It had gotten far, far out of hand. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop.
Every day, he continued to do what he could for as long as he could handle. Every day, it wasn't enough, and every day, the noose tightened a little more. But for the first time in years, he wasn't just waiting for the next chance to be himself again once he ran out of time.
It was something that, probably, he should not be doing. His PR manager would have a meltdown if she knew he'd become so wrapped up in the lives of some random family. But there were a lot of things that would make her have a meltdown, if she learned them. It was nowhere near the biggest secret he kept.
And where was the harm? He had spare time. Instead of wasting it, he could help a young Quirkless boy in a way that very few other people could. He could be useful, even like this. How was that anything but good?
"This! This kind of thing," Midoriya cried, holding his phone up as he scooted a little closer to Toshinori on the springy mats of one of the sports center side rooms.
The boy's screen showed a news segment, a video of a slim woman in an auburn cat-themed costume facing off against a hulking giant of an opponent on a city street. The man swung at her with a blow that would knock her head clean off if it connected, but she darted under his fist and struck the edge of his leg while he was off-balance, bringing him to one knee. Then, she continued around him in one fluid motion, and folded his other arm into a joint lock. The man was immobilized on the ground in an instant.
"She's not very strong, and her telepathy Quirk doesn't give her a combat advantage," Midoriya explained, "but she can still take down people twice her size! That's the kind of technique I need to learn. I can't just rely on brute strength."
"Yet." Toshinori corrected. "You've barely begun working out! You'll get much stronger in time." It was noticeable now: Midoriya had put on muscle since he'd started. Probably not as much as he could have, since he'd changed his schedule to make room for agility exercises that were starting to look more and more like parkour. But Toshinori was still immeasurably proud of him.
"That's not what I mean..." Midoriya had that glazed glint in his eye that said he'd thought about this concept, at length, and was about to speak about it, at length. "I'm just not a large person, and I'm probably never going to be. Even with weightlifting, I'm never going to be equal with people who are just bigger." Toshinori felt a momentary ping of offense at the notion that Midoriya wouldn't someday buff up to the dimensions of a Mack truck, even though the boy had a point.
Midoriya squinted at him. "...Like you...! You're so tall! You must've been able to take on anyone back when you worked out! You're as tall as, as..."
Don't say All Might—"You know," he interrupted, "I've heard she actually does use her Quirk during combat. Apparently, even if her opponents know about her telepathy, it's still easy to startle them by shouting inside their heads."
"Wait, really?" Midoriya looked back at the screen, successfully distracted. "That would explain what happens in a couple of other videos..." he glanced back at Toshinori. "How do you know that? Are you a fan?"
"I..." He cleared his throat. He couldn't exactly say I had a friendly chat with her team during a hero billboard gala one year. "I'm fairly sure she mentions it in interviews somewhere..."
Midoriya gave him a quizzical look before turning back to his phone. Now the kid probably thought he liked to leer at heroes who wore skimpy catgirl outfits. He let out a soft internal sigh.
"It's going to be hard to find a teacher, though..." Midoriya murmured. "The only courses I can find are for martial arts, and... they seem like they're way more about the 'art' than anything else."
"Yes, those disciplines are mostly organized sports. Actual combat training is usually bundled into hero courses..." he trailed off.
Midoriya sighed. "...because a person's combat style is usually tailored to their Quirk," he finished, looking sullen. "But... I need something..." he looked up at Toshinori, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Do you have any ideas?"
Oh, he knew how to wrap Toshinori right around his finger with those eyes. "I can ask around..." Toshinori said. "But no matter what combat style you pick, you'll need to have quick feet to use it. Show me again what you've been working on?"
Midoriya hopped to his feet. "Right!" he cried, springing backwards, and Toshinori smiled.
Toshinori thought about it later at home, while mixing up a tasteless protein powder mixture because it had been a very long day and making real food required energy he didn't have right now. Before he embarked on this madcap U.A. escapade, the twenty-one hours of non-hero time every day felt like eternity. But now, between teacher certification, agency management, and Midoriya, he barely had a chance to catch his breath.
Normally, kids taking the U.A. entrance exam didn't have any formal combat experience. They were children, after all. They learned technique once they actually made it into the school. But Midoriya was right: he would need something extra to give him an edge if he wanted any chance of rising above competitors with Quirks.
Toshinori paused. When had he actually started taking this seriously? He knew U.A.'s policies. It was an impossible goal. And yet... something made him want to give the boy the very best chance he could get. Wasn't that the definition of a hero right there? Someone who dared people to hope, even in the face of the impossible. And it didn't help that, at this point, he would do just about anything to bring that bright overjoyed sparkle into Midoriya's eyes. Oh, this had gotten far out of hand.
He knew a number of pins and locks himself, but he had no idea how to break the moves down into steps that could be taught to someone else. If there was a teaching course on that, he hadn't taken it yet. And even if he knew how, he questioned how plausible it would be for sickly salaryman Toshinori Yagi to teach advanced combat. If the boy's news club friends learned about that, it would all be over.
What else could he do, though? He could easily use his connections to find Midoriya an excellent tutor, but if All Might—or All Might's personal secretary—hired a teacher for a random kid, it would create a lot of questions that he was not prepared to answer.
