Midnight flashed the nearest camera-drone her best million-dollar smile and ignored the way her gut squeezed like she'd had a forty-nine cent burrito. Students ran past her, showing her their flags as they went. Officially, her job was the groundwork. Hizashi made the crowd roar, she made it focus. When he made things exciting, she made things clear. His focus was on the spectacle, her's the function. While he sat in his booth, throwing jibes and jokes and spastic observations, she catalogued flags and remembered who gave them to her. If only it was so simple.

…Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one…

Unofficially, her job was to look to do all of these things, and look damn good while doing it.

Her unofficial duty had several components, each more complicated than the last. Firstly, she had to be beautiful—a simple task, made easier by natural "talent." Secondly, she had to strike exotic, subtle poses. As older men sucked in their guts, she clenched her thighs, squeezed her lower back, and pushed her chest out—all while maintaining a straight face.

Thirdly, she had to pretend that this did not trouble her in the slightest.

Finally, she could not let her mind wander. When the R-Rated Hero Midnight's mind wandered, it did not do so as herself—it did so as the girl within. Sometimes, she could get away with that—slipping out of character, relaxing a bit, but…

Nemuri Kayama did not feel sexy enough for the current task.

Her appeal was more than in her bust, more than her voracious protest of modesty—it was in her confidence. It was not an act, but a configured expression—a facade born in honesty. Like when you smiled at the silver fox offering you a drink.

…Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight…

Midnight gave a younger boy a smile as he passed her by. Tokoyami—her sweet, quiet little emo, hadn't done so well in class recently. She did not begrudge him. The USJ tortured him still, a month afterwards, and for good reason. Darkshadow, his responsibility and quirk, went out of control, rampaging against his wishes and ultimately crippling a friend. His regrets were nearly as obvious as their enormity.

Despite his quirk's actions, however, no one hated him for it—so far as she knew. Even Uraraka failed to show any hate in her heart—at least, for him. Midnight and Nemuri shared little common ground, but they could both see it—that shade on the former bubbly girl, and the vanta-blackness plaguing Tokoyami. Still… he seemed even more introverted than usual.

He caught her eye and stumbled. Silently cursing, Nemuri pulled back on Midnight, swallowing down the pitiful expression she'd made. Tokoyami relaxed and joined the rest of the winners. Her heart thumped once, twice, and then a third time before she wrestled her nerves under control. Sweat trickled down her temple, but failed to roll over her domino mask. She concealed wiping it away with a hairflip and a dazzling smile.

Midnight always had at least one camera on her, despite the focus being the students. Icons of beauty did not sweat. It was human—weakness. She would not appear as such on international television, lest she want the tabloids and journalists poking around her allure or propriety again.

Still, she had her slip-ups. Giving Tokoyami such an honest expression of pity was wrong of her. Not only did it distract him, it encouraged her bad habits. She had to be better—concentrated, less human, more beautiful. Focused.

With great care, Nemuri slowly eased Midnight back into power, fully unleashing her once it was clear she wouldn't go AWOL again. With practiced ease, she counted how many students finished their climb and who had not. In the midst of checking on the successful students, however, something puzzling occurred. No matter where she looked, she could not find Midoriya amongst the crowd.

The fact of Midoriya's advancement was a foregone conclusion, in her mind. Though according to Shouta he'd been in some sort of secret funk, he was well-known as 1A's champion—their taste of 1Z.

Midnight found herself genuinely curious to where the boy might be. Had he slipped past her notice? Was he still climbing? That seemed unlikely, given the narrowing spots. Then again, his strategy—though bold and unconventional—was slow. Perhaps he would only barely make the final cut.

That was, at least, until she realized that Tokoyami was the forty-ninth flag bearer. Immediately, sour thoughts bubbled up, but she had a job to do. Forget her uncle—forget Sasami. She could worry about them—and Midoriya—later.

Shooting into action, Midnight stepped onto the soft, cushioned stage where the crowd could see her in her glory.

Her appearance seemed to energize the spectators, their roar growing. It was an odd roar—less like excited sports fans and more like anxious gamblers at a horse race. Her nausea didn't care, however, nor did her job. Swallowing a painful amount of oxygen, she began the speech Nedzu prepared. Not two words escaped her, however, before the light on her microphone went out.

