"...I'm Heatseeker." Endeavor's brat says, before taking a step back. Beside him, Whirlwind's son steps forward.
"Hello! I am Gale Force! Hi-yah!"
The Iida boy is next, but he is different. Not only is he last—not only is the whole weight of the moment on him—he is apparently crowd shy.
"I!" He begins, a strong start, but then fumbles over his next words. "I-I am… I am! I—I'm… Ingenium Jr!"
The crew is silent. He receives a dozen odd looks. For a moment, not even the boisterous rat utters a word—but just like a rat, Nedzu manages to salvage the worst no matter the situation.
"We'll be working on that one, Ingenium Jr!"
Nedzu kept the ball rolling, then, and went on to sing the praises of his new class. To the rat's credit, he didn't seem to stretch the reality—his three Legacy Heroes and six "talents" were quite the collection.
It made his stomach curl.
A reporter leapt to Nedzu's side, shoving his new mic in the bastard's face. U.A.'s principal took the intrusion in stride.
"Sir, I only have two inquiries left for you and your new class. May I?"
Nedzu smiled wide, tiny white arrowheads peeking out from under his gums. He nodded, and his faux-enthusiasm seemed to infect the reporter.
"Well then, of course, I have to ask this for the people. I apologize—this seemed to be a two parter, rather than a single, but I think we have the airtime. How sure are you that 1Z will remain safe and secure, despite their lack of experience, and will this class become a standard part of the future? Be it at U.A. and other schools, of course."
Nedzu pretended to think it over before replying.
"I can not guarantee the security of even our post-graduates, in all due respect. All I can do is pass my judgment on capability—I'm growing heroes, after all. It's an immortal, dangerous career that'll continue long after I am dead. Here, in 1Z, all I can say is that they are as qualified as any third year student. I would not allow anyone to join without my 100% confidence. Perhaps the other schools will copy me, perhaps next year we will have an identical roster of skill—but what matters is now. I've gathered the pinnacle of Japan's future, good sir, and I think for your sake, you should have some faith. If they fall short, then I don't know what to say for society at large."
The statement seemed to have a profound impact on the reporter. He wavered, taking his time to drink all of Nedzu's lies.
A crack echoed around his room, loud enough to overwhelm the television's low buzz. His chair's armrests came away in his hands—pure wood. With a touch, they melded back in place—but there was a slight hump where the fission once was. It made his blood boil.
At last, the reporter seemed to gather himself.
"You're a wise man, Mr. Nedzu." The reporter said, slow and deliberate. He could practically hear the swelling of Nedzu's ego. "So I'll leave you with one question. What's with the scrap everywhere? Some of it looks like U.A.'s infamous titans, but most pieces are too mangled to recognize. I'm quite curious—and I bet most of our audience is, too. After all, this set-dressing is quite odd. Don't tell me one of your 1Z managed to take one of those down? It nearly leveled a whole class during last year's Sports Festival."
Like the flip of a switch, he forgot his chair. He forgot the anger, the putrid nausea in his gut, and his disgust at seeing the rat. His eyes widened with the camera's perspective—the livestream twisted from the class to the surrounding pile of green steel. He hadn't given the environment much thought, but that had been foolish. One of U.A.'s weapons of war lay crumpled behind them, and not once had he even thought twice.
Who the hell could pull something like that off?
"Oh! Nedzu said, and suddenly the anger was back, though dulled by his racing curiosity. "Well, to be transparent, I chose this spot so that the average citizen could appreciate 1Z's competence. The "scrap" as you called it are the remains of a once building-sized robot. A freshman in 1A destroyed it."
The reporter glanced at the scrap pile, then the camera, before settling back on the principal. His adam's apple bobbed.
He wasn't sure what happened to him. It was an odd sensation, something he'd never taken much notice of before—but his heart was beating rather quickly, and the edges along the television turned a smidge more crisp. Adrenaline, he noted, but didn't quite understand. Never before had a gut feeling given him such a physiological reaction before.
"Are you… implying that a regular student of yours managed such a feat? Not 1Z? Why aren't they on the stage?" The reporter asked. Nedzu sighed.
