"Coo-doo-day-tah," Mirio said, sounding out the strange words. His lips smacked with each syllable, like a labrador halfway through a peanut butter jar. "Goo-too-dee-teh—"
"Good lord, Nighteye," Ms. Fujimaki said, coming to a complete stop. They were in the hallways beneath the Stadium, now. With her flat lips, she looked exasperated. "I can see why you only dared to introduce the first apprentice to me. At least the green bean understands wordplay."
"Hey, I understand word play," Mirio said, objecting as the woman turned to face him. Her scars, three horizontal slashes, were disfiguring—but Mirio found it easy to meet her rather pleasant, untouched eye. Ignoring disfigurement was a practiced skill. "I love having fun. Especially with my words. It's just your words are funky, Ms."
"Don't feel bad, Mirio. What she said wasn't even wordplay—just nonsensical. Coup d'etat is French for "Rebellion," but she split the word in half and essentially turned "reb" into a noun and "ellion" into a verb. She's a biologist, not a literature connoisseur. Don't let her intellectually intimidate you," Nighteye said. His eyes never left hers, even as she huffed and rolled it. Miro felt a shiver when he noticed how she, too, never left Nighteye's for long.
The walls felt rather narrow, squeezed between two predators.
"Bah, don't let him sound too smart, blondie. He's just bitter that I pulled the football out from under him so many times. Would you like to play more, Charlie?" Ms. Fujimaki asked, leveling Nighteye with the strangest glare Mirio had ever seen. With the red gashes in her face, she was naturally intimidating—but he got the sense that what she'd just said was playful, if a little strained.
"Yes, ma'am," Mirio said, the words spurting out before Nighteye could make his response. Goosebumps ran down his arm—he hadn't intended to speak.
Ms. Fujimaki, for whatever reason, didn't acknowledge his response. Instead, she closed her eye and took a deep breath. All Mirio heard for several seconds were her clicking heels echoing down the hall. When she looked back at them both, side by side, Mirio was surprised to see so much raw emotion in the woman's singular eye. What surprised him more, however, were the words that spilled into his ears.
"Izuku Midoriya, Quirk: Not applicable. Presented abilities: Transmutation of air molecules into a gaseous, smoke-like substance through mutative, vein-like tubes that spread from his bronchioles to his skin pores. His red blood cells carry and empower a symbiotic, parasitic hivemind. When contacted, that hivemind can project tentacle-like, energy-based limbs. His brain itself is mutated to project a pseudo-sonic frequency that he can perceive through an unnaturally advanced echolocation-like sixth sense. His lumbar spinal column is three millimeters wider than the average, on account of an as-of-yet unnamed fluid-pocket.
"Suspicions: With a consented sample, his muscle-enzymes have an strange structure, most similar to a newborn's. The space between his organs is not slick flesh, but a sludge-like adhesive that stitches each vital organ together. His bone plates are far softer than the average—almost spongy—but his skeleton in general is more firm. His ligaments, likewise, are more flexible and less prone to tears.
"Conclusion: There is no quirk on earth like Izuku Midoriya's. He is a chimera of mutations, almost… almost like the deceased sample found outside the USJ."
From her coat pocket, she retrieved a small vial with shaking fingers. It was a greenish, black liquid that behaved like warm puddy. Monster Blood. Nighteye said nothing. Mirio could not say anything.
Ms. Fujimaki looked aside, her eyes studying the wall.
"I… I—" She tried to continue, but a sudden well of tears choked her. Mirio fidgeted, too uncomfortable to choose between standing still and helping her—but Nighteye did not have the same qualms. He stepped to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. She hiccupped and waved him off, as if repulsed by his touch. "No, no, let me—let me finish."
Nighteye unhanded her, but remained close. Mirio didn't know much about relationships… but he knew this was an intimate distance. There was barely a gap between their shoulders. Swallowing a shuttered breath, she continued.
"I… am a respected scholar in my field, and that gives me… I'm… privy to my field's projects. Both good… and amoral. I knew it happened, though I could not bring myself to participate… or stop it."
Slowly, she pulled away from Nighteye in full, and their position changed. Mirio and Nighteye no longer stood side-by-side, but neither did the other two stand together. They were an ugly trifecta—confused, concerned, and constipated.
