the chains of authority binding him to the trainer and the kids on the ground training.
"There's a good chance you'll be the highest ranked person on the field," the trainer continues. "You'll need to learn how we're organised and how we operate."
He glances down at his training clothes, like his usual vest and pants except for fewer armour plates. Most of all, there's the Emperor's symbol over his heart, stencilled in a light grey. It marks him, as with all other things.
"I suppose I will."
"Suppression teams are all quirk users, six per group. We don't have that many. I think maybe twenty across the entire household. None of them is close to your level, let alone the Royal Guard. Remember that. The absolute strongest may be as strong as Gang Orca at best though she's unlikely to win that encounter. They're trained for either abyssal combat and conventional warfare. They're here to support you or the Guard, not to stand on the frontline against top tier heroes or abyssal threats."
Fumikage fingers the white blades sheathed on his belt
"Understood."
"Yes and… Don't you dare take a break!" the man roars at the kids. "You only stop training when you're dead! As I was saying, you've got suppression teams and then you've got strike teams. They're more conventional and much larger. Each one's led by someone with a combat quirk. They're what we send against the Taiwanese remnant or whenever a navy captain thinks about going rogue. I take it you don't know anything about small-scale tactics."
He rolls his eyes. "You take joy in my ignorance."
"I know your type. You're hoping you can coast by without learning much. That's not going to happen." He points at one of the kids who is on the ground unconscious. "Simple mistake her captain made. In the field she's dead. You're going to be responsible for a lot of lives."
A flash of light interrupts Fumikage from speaking. He glances at Maya and sees her in a formal white uniform, not her usual civilian garb.
"I see you're scaring him," Maya says.
"Izanami," the trainer says respectfully. "He'll be taking lessons in tactics, strategy and logistics. This is non-negotiable. You're bad enough as it is."
"Fine, fine, fine," she says. "We don't have any objectives this week. You can have him when we get back in a few hours."
He doesn't let his relief show as he steps away from the trainer. "We're going somewhere?"
"Yup. Maybe wear something warm."
A few hours later, their helicopter sets down in a new location. It's somewhere off the coast of Japan, that much he can tell, but without his phone, he can't even check their location.
"What did he mean yesterday about the Throne?" he asks, bored.
"Oh that. You're just bumped up in the line of succession," she says. "Remember, anyone of Japanese birth can claim it. But, on the offhand chance that all the royal lines somehow all die off, it's a contingency to ensure someone aware of the abyss takes the Throne. Don't worry, Ryujin and I are far ahead of you, and there are dozens of people between us. It's never going to happen."
He exhales sharply. "Good."
The helicopter sets down and they exit onto a landing pad. Wherever they are, it's raining heavily. The landing pad is on the far side of a large complex, and from here he can see the swarm of soldiers in white on the compound walls.
"It is time you know a secret we have kept hidden from you."
He frowns, following her inside. "I know you keep secrets."
"Yes, you're a smart little crow. But now, I will show you the secret of our greatest shame. This is the greatest act of trust we can ever show you. It will bind us fully."
"Where are we?"
"Yakushima fortress," she says. "This is one of our strongholds."
"This was a national heritage site," he says, following her past a biometric scan.
"Until we co-opted it and put a fortress on it. Now shush."
They walk through the fortress, constantly descending. The air gets colder the lower they go, and the security measure intensify. They cross one final barrier before the noisy hum of electromagnetic scans disappears.
She opens a door into a room with wood walls and floors. He spies a garden to the left, a rather large one with a pond and unless he is wrong, it likely extends the length of the compound. On the right is a spacious training area.
Kneeling in the centre is a middle-aged man of Japanese descent, dressed in a simple suit. There is nothing of note about him, dark hair and bright eyes. He has no scars or prominent facial features.
For a man who committed genocide, he doesn't look special.
Fumikage sees the man who was once the Imperial Heir, a man with the blood of twenty million on his hands and fails to understand. This is a man who sunk an entire nation in grief, whose actions destroyed Japan's reputation and directly led to a year of riots and nearly a civil war.
"You died," is all he says. "We saw it. We saw your corpse. We verified it."
Maya lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He bats it aside, stepping away from the two of them so he can watch them both.
"He's dead," Fumikage snaps. "What trick is this?"
She smiles sadly.
"You've met Hisashi, Special Asset Nomad. And you know his title of World Walker. It isn't some obscure reference. It's what he does. He walks alternate worlds. When my prince did what he did, there was no option but to placate the world with his death. We just never felt the need to let anyone know it was a prince from another world."
"My father killed his son to save his son," the man with the blood of an entire nation on his hands says in a soft voice. "It was tragic watching myself die."
"Tragic was everyone you killed," Fumikage snarls, reaching for one of his blades.
A flash of light blinds him. A strong grip keeps his arms in place.
"Don't," Maya warns, her features devoid of any warmth. "He is of the Royal line and I am bound by my oaths. Do you understand?"
One of her hands keeps him in place. The other holds a hardlight blade, pressed against the vein there. It is a reminder that no matter how close they are, they have different goals and objectives.
He takes one deep breath and forces his limbs to loosen. Fumikage nods. She waits one moment, assessing him, before stepping back, her blade dissipating.
"I have a lot of questions," he forces out once he has control.
"Ask your questions," this man, who was a prince, commands. Perhaps he still is.
"Did you know what would happen?"
"I acted out of anger. Too many died because of it. Remember that emotions have no place at the level of power you operate at."
He clenches his fists. Pushes down his rage. Says, "And yet you did just that."
"Power is not an easy burden to handle. It takes one moment for everything to come crashing down. You're one of us, now, Inquisitor. You will have to make hard decisions and being emotional will only lead to lives lost."
"I should tell the world of this," Fumikage says softly. "They deserve to know and my morals demand I tell the truth."
"And will you? You could tell the world and ruin the Imperial household. They will call for not only my death but that of the Guard and everyone aware of my existence. It would ruin us. It would lead to civil war. Do you understand the trust you have been given?"
"This is just another chain to bind me."
"Let me tell you something," the prince says, observing him. "There is never a situation where we have no choice. That's a lie. You may be afraid of the consequences, but don't act as if you didn't make this choice of your own free will."
"And what will the consequence be if I tell the world?"
"For yourself? Death." He nods to Maya who shrugs unapologetically. "For Japan? Civil war first. Then it will be China and Russia and America that wage war against us."
"You committed genocide."
"I know," the prince says. "I do not let myself forget my sins."
He looks around at the luxurious space, underground and protected from the world. "You call this remembering. You're a fucking coward."
"You know the truth now," Maya says. "What will you do?"
"My father once told me that necessity is the death of morality." He glares at her. "Were my morals a necessary part of your schemes?"
"How many times did I tell you that you could leave?" she asks in turn. "We didn't contact you after you went back to school. We wouldn't have if you didn't take that first step. Do you understand? Everything has been a choice you made and you're faced with the consequences. But are we really that terrible?"
"Twenty million innocent lives!"
"Yes, but we swore an oath to protect the Royal line." She lays a hand on the Chrysanthemum on her heart, one which he now has as well. "Regardless of his crimes, we swore that oath and would follow through with it. No matter the cost."
"In choosing to hide this, you may as well have taken part in it."
"The Imperial Heir died. That is a fact. Does it really matter that it was another?"
"Yes. The principle of it matters."
"Then you have a choice to make," she says. "And consequences to deal with."
"I need time to think," he says furiously, storming out.