Chapter 19: Airborne

The students of class 1-H hurried here and there about the development studio as they put the finishing touches on their gear. Grinding and hammering out flaws, the various mechanized harnesses and suits were being noisily finished by their frantic creators. Standing among his frenzied peers, Izuku smiled contentedly as he inspected his own arsenal. He had stun grenades aplenty as well as a few more exotic munitions including flares and a large satchel bomb that he had filled with common baking soda.

Besides Bakugo and Todoroki, I think I have an answer for almost everyone.

On the way to her bench, Kiska passed by.

'Hey Izuku, you look pleased with yourself.' she said loudly over the racket.

He grinned and gestured to his table full of weaponry.

'Check it out! Pretty sweet, no?'

She merely hummed, 'Not bad, not bad, but it pales in comparison to mine.' she pointed over to a massive pile of what he had originally assumed was scrap and spare parts.

'What?!' he exclaimed, walking around his table, 'Is all that yours? How are you going to carry it all?'

'I'm not going to carry it, I'm going to wear it silly! That's my hero costume!' Kiska said, obviously pleased with the reaction her costume was getting. Izuku was shocked. It seemed as though every inch of her once modest power harness was covered in weaponry.

'What's that thing?' he asked, pointing to a jagged metal shard mounted on a pole.

'Uh, that's a spear. I originally wanted a ballista, but Mr. Maijima said it was technically a crossbow and was against the rules.' she said sourly, 'But I didn't want to waste the parts so I just strapped the spikey bits on anyway.'

Izuku was stunned. While she wasn't the most talented engineer, what she lacked in know-how she made up for in an appreciation for firepower.

I'm starting to realize why there are so many rules in this tournament!

Suddenly he had an idea. Looking around for Power Loader, he spotted his teacher at Bukimi's table, busily inspecting his restraining tape launcher.

'Excuse me, Mr. Maijima?'

Power Loader looked up from the launcher in his arms.

'Yes, how may I help you?'

'Can I make a melee weapon?'

Power Loader hesitated, 'That depends. What did you have in mind?'

'I was going to make a nightstick.'

'Oh.' Power Loader breathed. He was probably relieved that he didn't say he wanted a battle axe or something, 'Yes of course. Do you know how to use one?'

'Not really no, but I figure it's better than nothing, right?'

'True. Okay, it shouldn't take you long to make one. I'll inspect it once you're finished.'

With a nod, Izuku went back to his desk and sketched out a rudimentary cudgel. He had been looking for something to let him hit harder in case he encountered one of the hero class students who had enhanced durability, and a bludgeon was as good an answer as any other.

A nice and heavy club would be a perfect weapon to take those guys on. Let's see, a lead core inside a hardened steel tube should do the trick. Simple!

Walking over to the lathe, he got to work. Less than an hour later, he hefted his new bludgeoning stick. Placing it on the scale, it came in at twelve kilograms.

There should be a lot of force behind this even if I hit with my "normal person" strength.

Izuku put up his hand and flagged Power Loader over.

'Here it is.' he said holding it out for him, 'What do you think?'

Power Loader took it and rolled it over in his hands.

'It seems very solid. Nice and sturdy, but it's heavy. You'll be unbalanced if you swing this. Do you really need it to weigh so much?'

Izuku nodded, 'I want to have a way to fight against someone with the hardening quirk. I doubt they would even feel my hits otherwise.'

'Very well.' Power Loader said, returning the club. He raised an eyebrow as he took in the rest of his gear that covered his workspace, 'I see you have your arsenal prepared. Carry on, Midoriya.'

'Thank you, Mr. Maijima.' he replied happily.

After setting his new nightstick down beside his other weapons, Izuku turned to his pile of scraps. He'd been accumulating a decent amount of high quality odds and ends; a veritable treasure trove of salvage.

I think I have all the school gear I need for the Sports Festival. Now I think its finally time to finish off my web-shooters.

Waving goodbye, Izuku parted ways with his classmates and started off towards the subway station. It was Thursday night and he had big plans for the weekend. Smuggled away in his backpack were the two miniature compression chambers that he needed to complete his web-shooters.

Using the parts he had been "scavenging" and "recycling" from the development studio over the past week and a half, he had been steadily building his web-shooters piece by piece in his room back home. Getting the parts wasn't difficult, but assembling the damn things without any tools sure was.