"It's simple, really. I can't allow anyone I'm not 100% confident in to practice with real lives. Of course, I'd like to be proven wrong, but as for now…" Nedzu said, before trailing off. It was hard to see where the rat looked—his eyes were all black and near directionless—but he could hazard a guess. They seemed to settle slightly past the main camera, and hold eye contact with someone off-screen. There was an invisible tension between the principal and this unseen man, but it soon passed.
For a moment, he said nothing, but then his ears perked up, and his bubbly persona took over.
"Just understand this, good citizen: if a regular student managed this much, imagine the next step. Imagine 1Z. Imagine what puts them above such a student. Imagine, for a moment, that if this task is beneath where they started, where they will peak? One team of hyper-talented youths for all the people! The thought gets me giddy with excitement."
Zip.
Chisaki's finger pressed over the power button, and the television went silent. From his chair, he rose and abandoned the room like a man possessed. Grunts and minions and underlings nearly dove out of his path—and by god they made sure their masks were still fixed to their face. He did not waste breath condemning their loose behaviors—U.A.'s livestream lit a fire under him, and he would not wait to burn.
His wild march down the hall came to a halt. To his left, a plaque reading "X4" hung off the wall. He pressed a hand to it—solid stone—and pushed. It liquified, and resolidified behind him. Only he could access this room—and that made it the perfect records room.
It was the size of a large walk-in closet, and it held all his paper files. On the left, of course, were the personal records of his top officers. The right held a detailed collection of every Quirk-Erasing trial they'd completed, alongside every relevant notation or record.
At the far back, however, was something different. His operations, his most visited papers, were towards the front for convenience. The back, in contrast, were his least-touched records. That did not mean, for a moment, however, that they were untouched. No, Chisaki, before the Crow, slaved over those papers. Twice, he has personally read every record, essay, thesis, plan, book, and catalog All for One left behind in death.
The first time was the day he, Chronostasis, and the small power he commanded raided the Demon King's facilities. The second time was the very same day he began his crusade on the country, the day he ordered the destruction of the bridge.
It was a full-sized bookshelf. The boogeyman was a big writer, it seemed, and an even bigger reader. Immortality left men time to ponder literature, it seemed—though clearly not enough, since he was dead.
Chisaki knew himself to be a logical, reasonable man. Everything he'd done, from devouring All for One's books, creating the Crow, and researching Eri's power... he calculated it all. He did not leave things to chance, to gut-feelings, to vague inspirations. Today, however… something Nedzu said rubbed him a certain way.
He reached out to pluck a book from All for One's shelf—but his hand sank straight through. Leaning forward, he reached deeper, and soon his arm sunk into the bookshelf up to his shoulder. Chisaki felt around, patting the small pocket of air for over a second. At last, when he thought he'd nearly die from the dust, his fingers caught hold of it.
Retrieving his disappeared hand, it returned with a journal. It was a primitive thing—hand made, so far as he could see, and bound with authentic leather. A deep sniff told him the history, but the exact age was impossible to pinpoint. For certain, however, it was with the boogeyman at the beginning of his story.
Whereas with everything else, he'd studied with great care—this he read once and left alone since. Personal anecdotes did not interest him beyond the means they provided him for manipulation; and here, there was no manipulation to be had. He was dead.
Chisaki barely avoided hurling at the sight of the thing. A trail of dust followed it in the air. An untold amount of bacteria clung to this ancient novel, and if he spent too long without acting, the violent thoughts might overwhelm him. Real leather was disgusting, and he'd plunge his fists into fire before holding this book a second longer—but the stars aligned, and he must endure.
Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped away the dusty front.
Shigaraki, it read, nearly invisible to the naked eye. When he opened it, the spine audibly creased, and the smell of pre-quirk paper hit his nose through the surgical mask. It had yellow-edges and the ink smudges, but it was recognizable to anyone as a diary.
He was quick. If he wasn't, then he might unravel and turn into a puddle. The book remembered its history, and opened to the pages All for One once slaved over easily. Centuries-old dust plumed outwards, visible in the otherwise pristine air.
Through the yellow paper, the dried ink, and the near-fungal stench, Chisaki pushed on.
One for All. It was there, in bold lettering, at the top of the page. An exact inversion of the Demon King's name, yet near nonsensical in this place.