Ms. Fujimaki took a shaking breath and wiped away the tear that trickled down her smooth cheek. Slapping her cheeks, she righted her posture. Something dislodged in Mirio's gut, making him echo her. He stood straighter, strained his ears for her, and gave her his whole attention.
Her scars looked a little less harsh—pinker, less puckered, smoother. It made her easier on the eyes, but also… slick. Too slick; as if the world just slid around her, not touching her. Even Nighteye couldn't quite touch her—but something was. Something deep—something like guilt.
"I… I know it was against your wills—his will—but they didn't care. The Prime Minister didn't, and certainly, the emperor didn't… But when All Might and that terrible force collided and ended one another, neither were immediately cremated. You'd…" She hiccuped again, then chortled—a sad, humorless sound. "You'd be surprised how often it happens. The commission authorized it—practically begged for it, really—and it was Shimisuka who ended up doing it. My department's former supervisor headed the autopsies of All Might and his enemy."
Nighteye sucked in a hard breath.
"What."
Ms. Fujimaki bit her lip, and slipped the vial back into her coat pocket.
"In the last few days, I resolved myself to, for the first time, invest myself in their results. What I discovered… All Might's murderer's… His genetic makeup… was not dissimilar to what is in this very vial. Blood of a USJ monster. Nedzu delivered the corpse in the aftermath, and one of my team finally decoded its… frankly puzzling genetics."
Mirio, if he didn't already feel out of place, now knew he was in over his head.
"That… has… implications." Nighteye said. Mirio swallowed a thick glob of saliva. He'd never heard Nighteye sound so… ineloquent, before. He felt out of the loop.
"Yes," Ms. Fujimaki said, nodding. "But you can chew on that later. What matters most, right now, is something else. Someone else."
Nighteye, to the naked eye, did not react. After having trained under him for the better part of a year, however, Mirio thought he recognized when something tested the man's stoicism. Usually, it was Mirio's jokes—today, this mysterious woman.
"All Might and Izuku's biology were not so different, I presume," Nighteye said, whispering the words like the most delicate secret.
Mirio, standing with every muscle in his chest tense, supposed it was. Ms. Fujimaki nodded, her eye wide and flicking to Mirio, as if afraid of his intrusion. If he was honest, he feared the same.
Nighteye, however, seemed to believe the opposite. His posture, slack mere seconds ago, straightened to his full height. His hands, squeezed in fists, relaxed. Each shoulder set in place like a sculpture, hard and cold. He did not exclude Mirio whatsoever.
A million things buzzed behind his purple eyes, but when he spoke, each word was collected, concise, and furious.
"What is it you want me to say, Sasami? How may I best react to your people cutting open my best friend? Against his wishes, at that. Should I pull back the curtain on everything we kept secret, just because you wish it? There is a reason heroes have a secret identity, Sammy, though perhaps your education didn't make it that far."
She recoiled, as if slapped. Mirio's jaw hung on the floor. Not only had he never heard Sir dig into anyone like that, but the grim endearment in how he addressed her flipped his world upside down. Though, after the implication of Izuku and All Might a second ago, he supposed that just flipped him right back where he belonged.
It gave him a bit of clarity. Like a sane man in an asylum, Mirio leaned back, and assessed. The two adults, however, continued as if he wasn't here.
"That is not what I was saying, Mirai! This—that was uncalled for! You know exactly the damn reason why my "education" didn't make it that far, you ass," Ms. Fujimaki said, taking a step towards Sir. Nighteye mirrored her movement, scowl marring his previously stoic features, as the two people got close enough to bite one another.
"Don't take it as an insult, Sasami, because ignorance is bliss. Just as I blissfully trusted my dear student to your care, thinking you an honorable woman; not knowing you cut open my friend and pried his secrets from his corpse. Now I will question everything you teach him."
"I would never cut anyone open, Mirai, and don't you fucking dare accuse me of such! I already told you, I did not participate—"
"You are the greatest quirkologist in the country, Sasami, with renown across the world! You knew, and you let it happen. You had a duty to protect the last of his dignity, and you violated him in your negligence—"
"It wasn't the goddamn autopsy that let me connect the dots, you insufferable man!" She screamed, each syllable echoing through the long Stadium halls. Nighteye froze, her spittle reflecting across his glasses like tiny stars.