However, after many frustrating hours, he had the final parts he needed. All he had to do was get home. As he walked, he passed a bar that was plastered with posters advertising for drink specials during the upcoming Sports Festival.

"This Monday enjoy beer for two hundred and fifty yen alongside bottomless wings for just five hundred yen. Live Sports Festival coverage!"

The posters caused him to feel a flutter of nerves in his stomach. Everyone in the country was going to be watching the games and if he had his way, he was going to be quite famous soon. The first "quirkless" hero, and the first one on the podium to boot.

I hope I don't have any reporters chasing me down. I can barely manage with just one stalker.

At that moment he felt his spider sense buzz. Sure enough, it was the thin blonde man again, casually ambling down the sidewalk with his squeaky shoes. Over the past few days he'd become so tuned in to their sound that he could pick them up from a block away. Izuku had searched through the school website and asked his classmates, but no one had seen anyone matching the thin man's description. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't a teacher at the school, but he had to work at UA. He wouldn't be able to get past the security system at the gate if he didn't.

A few times he had been tempted to just confront the man and ask him what he was doing, but he decided against it. If he was being investigated for suspicious activity, he didn't want to make his situation any worse by getting in his face. There was no point in avoiding him either. The man obviously already knew where he lived. So Izuku found himself in an awkward stalemate. All he could do was wait.

After arriving home, he spent the night carefully slotting in the remaining parts. It was early morning by the time he was finished his work. Hefting the wrist mounted system, he looked on in pride at his creation. The duel web-shooters strapped neatly on to his forearms just above the wrist under his costume. Only a small nozzle was visible near his palm, otherwise the shooters were completely concealed. He could have made them larger with a higher fluid capacity and added range, but he decided against it. He wanted his opponents to believe that his webs were his quirk and be thrown off balance by his other abilities rather than just a piece of gear.

Izuku gazed out the window longingly, but he restrained himself. Though he was dying to test out his invention, he knew that it would be foolish to take them out so close to sunrise.

I should really get some sleep anyhow. The Sports Festival is on Monday and I need to be in top form for the events.

Reluctantly he stashed his web-shooters away with his costume before climbing into bed. Within a minute he was drifting away to sleep.

Later that morning as he walked through school, he noticed that the halls were abuzz with excitement and the air was fraught with tension. Clusters of students stood whispering and speculation abounded about who was going to advance to the end of the tournament. Every time a member of class 1-A or B passed by in the hall they were subjected to apprising looks as everyone considered their chances.

During lunch while the other tables shot jealous looks at the hero class tables, the support table was engrossed in deep conversation about their strategy.

'What do you guys think about the girl with the vines for hair, Shiozaki? Without fire or chemicals, she seems like she'll be pretty hard to beat' Saigo said in a low voice.

Everyone turned around and peered over at class 1-B. It didn't take Shiozaki long to notice the table full of serious faces studying her. She blanched and shifted nervously before the support class huddled back together again.

'Seems like a job for my crab gauntlet!' Mei whispered loudly, 'I'm telling you, it can cut through grass, shrubs, and pesky weeds no problem!'

'Save it, Mei. We're not on television yet.' Kiska said, rolling her eyes.

'How do you guys feel about Momo? She's basically a walking 3-D printer. Apparently, she can build almost anything she wants on the fly.' Izuku said.

'Talk about a dream quirk.' Saigo said wistfully, 'She's pretty much superior to us in every way.'

'She may be able to build anything she wants, but she can't create anything against the rules.' Hiretsuna reasoned, 'And what's more, we have the advantage of our quirks. M-Most of us anyway.' she looked over at Izuku, 'How would you fight her, Midoriya?'

Izuku was silent for a moment as he thought back to the USJ incident. She seemed to be a determined and physically strong fighter, but not particularly dominant like someone with enhanced strength would be.

'I know she likes fighting in close quarters with melee weapons, which is good news for me as it'll come down to my fists versus whatever she makes for herself. I think I can take her.'

'I wish I had your confidence.' Bukimi said, grinning.

'At the end of the day no matter how much we strategize it's all just speculation.' Izuku noted, looking over at Bakugo. He seemed completely at ease despite the obvious pressure in the air, 'There are a few people who I just can't see a way of beating.'

Izuku turned back to his table and saw that everyone was now looking significantly less confident. The upbeat attitude from seconds ago had evaporated.

'Way to bring down the mood, Izuku.' Kiska said glumly.