The first time Chisaki read through this, he hadn't even thought twice. Of all the boogeyman's experiments and treasures, this possessed the least value. Compared to his prototypes, his minions, and especially Gigantomachia, One for All was basically a fairytale. There was little point in chasing its shadowed tail—not when there were operations to take over, minions to sway, and a monster to tame.
But Chisaki actually caught one—a shadowy fairytale. Rumors through his intelligence reached his desk this very morning: All for One's son, Tomura Shigaraki, still lived. Perhaps this thread was still alive, as well.
Flipping to a later entry, Chisaki found a passage titled "Tomura."
In All for One's polite lettering, there sat Chisaki's key.
"Tomura," it began, and Chisaki read aloud with it. "A direct descendant of One for All—a grandson of Nana Shimura. Predisposed to my nature. A perfect son—and possesses the perfect heart for my work. Though he is premature yet, after I slay my brother's next successor, I will take great care in molding him. I have instilled within him the ideal values—now he only needs a push to take those values and make them reality. Soon, when I deem him a man, he will subjugate Gigantomachia and I know his test will be passed. He is my pride. Even here, across our compound, I hear his sleeping heartbeat. Is this fatherly love?"
Chisaki could care less about the Demon King's humanity. Of course, years ago, the passage inspired him—Gigantomachia was near catatonic, and refused any order given. Upon learning of this "Tomura," his excitement exceeded anything he'd ever experienced. Surely the son of All for One could steer the sleeping titan to Chisaki's will—but the years passed without a peep, and Chisaki presumed him dead.
Now, he learned the prince still lived. The very same day, Nedzu revealed his little mutant "hero team," and said something on live television that Chisaki couldn't shake off.
Thanks to that, Chisaki experienced his first "gut-feeling," and flipped back to where he started. One for All's passage, by itself, made little sense out of context. The first time Chisaki read it, he hadn't understood its true implications—but the rat let the puzzle piece slip.
"Your legacy still struggles under my reign, to my great surprise. Never have I thought your little rebellion would've continued this long. Despite their nuisance, I almost admire them. "One for All" was a bit on the nose, dear brother, but it is nearly as adorable as you… I want it for myself. Their passion strikes a chord in my black little heart."
At first, Chisaki thought One for All a person—like this was a letter, but…
"One team…" Nedzu had said, and the words felt reinforced with piping hot lava. They carved a burning path in his mind, following the lazy river of his brain's wrinkles. Soon, they encased his skull and chilled, shooting a shiver down his body. "For all the people."
Perhaps it was just phrasing—perhaps it was a coincidence, an accident, or even a thoughtless jab, but the words ricocheted through Chisaki's brain. One… for All.
Looking back at the journal, All for One spoke of One for All oddly. To him, it was less of a person, and more like an ideal.
Flipping the page, he laid his eyes on a man named Yoichi. He was skinny, in poor health, and quirkless—but his biography was full of love and respect.
"My dear brother. The first—their leader, in a spiritual sense. He never had the constitution for the real thing, of course, but still possessed a spirit that exceeded even mine. Perhaps, in retrospect, I made a tactical error, but I did what I did because he deserved it. More than anyone."
Following that page, there were more. Seven more, eight in total—though he couldn't care less about the majority. It soon became clear that they were weaklings—each long dead; some by decades, some by centuries. Consequently, each subsequent page grew less and less yellow, like All for One added their pages long after he made the journal itself. The penultimate number seven was what paused his skimming.
The name jumped out at him immediately: Nana Shimura. Tomura Shigaraki's grandmother—and the source of his "One for All" blood. It was a trait that, according to the Demon King, made him "predisposed to his nature," and that sealed the deal for Chisaki. What met his eyes upon turning the page simply gilded his understanding, amplifying and clarifying all his suspicions.
"All Might," Chisaki said aloud, and the words flowed off his tongue like honey. "The pinnacle of my brother's passions. Without a quirk to channel his ideals, he has become the ultimate sword and ultimate shield—something my brother could only dream of. I hope my brother has enjoyed his successor's fame, for I will kill him tomorrow. I hope Tomura can forgive me—but our confrontation is necessary. One more iteration, and I'm afraid his future will be too troubled to conquer. All Might, the fool, is nearly as great as I am today. Another decade and we will be overtaken. He must be stopped, for Tomura's sake. I am sorry, Yoichi. The game ends soon."
