Two weeks after the train incident, Izuku was biting his nails. He wasn't much of a nail-biter, but his nerves were getting to him. Today would be a lot; it would be the first time he'd see Nighteye since giving him his notebook, and he would meet with the professor. He was reading and rereading his notes, shoving more and more thoughts into the margins.
A warm hand rested on his shoulder; he relaxed, leaning into it. His mother hummed and short tune, not saying a word. She didn't need to remind him to be calm, she was just reminding him that she'd be there for him.
A knock at the door ripped him out of his brief tranquility. He'd been nervous about this, more than the meeting with the professor. If he reacted severely, then he didn't know how he would continue to train with him. Taking in a deep breath, he shook his mother off before she could go open the door. Marching across the apartment himself, he opened up the door while closing his eyes.
"Hello, Midoriya. Ms. Midoriya." Nighteye said. Izuku gulped at the man's voice. Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened up an eyelid. The man towered over him as always, but where Izuku thought the nerves would ruin him, nothing happened. Straightening, Izuku looked at his mentor with both eyes. His stomach felt a bit tingly, but that was it. He smiled.
"It's g-good to see you, sir." Izuku said, smiling. Nighteye, the stone statue he was, returned it. They shook hands.
"Same to you. I hope you're ready to get back to training, the old man and I were missing you." The hero said. Izuku gave him a firm nod.
"Yessir. I'm good to go."
"Fantastic. Ms. Midoriya?" His mother shifted at his question, smiling at their brief guest.
"Yes?"
"Are we all ready?"
"Mhm. Let me lock up."
[x]
The car ride over should've been the easiest part. It should've given mother and son time to gather their bearings as they approached what could be a new step in their lives. It should've been a time for pep talks and advice.
Instead, Inko Midoriya spent most of it white-faced and rock-still. Izuku fared better, having experienced the man's driving often enough, but even he wasn't immune to the kickback. The man still drove like hell itself was chasing him, and Inko's nerves, for the brevity of the ride, exceeded Izuku's.
By the time they arrived at Shimisuka, Inko had enough. She apologized profusely, but she excused herself to go to the bathroom. No matter how bad she wanted to be there for Izuku, she didn't want to throw up in the middle of the meeting. Promising to get back there as soon as she could, they parted ways in the lobby.
Izuku, for how nervous he was, felt that he had taken it well. Nighteye guided him through the maze that was Shimisuka; three hallways, two elevators, one wrong turn, a set of stairs, two mess halls, and one backtrack later, they arrived. They got about a million odd glances; a disabled young boy and a famous superhero walking around their campus must not happen often.
Still, they found their lecture hall easily enough. Before going in, however, Nighteye pulled him aside.
"Alright, one more thing. The timing of this meeting is unfortunate, so there'll be a handful of students and Sasami having their lunch. If she asks you to use your quirk, make sure you don't blow it in the faces of those eating. We might not satisfy her standards, but we can at least not ruin people's meal." Nighteye said, face grave. Izuku nodded, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Y-yes sir." They'd already gone over this, as well as what her expectations for him were, but the reminder was nice. Nighteye gave his shoulder a touch, nothing like how his mother would, but enough to remind him that the man had his back. Exhaling out his nose, Izuku pushed past his mentor and opened the door himself.
The lecture hall was cool, he immediately noted. It was large, with a window wall and massive green drapes hanging from the ceiling. Between the student seating and the teacher's desk was a ten-meter oval of bare concrete, reminiscent of a miniature colosseum. Drinking in the architecture, Izuku barely noticed the heterochromatic tween in the seats or the girl beside him. Zeroing in on the desk, he walked up with Nighteye in tow.
"H-hello?" Izuku called out.
"Oh! You're here, you're here. Good, good. Sasaki?" A woman peaked out from behind the mountain of paperwork. Instantly, Izuku felt his gut turn. Her face was horrific. Where her right eye and forehead used to be was one massive welt of red, torn-looking flesh. Behind him, Nighteye coughed.
"Sasami. It's… good to see you." The man said, not looking at her. The woman's eye rolled.
"Don't be such a baby. C'mere. Both of you." Without Izuku realizing it, he was already walking up to her desk. Something in the back of his head swirled.
Arriving at the foot of her desk, Sasami stood into a slight bow. It lasted for half a second before she straightened to her full height. While she wasn't as tall as Nighteye, she rivaled him. It made Izuku feel a little odd, he'd only ever seen one woman as tall as this Sasami, and it was on the Star and Stripe poster he had on his closet door.