A little crackle briefly overpowered the crowd's bluster.

"Nemuri," Nedzu said, speaking through her ear piece, "wait a moment longer. I may have forgotten to mention something when debriefing you."

Midnight did not scowl—at most, any onlooker might've seen her lips purse.

She recalled the lunch with her uncle and cousin. She'd thought it to be innocent, before Sasami brought up Nedzu. They called him a malicious schemer in all but words, prying her apart to support their thesis.

It was not a pleasant lunch. Though she loved them as her immediate blood, the warmth she always felt near her kindly uncle faded to a molecular scale—Nemuri's anxiety was simply too overbearing.

She tried to rationalize their concerns as being from an outside perspective, from being out of the loop, but the harder she tried, the less honest it felt.

Nedzu did not "forget" to debrief anything. He did not forget. Period. He often left out important details—like how he failed to debrief them on Events Two and Three—but that was deliberate. Now, he was just being coy. Suspicious.

The crowd quieted their tense chant, Midnight realized they weren't enchanted by her, but by something far, far above her.

Craning her neck, she studied All Might's face. What did Nedzu fail to mention? She could see nothing from here, and none of her students seemed irregular in their reactions. Each was a sweaty teenager, and little more. Only a handful of her shell shocked kids seemed any different, but they'd been different before. All except for Tokoyami, who somehow seemed deflated despite his narrow victory.

Then, all at once, the crowd burst into hysterics

She didn't understand what brought them to life with such force. For over a minute, they'd sat with baited breath, and as far as she could see, there was no reason for that dam to break. It wasn't until she saw a little green blob appear from the other side of All Might's raised fist that she understood. At first, it looked like a gnat from this distance, but soon proved otherwise far more shapely.

He was falling—but with style. A drone had a firm clamp around his arm as it carried him down. When his feet touched the floor the drone released him, Midnight could do little more than gawk.

In Midoriya's teeth was a flag—an impossible, unknown fiftieth flag—and a red one at that. A special flag, one no one told her of.

The air around the boy seemed heavy as he spat out the flag and offered it. She did not take it.

Was this real? Was this Nedzu's doing? Why hadn't he said something before?

It reeked of suspicion—the same kind that made her run from her last remaining family. The thought of the implications stank.

"Wonderful," Nedzu whispered in her ear, his voice clear and strong. Totally oblivious to her torment. "All according to plan."

With a small buzz, she more so felt rather than saw her microphone regain its function. It was on again.

All according to plan?

Midnight granted Midoriya a business smile, filled end to end with her pearly whites. He met her eyes—his own not wandering even a millimeter, and offered her a tiny smile in return. Though he stood tall, when she inspected him a little closer, she could see the truth.

There was a tightness in his jaw that belied his secret. His arm was spasming with exhaustion. She doubted anyone else could notice, but she could. The way he carried himself was odd—both dainty, reserved, and confident. Masculine and feminine. She could recognize the boldness in his design, but also the subtleties that he'd gained separate of nature's intention. It was partially a woman's way of holding herself—a way to bolster and lie. It was how Midnight held herself, even now.

The Midoriya she saw was a front—a miserable, bone-tired front. Had he climbed without his quirk? That seemed impossible, but looking at him… She didn't dare consider how truly exhausted his efforts must've left him.

All according to plan? Had Nedzu planned for Midoriya to find a secret flag, even unbeknownst to her?

She had less control than she thought—even less than Midoriya, it seemed. Midnight ogled his stump. Had…

Had Nedzu made the first event to challenge Midoriya's dexterity?

A shiver ran down her spine—a traitorous shiver. Her eyes hovered on Midoriya's blood-red flag. When Nedzu spoke next, there was an alien huskiness to his voice—like a man enjoying his hoarded wealth. Or a predator salivating over easy prey.

"Alright, Nemuri, scrap the lines I already gave you. Here's what you're going to do with that little flag…"

[x]

"What have you set your eyes upon, my little friend?" Hizashi said, watching Midoriya struggle upwards. Though a smile split his face, it wasn't honest.

At his core, Hizashi was an entertainer. It was his job to spin any situation into an amusing one—but while his little friend was entertaining, in this moment, Hizashi could only feel concern. Midoriya was doing something stupid, dangerous, and perhaps brave—and not for the first time. Unfortunately.