'Yeah. When it comes to fighting ability, I think class A and B have got us beat handily.' Saigo added with resignation, 'But I never planned on winning the tournament anyway. I just want to make it to the third round and get my face on TV.'

'Me too!' Mei chirped, 'I don't know why you guys care really. It's not like we can get scouted by hero agencies. It's design studios you should try and impress.'

'I thought you wanted to open your own studio?' Izuku asked.

'Of course I do! But I need to start somewhere, and what better way to get my name out there than to have my gorgeous face next to my babies on every television in the country!'

'But then, why don't you want to win? You'd be way more famous.'

She sighed. Setting down her spoon, she gave him a condescending look like she was dealing with a five-year-old. 'Not all publicity is good publicity. If you win, it's not because you had the best tech - the rules of the tournament make that abundantly clear - No, its because you're a fighter. And having the reputation of a fighter is not good for business.'

Izuku rubbed his chin, and thought this over.

'You'll see.' Mei said, returning to her meal, 'The Sports Festival is important, but we don't need to win to win.'

The support class spent the rest of their lunch period mulling over Mei's words. Much to his chagrin, Izuku found that her argument made perfect sense, but for different reasons entirely. Did he really need to try so hard?

Toshinori looked up from his work and peered over at the clock on the wall. Midoriya and his band of fellow 1-H students would be finishing up at the obstacle courses right about. Within a few minutes they'd be passing through the school gate on their way home. He made to rise from his chair, but then stopped himself.

What am I doing?

For the last few days he had been following young Midoriya every moment he could spare, searching for a sign that something was amiss but he had found nothing. His every instinct told him that Izuku was not a villain. From the way he carried himself, to how he interacted with his friends, to the elements of his past that he was able to dig up. Everything suggested that Midoriya was just another student, trying his hardest to become a hero and be a credit to society.

However, despite everything that he had learned about Midoriya's upstanding moral character, he still suspected that the boy was hiding something. The USJ incident, his performance in class, his escape in the alley, it all seemed a little too fantastical for someone with no quirk.

However, there was no evidence to support his suspicions. Midoriya didn't just show up out of the blue to be accepted into UA. He had been registered as quirkless from a young age and had an extensive medical record to back up his claim. It seemed as though young Midoriya had went to specialist after specialist over the years, no doubt desperately holding on to the hope that he was a late bloomer whose quirk was yet to manifest, but it never did. It was all too common a story these days for those unfortunate few who were born without any powers.

By all accounts, Midoriya was quirkless. However, just because he was quirkless once didn't mean he couldn't have been given a quirk by a certain third party. One of the tidbits that Toshinori had been able to dig up about Midoriya was that he had always – always – wanted to go to UA to become a pro hero. For a young boy with talent, ambition, and intelligence like Midoriya to be denied his life's goal because he was born without a quirk was unspeakably cruel. No doubt the injustice gnawed at him; made him angry; who wouldn't be?

He was willing to bet that Midoriya would do anything to get accepted to UA. Maybe even be willing to cut a deal in exchange for his service…

He let out a haggard sigh and rubbed his eyes. This was exactly the sort of twisted scheme All for One would think up. To take a promising youth and corrupt them; use their hopelessness as a means to gain a loyal slave who'd do anything for him; he'd seen it all before.

'Working late?'

Toshinori stirred. He hadn't noticed that Maijima had entered the staff offices.

'Y-Yes I suppose I am.' Toshinori said, 'Were you just supervising class 1-H?'

'Yes, they requested a run of the long-distance obstacle course in preparation for the Festival.' Maijima said, smiling slightly. Toshinori didn't know the support department instructor very well, but he recognized the rare gesture.

'How are they looking?' Toshinori asked Maijima as the man grabbed his keys and coat from his desk.

'Very well, I think. I have a good feeling about this group. I can't recall the last time I had a class this fired up. I wouldn't be surprised if a few made it to the third round of events.'

'Hm. Congratulations. I've noticed how hard they've been working, they deserve it.'

Maijima nodded his head in acknowledgment. Gathering the rest of his things, he began to walk over to the exit. Toshinori hesitated as he watched him leave. He wanted to ask him about Midoriya, but he thought better of it. Principal Nezu had informed the staff earlier that Thirteen had regained consciousness yesterday and he didn't want to hold Maijima up.

Instead, he turned to the stack of papers that was on his desk. He wasn't going to learn anything more from chasing around Midoriya. Besides, he still had his duties as a teacher. With a sigh he pulled out his marking pen and got back to work.