The two adults seemed to be talking to each other without speaking, leaving Izuku to stand in between them as their silent meanings punched through him. After about ten seconds of this stomach-churning staring contest, Sasami shooed Nighteye away.
"Alright, we're on a time crunch. Go sit yourself, Mirai. Boy." She said, turning to him. "I would like to say it's nice to meet you. I read your notes. They're good." Izuku straightened, his face flushing. He tried to keep his eyes locked on the woman's good eye.
"Th-thank you, ma'am!" He said. Sasami nodded, flicking a finger in the direction of the ten-meter oval. Before Izuku knew it, he was already marching over there. Something smelled odd.
"Your observations are good. That is undeniable. Most brats don't have a clue how their quirk works, let alone ideas on how to improve. But if you think that your notebook would even get a passing grade in my class, you're in for a rude awakening. It's much too cluttered; I could barely stand reading it. Still." The woman said, walking out from behind her desk. Izuku held his tongue. Her words weren't surprising, but they stung a little. He'd worked hard on those notebooks, and hearing her diss them hurt. Sasami began walking around him, tracing the edge of the oval. His nose twitched.
"What's your quirk?" She said as she got directly behind him. Izuku stayed staring at the desk.
"S-smokescreen. I can generate gas out of the pores of my skin. The gas isn't toxic, I can choose the color, regulate output, it disperses at a rate of—"
"Cut the crap, kid. Ten words or less. If you can't condense your thoughts on your own damn quirk, you're wasting my time." Sasami said, cutting him off. Izuku's jaw snapped shut, almost biting his tongue in the process. Ten words or less? He wasn't sure what to say; quirks were so complicated, how was it even possible to…
It took effort, but he glanced behind him. Sasami had already started walking again, still observing him like he was her next meal. He made eye contact with Nighteye, asking for help. The man offered him one thing; a single, sharp nod. Izuku exhaled.
"I, um—"
"Eight." Sasami said, startling him. He frowned. This test sucked. Holding his tongue, he began counting on his fingers as he tried various sentence combinations. It was hard; he wasn't very elegant with words, and his vocabulary could use some work. A minute ticked by as Izuku struggled with his eight-word limit, Sasami stalking him like a tiger all the while.
It took him another two before he had something good enough. The effort sent more sweat pouring down his back than running the obstacle course did.
"I grow the leftover gases I breathe." He said, wiping the back of his hand against his forehead. Sasami stopped her march as she got in front of him. Her expression was cold, calculating if she liked his answer or not.
"You have one word left. Anything else to offer?"
"Nervous." At that, the woman chortled. Izuku mirrored it. Behind him, he heard a few small laughs. The stench had grown; it burned like someone held a glass of chemicals under his nose.
"So, you know the basics of your quirk. How'd you figure it out? Keep it brief, please; no word limits, though." Sasami asked. Izuku nodded, thankful that he could speak freely.
"I figured it was either food or air because I'd shrivel up every time I use it otherwise. It's…" Izuku glanced at Nighteye. "Supplemented by my… stamina, yeah, but the actual material mostly comes from my lungs. If I don't breathe while using it, I get short on oxygen really fast." He said. The professor nodded, checking her watch. A small scowl nestled on her features.
"Interesting. Here's my proposition, kid. You're smart, I'll give you that, but I won't be impressed unless you prove yourself. If you can figure out my quirk and how it functions, maybe I'll give you an hour of my time next Friday." Behind him, Nighteye coughed. The professor's stern gaze snapped to him, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Mirai! I know you of all people—" She cut herself off, giving Izuku a fake smile. "Ignore me. Now, shoot. What do you think?"
Immediately, Izuku's mind went into fifth gear. He'd had a suspicion arriving that there was something up. Something about the way this interview had gone so far had rubbed him the wrong way; like the situation was more out of his control than it should've been.
Sasami stood perfectly still as Izuku studied her, noting everything. First, her face was scarred horrifically. One orange orb stared at him as he took in the nature of the injury. It looked unclean; like it'd happened quickly and violently. The entire area was a deep red, but the darkest parts were three horizontal lines, one of which cut into her eye. Nothing about her other orifices was out of the ordinary. She was tall, with an athlete's build, but she wasn't shredded. From what peaked out from her clothes, she had a bit of fat on her bones. Her gait confused him, she stood with her shoulders tense but her extremities relaxed. It was like she was ready to take off at any time but knew she didn't need to.