He turned off the blender and stared at the brownish slurry that slowly pooled at the bottom. And then a string of decades-old memories suddenly snapped into sharp focus: training sessions where it didn't matter how hard he punched, because his blows never landed; sessions he learned to do while fasted because otherwise his lunch would just end up on the floor, looking a lot like the mess inside his blender right now... his opponent had been nowhere near as strong as him, but he didn't need to be. He would feint and dodge straight through Toshinori's head-on assault and take him down with a single, well-placed, devastating blow, then laugh at how little force it took to bring the wielder of One For All to his knees.
A shudder ran through him. Oh, no. He did know someone who would be perfect for this, didn't he? Someone who practiced the kind of technique Midoriya was looking for. Someone who already knew the connection between Toshinori Yagi and All Might. Someone who had even been a certified U.A. homeroom teacher, responsible for the supplemental combat training of a whole classroom of students.
The best possible person to help Midoriya. But also: the worst possible person.
Oh, this was a bad idea. He should just try and tutor Midoriya himself. If the kid broke some bones, so be it. This alternative could end up being far, far worse.
But Midoriya had asked him for help, specifically...
He grimaced at the sludgy concoction in front of him. Perhaps he ought to make real food, food that didn't remind him of something he'd puked up onto a training mat in his youth. But then his side throbbed, reminding him how much longer he would have to stand upright to do that, so instead he let out a sigh of resignation and carried the blender cup back into the living room, sinking into his recliner and trying not to look too hard at what he was sipping.
Well, he'd ask around. And maybe, maybe, very gingerly send a message to the address he was fairly-sure-but-not-quite-certain was still current. In the meantime, his other duties beckoned, the ones that didn't involve punching people.
The teacher certification courseroom was constantly frigid, and yet his brain always managed to overheat about five minutes in. Today they were going over district grading standards, and how to create tests that conformed to national guidelines. At least, that was what the syllabus claimed. The slideshow projected on the wall seemed to have only the barest connection to what the instructor was actually saying, and the reference manual was the length of a hefty fantasy novel. The red tape of academic paperwork was shaping up to be even more convoluted than the red tape of hero paperwork, which was something he didn't even know was possible. Why had he decided this would be a good way to spend his last remaining years, again...?
Once class got out, he shuffled off into the hallway with the rest of the harried-looking, sleep-deprived people foolish enough to choose teaching as their profession. He pulled out his phone to message dispatch, and... there were three missed calls. Not dispatch alerts; phone calls. There were precious few people who actually had his number. He had just enough time to read the name and feel a chill dump over his head like a bucket of ice water before the phone started ringing again, making him jump.
Shit. Shit. Should he pretend that he'd changed his number? Or died? Perhaps now was a good time to suddenly retire and never be seen again. Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to ask around for help?
He hovered his thumb over the answer button, then suddenly realized—his voice—he glanced around, ducked down another hallway, saw several people from class heading into the nearby restrooms. Well, that idea was out. Did this building lock their janitorial closets?
They did not. By the time he squeezed himself past the mess of mops and stacked toilet paper rolls and ducked to avoid the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling, the call had gone to voicemail. But the silence wouldn't last for long; he knew this from experience.
He reached into One For All. It obligingly bowled him over with a head rush and a ping as his shirt's top button snapped away and ricocheted off the wall—damn it, he always forgot to unbutton it before he did this—then the phone lit up with another incoming call, nearly making him drop it again. He scrambled to juggle the device back into his hands, and his suddenly-much-larger shoulder knocked into the shelving next to him, sending a small avalanche of cleaning products crashing to the floor.
Usually, the high of transforming made him feel on top of the world, but right now it just made him feel unbearably jittery. Oh, this was a terrible idea. He should not answer this. He should block the number and get a restraining order.
...No. He was a grown adult. He was All Might. All Might could handle a single phone call.
He put on his most dazzling smile and pressed the answer button. "Torino!" he boomed, in a voice that he hoped sounded effortlessly self-confident.
"Toshinori!" his mentor snarled, and he realized he'd been wrong, he wasn't a grown adult at all, he was 18 years old again and cowering. "You sent a handwritten letter in this day and age? I haven't lived at that address for years! It's a good thing they forward my mail!"
Toshinori wasn't so sure it was a good thing. "I-I wasn't aware you had moved."
"Yes, because you haven't spoken to me in five years! Five years of radio silence, and you only bother to reach out when you're trying to get something from me?"
"I just... wanted to ask your expert advice..." Toshinori stammered.
"Don't start with your humble act. So you finally found someone? Took you long enough!"
"I—no. I thought I made that clear in the letter. This isn't about One For All."
There was a beat of silence. "Are you serious? You aren't training a successor yet, but you are goofing off with some random kid?"
"I'm looking," Toshinori shot back, with a bit too much heat. It was amazing how little time it took for his old mentor to burrow right back under his skin. "I've accepted a position at U.A. to try and find someone." He heard Torino take a breath, and cut him off before he could launch into an objection. "And yes, I'm aware it's cutting things close. I'm working as fast as I can."
"That's not what I was going to say!" Torino exclaimed. "You're gonna be teaching at U.A.!? Why is this the first I'm hearing about this? Why didn't you put that in your letter!?"