As her echo faded, however, Mirio noticed something odd. He couldn't hear the crowd above them
The Stadium's spectators were deathly silent, and not in excitement. Then, he heard the rattle of squeaky wheels, shouting voices, and hurried footsteps.
Around the bend in the hallway, a rolling gurney came skidding into sight, surrounded by four U.A. nurses. They shouted some medical lingo Mirio couldn't catch as they barreled right between Nighteye and Sasami, splitting them. Then they disappeared. A second later, a slower, less urgent gurney followed them, with only two nurses on hand.
Mirio didn't know the second person's name, but his distinctive features were unforgettable. 1A's bird-faced dude was out cold.
His concern wasn't spiking for the second kid, however. Though the four nurses crowded him, and Mirio only got a single good look, he felt his heart drop to his stomach regardless.
Nighteye froze. Ms. Fujimaki froze. Mirio, in his clarity, did not. Surging forward, he grabbed both of them by their elbows and dragged them into a sprint. Nighteye silently complied, but Ms. Fujimaki cursed, her heels slowing her down. Mirio, for a second, thought to leave her behind—
But a second later, mid-sprint, she kicked off both hindrances and tore ahead, outstripping their pace in a second. Mirio slowed down, amazed at her demonic, barefoot sprint, before scooping up her abandoned shoes and redoubling his efforts to catch up.
He wasn't faster than Nighteye, but he was the second person to reach Recovery Girl's clinic, with his teacher catching up a few seconds later. He found Ms. Fujimaki arguing with a male nurse, trying to get to the bed Recovery Girl was standing over. Over her shoulder, he could see him—Izuku, blood matting his hair and a medical rod probing his throat.
"What," Mirio said, meeting the nurse's eyes as he stepped between him and Ms. Fujimaki, "happened?"
Before the nurse could open his mouth, he nearly toppled over at the knees. Recovery Girl shoved past him, her eyes briefly locking onto Ms. Fujimaki before switching to Nighteye. She didn't even glance at Mirio.
"His quirk went nuclear. He might've seriously hurt someone if Katsuki Bakugo's default threat-response wasn't "give it brain damage!" What kind of teacher are you, to not teach that boy self control? Bah! Get out of my office until he wakes up, or I'll ring your pencil neck!"
Then, she looked back at Ms. Fujimaki, her face softening ever so slightly.
"Shoo," she said, before turning back and returning to Izuku's bedside. "If you want to make yourself useful, go somewhere else!"
Ms. Fujimaki's objections dried up. Something changed in her air, and without another word or apology, she left, catching Nighteye's elbow on her way. Mirio hesitated, the whiplash making his head spin. Just seconds ago, he'd been between the most uncomfortable argument ever, then his junior rushed past, possibly dead, and now they were kicking him out. Too much happened too quickly, but he knew what he wanted—to be there for Izuku.
As he watched Recovery Girl pin back Izuku's bangs, however, revealing a quarter sized, bleeding hole, Mirio realized he was out of his league. He was no doctor; and even if he was, there was a better one, already tending to Izuku. There was nothing he could do for him…
…Physically, at least. Slowly, he faced the hall, where he knew Nighteye and Sasami were. His head spun with autopsies and All Mights and genetics, but… it made a sort of cohesive sense. This was, at the end of the day, about Izuku. He couldn't heal him, but he knew someone who might. Nighteye could do something—if, he doesn't start another fight with Ms. Fujimaki again.
Decision made, he silently wished Izuku well, and followed the adults out.
He found them some thirty meters down the hall, hovering around the bend in silence. Ms. Fujimaki was eyeing an exit while Nighteye stared at the floor, hands in pockets.
Mirio could almost feel them down the hallway, their negative feelings circling the air like sharks around prey. Ducking under a tiger shark, sidestepping a great white, and phasing straight through a hammerhead, Mirio jogged for Ms. Fujimaki.
"Hey, you're fast as hell!"