Despite his position as an announcer, he knew very little of the Sports Festival's logistics. Some years he knew more, some years he knew less, but he was never "in the know." Nedzu liked him that way. He liked most people that way, actually. Still, despite Hizashi's weak ears, he had a wonderful habit of listening. Hizashi picked up things—tidbits, here and there. So, despite Nedzu keeping him in the dark, he did know one thing:

There was something fishy going on.

He knew for certain something was strange about this festival, but he ignored it. Or he'd intended to. In his mind, if anything went a-wire, it would've been in the final hour—Nedzu loved drama. So, Hizashi would've coasted on the regularity before it became irregular—then act surprised when all the little pieces came together. It wouldn't be the first time Nedzu did such a thing.

Then he saw Midoriya sitting all alone. At first, it'd confused him—Midoriya, out? It didn't make much sense. The kid busted down a Zero Pointer with a punch. He'd saved lives. Was this the same kid who'd taken on the enemy face to face and lived?

For a moment, Present Mic simply didn't believe it. He wasn't the only one who noticed the oddity, either. Nearly all the spectators could see him atop All Might, seemingly contemplating the cosmos. Only the absolute bottom ring remained puzzled as the crowd simmered with anticipation.

As unlikely as it seemed, however, Midoriya was out. He doubted the crowd could understand his shock, but they still felt something amiss. Like a crooked picture frame.

When he concluded Midoriya was just resting after his long, wasted climb, he began his work. Flipping several switches, he lowered his microphone to announce the end of Event One.

Then Midoriya stood—as though willpower alone yanked him upright. With three exhausted limbs, Hizashi watched his young friend begin to climb.

He could only gawk. Commentary spilled out of him, his mouth remembering his job before his mind. The crowd listened to him, but it was clear where their focus truly was—the oddity who wasn't finished.

Forty-nine students delivered forty-nine flags. Event One finished with Tokoyami.

Yet the boy climbed anyway, and it captivated a hundred thousand—perhaps millions of people. Camera drones spilled out from hidden cavities in the spectator stands, joining the few already following Midoriya. On the widescreens dotting the Stadium, the boy's struggle became crisp. His livestream touched the households of millions across the world.

It was so odd. Not a moment went by where Hizashi didn't question the irony of things. This little boy who had a meltdown in a train station was a U.A. student now. Such a thing almost never happened—when quirks went wild, even children could see the inside of jail cells. What Midoriya did, all those years ago, was a serious offense.

And yet, with Hizashi's diligence and Nedzu's kindness, the boy's record never saw a smudge.

Or, at least, he'd assumed it was kindness.

Still, it was not nepotism or pulled-strings that brought Midoriya here. It was true, hard work. Hizashi, despite seeing the boy at his most vulnerable, didn't view him with pity. Instead, he felt a furnace of pride burn his chest, seeing the one-armed boy climb and struggle.

An odd wetness rolled down his cheek.

Midoriya had come so far.

When Midoriya's climb reached its apex, Hizashi's commentary slowed to nothing. More than pride, more than nostalgia, more than wonder, curiosity ruled his heart. Midnight had not yet thrown the towel and called this event concluded, so neither would he. Nemuri was always better about these things than him.

Midoriya—just barely—stood atop All Might's magnificent fist.

Why? What possessed him to go beyond?

The boy kneeled.

Fealty? Respect? Imitation?

Did Midoriya just do it for shits and giggles?

He plunged his arm into All Might's palm and retrieved a flag.

A flag.

One that should not have been there.

A fishy flag. One that smelt rank and foul and suspicious. Striking the same pose as the man he stood upon, he raised his flag high and fed the crowd like a zookeeper before a pride of starving lions.

When the crowd seemed satiated, a drone flew by and grabbed the boy's outstretched arm. With the added propulsion, Midoriya stepped off the fist's ledge and let the drone ease him down.

What the hell?

Questions sprinted through Hizashi's mind with reckless abandon, knocking over carefully-stacked ideas and unsettling organized opinions. Why was there a fiftieth flag? Why was it red? The regular flags were blue. How did it get there? Who put it there? What did this mean?

Many such questions were like red-hot stove tops. If he settled on one for too long, he got burned. Unfortunately, they were everywhere, from horizon to horizon. He did a dance, not daring to hover on any particular question for more than a moment.