"I..." Shit, he hadn't actually meant to let that slip. It was stressful enough to learn how to teach without the blistering judgment of an actual past faculty member hovering over his head.
And sure enough, Torino pounced. "What on earth does Nezu think you're qualified to teach? Showboating 101? My god, he has no idea what he's in for. This is gonna be better than reality TV." He let out a short barking laugh.
Toshinori sighed. Talking to his mentor was a bit like being a piñata. And Torino wondered why he didn't try harder to stay in touch...
"All right, I'll grill you about that later," Torino said. "Tell me more about this kid you're trying to ruin."
Toshinori obliged, grateful to get off the subject of teaching. He told Torino about Midoriya, and the sludge villain, and the sports center, and the boy's dreams of being a Quirkless hero.
"Gee, this sounds familiar," Torino said. "But it's definitely not about One For All, right? You're definitely not reenacting your childhood like the most predictable schmuck in the known universe."
"...so he's looking for a more agility-based combat style, like yours," Toshinori continued, because he was a mature adult who did not let petty, devastatingly-accurate insults stab him in the heart. He certainly didn't retaliate with immature digs of his own. "He could also use someone who knows how to compensate for a small stature."
"Yes, yes. Not everyone can be freakishly huge like you." Torino shifted the phone, and Toshinori could hear the faint clicks and clacks of a keyboard. "Aw, is this him? With the green hair? Looking like he's having a heart attack? He's cute. The article's saying something about a beach?"
Oh, he'd found an article on the cleanup project? "Yes! He set that up himself! This is what I'm saying. He's not just another daydreamer. He's proactive!"
"I wish I could make you hear how smitten you sound right now," The amusement dripped from Torino's voice. "How about this: I'll come up there, and we can catch up, and I'll see where he's at, and we can work from there to figure out what he needs. I want to meet the kid that caught the eye of the great All Might."
Toshinori swallowed. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "No, I don't want to trouble you, I just hoped you could point me to where I could look for—"
"Toshinori," Torino cut him off. "I live less than an hour away. You've got no excuse. You afraid I'm gonna kick the crap out of your wonder child?"
A little, yes. But more than that... "It's... complicated to explain," Toshinori muttered.
"What's complicated? Are you pulling something funny to keep the kid out of the media? You know I can keep your secrets."
"He..." Torino wouldn't stop until he unraveled this whole debacle, would he? The man was like an old, grizzled dog with a bone when he set his mind on a topic. Polite deflection only made him fixate harder. "...he doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know I'm All Might."
There was a brief moment of silence. "...kid, I've told you a hundred times: baseball caps and sunglasses don't do a damn thing to disguise you. People play along because they're being nice, not because they're fooled."
"Wh—I know that! That was one time. I never tried it again!"
"Then how does he not know? Are you giving him online lessons or something?"
Toshinori's gut churned. He really should not have reached out. Torino knew he'd been badly injured five years ago, but that was all he knew. All he saw after that was the same All Might coverage everyone else watched on TV, and that coverage showed a hale and healthy hero, invincible as ever. Toshinori didn't want him to see anything beyond that.
He could just hang up now, and actually block Torino's number. But he'd already said too much to walk it back. And no matter what he did, several people would be learning about his condition fairly soon. Maybe he could use this as a test run for the upcoming U.A. staff meeting from hell.
He took a deep breath. Somehow, even as himself, he felt fragile. "...Do you remember, when I first received One For All, how I sometimes looked different when I didn't pay attention to it?"
"...Oh, yeah." Torino chuckled. "Hard to forget that! You'd get less... exaggerated. And your hair would deflate." The Quirk had always affected his appearance, to Nana and Torino's endless confusion and amusement. Though after about a decade, holding onto it became so second-nature that he didn't even let go of it in his sleep, and he almost forgot that he had another appearance to switch back to. It became something he had to consciously choose to release, which he almost never did. Even at his sickest or most overworked, he never outright lost his hold on it... at least, until the injury.
"But it was never a big enough difference to fool anyone," Torino continued. "You're still you, whether or not you're using your Quirk."
Toshinori sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It hadn't been a big difference... not back then.
He heard more clacking on the other end of the line. "Your kid is gonna be at this beach thing, right? If you're too busy to spend time with your crusty old mentor, then I'll just go say hello on my own."
"N-no," he yelped. Wait, did he just yelp? All Might didn't yelp. "Don't. Don't do that. Please." He leaned against the supply shelf, feeling the last tiny shreds of control he had over his life slipping through his fingers with every word that came through the tinny phone speaker. "I'll introduce you. Just... please, play along. Don't tell him who I am."
Torino scoffed. "If he really can't figure it out, then you need to find a better trainee. But I can keep your secrets."
"...Thank you."
"You're welcome. Looking forward to your brilliant disguise, Toshinori."
A sinking feeling spread through the place where his stomach used to be. That would make one of them.
The beach was already bustling by the time Toshinori arrived at the crack of dawn. Swarms of people streamed in and out of a big crew tent, hurrying up and down the stairs next to him, erecting signs and tables, going over final plans so that things would be ready when the public woke. Midoriya had said he wanted to come early and watch the setup, but he wasn't here yet. Toshinori had quietly hoped the boy would show up before Torino did, to prevent them from having the conversation he was dreading. But that outcome was looking less and less likely.