All for One. Nana Shimura—and her grandson, Tenko Shimura—A.K.A. Tomura Shigaraki, All for One's prince. All Might. They all were connected by One for All—which was more than just his brother's ideology.
Not for the first time, Chisaki wondered how the Demon King had been vanquished. All Might was a monster, sure, but his legacy in the light was a pale imitation to All for One's in the dark. The true monster, between them, was obvious. All for One conquered Japan centuries ago, and forced the old Yakuza into hiding. All Might merely bandaged society's wounds for a few decades—yet it was all under the secret reign of All for One. There was truly no greater threat the world over—yet he lost. It was an impossibility Chisaki took advantage of, sure, but never understood. Not until now, at least.
The Demon King was a poetic fool, and mistook his brother's legacy for what it truly was.
One for All was not a person, nor an organization, nor an ideology—but a weapon. It was a quirk—a mutation of All for One's own power, one that grew with each user—and the latest maturity of the power manifested in All Might.
When his mind went back to Nedzu's broadcast, his thoughts returned to the destroyed robot.
Chisaki wasn't one to watch U.A.'s annual quirk-infested dick measuring competition, but even he couldn't miss those things. There wasn't a single "Zero Pointer" that he wouldn't kill to have in his arsenal. The sheer firepower they represented was astonishing—and he felt no small envy for them. Of course, he could overcome one in combat—but Overhaul was the ultimate strength, the one true quirk. It was given to him to cleanse the world of its filth, so of course Chisaki could combat a titanic weapon.
He held no such illusion for his officers, however. Perhaps dosed on trigger, they could handle one—but none alone could even scratch the accomplishment of Nedzu's kids. Kids. Children—the newest generation of quirked victims.
Chisaki nearly disintegrated All for One's journal. The familiar spike of rage pierced his heart, but he maintained himself. Overhaul quietly soothed him, calming him and egging him onwards.
One for All, the power that slayed All for One, was in Nedzu's 1A—he just knew it. Only a strength like that could destroy such a robot, and with All Might dead, its new master would flock there. And of course, Nedzu wouldn't allow him to roam the streets—he wants to cultivate the next All Might personally. His few doubts became an afterthought, remembering Nedzu's tease. One team for all the people? The arrogant beast couldn't help but flaunt. It made perfect sense… and he understood what he needed to do.
The quirk singularity was upon them, and its proof was in One for All. Time was running out to cleanse the world—which meant finding all of One for All's remnants. Even beyond the hypothetical benefit of having them at his mercy, their blood was quickly rising to the top of his list. If he could peel away the secrets of One for All, and consequently All for One, his search for the perfect quirk-eraser would be all but guaranteed.
Tomura Shigaraki, the blood of One for All and key to Gigantomachia, lived in his mortal enemy's custody. The Ninth user of One for All learned under Nedzu's radar.
Chisaki must choose the next target of his raids carefully. An army, or a school…
For a long moment, he wrestled with the decision, but a phone notification brought him out of it.
Chronostasis: Sir, are you alright? I believe you intended to make the transfer three minutes ago.
His eyes widened, seeing the time—he was late for his own schedule. Putting a pin in his thoughts, he replaced the journal and left his record room in a flash. When he emerged in the hall, there were no lingering minions. Good for them. Hooking a left, he flew across the hall, sped down some stairs, and met face to face with a brick wall.
With Overhaul, he fazed straight through, and found himself looking down a long hall. His march did not falter—he had tasks to finish, and quickly. He must make the decision soon, but today's schedule was set in stone. Tapping his phone twice, he organized an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning—one for only his best officers.
Unlike the previous hall, this hall had conventional doors—and unconventional doors, too. It was a hall of convenience—each room served a different purpose, though Chisaki supposed there was a single noun that described it in full.
Passing by the first room in the dungeon, Chisaki hovered. There was a small curiosity in his chest, seeing the gilded mahogany door to the infirmary. His information on the prince came directly from a recent patient, but Chisaki was in a time crunch. Regardless, they could wait. Rappa brutalized the poor man before dragging him home—and he needed time to heal. Rappa did, too, especially after losing a leg.