That night at dinner, Izuku endlessly twirled his spaghetti on his fork while his mother chattered away about the upcoming Sports Festival. There would be reviews, interviews, internships, posters, and banners (not that the participants would ever get a whiff of money for their efforts though). Normally he would have joined in the conversation, he was excited too, but he couldn't stop thinking about the man who had been following him. For the last few days the blonde man had tailed him from school and back to his apartment without fail, but today he didn't sense his presence at all and that worried him greatly.

Did he find what he was looking for or not? What if I couldn't notice him? Maybe I'm being watched right now and my spider senses can't even detect it?

Izuku pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. It never seemed to end.

I bet I'm just overthinking things. My spider sense has never been wrong before, so why worry unnecessarily? Chill out, Deku!

His mother must have noticed something was wrong as she interrupted herself, a concerned look on her face.

'Izuku, are you feeling okay?' she asked.

'Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired from my exercises that's all.' Izuku said, doing his best to sound carefree but his mother looked at him critically regardless.

'What you need is a good night's sleep.' she admonished gently, 'What are you planning on doing this weekend, Izu?'

'I don't have anything planned.' he said as he pushed back his plate, 'I'm all caught up on my homework. I was thinking I'd just take it easy until the festival.'

She nodded, 'Yes, you should take some time for yourself, you've been working so hard that it seems like you never leave your room.' she frowned at him with concern before clasping her hands together and standing. 'I know. You should go see a movie with your new friends, get to know them.' she said as she cleared her and his plate.

'I guess I could call some people and see what's going on.' he said thoughtfully.

Assuming they'd be willing to buy. I'm flat broke!

'Good' she said, "Here, help me with the dishes.'

He obediently went over to the sink and started running the water. As the sink filled, he considered what he could do with his spare time.

After washing the dishes, Izuku went back into his room and sat down at his computer. Of course, the blonde man wasn't the only reason he felt anxious. Tonight, he would finally test out his web-shooters.

Even though he had come up with the designs for his web-shooters and web formula a mere month ago, it felt like an eternity had passed since he got inspired from the spider in his window. So much had happened since then.

Izuku flicked his gaze outside. The web was still there, framed by the slowly setting sun into fine golden lines against a deep purple sky. Rolling clouds were tumbling over the horizon from the distant Pacific, humbling the steel and glass spires below. It was quite picturesque actually.

I wish I had a better camera than my lousy cell phone. I see some pretty cool stuff sometimes and it would be nice to snap a decent photo every now and then.

As he looked outside, he felt his anxiety build up again as doubts about his invention and the blonde man resurfaced. Shaking his head clear, he turned to his computer, hopeful for some distraction.

Looking up the news, the very first article he saw was a story about the mayoral race. By some miracle the incumbent mayor was managing to hold on in the polls, despite the repeated allegations of sexual misconduct, corruption, and organized crime connections. It seemed as though the deciding votes would come from the low-income districts of the city. He snorted.

I guess that's why I've been seeing so much of that fat bastard's face plastered everywhere I go in the slums.

He exited out of the news. Politics had become such a mud slinging, shit show that he couldn't stomach much in a single sitting. Twiddling his thumbs, he pondered where he could go next. Nothing sprang to mind so he defaulted to the Hero Board website. Maybe there were more "leaked" photos of Mt. Lady. However, to his dismay, the main page was plastered with posts about Stain. Apparently, he had murdered another "false hero".

To make matters worse it seemed as though the twisted vigilante's popularity had only grown since his last victim. As expected, sheltered, precious little children were rushing out the woodwork to defend their idol. Izuku couldn't help but cringe in embarrassment at some of the comments he was reading. Apparently, the adorably edgy twelve-year olds had really latched on to Stain. Many of them were hailing the mass murderer as the hero that their modern, highly superficial society needed and were actively defending his deeds as being "a true application of justice". As something of a hero dork himself, Izuku had developed a high tolerance for lofty moral philosophising and esoteric suppositions about societies virtues, but this was too much even for him.

With a groan, he backed out of the thread. This wasn't helping him relax. Leaning back in his chair, he kicked his legs up on his desk and looked over at the spider in his window. In a few hours he would either be soaring through the skies, or a red and blue smear on the sidewalk.