He stood up on the concrete walkway, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out over the bustling scene to try and distract himself from the nervousness running up and down his spine. He could spot people from at least a dozen different companies down there. That number was a bare minimum as soon as any event involved the public. And even if it had just been a private thing, Mt. Lady still would have needed to work with at least three different city departments to legally touch any of this.
Midoriya had seemed so shocked when Toshinori first pointed that out, so confused that a hero couldn't just swoop in and fix everything on a whim. But that was part of the reason heroes had such appeal: they took the messy pile of moving parts that made up public service and gave it a simple facade. Heroes were easy to understand, so they were easy to rally behind. Of course, none of it was ever as straightforward as it seemed, but the people didn't need to know about all that.
There were a lot of things that people didn't need to know. A lot of things that only caused trouble. Sometimes, the simple, pretty version of things was better for everyone.
Across the street, one of the city buses came to a stop. Toshinori froze as he saw a short, hunched figure make his way down the bus steps and towards the crosswalk, casting a long blue shadow over the orange-washed scenery.
Torino looked... exactly the same as Toshinori remembered him five years ago in that hospital hallway. He hobbled along with a nondescript wooden cane in his hand and a permanently sour expression creased into his face. He was, amusingly enough, dressed for the occasion, wearing sandals and a colorful shirt that Toshinori had gotten him some number of eons ago when he stopped by Hawaii on one of his stateside visits.
Torino didn't seem to notice Toshinori as he cast his eyes around the commotion at the beach. And why would he? He was looking for a musclebound giant, not the willowy shade of a person hunkered off to the side. Toshinori watched from the corner of his eye as Torino crossed the street and slowly meandered his way over to the beach park entrance, until he was standing on the opposite side of the main stairs.
His old mentor squinted down at the crew tent, then pulled out his phone with a huff. A tight, nauseous sensation started to crawl up Toshinori's chest, and his lung prickled with pain. This was the last chance he had to walk away. There was no possible way to explain what he'd let himself become.
But he didn't move. Couldn't, really. Torino fiddled with his phone, and Toshinori flinched as his ringtone rang out from his pocket. Torino glanced sideways at the noise for a brief moment before gazing out towards the beach again.
Then Toshinori saw his eyes widen, and the man turned back and looked this time. He met Toshinori's eyes, and Toshinori saw the spark of recognition, and the shock that spread across his mentor's face. Toshinori stared back, fighting down the urge to run, to hide, the nausea creeping up his throat now. He had no idea what to say. Every phrase that came to mind felt horribly wrong. The ringtone kept playing, a cheery, oblivious little jingle that grated through the air. After an eternity, it finally stopped.
"Toshinori?" Torino finally asked. "What the hell? What..."
Toshinori felt oddly floaty, detached, like someone else was here instead of him and he was just watching. Funny... he usually only felt this way during the worst of disaster calls. Then again, this was certainly a disaster.
Meanwhile, Torino gestured futilely. "I saw you live on TV last night! What is this!?"
They were starting to draw curious stares from some of the workers hurrying past them. Toshinori made a beckoning motion, and Torino glanced at the people walking by, then followed Toshinori down the walkway that bordered the beach, further away from the entrance.
"I told you," Toshinori said quietly, "I look different now when I let go of One For All. I'm perfectly fine while I'm using the Quirk. I just can't use it all the time now, that's all." It was a half-assed, unfair explanation, and Toshinori knew it. But there were no good excuses to give.
"I don't care if you're fine while you're using it!" Torino cried. "Look at you! Are you okay? What—" he rubbed one temple, then trailed off, looking shell-shocked.
Toshinori squirmed as Torino stared at him. He had been expecting an avalanche of scolding and insults. Stunned silence was somehow a hundred times worse. "...I really am fine while I'm using it," he repeated. "Look, I..." he glanced around. Up ahead was another set of stairs that led down to the beach. The base of the stairs was buried in trash, but you could walk down far enough to hide from sight of the street.
"Here!" He hurried over, down the stairs. Torino followed, looking down at him from the top of the walkway. Toshinori reached into One For All, and Torino took a step back in surprise as Toshinori suddenly ballooned into the form that everyone was familiar with.
"See!" he called up, his voice booming. But Torino just stared down at him, disbelief on his face. He did not look comforted.
"That's insane..." He finally muttered. "Change back. That's grotesque."
His heart sank. That... was not at all the reaction he was hoping for. He wasn't sure what reaction he was hoping for, honestly.
It was at that moment he remembered the main reason he decided not to show up while using his Quirk. Because showing up while using it would mean releasing it before Midoriya got there, and releasing it in front of Torino would mean even more uncomfortable explanations. Perhaps... perhaps he could just stay like this for now. He felt more secure as All Might, anyway. But no, Midoriya would be here at any moment, and he didn't want that bundle of questions on top of everything else.
He already felt ragged along the edges; he had frontloaded all his hero work into the early hours in the morning to give himself time for the rest of the day. Maybe, just once, he could convince the Quirk to play nice as it left...
As soon as he let it go, he could instantly tell it would not play nice. A lance of pain tore through his lung as it left, and a wet, coppery cough welled up in his throat a second later. He tried to keep it down, but he couldn't, he never could—he turned away as he coughed into his hand, but apparently he didn't turn fast enough.