He thought back on their interactions thus far, and how her quirk might've affected her behavior. Immediately, he remembered how she ordered him around, and how he'd listened. Of course, if she asked him to do something, he'd do it. But the way he'd physically responded was what stuck out to him; he'd just done it. No hesitation, no nerves. Izuku liked to think he was receptive to new people, but he knew he wasn't a pushover.
An idea began to form in his head, but he wasn't sure until he took a deep inhale through his nose. It was pleasant; the smell of the room made him feel at home, comfortable. He took a second, exclusively through his mouth. None of those comfortable feelings emerged.
"You… you emit pheromones. Your scent encourages people to listen to you. A passive brainwash quirk." Izuku said, staring the tall woman straight in the eyes. She blinked, her face morphing into a grin.
"Humor me," She began. Izuku plugged his nose. "Show me your quirk."
He had no urge to do so outside of his sense of courtesy. Really, it felt like someone flipped a switch. She seemed nice, and he wanted to be as easy to work with as possible, but the rebellion felt good. He'd figured her out, at least to an extent, and he proved it. She raised an eyebrow at him, making him flush.
"S-sorry." He said, holding out a palm. From the center of it, he allowed a small trickle of Smokescreen to escape. One for All purred under his skin as he let it loose, happy to do something. He willed the smoke to pop out of him from different places, keeping each area localized.
It took a lot of focus, like he was patting his belly and rubbing his head at the same time, but he was able to slightly alter the color of each individual smoke emission. Changing the color of the smoke was a new discovery, but it had drastically changed his understanding of the quirk. There was a lot more to discover, too. He had no clue what kind of limits the ability had, and the idea of exploring every avenue excited him.
"Alright, that's enough, we don't want to risk the sprinklers," Sasami said, waving a hand in front of her face. Izuku cut off Smokescreen, now thinking about all the fun he'd have in the near future exploring and practicing the quirk.
It was such a novelty to have a quirk, he'd realized. He'd lived more than half of his life quirkless, and now he had one—scratch that, he had a few. It was more than he could've ever asked for. All it cost was…
He shook his head. Not today.
While he hadn't been paying attention, Sasami had gotten closer. Taking his arm in her hands, she trailed her fingers over his bare skin, tickling him. She grunted at his giggle, twisting his arm over so the hairy side faced up. She got close; close enough for her eyelash to brush his arm, close enough that her pheromones had started to clog his nose.
"Hmmm. Weird. Your pores are normal-sized. Usually, skin-emitters have warped, uneven pores. Hey, how do you think I emit my pheromones?" She asked, still twisting his arm this way and that. Izuku didn't even think about an answer.
"Your sweat glands. That's where most mammal's hormones are centralized, right?"
"Right on the money. Can I control it?"
"Partially. It gets stronger when you sweat, but that's manipulation, not direct control."
"General radius?"
"Depends, this room is probably soaked with it top to bottom, but in places you aren't at often, probably less than five meters."
"Hmm." She hummed, releasing his arm. Taking a few steps away from another, Sasami marched up to Nighteye, who was watching the exchange with interest. Izuku blinked. There was a kid with white and red hair towards the back, something he only just now took the time to register. He offered a shy wave but didn't get one back.
He wasn't sure what to do; Nighteye and Sasami seemed to be having another silent discussion, the other kid wouldn't talk to him, and he'd left his phone in the car. Izuku was about to settle for just biting his lip in silence when the door creaked open, a green head of hair peaking in.
"Oh! Thank god, this place is a nightmare to navigate. I'm surprised you guys even got here in the first place." His mother said, walking over to him. Sasami glanced at them but spared the older woman no mind.
"So," She whispered, turning them away from the professor, "how is it?"
"She's kind of scary, but she's crazy smart. I can tell." He replied, honest. No matter how freaky her power was, how off-putting her face was, or how she grilled him, Izuku couldn't help but like her. She just had that disabled-but-more-abled-than-you vibe that he loved to see in people.
"Okay, great. How do you think you've done so far?"
"Not a clue. She just hums or grunts at the things I say. I-I've made her laugh, though, so I can't be in her bad books yet." He said. They continued to chat and theorize how it was going for a few minutes, trying their best to not eavesdrop on Nighteye and her. Eventually, though, they heard Sasami approach.
"Ms. Midoriya, hello. I am Sasami Fujimaki." The woman said, reintroducing herself. Izuku froze. He hadn't caught her name on the way in, and he'd forgotten it when his mom had told him earlier. He pivoted, looking up at Sasami.