The next door was large—and while nearly pure steel, Chisaki still avoided getting too close. Low rumbles escaped the crack between the door and the floor. Gigantomachia's consistent snores were nearing three months, and Chisaki would prefer to not wake him. Feeding the beast required more resources than he was worth in his otherwise catatonic state.
There was a substantial gap between Gigantomachia's cell and the next room—but it served the same purpose. A four-inch thick oak door of otherwise standard dimensions separated himself from his newest guest. With a touch, the doorknob rearranged its delicate innards and swung open.
The woman was middle aged, sporting what once might've been luxurious long blonde hair. Now, it was burned off from her shoulders in patches—singed in the inferno of her capture. A physician by trade, she was in good health besides the burns.
When he spoke, he didn't bother clearing his throat. His voice dripped from his lips like butter, and despite his appearance, he knew she felt comforted by his youthful tone. She was a child physician, after all. It was for that reason alone she only flinched a bit, rather than terribly. It was a good flinch, he decided—her interrogation must've gone well. He decided to reward Mimic later. Ever useful bastard.
"Hello, Utsushimi."
"H-hello? H-how do you know my name?"
Perhaps a reasonable question from her perspective, but utterly foolish in his. She would not be in his second nicest cell if he didn't even know her damn name. Still, he kept his voice focused and easy.
"I simply searched for the best child physician in Japan, and your name came up soon enough. Let's say I… cross referenced your history, and decided I liked you best. Now, rise."
When she didn't stand immediately, a small huff snorted from his nostrils. Chisaki surprised himself with the act—his self control was usually much more stern. Perhaps he was on edge—but he refused to show it any further. He gave her one last chance.
"Stand."
She got to her feat, the tiny clinks of chains shifting with her.
"I—I don't think I…"
He touched the cell's threshold. Through the wood and stone, Overhaul rippled across the room, reaching her restraints. Like sparks between fuse plugs, it jumped link to link. Her manacles clicked open and clattered to the ground.
Pivoting about-face, Chisaki began walking further down the hall. For a moment, the woman hesitated, but then the soft pads of her shoeless feet followed. There was a sizable distance between them, but he held no fear of her escape. They walked together in silence for nearly a minute, passing by a dozen other doors. To him, he knew them to be offices, infirmaries, cafeterias, labs, and his officers' apartments—but he imagined all she saw were more cells.
At last, they came to the end of the hall, and he stopped. Shortly after, the soft pads of her feet also fell silent. She wasn't within an arm's reach of him—but she was closer than she'd been while walking. Not that distance mattered to Overhaul.
He "knocked" on the door—in reality, using Overhaul to unlock the door—and greeted the girl on the opposite side.
"Eri," he said, allowing the softness of his youth to shine through. "I've brought a friend! Please do not touch her—but you may speak."
Eri's cell door swung open—at a glance, no different from Utsushimi's door—but nearly five-times heavier. The wooden exterior was a paper-thin suit over pure steel.
Without waiting for the girl's complaint, he stepped inside and flicked on the light. Utsushimi stood stock still as he approached the girl's bed—she was still sleeping. With a sharp tug, he pulled her into a sitting position. The child blinked up at him—dull, no life—and rubbed sleep from her eye.
"I will not repeat myself again, girl. You hear my knock, you best be up. I've brought a friend." Chisaki said, before sliding an eye over to the threshold. Utsushimi still hadn't moved. "Enter."
As Utsushimi took a step inside, Chisaki released Eri. Perhaps he'd squeezed her too hard—she winced at his touch—but that was fine. He could fix her if she behaved.
The older woman dragged her feet in her approach, weakness spread over her face. He reminded himself to be calm—but it was difficult when the two women would barely listen to the simplest instructions.
"Eri, meet your new caretaker. Say hello."
"...Is she going to hurt me?" Eri asked, not bothering to look in her direction. Chisaki's fist squeezed inexplicably. Utsushimi's eyes widened, and she nearly backstepped—but his glare petrified her legs. Why the fuck would the child ask that? He fucking hated children.
Falling to a kneel at her bedside, Chisaki rested a hand on her knee.
"Quite the opposite, my dear child." He said, before looking over to the woman. "Unlike the last, Ms. Utsushimi here is a proper professional. I hope you can get along. For both your sakes."
He turned back to Eri, and pushed his thoughts through his eyes. Behave, and be rewarded. Her ruby eyes seemed to read his charcoal black ones, and with a half-lidded blink, she nodded.