"Holy—" Torino hurried down the stairs. "What the hell, Toshinori!"
"It's..."
"Don't you dare say it's not as bad as it seems," Torino snapped.
He fished around in his pocket for some tissues. "...it's because I take blood thinners for my lung... it's the only side-effect of the entire change. Miss Shuzenji said there's no way around it, not with the way the Quirk spikes my blood pressure."
Torino was not having any of it. "Did she say there's no way around it?" he pressed. "Or did she say the only way around it was to stop using your Quirk?"
The scolding stung worse than his lung did. He didn't answer, trying not to let the tissue shred too much as he wiped off his fingers.
"How long can you even use it like this?" Torino continued. Toshinori glanced away as he made his way back up the steps. He never should have reached out. This whole meeting had been an enormous mistake.
"Toshinori," Torino repeated, voice flat. "How long?"
Even the detached, numb feeling couldn't dull the shame that burned like coals in his gut. "It depends on the day, and what I'm doing, but... three hours a day, give or take."
"Three..." Torino trailed off, then let out a harsh breath that somehow cut deeper than everything else he'd said so far.
Silence stretched between them. Torino looked at him, then stared out at the red-shot ocean, face somber. Again, Toshinori desperately wished he would do anything else. Interrogate him, shout at him, hit him... he could handle those things, but he couldn't handle this oppressively heavy silence.
"I knew you weren't doing as much as you did before..." Torino finally said, his voice subdued, still looking out at the ocean. He didn't sound like he was talking to Toshinori as much as himself. "But you looked fine, on TV... I told myself, if you could deadlift freight trains, then of course you had to be fine..."
Toshinori stood by the stairs, clutching his bloody handful of tissues. He had always wondered whether Torino had bought the act he sold everyone, or whether he never reached out because he was disgusted at Toshinori's facade. But apparently, even he had been fooled... or had let himself be fooled.
After another long pause, Torino spoke again. "She'd be so furious if she saw you like this," he murmured.
Toshinori almost recoiled. There was no venom in Torino's tone—unusual for him—but the words were a slap to the face all the same.
Did you know I always worried about who to pick? she had said. I spent so long trying to figure out how I'd decide. But when I met you, I felt so silly for ever wondering how I'd know. It was so obvious. Her smile had been warm, conspiratorial. But there had been sadness in it too. You're going to do incredible things. You'll be the one to do justice to this power.
But he'd failed her, hadn't he? He failed to save her, he failed to bring her killer to justice, he was failing her now by wasting the power she gave him.
"I already think about that every day," he hissed. Why had he ever reached out with that letter? Because he liked being kicked even harder while he was already down? "You don't need to remind me. I know I've been selfish. I know her Quirk deserves better than this. I'm trying—"
"She wouldn't be mad at you, you idiot," Torino snapped.
Torino still wasn't looking at him. He gazed out to where the waves kept up their steady rhythm against the seawall, oblivious to the two of them and their insignificant little conversation. After a long moment, he sighed and ran a hand down his face. "...I promised her I'd take care of you," he finally said, voice low.
Toshinori frowned. After Nana passed away, Torino's training regiment became nothing but beating the daylights out of Toshinori at every opportunity, physically and verbally. If he had made that promise, then he had failed her too.
But Torino didn't add anything to what he said, no jabs or clever insults, just kept staring out towards the water with a worn, tired look on his face. Toshinori had seen that look many times, during the weeks and months after Nana passed. Maybe Torino knew perfectly well what a hypocrite he'd been.
Then Toshinori saw movement in the distance. He looked down the walkway, and an immediate sense of relief flooded through him. It was Midoriya, jogging towards them.
Torino glanced up. "Ah, the new generation, right on time," he said wryly. "Your not-successor."
"Who knows nothing about my connection to All Might," Toshinori reminded him.
"...it's a brilliant disguise, all right." Torino sighed, gave Toshinori one last look, then glanced back down at the approaching kid. A familiar, dangerous-looking glint came into his eyes. "Okay, let's meet this little bundle of joy."
"...Be nice," Toshinori warned. He knew that look too well.
"Pah, being nice is your game," Torino snorted. "Never got a kid up to snuff by being nice."
Midoriya had his trademark bright grin as he ran up with his backpack over one shoulder, slowing down to a walk and approaching a little more cautiously than he usually did as he eyed the newcomer standing next to Toshinori. He glanced up at Toshinori, then back at Torino, whose severe demeanor had suddenly vanished, replaced by the cheerful, doddering air of a senior citizen who spent his time staring at clouds and feeding pigeons at the park.
"Why, hello there!" Torino warbled in his best senile-grandpa voice, and Toshinori suppressed a groan. He'd seen this act many times.
"...Hello!" Midoriya chirped back, still hanging back a little behind Toshinori, a polite look of skepticism on his face as he took in the diminutive, harmless-looking old man.
"Midoriya, this is Sorahiko Torino, my old mentor." Toshinori said. "I think I mentioned that he also taught at U.A., so he may have advice on how to train for the exam."
"Right!" Midoriya cried. "You taught while All Might was a student!"