Both adults froze, and for a split second, the sharks scattered. Ms. Fujimaki blinked—winked?—at him, and recoiled.
"What?" She asked, surprised as he slowed to a walk.
"You guys were fighting like teenagers, but the moment you saw Izuku all messed up, you ran faster than I could've hoped to."
"Oh," she said, glancing at his teacher, "well, I… used to be an athlete—"
"Don't care!" Mirio said, when he noticed her tone turning a smidge more bitter. She shut up, jaw agape, as he walked straight past her and pulled Nighteye's wrists free. He startled, as if awoken from a deep sleep, blinking away his tiredness with a rapid flutter. Mirio whipped his wrists for good measure. Turning back to Ms. Fujimaki, he recapped the events thus far. "You came touching up on Nighteye like some seductive international spy, said you had questions, admitted to what I think might've been an international secret, and called Nighteye a butthole."
Then, he turned to Nighteye.
"After this chick trauma-bombed you, you got mad and made a personal dig at her. That's when she called you a butthole, and when things went from dignified to ugly."
Both adults blinked at him, transfixed by his tale. Mirio squashed his nerves as the two glanced at each other, but they only seemed confused—as if they'd only just remembered he'd witnessed their argument. Instead, he continued, and hoped he sounded as commanding as he wanted.
"Well, I don't know what's going on!" Mirio said, before pointing to Ms. Fujimaki, "but I do know, the second after you saw Izuku hurt, you bolted like Ingenium. So even if it sounds like you did something disrespectful, you're probably coming from the right place. So what was it?"
It took a second for her jaw to actually shape words.
"Ah… It?"
"The questions? The not-autopsy that made you connect the vague dots that no one will tell me about?"
She blinked, stupid, before a light went off behind her eyes. She straightened, startled by her own thought process, and looked at Nighteye.
He'd already been looking at her.
"Izuku is All Might's son, right? Six years ago, when All Might died, he sacrificed himself to protect his son, caught in the battle with his nemesis. He was the little boy in the carnage."
It was as if an angel plucked the ignorance, stupefaction, and confusion from Ms. Fujimaki's brain and plopped it snuggly in Mirio's.
A vein throbbed in Nighteye's temple. His yellow bang fell and landed between his glasses.
No way. Huh?
"And…" Nighteye said, his words straining to slip between his clenched teeth, "I should tell you, because if I don't…"
A sudden vision overcame Mirio, like that of his teacher's quirk. If Nighteye's fury continued to seeth, the words that left his lips would be so rotten that Ms. Fujimaki would give up on Izuku right then and there.
Mirio couldn't let his teacher make the same mistake twice. Closing their gap, he took Nighteye's elbow with gentle fingers. His arm, with every muscle fiber taut like violin strings, relaxed. The vein melted back into his temple. Nighteye—by a narrow margin—held his tongue. His sense withstood his grief.
"... Little Midoriya would suffer further," Ms. Fujimaki said, finishing Nighteye's sentence.
The man shook himself free of Mirio and coughed into a fist.
"No cigar, I'm afraid," Nighteye said, looking between Ms. Fujimaki and Mirio. His eyes narrowed, and for a second, Mirio thought he'd grow defensive again—but after a few more seconds, something changed in Nighteye's appearance. Like he'd just made a connection, or two otherwise stubborn wires finally crossed.
His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to age half a decade in mere seconds.
"We will talk about your department's debauchery at a later date," Nighteye said, finally shifting his full, undivided and undistracted attention onto Ms. Fujimaki. Squaring his shoulders, Mirio could almost see the silhouette of a bulkier man behind him. "But to answer your question… No. Izuku is not All Might's son. The specifics are… complicated, but… they have the same quirk. Not similar. The very same quirk… just at different times. In death… All Might gave it to him."
Mirio glanced over his shoulder, afraid of eavesdroppers. International-level secrets indeed. He needn't have bothered—anyone close enough to hear them was too busy with the clinic. When he turned back, he saw Ms. Fujimaki's expression take on a starry, far-away look.
"You… you're serious…" She muttered, turning over her hands to study them. "That's revolutionary, Mirai…"
Nighteye cleared his throat.