"F-fujimaki? Like… Dr. Fujimaki?" He asked, not believing his luck. The professor gave him a slow, confused nod.
"My father has his doctorate, yes. He's a therapist…" She glanced down at his prosthetic. "Are you acquainted?"
"No way. Mom, did you—" He whipped around to his mother, who nodded.
"Of course. I thought that was why she accepted the proposal to speak with you." She turned to Sasami, an eyebrow raised. "That was why you accepted, right?"
"No? His notebooks really were quite the find, ma'am. Plus, Mirai and I go… way back. Wait, do you seriously know my father?" She asked, directing her question at Izuku. He nodded. She whistled.
"Small world. Dang. Anyways," She started, "I think that I want to speak with your son again. Kid, please follow." She said. Izuku barely had time to excuse himself before his body forced him to follow the professor. Meeting back up with Nighteye, Izuku once again felt a little awkward. Not only did Sasami and Nighteye have a very tense air between them, but the hero was also starting to look antsy. He guessed sitting in a chair and doing nothing wasn't really in his nature.
"So?" He asked, his voice gruffer than usual. Sasami smirked.
"The kid's a catch, Mirai. I want him next Friday, so long as he brings along a better notebook. Money's not a problem, is it?" She asked. Nighteye shook his head, casually opening his wallet and flicking through a few dozen bills. She plucked a few out without asking, pocketing them.
"Down payment. You'll get it back if the investment falls through early."
Izuku looked between the two, confused. To his eyes, it seemed like Ms. Fujimaki abused her quirk to rob him blind. Nighteye, however, nodded as Sasami turned to Izuku.
"Your quirk analysis was mediocre exclusively because of your formatting. I want a proper essay on my desk by the end of next week. If I like what I see, I'll teach you. On Nighteye's payroll." She said. Izuku's mouth gaped. He looked between the two adults, bouncing between each of their faces faster than he had time to seriously comprehend them.
"S-sir!? You don't have to do that—I thought we were just testing me!?" Izuku asked, dumbfounded. Nighteye adjusted his glasses, nonchalant.
"It was, until the Queen of General Studies decided she wanted you as a disciple." He said, not reacting as Sasami sent him a massive glare. Izuku blinked. Oh right.
"You went to U.A.! And got third place in the Sports Festival!" He said, pointing at the professor. She batted his finger away.
"Would've won, too, if my semi-finalist opponent had a nose. Whatever kid, it's old news anyways." She said, pointing to her eye. "The hero business is out of reach for people like… me." She said, slowing to a stop as she looked at him again, her eyes glancing at his prosthetic.
The silence that followed that statement was awkward. So awkward, in fact, that the professor excused herself, citing paperwork. It seemed like Nighteye wanted to go over and talk, but thought against it. Shooing the Midoriya's into the hall, Izuku only had one more chance to see the room. It seemed that the heterochromatic boy was staring at them, revealing to Izuku the fact that he had a massive facial scar, just like Sasami. As for the professor, she seemed to have planted her forehead down on her desk, paperwork forgotten.
[x]
"So, how go your studies?" His father asked. It was the first time he'd been home in time for dinner in weeks, and Shoto could care less. Dinner with his father had been a tense affair in the past, usually ending uncomfortably for everyone involved. Fuyumi, however, seemed to like their father's question.
"Oh yeah, how was your tutoring today? Is Chika treating you well?" Fuyumi asked, more excited-sounding than their father. His sister adored his tutor; she was her upper classwoman at Shimisuka, and even though their majors were different, they'd spent a lot of time together. During her first semester at school, she'd been like a mentor figure to her; it was the main reason she landed Shoto's tutoring gig. Shoto didn't answer until he finished his noodles.
"We did less than normal today since Ms. Fuji actually had something to do in the room for once. We're halfway through my geometry work, though." Shoto said. A low rumble reached him from the head of their table.
"Hmmm. I thought you said this Chika would work Shoto hard? What stopped you from just working in the library?" He asked, his eyes bouncing from an abashed Fuyumi to a neutral Shoto. Natsuo kept munching, not paying attention.
"Ms. Fuji had some sorta interview for a prodigy or something. The guy was good, too, coming in with a recommendation from Sir Nighteye." Shoto said, not really caring how everyone at the table froze.
"S-sir Nighteye? Did you say—?" Fuyumi asked.
"Why on earth would that brat care about quirk theory?" His father said, his voice shifting into his Endeavor persona for a moment. Shoto shrugged.