Toshinori frowned. That info wasn't supposed to be on the Internet. The boy had doubtless done some far-too-detailed digging into old faculty book scans or something of the sort. Hopefully he hadn't seen anything else incriminating.
"Oh-ho, you did your homework!" Torino cried. "I was his homeroom teacher, in fact!"
Midoriya's eyes lit up, and he skipped forward, hesitance forgotten. "Really? What was he like?"
Torino scratched his bristly chin in exaggerated thoughtfulness. "He was a memorable boy, that's for sure... not too smart." Midoriya's face froze in an expression halfway between elation and confusion, and Toshinori opened his mouth, then sighed and shut it again. He had known this would happen, so he wasn't sure why he had any right to feel offended.
"O-oh..." Midoriya said. "Really?"
"Oh, yes... all brawn and no brains, that one. I have plenty of stories, I'm sure you'd love 'em."
"Perhaps we shouldn't talk poorly of people when they can't defend themselves," Toshinori interjected with a baleful look.
Torino made a show of considering it. "Mm, I suppose. He's got enough people singing his praises, though, doesn't he? I think he can handle a little critique now and then." He turned back towards Midoriya. "Well, anyway, let's see what you can do, kid."
Torino took a deep breath, and Toshinori barely had time to register a jolt of alarm before the man shot forward with a burst of air and lashed out with his cane, sweeping Midoriya's ankle from under him and sending him toppling backwards. Toshinori lurched forward to try and catch him, but Midoriya was already reacting, his practice kicking in, tucking his head and twisting into the gravity instead of against it—he tumbled back in a roll that wasn't elegant, but did the job. He didn't quite stick the recovery, splaying out in a wide-eyed mess of limbs on the ground, but he looked unhurt, and had even maneuvered around his backpack safely.
"Torino!" Toshinori wheezed. "Don't—not on concrete!"
"He's fine, isn't he? Since when are you such a mother hen?" Torino gave a wolfish grin and thumbed his nose, his voice back to its normal gravelly octave. "Nice reaction time." He held out a hand to help Midoriya back to his feet.
"T-thanks?" Midoriya said, looking stunned and a little wary. That tended to be the general reaction when Torino made his switch from cheerful geriatric to wraithlike demon. Maybe Toshinori hadn't been the brightest bulb at school, but at least he didn't get a kick out of assaulting kids. Just gently, harmlessly teasing them.
"How long've you been training?" Torino asked as Midoriya gingerly got to his feet, and Midoriya quickly bounced back from the surprise attack, filling up the conversation with a dutiful report of everything he'd been up to in the last few months as they made their way slowly back towards the beach park entrance.
By the time they made their way back to the sand, a few members of the public were already starting to congregate. Toshinori noticed several kids that looked Midoriya's age. Right, this event had probably made waves at his school. Which meant...
"Midoriya!" Right on cue, the news club kids burst through the crowd. "Look at everyone who showed up!"
Toshinori stepped aside from the stampede as they engulfed Midoriya. The kid was on his own for this one. Torino hung back next to Toshinori as well, eyebrows raised. "They helped Midoriya set this up," Toshinori explained in a low voice. "They're part of his school's newspaper club. They're... extremely imaginative."
Torino chuckled. "Are they? You don't seem thrilled. I thought you loved showing off for the press."
Then the tallest kid, a lanky boy with equally lanky black hair, squinted at Toshinori. "Wait..." he said. "Are you Mr. Yagi?"
That got an explosive reaction out of the other kids. "What!?"
Torino raised an eyebrow. "You have a reputation, huh?"
"Yeah!" one of the kids cried. "He's training Midoriya to get into U.A.! He's a secret underground hero! At least... we thought he was...?" Now that they were looking at him in person, they apparently weren't so sure anymore.
"Wow, a hero? Really?" Torino gave him a look of exaggerated surprise. "How... imaginative." Toshinori had to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands. "How'd you kids figure that out?"
"Well..."
"He knew a lot about agencies, and we kinda... figured..."
"Are you a hero? What's your Quirk?"
Somehow, all his media expertise vanished like smoke when faced by a pack of ravenously curious mini-journalists who hadn't learned how to throw softball questions yet. But it was Midoriya who spoke up next, eyes narrowed.
"He's Quirkless, like me," he said, raising his chin a little. There was a pointed edge to his tone, and the whole group immediately backpedaled.
"Oh! I didn't mean to just assume..."
"Sorry, Mr. Yagi! Sorry, Midoriya."
"That's cool too! It makes sense!"
"Hey, Midoriya, did you go to the staff tent yet?"
"Oh right! Yeah, come with us!"
As quickly as it arrived, Midoriya's brief moment of assertiveness slunk away again. "I, I'd rather stay here for now..." he mumbled.
"They said they'd have free stuff for us! Come on!" And they swept him off like a tidal wave. "It was nice to meet you, sir!" a few of them called back. Midoriya glanced back with a piteous look as the group herded him along.
Torino leaned on his cane as he watched the whirlwind of children wander off. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned on Toshinori.
"You told him you're Quirkless?"
The guilt curled around Toshinori's chest like a vice. "I told him I was born Quirkless," he replied, cringing at how weaselly the words sounded the moment they left his mouth.
"You saw his face just now. It obviously means a lot to him. What's he gonna do when he finds out you've been lying to him?"