"Yes, but… you will not share this with people. This privacy is Izuku's, and I've betrayed my friend and my student both in telling you. As you—you're people—betrayed my friend's last wish."
She shook her head, still mesmerized.
"Of course, of course… but I've spent a decade studying these things. Nothing like this has ever appeared before… and you've known all along, haven't you? You must tell me everything, Mirai! This could leapfrog everything!"
"It might, and I could, but… I've said enough. Ask the boy yourself. I'm sure he'd be happy to finally have his true thesis peer reviewed, and not that cover-up I helped him give you."
"Wait what? I've spent hours overviewing that! How much of it is bull? I've got to set that straight, and make sure he…"
All too quickly, however, her wonder dried up. Color drained from her face.
"That's—that's it! That's why he's so obsessed…"
She looked over Mirio's shoulder and through the wall, where Izuku was under surveillance.
"Nedzu is… Nedzu's pushing him to replace All Might," Ms. Fujimaki said, before shaking her head and looking at Nighteye. "No, you're the one who's doing that, aren't you?"
A slow nod. Mirio's world was exploding, but they just kept talking, as if forgetting his presence again. It was hard to break their connection, when they weren't fighting. The space between them began to close. Her voice was harsh, but not entirely accusatory.
"You've known and endorsed this? Nedzu's been playing Izuku for months. He failed Izuku's first exam, built him back up with hopes of joining 1Z… tore him down again, built him up, and now the Sports Festival… He confided in me, you know, after the Colosseum—and again, after the USJ."
She stepped towards him, scrutinizing every inch of his face. Nighteye met her questions face-on, though his confidence faded with each word.
"I've got little power over what Nedzu does when I'm not around, Sammy… It's still his school, it's Izuku's choice to stay."
Nighteye shuffled towards her, shaking his head.
"You should know by now that what Nedzu's doing at U.A. isn't right. 1Z, Izuku, and the General Education… they're all in discord. Nedzu is trying to force out of Izuku now that which would've revealed itself with time, and it's hurting him. This whole event was a sham. First round was rigged against him. Second verse, same as the first. Now he's in critical condition."
When Nighteye failed to say anything as Ms. Fujimaki's voice began to quiver.
"What on earth will happen in round three, Mirai? Surely, it must be worth it if you haven't stopped it. Don't give me any excuses… I know you've foreseen this. Will Nedzu finally push him too far? I…"
Ms. Fujimaki only stopped because she ran out of oxygen. Her chest heaved with every breath.
"I actually… haven't," Nighteye said, sounding lost. "The last time I observed Izuku's future, I predicted his failure. I don't want to see that again, let alone accidentally set those dominos into motion. I feel bad for U.A., but there's nothing I can do. Nothing to do but hope for the best."
Sir Nighteye stopped, refraining from touching her by mere millimeters. The magnetism between them was as thick as the tension. For several seconds, Nighteye's admission hung in the air.
"No," Ms. Fujimaki whispered. Something played out behind her eyes—a scene only she could see—and she stepped back. As with Nighteye, a change overcame her, though it broke their trance. Suddenly, their proximity melted, and they parted—though the tension no longer poisoned them. "You're Little Midoriya's mentor, Mirai. I may be his teacher, but you're the hand that's always guided him. Sir Nighteye… is the best he's got. That means you have a duty to protect his future. Only you can bring him where he needs to go. I'm sorry I didn't step up for All Might last dignities, but… I want to be there for your little hero's future."
"Damn," Mirio said, unable to withhold his surprise. They'd actually… spoken like adults. It'd seemed impossible.
Both Ms. Fujimaki and Sir Nightye jerked, somehow having forgotten Mirio again. For the third time. Or was it the fourth? They stared at him, bright red and embarrassed.
Nighteye recovered first.
"You will tell no one, anything," Nighteye said to him, his voice firm once more.
Mirio could only quirk an eyebrow.
"I hope you understand that I didn't understand a thing about any of that, so no worries," Mirio said. "But I do have an inkling on what our next move is, if I'm picking up the vibe right."
Ms. Fujimaki returned his raised eyebrow.
"Our?"