While Izuku was summoning the courage for his web-shooter test, an altogether different experiment was being carried out in the Quirk Research Institute in Tokyo. Beneath the bright lights of a sterile white operating theatre, the Nomu was being examined. Crowded between the sensors, sedative filled IV's, and regenerative repressive neurotoxin, Dr. Akatani and two of his assistants were busily examining the exposed brain of the creature. Above them, seated in the same viewing gallery that Izuku nearly lost consciousness in over a year ago, was a small crowd of scientists. During the first surgical exploration the gallery had been filled to bursting with excited military personnel and grim-faced politicians who were listening with a mixture of awe and fear to their scientist attaché's who bravely attempted to explain the procedure's nuances to their scientifically illiterate charges. However, the glamour of the operations had since worn thin, and now only the truly appreciative remained. Dr. Akatani was in good company.

Humming to himself, Dr. Akatani retrieved his scalpel and bent over the new incision he had just cut through the specimen's skull. As he worked, one of the monitors beeped and his assistant twitched.

'Doctor, we are registering heightened nerve responses. The subject appears to have full sensory awareness! Perhaps we should abort the procedure so we can review our security procedures.'

'I don't believe that will be necessary.' Dr. Akatani said as he gently parsed the thin, membranes of brain tissue apart with his scalpel, 'Suction.'

An assistant held up a small tube and hovered it over the wound, gently vacuumed away a shallow pool of dark blood from the cut. The tube made a brief, grotesque slurping sound as the obstructing fluid was removed before Dr. Akatani went back to his work.

'As suspected the prefrontal cortex is severely underdeveloped. This explains the lack of cognition in the subject and its increased susceptibility to suggestion. Fascinating.'

Before he could continue, one of the monitors connected to the Nomu's chest began to beep loudly.

'Doctor, we are seeing signs of the onset of apnoea. Perhaps we should-'

'Yes. We have gone far enough for now. Reduce the sedative dose sufficiently for regeneration. We will continue the procedure after recovery.'

Dr. Akatani drew back and allowed his assistants access. They had made good progress tonight. The creature's regenerative abilities were proving quite useful in exploring regions of the brain not typically accessible in living subjects. As he laid his tools to rest, he looked into the creature's eyes. Even undergoing traumatic brain surgery, it showed no outward sign of discomfort or pain. He knew it had working nerves and it was conscious but it was little more than a living machine now. Perhaps in time they would uncover how to issue orders. General Mottaiburimashita would be thrilled.

How All Might had managed to defeat a creature like this was beyond him. The combinations of quirks it possessed made it all but undefeatable. It was no understatement that whoever had made the Nomu threatened the very fabric of their society. Still Dr. Akatani couldn't help but feel some measure of satisfaction the more he learned about the Nomu. His formula had created Spider-Man, an intelligent and independent individual who acted with agency; much more than a mere weapon. What was this thing but a living husk? In his eyes, it was a failure.

The wind whipped through the hastily abandoned streets of the slums, carrying dried trash, election slogans, plastics and street debris in gusty torrents to be deposited in the alcoves and staircases of the weathered apartments. Rusty apertures whistled and rickety old fire escapes rattled loudly as the alleys became diseased microclimates. Stinking, hot beds of garbage were swirled and mixed by the rising air pressure to cast their foulness into the maelstrom above.

Far, far, above the pitching cries of the streets, Izuku stood on one of the browning, perpetually exposed girders of the Grey Towers. He did not know why this building or it's three identical siblings were left half-built, but he could guess. Some financial crisis had struck or a speculative real estate bubble had burst or maybe a housing development scam had surfaced. Renovation was too costly and demolition too controversial, so they were left rotting to the city's homeless. Whatever the case, these four half gutted tenements were the tallest structures in the slums, and consequently the best place to test his web-shooters.

Currently, he was watching with a mixture of trepidation and awe as a storm marched inexorably inland, clearing the streets before it like chaff. Already disaster response teams were mobilizing near the waterfront in preparation for the surge.

'Perfect weather to conduct a life or death test.' Izuku remarked sarcastically to the storm, his words barely audible in the gale.

You'd think the impending hurricane would have made top billing in the news today, but nope! I gotta know about the election!

Taking a shuddering breath, he looked down. He remembered his grappling gun test. He hadn't even flinched then. Of course, back in the USJ he didn't have to contend with 120 km/h winds and while he was confident in his own genius, it was far easier to trust in steel lined cable then a hitherto undiscovered elastic compound.