His confused jig came to an end with four words.

"So that's his angle," Shouta said, mumbling through his fingers. Hizashi's friend continued to scratch his thin stubble, even as Midoriya descended to earth like Mary Poppins. Hizashi flicked up his microphone, muting it.

"What?" He asked, before scowling. How did a man have so many questions, but fail to ask any of them? Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Did you know about the flag, or was it just me?"

Shouta paused his scratching to give Hizashi a raised eyebrow.

"Didn't have a clue. It makes sense, though, considering."

"Considering what?" Hizashi asked, his scowl faded to a pout. Shouta usually had the answers, but if his answers reduced Hizashi's question-capacity to mere caveman-level, then the situation was probably beyond him. His shoulders slumped.

"That Midoriya is special. Nedzu told no one about Event Two or Three for a reason, Hizashi. He wanted it to be a surprise for everyone—and especially his lab rat. The fact that Midoriya was the least likely person to find that specific flag means it was meant for him, and that the game has changed. This isn't a competition, anymore, it's a test."

"You've totally lost me," Hizashi said.

Shouta didn't reply for a long moment. In that gap, Present Mic dialed a knob and tuned into Midnight's audio. He needn't squint to see her—the drones were still watching Midoriya closely, and he stood right by the woman. Nemuri was visible to all—and with her, Midoriya's red flag.

"And with that climactic climb, the first event has come to a close! Izuku Midoriya has found the King's Flag! Let everyone congratulate our flag bearers for going Plus Ultra!" Midnight said, first gesturing to Midoriya, then to the winners crowd. "My condolences for those who didn't make the cut. I wish you fruitful training this year and better luck the next!. Now with the King's Flag, we can move on to the Sports Festival's second event! Plus Ultra!"

Beside him, Shouta froze. Abandoning his itchy cheeks, his fingers pressed against the small earpiece in his left ear. He leaned into it, listening.

"Nedzu's feeding her lines through the Staff Channel."

Before Hizashi could question him, their announcer's booth began to shake. Gritting his teeth, he pushed down his initial panic. There was no attack, nor an earthquake. It was just what happened when the stage changed.

U.A. students spread out, running for the Stadium's exits as the cushioned stage unfolded. Like with the original stage, it opened like a book. Once each half was vertical, they sank into the ground like keys into locks, vanishing from view. Everywhere directly below All Might was now empty, cavernous space. With an unceremonious pop, the nets broke from their supports and fell into the void. Then the pillars followed, vanishing into the ground like straws into milkshakes. When their triangular tips grew flush with the soil, little robots placed a square meter of grass over each.

Then All Might began to sink. The crowd, which was cheering for whatever the "King's Flag" was a moment ago, immediately turned to boos. They seemed almost offended at the statue's exit, as though they expected the whole event to revolve around such a thing. Well, Hizashi supposed they couldn't blame them. Cementoss's magnum opus was spectacular—but that was besides the point. It was just for the sake of Event One. Nothing else.

A crackle in his ear, a rat's voice.

Shouta's eyes burned into Hizashi's peripherals. Nodding, though Nedzu could not see, Hizashi flipped down his microphone.

"Hey, hey, listeners!" He said, letting his voice echo through the sour crowd twice before continuing. He felt like he was talking to a toddler who lost their toy. A hundred thousand toddlers. A million. "No need to cry! Though All Might's job is done for now, you'll see him again. When today is done, you might say we have a little—or rather, a humongous!—surprise for the people in the next few weeks! Just let us smooth over those handholds, eh?"

He took some liberties, but he more or less copied Nedzu's command word for word. Despite the rather exciting news, Hizashi couldn't help but feel his stomach sink.

They would be propping up the titanic statue in the heart of U.A. 's Pavillion, right before the entrance. Did absolutely everything have to have a second purpose, or was it just this?

When the crowd heard his announcement, an excited hush silenced their cries. They buzzed, but did not complain—though Hizashi felt compelled to. When it was clear they were satiated, his gaze returned to All Might's statue. Only the first remained above ground, but even that was sinking fast. The second event—after a fifteen minute interlude—would begin soon.

Pulling off his muted headset, Hizashi nearly chucked the delicate equipment in frustration.

Why did this feel so wrong? Why did this situation feel like a noose—yet one not around his neck, but another's? What was…

What did Nedzu see in Midoriya?