"He's not going to do anything, because he's not going to find out." Torino just stared at him, silently goading him into putting his foot further down his throat, and he obliged, because he became a hopeless mess of a human being around his mentor. "Sometimes people need All Might. Sometimes they need someone who knows what it's like to be Quirkless. There's nothing wrong with giving people what they need to be happy."
"Oh, don't even get me started on All Might!" Torino shot back. "Do you seriously think you're going to be able to keep this—" he gestured at Toshinori, "—under wraps forever? Forget the kid, what's the nation going to do when they figure out their Symbol of Peace isn't even real?"
"Can you please keep your voice down," he hissed, glancing at the clumps of people nearest to them.
Torino kept going, his tone a low growl. "Is that gonna be your legacy? Getting people's hopes up by lying to their faces? Anyone can do that. It never ends well."
Fury filled his chest and made his lung burn. But he was not going to cough and sputter and look pathetic, not right now. He didn't have to fall for every obvious piece of bait Torino threw in front of him like he was still eighteen. He turned away and snatched up a stray piece of plastic from the sand like it had personally offended him.
"You can't keep this up forever, Toshinori," Torino said, but Toshinori didn't reply, and his mentor didn't push it any farther.
It didn't take long before Midoriya found them again, laden down with a Mt. Lady-branded lanyard and water bottle and several minutes worth of excited chatter about the sponsors that had come to support the event. Toshinori couldn't stop himself from shooting nervous glances toward Gran Torino, who still looked somewhat grumpy. Luckily, Mrs. Midoriya also arrived not too long afterwards, and Toshinori introduced her to Torino with forced cheer and an internal sigh of relief. Torino was ornery, but he wasn't one to start blabbing secrets to barely-related family members. Their discussion wasn't over, but it was over for today.
Across the beach, Mt Lady surged up to her full height, catching the attention of everyone within several blocks. A moment later, she yelled out across the beach. "Hello, everyone!" she cried. She didn't need a megaphone; her jumbo-sized lungs carried her voice across the whole area. "Thank you all for coming out today! We're going to get started, so everybody gather 'round!"
The four of them made their way across the beach towards where Mt. Lady stood behind a small divider. They ended up near the back of the gathered crowd, though Mt. Lady was so tall it didn't really matter where they stood. She was decked out in her usual hero costume, with one addition: a pair of giant yellow elbow-length rubber gloves. Once everyone in the area had congregated into a rough semicircle, she continued. "It means a lot that you've come out to support us. I can remember this beach being a dump back when I was a kid!" Her gaze fell on their little group, on Midoriya, and she grinned. "But you all have decided that enough was enough. This idea started because the students of Aldera Middle School put together an action plan. And it's becoming a reality now, with the help and cooperation of local business owners, community leaders, and some very generous donations."
Toshinori smiled at that last comment. By now, it was fairly common knowledge among the agencies that All Might had some kind of business in Musutafu at the moment. And wouldn't you know it, the #1 hero had somehow gotten wind of the gallant and selfless service project happening at the beach. All Might couldn't make it himself, busy man that he was, but his agency had reached out behind the scenes and quietly offered to match Mt. Lady's expenses for the event. It was the least he could do.
She gestured to the crowd with a wide arc of her arm that whooshed over their heads. "This was a team effort. I couldn't have gotten this off the ground without everyone's help. All of you are making a difference. You're changing the history of this city. Be proud!"
A cheer rose up in response. Midoriya glanced towards Toshinori, an awestruck smile on his face. Toshinori knew that kind of look: the kid was getting his first taste of real heroic pride. He grinned back.
Mt. Lady did the impressive, heavy lifting, filling up whole recycling bins in a single armful, running a cheerful commentary for the cameras. Meanwhile, her staff handed out gloves and garbage bags to anyone who wanted to trail a safe distance behind her and help pick up the smaller odds and ends she left behind. The four of them wandered along and combed through the sand for bits of trash while they chatted. Torino regaled Midoriya with embarrassing stories about All Might's school days, while Toshinori lamented how it sure was a shame that All Might didn't have better mentors to keep him on the straight and narrow back when he was a student.
They also talked about Midoriya's training. Torino had obviously come prepared, and tackled the subject with the expertise of a seasoned instructor.
"So what's your routine?" he asked.
"Well, um, I change it every few days, and so it's kind of hard to sum up, since you can't ju—" Midoriya's impending word avalanche stopped abruptly at the sharp rise of Torino's hand.
"I mean, what have you done most recently. What's your day like now?"
"Oh! Well..." and Midoriya began to explain with much less preamble. Toshinori looked on in mild envy, conspicuously aware of the way Mrs. Midoriya watched the exchange with polite wonder. She was no doubt astonished that someone was capable of defeating her son's rambling tangents, something Toshinori had never mastered. Torino was very experienced at corralling kids. Toshinori hoped he'd be able to be that competent by the time he was done with all those damnable teaching courses, but he doubted it.
"Ah!" Midoriya cried, as Mt Lady lifted a familiar-looking, rusted-out car from a spot up ahead. "That's—" his eyes widened; he glanced towards his mom. "I mean... wow. That's a car. Just like any other car."