Chisaki squeezed her knee, and Overhaul healed her shoulder. For a second, her eyes went wide and her breathing went heavy—but then he stepped away, and she relaxed.
Ms. Utsushimi, on the other hand, could only stare in horror at him. He couldn't be bothered to correct her interpretation, whatever it was.
"Care for her. Maintain her health. So long as that is done, I don't care what you do with her otherwise. An in-house apartment will be arranged for you nearby, and you will be given a salary. I recommend spending it in our cafeteria and our hair cuttery. Mimic is quite the stylist, I hear."
With that done, he walked out the door. A brush against the threshold, and the four-inch thick steel door locked behind him. It'd give them time to acquaint themselves.
With that taken care of, he thought forward—to tomorrow's meeting, and he made his decision.
Now he just needed to plan U.A.'s invasion.
[x]
Even as the orderly crowd sagged and began to disperse, no one came close to him. The reporters packed up their equipment. 1Z drifted away, corralled by Whirlwind. Nedzu scampered out of sight faster than anyone. His class turned away from him quicker than he felt necessary—though he wasn't entirely alone.
Though he wasn't able to snag some time with Set or Shoto, he felt a small comfort in Kirishima, who stood directly on his right. Hitoshi, Tokoyami, and Uraraka stood an arm's length away. They were quiet, though Kirishima was doing his best to maintain some small talk.
"So… you've fought Mr. Aizawa before? What's that all about?"
Izuku's smile cracked open a smidge. Uraraka swatted the boy's arm.
"Hey!" She whisper-shouted, glancing around at the rest of class. The nearest students all seemed to stiffen a bit at the question. "Not the time."
"No, no." Izuku interrupted, raising a hand. "He's fine. In the 1Z exam you had to fight a teacher and hold your own. I… just didn't make the cut, you could say."
"Wait, but you called Mr. Aizawa Eraserhead, right?" Tokoyami asked, to which Izuku nodded. "Then isn't his power quirk-erasing? I read something about him once. He's a two-times martial champion, right? And you had to fight him without your quirk? Isn't that wildly unfair, given your… ahem…"
Izuku felt too tired to be bothered. In fact, he nearly chuckled at the way the bird-boy danced around the topic. At least he danced—after the physical test, the rest of class hadn't even played along. They just… shut down, he supposed. Stopped acknowledging him. He ignored the awkward pinch in his gut that swam up everytime he remembered and waved the boy off.
"Missing appendage? Yeah, he kinda tore me apart. I got a good hit in, though. Knocked him on his ass before passing out."
He didn't notice the way the crowd parted around him before it was too late. The words were out in the air, and his flush was crimson.
"Interesting choice of words, Midoriya. Care to elaborate?" Aizawa asked, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. Izuku dry swallowed.
"Ah, well, you see—"
"You managed a single proper strike in five minutes. Don't think for a moment you're near my level. I have Nighteye's number, you know. He'll be drilling you till your calluses are thicker than coins."
Izuku felt a shiver traverse his spine. Beside him, Kirishima blinked at him inquisitively.
"Nighteye? Like… Sir Nighteye?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but found his tongue knotted and tied. Before he could untangle his words, however, Aizawa spun away.
"Midoriya, come with me. As for the rest of you!" He said, speaking up over the low chatter of the crowd. "1A is free to leave! 1B, do whatever Vlad says. Don't care."
Izuku's eyes widened as the teacher split off from the crowd and began marching away. He floundered, confused and unsure, before Hitoshi gave him a push.
"Go, dude!" He said, a half-serious and half-light tone fluctuation in his voice. "Keep him occupied! I think he forgot to expel me earlier, and I don't need him to remember!"
He glanced at the rest of their expressions, seeing their encouragement, and nodded.
"A-alright. I'll… see you guys tomorrow, I guess. Thanks."
"No problem, man!" Kirishima said and Izuku began chasing Aizawa's heel. Izuku waved over his shoulder as he pushed through the crowd. Or, more accurately, ran straight through. Wherever he went, people seemed to step aside, like the parting of the Red Sea. He was only forced to brush past one person who seemed lost in thought—the pink Ashido. When he touched her, she flinched, hard, and her eyes immediately glued themselves to his empty sleeve. He didn't have time to dwell on it, however, so he apologized and broke free from the crowd entirely.