The kid was great, talented, kind, and a whole slew of other positive things. Rumors spread so easily amongst the staff that pretty much everyone knew that Nedzu wanted Midoriya in 1Z. Most staff took that at face value—Nedzu saw potential in the kid, and wanted to push him. Sure. Made sense.

Yet it was Nedzu himself who designed Event One—the event, it seemed, specifically designed to conquer a cripple. It almost felt… targeted. Like the Colosseum was.

And yet Nedzu put a hidden flag—a King's Flag, whatever that meant—where Midoriya ultimately went. Hizashi wanted to tear his hair out. It didn't make sense.

Did he want to crush Midoriya, or uplift him? Challenge or overpower him? Were they in communion behind everyone's back, or was Midoriya being led on a string, puppeteered by a rat?

Hizashi glanced towards U.A.'s classes—particularly, the kids who never brought back flags. This all felt so wrong. With 1Z on the roster, many General Education students with solid talent weren't going to get their chance—and that animosity was palpable. Even from all the way up here, he could feel their bitterness. It wasn't the only flavor of annoyance however—the failures held a separate anger for Midoriya himself.

He got special treatment, in their eyes. There were only forty-nine flags, but he moved on with a fiftieth? Hizashi could tell. They were angry. Whatever Nedzu was doing specifically, Hizashi could not say. But he knew gambling when he saw it.

It left him sick, thinking his principal was stringing along his favorite student. Midoriya worked so hard to get where he was—why would Nedzu overcomplicate it? Why treat him differently?

Beside him, Shouta stood, his face dark, and yanked out his earpiece. Frozen, Hizashi could only watch as the man tossed the device on the ground and stepped on it. A crack echoed through the announcer's booth. He turned, without another word, and made for the door.

"Hey!" Hizashi said, standing and catching his friend's elbow. "Where are you going?"

The unspoken question registered in Shouta's eyes, but he did not answer it. Instead, he answered the spoken one.

"I'm going to… go on a walk. I need to think."

Hizashi glanced at the shattered earpiece, components spread around the booth floor. He returned Shouta's lackluster answer with a lackluster nod. His grip went slack.

They studied each other for a moment. They'd known eachother since freshman year, and Hizashi liked to think they were close. He searched, probing deep into Shouta's intentions. For a moment, he thought the man would continue shutting him out—but at last, Shouta huffed, and showed his honest opinion.

It was rather alarming, but for some reason, Hizashi found himself nodding. He patted Shouta on the shoulder.

"Good luck, then."

Shouta studied him, then nodded.

"To you as well. I hope."

[x]

"The vibe kinda feels off," Mirio said, before biting off half his hot dog. Whilst still chewing, he continued. "Lygue thome 'eople ah ainnery."

Sir Nighteye leveled him with a stare so starved of amusement that Mirio found himself swallowing on instinct alone. He always kept Mirio on his toes. Even bothering to thumb off a smudge of ketchup marring his lip, he cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"They're angry, Sir. More so than normal."

Nighteye dipped his head, agreeing. His eyes, however, never left the Statue—even as it sank into the ground.

Really, it was a blessing, being a third year. It meant he had the most time to lounge and prepare for each event. That, and his two years of training, always meant that the Sports Festival's Senior Tournament was generally the most entertaining. Mirio didn't know what he would've done if he had to go in blind, like the first years. Watching their raw strategies informed his own

There were the "Propers," as Mirio called them, who were just gifted athletes. They followed the intended path, doing everything with efficiency and excellence. Then, the "Conveinants," whose powers let them bend the rules a little bit. Each were informative in their own ways.

Neither, however, compared to the "Cheaters," who didn't operate on the same level as others. Either by exceptional talent, skill, or power, they competed with totally unreplicatable strategies. Mirio himself was one. No one else could teleport with quantum mechanical nonsense. The same could be said for Setsuna, who could utilize true flight and squeeze through nearly any gap. Though he couldn't employ her's, or any other Cheater's strategies, the principles behind each helped channel his own.

Watching everyone already allowed him to plan his route. He would faze into All Might's heel and pop out at his hip—grab the sculpted ledge that constituted his v-taper, then faze again. He'd pop out at All Might's shoulder.