"I didn't really ask—or even speak to them, really. Seemed like the kid nailed it, though, Fuji offered him private tutoring." He said. His throat felt a little dry from talking so much. He sipped his tea. Everyone seemed to have a vivid reaction to that, even more than hearing about Sir Nighteye. Fuyumi in particular looked flabbergasted.
"I-I've never had her class, but everyone on campus knows about her temperament. Isn't she a total stickler about her students? I know Chika cried herself to sleep plenty of nights during her class with the woman." She said. Shoto shrugged.
"Beats me."
Dinner continued after that, with Fuyumi fetching three extra bowls for the boys. She seemed to stumble after setting their father's down, however, as if conflicted on what to do next. Normally, she'd grab mom's, but her seat was empty. Only Shoto seemed to notice her blunder. Their father had been staring holes into the table since their discussion.
No one spoke for the rest of dinner; the three siblings got the sense that their father had something on his mind. It left the meal feeling hollow, but nostalgic; like how dinners used to feel before All Might died.
It was only when Fuyumi started clearing the plates that his father spoke, still staring at his half-eaten dinner.
"Nighteye has had something in the works for months. He's been taking more and more time off from patrols and spending less time at the office… What did you say his guy's name was, Shoto?" His father asked, the voice of Endeavor leaking through.
"I didn't. I got a good look at his profile, though. Something like Izoko Midokiya. Seemed my age." Shoto said. His father's gaze whipped up to him, a startled look in his eyes.
"Did you mean Izuku Midoriya?" Endeavor asked, pushing himself into a half-standing position. The wood of the table creaked as the man gripped it. Shoto just nodded, handing Fuyumi his bowl. He didn't know why his dad cared so much.
"I guess." He said, before getting up and walking into the kitchen. It was generally the women's job to clean up around their house, but Shoto liked to help. Fuyumi smiled as she handed him a rag, and the running faucet cut off the sound of the cracking wood in the other room.
"Shoto!?" His father called across the house, "If you see the boy again, speak to him. I want all the details of his little apprenticeship!"
Shoto didn't bother responding.
[x]
Sasami Fujimaki was in her bathrobe when she dialed her father's number. Sure, she thought, she could just click his contact, but the novelty of typing out numbers was just more engaging. Her penthouse was relatively small for a top-floor suite, but it had excellent reception and was cozy for the single woman. The phone only rang once before she heard it click.
"Hey, daddy, how was work?" She asked. Her father responded energetically, telling her about his day. It made her smile somewhat; her father's job often put him in the dumps. Giving out sagely wisdom every day had put grey hairs in his head younger than it should've.
"Good to hear—shoot, I have a question."
"Alright, so, could you tell me if you work with a kid named Midoriya?"
"C'mon, daddy. I spoke to the kid this morning. He told me, well, he implied you were his therapist. What's his deal?"
"Yes, I know about patient confidentiality. But as a one-time favor, can you just spill the beans? I can call Nemuri and finally take us all out to dinner like you wanted…"
"Then I'll come visit too! C'mon, just tell me. He seemed like a nice enough kid, though I might've messed up talking to him."
"Oh, well, Mirai told me the kid wanted to be a hero, and I might've told him about me not being a hero anymore, cause… y'know. He wears a fake arm, right? I felt awful after that. I hope he doesn't mind."
"Well, I think it's unlikely, and probably a stupid idea. He definitely shouldn't be, I'm sure about that, I just feel bad for saying it the way I did."
"...Let's move on. I just had a spa day, and if I think about this for one second longer, I'm gonna find a new wrinkle somewhere. What's the kid's deal?"
"Yes, yes, I promise. It's not like I enjoy gossiping about tweenagers."
"...Oh."
"I, uh… I'll call you tomorrow, dad. Stay safe." She said, hanging up. She let her phone slide out of her hands into the crevices between the couch cushions. She leaned into her hands, elbows on her knees.
"Fucking hell, man."
Her scar burned.
[x]
AN: Got my first (?) distasteful review, which is better than no review at all IMO. Thanks for all the otherwise kind words; that particular review was made by someone who clearly didn't read more than the first four chapters, so I'm chillin. I definitely would accept an actual critique, though. I loved this last section, but let me know if y'all didn't. I've been brainstorming future ideas in my spare time and I'm way in over my head, lol. Got some cool shit cooking. The only hard part is figuring out how to advance the story closer to the school arc without skipping things I want to keep in.
Review! I like replying to most of them.