"Oh yeah," Mirio said, "I wouldn't miss this for the world. Shall I lead the way? I had an extra curricular that stationed me below the Stadium last year. I know where it is."
"The way?" Nighteye asked, though it sounded less like a genuine question, and more surprised that Mirio was taking charge. "To… where?"
"To the coo-doo-day-tah, of course. Principal Nedzu's subterranean office. Seems he needs a delivery of common sense."
[x]
Even from so far away, Hizashi could barely grasp what he saw. The entire stage, in a matter of milliseconds, disappeared. In its place, a massive, writhing sea anemone of black tentacles burst into existence. It came from nowhere, but its intentions were not as mysterious as its appearance. It groped and tugged at everything, from flags to students to even the stage below it.
Long-honed instincts had him on his feet, read to leap into the fray and defeat the villainous invasion—but he stopped short. Just barely. While his gut screamed at him to move, his heart told him to hold steady, if only for a moment longer.
A moment longer became two moments, and three moments became several. Hizashi sat back down, flipped down his microphone, and did his job. His conscience rent him in two, but he endured the vicious confusion for as long as the world endured the black, tentacled mass.
Thankfully, that wasn't long in the grand scheme of things. At the end of its 15 second lifespan, it dispersed with a thunderous conclusion.
"And Katsuki Bakugo unleashes a personal hell upon this monster's source, revealing—wait!" Hizashi heard himself say, the words coming out on autopilot. "Is that Midoriya?"
In a spectacular move of unintentional teamwork, a 1A student and Bakugo disrupted the tentacles' source, and they dispersed into the air. That would be fine by him, if not for the thud that echoed through the stage a half-second later, echoing the fading explosion. Midoriya cleared the grass like a punted football before crashing into the Stadium's outer wall.
Hizashi didn't waste a moment before slapping his emergency button and whispering instructions. Less than twenty seconds later, paramedics spirited Izuku's prone form to the clinic.
His headphones crackled as Nedzu broke into his personal frequency. Once again, he coached Hizashi through what to say.
Nedzu, through him, eased the crowd, whispered congratulations, and affirmed Midoriya would be cared for. He twisted the attention away from Midoriya's cataclysmic impact, and instead on the stage, which was still in total chaos.
"And that concludes the third round, folks! I'll keep you updated on Midoriya… but before that, as you might've seen, the whole dynamic of this competition just changed."
He gestured towards the scoreboards circling the Stadium, though he knew few could see him. Nedzu whispered something else, and he shoved some delight through his vocal chords. It was good, he reminded himself. Fair.
"Though unorthodox, Midoriya's power is crazy! In one fell swoop, he managed to grab everyone for about… checking the timestamps… thirteen seconds! Now, normally, grabbing someone isn't the same as grabbing their flag… but you all saw what he did. He didn't just grab everyone, he totally captured them! One day, when he masters that, he'll be a monster, but until then, I say we count all the flags he held, for that brief moment!"
Midoriya's team shot up the scoreboard, just barely failing to eclipse Tokage's first place.
"In only double the time it takes to download my podcast, Midoriya collected seven hundred and sixty seven points! Give the King his second place back!"
Nedzu creeped him out sometimes. At times, he seemed so… distant, but he knew how to press people's buttons. The crowd's concern melted under his script, their hype replacing it. They screamed for Midoriya, excited, as if he wasn't half-way to intensive care.
"Hold on now folks, I'm not done!" Hizashi said, pausing to let the screams spike, before pointing directly at the stage. "Did you see it? What happened at the very end of the third round?"
The crowd hushed, turning their attention back to the stage. They didn't see. For his own sake, he had to double-check it himself.
A General Education student with flaming red hair was helping another red-haired student to his feet, the second student's bounty in the first's clutches. The second was upset, but accepted the hand. There was nothing Kirishima could do, between rounds. It was against the rules.
"Though the King was only King again for a split second, his guard, in the chaos, seized the crown in his absence! Yoru Sashimi is the King of round three! Blink and you'll miss it, folks. Watch those replays if you can't believe it, like me!"
When Tokage'd discarded her flags to check on Midoriya, she'd given them to Kirishima—and in the chaos, Sashimi caught him off guard. Now, he held more flags on his person than anyone else.