Months ago, if not for Sir Nighteye's guidance and Setsuna's partnership, he never would've been this confident in such a strategy. Before, he might've misjudged, before, he might've made a mistake. Now, however, after almost a year of slaving over his quirk, he knew he could do it.

Of course, none of that training would've been nearly as effective without the "Hacker" feeding him ideas, alternate exercises, and theories.

The difference between a Hacker and a Cheater was simple. Cheaters broke rules to achieve what they wanted. Hackers made their own.

Though Izuku had all the facilities to play the game as a Cheater, today, he had the mentality of a Hacker. He didn't even bother playing the game. When he started climbing the supports, rather than the contested handholds lining All Might's legs, Mirio smiled wide. Of course, of all people, Izuku Midoriya would sleuth out the invisible path.

Then he frowned. A deep, concerned frown.

Izuku needn't be a Hacker. It wasn't privilege that made a Cheater into a Hacker, but weakness.

Why wasn't he using his quirk?

Mirio had not seen much of Izuku in the last two months. They met with Nighteye like revolving doors—when Mirio left, Izuku arrived, and vice versa. When they trained together, the boy was withdrawn—but Mirio thought it was because he was adjusting. The little guy hadn't been on a proper campus since he was in Elementary School. Of course U.A. would require time to get used to it.

Now, however, he was beginning to doubt that. Ever since the USJ, he felt like he hadn't seen Izuku at all—only the shell. And… Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Setsuna in ages.

It nagged at him, but with so much on his plate, he couldn't focus upon it. Instead, he focused on the bigger picture—the absolute disaster the Freshmen Tournament was shaping up to being.

With 1Z crowding the top, that was nine less slots for General Education at the bottom. At least, if everyone in that class was comparable to Set and Izuku. That was bad news, in his opinion. Within U.A.'s student politics, everyone knew that General Education had the most to gain from the Sports Festival. Though it only happened once or twice every other year, General Education students could sometimes move up into 1A or 1B depending on their performance.

That meant quite a few upset students, who'd come into this Sports Festival expecting better odds. They were mad—really, really mad.

If he was in charge, he would've made a fourth division—a smaller Sports Festival segment dedicated to 1Z, as each U.A. student year had. Maybe name the winner the Captain, or something. He didn't know. All he knew was that putting down General Education to flex 1Z's skills seemed like a bomb begging to explode.

Nedzu, it seemed to Mirio, was sacrificing them.

Mirio could only cringe at the loser's crowd. It was mostly General Education, mixed with Business and Support, but also dotted with the rare Hero student. They were angry, and even without throwing tantrums, it was obvious. The air above them simmered so much that heat mirages obscured the spectators above them.

They weren't just mad at the circumstance, either. Many stared at Izuku, the Hacker, like starving hyenas.

Midnight's announcement echoed in his ears like an ominous banshee's cry. Whatever the King's Flag was, it looked like bad news to Mirio—and to General Education, Business Class, and the Support Course, it might as well have been the most insulting ass-pull in the history of ass-pulls. Ms. Kayama was very clear when she said there were only forty-nine flags, yet Izuku managed a fiftieth, and was moving on.

It almost undermined Izuku's ingenious strategy, in a way. The Hacker was supposed to make new rules for themselves, to play their own way, regardless of design. If the Programmer built the game to be exploited, however… it undermined everything.

As All Might's fist finally sank into the void, disappearing from sight, Nighteye finally looked away. It might've been cute, his fixation, if it wasn't so sad. His expression reminded Mirio of a puppy waiting for his master by the door.

Yet knowing he would not, and waiting anyway.

Nighteye did not acknowledge his fixation, instead, he looked between the cooling hotdog in Mirio's hand, Izuku, and then the spectators. His eyes reflected magenta in the morning sun.

"I didn't do it," he said, before leaning back in his seat.

Mirio raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I didn't do it," he repeated, before tapping his glasses. "Look into his future. Midoriya's."

That surprised Mirio. Prescience, well, it was Sir's thing.

"Why not? Couldn't you have helped him? He seems… off. Might've needed it."

Nighteye's purplish eyes drifted. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped.

"I could give you a hundred reasons, but few would be honest. Whatever I see is guaranteed to happen… to an extent… but I don't think I want to risk that again. Last time I read Izuku's future, I predicted his loss to Eraserhead. Maybe… I just don't want to set Izuku's fate in stone. As if looking at it will change things."