His mother looked at him quizzically. "...Yes... it is...?" Toshinori held back a laugh as Midoriya quietly said goodbye to the car that he'd shared his secret training ground with. Toshinori would almost miss the ramshackle little hidden oasis that Midoriya had carved out of the trash. But not too much.
By sunset, Midoriya's phone was loaded with links to instructional videos, they'd made a few tweaks to his training regimen, and Mt Lady had made it all the way down the coastline. Her outfit was scuffed and smeared with rust and grime, but it wasn't torn. This footage would be a dream come true to her costume company's marketing department.
"Aaand..." Mt. Lady dropped one last armful of garbage into a bin. "I think that's it, folks! Just a few stray bits in this last part, and we have ourselves a beach again!"
A loud cheer went up among the people. Kids stamped the sand and waved garbage bags over their heads. Adults pumped their fists. Midoriya had a look of dazed amazement on his face. He looked down the length of the cleaned-up beach, then turned back to the celebrating crowd. Torino gazed over the scene with a satisfied grin. Mrs. Midoriya looked like she was about to burst from pride, or from pent-up tears. She wrapped her son up in a hug. "Look at this!" she cried. "You did all this!"
Midoriya squirmed and shuffled his feet. "I didn't do it..." he mumbled. "I just... got it started..."
"But it's thanks to you!" she sniffed. "I'm so p-proud of you..."
"Mom! Don't cry!" Ah... it seemed like this tendency was inherited.
Toshinori looked out across the scene while Midoriya tried to stem his mom's waterworks. He had been among many cheering crowds before. But this one was different. Friends high-fived each other and posed for the camera crews. Parents congratulated their children. The people weren't cheering for Mt. Lady, so much. They were cheering for... each other.
He had brought hope to people countless times. But this hope felt new.
As the event wound down, Mrs. Midoriya gave her son another teary hug and told him to be back within the hour for dinner.
"Ah, ma'am, before you leave..." Torino interjected.
She turned. "Yes?"
"I've mentioned that I'm a licensed instructor." Well, at least, he'd been licensed at some time in the past. "Toshinori tells me your son's been looking for help with self-defense techniques. Talked my ear off about how diligent he is. If it's all right, I'd be willing to come down here once a week or so to help tutor him. Make sure he's on the right track and not doing anything stupid, you know."
Toshinori froze. What? This had not been part of anything they'd discussed.
The Midoriyas seemed similarly shocked. "Oh!" Mrs. Midoriya chirped, eyes wide. "I... I think that could be wonderful!" She turned to Midoriya. "What do you think, honey?"
Midoriya's mouth was frozen in a shocked little "O." It morphed into a disbelieving smile as he glanced up at Toshinori. Toshinori couldn't manage to force his face into anything resembling encouragement, but Midoriya didn't seem to notice. "I-I-I mean..." Midoriya stammered, turning back, "Are you sure?"
Torino jerked a thumb towards Toshinori. "He thinks you're worth the effort. I trust his judgment. And you deserve a reward for giving the city its beach back!"
"Um, how do you generally handle compensation for your classes?" Ms. Midoriya ventured, as her son blushed and stammered.
Torino waved a hand. "Don't worry about paying me. It's enough to see a promising kid get ahead! Besides, helping me reconnect with my old student is reward enough. I'm sure he'll be willing to help too." He glanced up meaningfully at Toshinori, and Toshinori's blood ran cold. So this was his angle. He should've known.
"Oh... that's so generous! We couldn't possibly accept..." Ms. Midoriya said, in the demure tone of someone who was definitely going to accept, but only after a suitable amount of polite protest.
Midoriya, on the other hand, did not get the memo about being appropriately coy. "T-thank you, sir!" he cried, with a huge bow.
Toshinori let out a quiet sigh, and Torino's smile grew wider.
Torino decided to head out shortly after Ms. Midoriya took her leave. Toshinori and Midoriya waved goodbye as the old man got back on the bus to the train station. Once the bus was a speck in the distance, Toshinori made his way back to the walkway and leaned against the railing. He felt hollowed-out. Even though all they did was talk and leisurely pick up trash, Toshinori had been awake since three in the morning and was utterly exhausted. It had been a long, long day, in many different ways.
A moment later, Midoriya joined him, looking out over the transformed beach. The sand was spotless, sparkling pink in the light, like the heaps of trash had never been there. "I've never actually seen it clean before..." Midoriya said, looking awestruck. "And it really only took them one day..."
"What do you mean, 'them?'" Toshinori replied. "This happened because of you! Be proud of yourself!"
Midoriya made a noncommittal noise, then fidgeted and glanced to the side in the way he did when he wanted to ask for something he didn't think he was allowed to ask for. Toshinori reached out an arm, and Midoriya gratefully leaned against him, resting his head against his side.
"Thank you for encouraging me," he murmured. "You helped me remember that... that I can still make a difference."
He rested a hand on the boy's ever-disheveled green curls. "Of course you can," he said. "And it won't stop here. You're going to do incredible things."
Midoriya sniffed and clung to him tighter. He'd gotten better about the crying, too, and besides, it felt impossible to scold him in the rare times he did do it now.
Without warning, Torino's words cut through his mind.
You can't keep this up forever, Toshinori.
It really had gotten out of hand. But standing here, looking out over the pristine coast, he couldn't bring himself to see it as a bad thing.