Hizashi listed out of the new top five, his predictions, and then Nedzu's advice to play a little safer. Finally done, he tore off his headphones and glanced at his assistant's spot—only to remember Aizawa left.
It felt wrong to be alone in the announcer's booth.
It… felt wrong to be in the announcer's booth.
He should be down in the clinic, keeping watch over his little friend. Hizashi hadn't seen how he'd hit his head, he'd heard it—and that scared him more than anything. There was a serious possibility Midoriya wouldn't be alright when he woke up. Ice cream didn't sound so good in a hospital room.
What made it all worse was Nedzu's tone. He'd sounded genuinely surprised at Izuku's quirk acting up, but not upset. Not in the slightest.
Even knowing Izuku'd conked his head real bad, Nedzu seemed pleased. If he really cared about the kid, he'd already be in the clinic. As things stood, however, the rat was probably still inside his bunker, turning dials and watching monitors and rubbing his grubby little paws together.
The two minutes between matches felt like a century. Another stretcher carried a different student out, but from what he observed, he wasn't nearly in such critical condition.
Round four, in comparison, felt like eons. It was exciting, sure, but Hizashi's mind was on other things.
Yoru Sashimi, despite being General Education, outdid himself. He managed to evade the big teams for the first half, until Todoroki's team appeared. They converged on Sashimi alongside two others, and it looked like curtains for the young ginger. In a stroke of genius, however, when Tokage's Kirishima and Ojiro also drew near, Sashimi didn't even fight.
He surrendered the King's Flag to Kirishima with an underhanded toss, surprising the boy and shifting Todoroki's ire. Carrying the rest of Tokage's little flags, he spent the rest of the round running around like a decapitated chicken.
Slowly, his possessions whittled away. Tokage snatched back a flag, then he surrendered another, and 1A's invisible girl took a third. By the end of round four, he only had a couple flags left—yet Hizashi came to a curious realization as he did the math. Midoriya's team was earning one more flag than Sashimi possessed.
Checking an older replay, he remembered the beginning of round one, where Sashimi gave Midoriya a flag. With a start, Hizashi realized It was still in his pants, uncontestable in the clinic.
The same was actually true for another team. Todoroki's teammate, Tokoyami, still had his flag.
This was proven after the fourth round's break, when Tokoyami returned to the stage on steady feet. Though healed, he was exhausted. Perhaps his recovery should've assured Hizashi of Izuku's, but it didn't. He passed along his flag to Todoroki and contented himself with regaining his energies. Nedzu made a great hoot of that too, though the false surprise in his voice only furthered Hizashi's rapidly growing misgivings.
Other interesting things happened around the arena, too. Bakugo ceased his endless battle, choosing to withdraw into a corner and wait out the game. Either exhaustion or guilt fueled the decision, and after watching him for so long, Hizashi couldn't blame him for either.
Inasa and Tokage's dogfight took a backseat as both teams pulled apart. With Tokage's monopoly gone, there was no point to focus exclusively on her anymore. Another late arrival joined the fray for Monoma's team—Ingenium Jr was back on his feet. Until he adjusted to the elevated difficulty, however, Hizashi suspected he'd play it slowly.
At the end of the day, that's what it was. Exciting, but slow. Todoroki managed to overpower Kirishima, eventually, to take the King's flag, but it was sad. Less of a battle and more of Kirishima being too hounded to endure. He was sturdier than most, but he was still weak to the elements. Todoroki became the King of round four.
Hizashi's headphones crackled as Nedzu commandeered his audio. He said things, told Hizashi what to say, and sounded so… smug while doing it. Thing was…
No matter how Hizashi tried to twist things, he couldn't see what it was all building too. Round one and two obviously built towards Midoriya's climactic moment in round three. Narratives converged, character arcs peaked, people got hurt. Round four… felt more like hot potato. Aimless and empty.
Hizashi looked out to the spectators, seeing how they ate up the action. They didn't see it his way. Each little dot of color was a person, yes, but less than that, they were a hivemind. One that was blind to the realities of the students. He looked at his hands. His were supposed to be better. That was his job, as separate from the crowd—to be more knowledgeable. Yet he just sat here, knowing that something simply wasn't right, and he did nothing.