Mirio chewed his lip, picking at chunks of hot dog with his tongue. It was a concerning thought—one he felt didn't belong to a future-teller like Nighteye. Their mindsets were fundamentally different from normal people's… and this almost sounded normal.

Then again… there was merit to his concern. Mirio was no expert on these things, but so far as he was aware, seeing things matter. Quantum malarkey, photons—they all changed, when observed. Measuring things made them. The very building blocks of their world reflected a truth that fortune tellers had known for hundreds of years—perhaps thousands. To observe is to make.

Mirio could not begrudge Nighteye for not wanting to risk it a second time. He already "made" Izuku's first loss to Eraserhead a reality.

He took another bite of his hot dog and swallowed before speaking again.

"So if you aren't gonna look, what's your thoughts? How often do you get to speculate, rather than know? Maybe this could be fun."

Nighteye grumbled something, but Mirio didn't catch it. The moment his mentor opened his mouth, the stage returned and slammed shut over the cavern All Might's statue resided in.

Sir cleared his throat as Mirio looked at the stage with interest. Something strange was happening—somehow more strange than there being an impossibly large hole beneath the Stadium.

"My analysis contradicts my opinion, I'm afraid. By any measurement, Midoriya has the capacity to sweep the competition. But… just… look at him."

Tearing his eyes away from the cement stage—did the tiles look different?—he looked upon Izuku. It didn't take a hawk's vision to see what the man meant.

Izuku looked bad—exhausted, frail, small, weak. A whole slew of negative things.

"I still don't understand…" Mirio said, muttering under his breath. Even from here, he could see how Izuku's chest heaved with effort, some five minutes after finishing his climb. "Why didn't he just use his quirk? His smoke, or whips, or anything at all… he would've saved himself a lot of trouble."

"I don't know."

"Oh," Mirio said, "I suppose—huh?"

"I said I don't know. His powers are all wrong. Before the USJ, he was fine. But ever since, his quirk's been totally out of control. It's a mystery. His capacity for smoke is down, his blackwhips have gone rogue, and he doesn't even want to use D—Er, well… He just hasn't been the same. Something… something must've happened, that he hasn't told anyone of. I think—"

Nighteye cut himself off as someone sat down beside him. For a split second, Mirio chawked that up to the conversation's sensitivity. At least, until Mirio got a good look at her.

It was a woman—one he did not recognize. He was certain he'd never seen her before, not even in passing, for one prominent reason.

Or, at least, three substantial reasons.

She was a gorgeous woman, no doubt, with delicate features and a sharp jawline. Her clothes were well kept and fashionable—but modest, contradicting her rather expensive-looking watch. From what little of her face he saw, she almost looked like Midnight. None of that impacted his first impression, however.

It was the three ruby-red slashes stacked atop one another—the middle of which cut straight through a tattered, empty eye socket. It was a grotesque thing, but little more shocking than Izuku's arm. What surprised him, despite her appearance, was her manicure.

Rounded, lilac nails crowned nimble, pale fingers. And they wrapped around Nighteye's arm with familiarity.

Nighteye looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was so stiff that he didn't even acknowledge the woman's appearance, nor her contact. Instead, he just endured it.

"Can I trust the blond?" She asked him, whispering only loud enough for the two of them to hear. Mirio checked over his shoulder, confused, before remembering he was blond. Breaking his stiff posture, Nighteye nodded.

Mirio shuddered, feeling a little exposed despite wearing all his clothes.

The woman stood, then, and took Nighteye's arm with her. He stood as well, attached to the appendage, and Mirio found himself compelled to follow.

"Let's go somewhere more private, then. I have some questions. About Izuku," she said. Not missing a beat, she pulled a mechanical Nighteye out between the spectator's seats and dragged him down the steps.

"Hey!" Mirio said, stumbling after. "What's your name?"

"You may call me Ms. Fujimaki," she said, replying without looking back. "Now come on, kid. We've got a coup to d'état."

[x]

AN: I liked this chabder. I just my physical copy of the Sword of Kaigen in the mail. its so pretty. Also, while I am certainly upping the pacing imo, since the chapters are shorter, there might be a few more chapters than I want. 73 and 74 would probably be one turbo chapter if I had the time still.

review!~