What if the moment I jump the wind smashes me into a steel girder or something?! This is idiotic! I'll test my web-shooters tomorrow…

Izuku made to turn away but only managed a half step before he stopped himself. He really did need to test his web-shooters…and so what if it was windy? What if he was fighting somebody who could manipulate the air or something?

With a growl of frustration, he forced himself back to the ledge. Looking across the chasm before him, he focused on the neighbouring Grey Tower and its girder lattice. With a subtle flex of his forearm, a activated the trigger on his web-shooter and a cord of white goo shot from the small nozzle by his wrist. Despite the high wind speeds, the velocity of the strand was sufficient to travel the length between the two street towers and cling to the metal on the other side. As soon as the webbing hit its target, the nozzle immediately clipped the strand, which he than grabbed before it could fly away. Squeezing the webbing in his hand, he rolled the material between his fingers appraisingly. It was thick, elastic, and no doubt extremely sticky. If it weren't for the derivative web solution compound that he had incorporated into the weave of his suit, he doubted he would even be able to separate his fingers from the stuff.

It seems stable enough. Good consistency. But how's it's strength?

He gave the strand an experimental flick, causing the taut cordlike web strand to oscillate like an enormous guitar string. As it wiggled to and fro in the wind, he gave the webbing a sharp tug. To his satisfaction his pull was met with sufficient resistance that he was confident it wouldn't snap under his weight. There was only one thing left to do.

With a sharp intake of breath, he jumped.

Diving downward, he held his breath until with an inaudible snap the webbing went taut and his plummet downwards transformed into an arc.

'OooOoooohh Fuuuuck!' he yelled as he started to swing back up.

The webbing was holding firm but as he fell forwards the buffeting winds began to cause him to spin and shear off from where he had intended. He was swinging too far to the left and from the look of things he would wrap around the tower to be grinded against the unfinished concrete façade or sent flying into one of the open concrete windows.

It's too difficult to control in this weather! I need a smaller strand, something easier to work with!

As the sharp edge of the building filled his vision, he released the strand of web from his hand and fired a second strand. This time at the corner of the building. Curling his arm, Izuku used his strength to increase his momentum. This sent him swinging far faster than he had anticipated and he zoomed around the corner at a breakneck speed.

'Oh sh-'

Instinctively, he released the thread before he could be sent around the corner and pancaking into the wall. For a brief moment he was soaring. Untethered to anything and at the mercy of the winds.

This is a lot harder than I thought!

Even in the midst of the storm his body behaved with the utmost grace and agility. As he was being rocked by the gale, he was able to twist around, aim, and fire his webbing at the tower behind him, and recover. Once again he found himself flying towards the skyscraper however this time he did not panic. Tuning into his spider-sense, he felt that even as he was heading straight towards the concrete wall, he was in no danger. Riding his descent, Izuku's arc carried him straight into one of the open windows of the tower. To his amazement, even in the middle of the storm the room was occupied with a camp of homeless.

'Woops! Don't mind me, just passing through!' Izuku shouted.

As he rocketed into the room, he felt the cord snap against the top lip of the concrete window. Before he could be sent hinging upwards into the ceiling, he released the cord and flew horizontally across the vagrant encampment. As he flew, he blurred past patchwork tents, smoking camp fires, empty laundry lines, and stained cardboard shelters before exiting out on the opposite side of the tower.

Okay, that wasn't too bad. How about I try to swing from tower to tower?

Slowly, he felt his confidence return as he practiced swinging and his cries of alarm were gradually transitioned to shouts of giddy excitement. Once he got over the terror, he found himself having more fun than he had ever had in his life. To his immense satisfaction, his web-shooters and web formula worked flawlessly. All he needed to do was refine his technique. With the aid of his spider-sense, he discovered that he always felt when his trajectory would result in a collision or going off course. He still had a lot to learn but already he could feel himself adjusting to the verticality and momentum of web slinging.

While Izuku twirled, swung, and flipped around the Grey Towers, the windows steadily filled with gawking onlookers as news about the death-defying madman spread between the floors and camps of squatters. Eventually the crumbling balconies were packed as men and women, young and old, gathered to see the infamous Spider-Man dance in the hurricane.

As everyone cheered the daredevil's antics, there was one man who watched in silence. He stood at the back of the hooting crowds - his long dark hair tied behind him with a rag while his face was hidden by a mask. Despite the ragged appearance of his clothes, he was lean and muscled. Few seemed to notice him and those that did quickly averted their gaze.

After a few moments of silent appraisal, the man disappeared into the dark stairwell.