Where did things go, after this? More kids would wrestle and fight and steal… then Event Three would start. Would Midoriya come back for it? Was he able to?
…What would be waiting for him, if he did? The first event was an insult to his issues—Nedzu practically confirmed it as a targeted attack. The second built upon the first, using the unique momentum to target and push Midoriya. He wasn't pushing the personal buttons of any other student. In fact, now that Hizashi thought about it, they were victims. General Education, 1B and 1A—they were all victims in a game that Hizashi didn't know the rules of, but was still propping up.
He thought back years, when he'd first met Midoriya on that train. Just a little kid, scared out of his mind and broken. Bakugo, too, was there, cold and calculated and so clearly confused. Both just wanted to be heroes.
Now, Bakugo nearly killed Midoriya, and Midoriya lost control. Again.
Not for any real reason, either. He wasn't saving lives; he wasn't fighting for what was right. Midoriya's meltdown was just another domino Nedzu set up.
The stage was huge. It was bigger than most parking lots, and if the spectators abandoned their seats, almost a quarter could fit within the stage's area.
And despite that, Midoriya's meltdown spanned from end to end, sky high, and beyond.
How did things escalate from there? What on earth could Nedzu do to push him even further? What was Event Three going to be?
Hizashi found himself standing, bent over his audio array. Round four's two minute break came to a close. Nedzu was still speaking into Hizashi's headset, but he'd taken it off centuries ago. Popping open the microphone, he announced the beginning of the final round.
No fanfare; that was it. The cement tiles shot into the sky, faster than ever, and the chaos began. Students flew, students fought, students stole. The final round was of desperation—if the world was right, Hizashi would've had the perfect commentary material.
The world was not right. Midnight was nowhere to be seen. She was not walking the stage's perimeter, making minor commentary. Aizawa disappeared. Of the commentators, only he remained.
His headphones crackled again, but this time, Hizashi didn't even pretend to listen. Flicking a switch, he shut off his audio entirely, pivoted, and walked straight out his booth. He booked it for the staircase, and took two down at a time.
Whatever was about to happen could not be allowed.
The walk down was substantial. Already at the highest level in the Stadium, he had to climb several stories to reach the ground floor. Then he had to swipe his teaching card through a locked, four-inch-thick door.
As it was closing behind him, however, voices held him up. Catching it before it closed, he just barely stopped it from crushing the upper body of a young man who tried to squeeze through.
Mirio Togata, of all people, smiled and thanked him. Behind him were two people he'd met, but did not know well. Sir Nighteye, and Sasami Fujimaki. For a moment, he hesitated, because none were authorized past this point, but the looks on their faces sold them.
The quartet descended down another staircase, somehow even faster together than he'd been alone. They pushed each other to walk faster, instead of getting in each other's way. Their goals aligned.
It happened again when they came across Nemuri Kayama, walking down one step at a time. The two women shared only a single solemn glance before his coworker joined their mob. Their pace increased again, just shy of jumping down each alternative stair flight.
When they reached the bottommost level, they were met with two gray-framed faces. First, full of youthful, square bluster—Sekijiro Kan. Second, crossed with scars and aging, loose skin—Yamato Yoarashi.
They simply stepped in line and joined the march across the U.A. Stadium's underbelly.
The walk, compared to the descent, was short. Shoulder to shoulder, side by side, the seven of them marched straight to Nedzu's underground office. They shared little words; instead, silently focusing on the task ahead. Hizashi wondered, briefly, if they were doing the right thing. Was confronting their boss now such a good idea? At such a pivotal moment, at that? This could derail the whole event, if it went wrong. That would be catastrophic for their students.
Those worries faded when, at last, they turned the last corner and faced Nedzu's door. Leaning against it, hands in pockets, was Shouta.
"You guys are slow," Shouta said, as he pushed off the door. "I've been waiting since the end of round three."
He met Hizashi's eyes.
"Glad to see you made it. How… lucky."
Then, he turned and opened Nedzu's door.
[x]
AN: Haven't read the reviews in a little bit, but I hope you like this chapter.
review!~