When he caught up to Aizawa, he tried to put the small encounter behind him with a question.
"What do you need me for… sir?" Izuku asked, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. After so long of fantasizing about beating this man into the dirt, it felt odd to be cordial.
Aizawa didn't bother turning back to respond.
"Since I've confirmed your acceptance in 1A, Nedzu arranged a meeting with you and a teacher. Your situation is odd, so he's also attending, personally."
A shadow flickered overhead, and Izuku glanced up to barely see Hawks's silhouette. He blinked, and the Wing Hero disappeared over the horizon.
"...Principal Nedzu is going to be there? I—"
Aizawa turned, then, stopping on the path. Izuku almost bumped into him.
"I don't know much about your relationship with Nedzu, kid, and I don't really want to. I doubt the principal wants me more involved, either—so the fact that I'm sitting in on this meeting should relieve you. This will be strictly about your academics." Aizawa said, before glancing aside. "Good work on the exams, though. Good scores. Keep it up."
Izuku didn't know what to say, so when he said nothing, Aizawa returned to his march.
He continued to wrestle with his emotions as they made their way to homeroom. It was hard. The strain from the physical exam was still fresh, as was the sting of his class's sudden indifference. So, when he stepped back into 1A's room, he barely noticed the company.
His eyes only barely traced the outline of a small white furball before something—someone—slammed into his side. He spluttered as a woman enveloped him in an aggressive half-hug greeting.
He didn't even bother shrugging the woman off—he was in too much shock.
"Ms. Fuji?" He asked, and the half-blind woman chuckled. "What the heck?"
"Midoriya!" Nedzu said, and Sasami pulled away. The little creature leapt onto a student's desk, making them eye level, and went for a shake.
There were no words to describe his feelings, making eye contact with the creature for the first time. This wasn't the first creature he'd ever seen with a quirk… but it was the first intelligent one. It was uncanny by itself—and then compounded with the situation…
Izuku hesitated, staring at the small paw blankly, before pinching it between his forefinger and thumb and shook it.
"H-hello?"
Nedzu didn't respond. Instead, he parkoured from one student's desk to another, making one last leap onto Aizawa's desk. Izuku gave Sasami a bewildered look before following, pulling a seat out for himself and the professor by the teacher's desk.
Aizawa melted into his chair as he sat opposite them. For the brief moment before anyone spoke, he tucked his chin into his collarbone, and Izuku swore on his life that he heard snores.
Nedzu clapped, however, and everyone's attention settled on him.
"Greetings, greetings. Hello, Midoriya, it's good to finally meet you. Hello, Fujimaki, it's good to see you again. How does it feel being back in your old classroom?"
Sasami didn't respond, but Izuku couldn't help himself. Leaning forward in his chair, he planted his elbows on his knees and gave Nedzu his full attention.
"It's… nice to meet you too, sir. Though I thought we'd be meeting with N—" Izuku began, before Nedzu cut him off. There was an odd look to his matt-black eyes that made him lean back.
The principal was a walking paradox, Izuku decided. He seemed so… bubbly, and yet his eyes held nothing. His body language was foreign, his emotions indecipherable, and his motives secretive. One for All gurgled awkwardly within—like a magnetic tug. For a second, Izuku struggled to understand it—but then it clicked. It was the inverse of his feelings around Setsuna.
Nedzu knew his secret, and his quirk hated it.
"We will, my boy! But not today. I suspect we'll be having a… long discussion, sooner or later, but this isn't the time. We have something far more urgent to speak about right now."
Izuku struggled to accept that. Already, his mind was trailing back to his darker moments, and there was an icy touch of anger between his eyes. For him, there was nothing more urgent than figuring out Nedzu's game—but with the whole room staring at him, he swallowed it down. Careful to not let his annoyance slip, he nodded.
"...Of course. What is this about?"
"Well, for one, I'd like to congratulate you. You understand your exceptional entrance exam, no?"
Izuku blanked—but he soon recollected the gist of Vlad King's hologram, and so offered a nod.
"I… believed I scored the highest on the heroics test. Tests."
Sasami chortled, but didn't say anything. Aizawa just raised a brow. Nedzu approached the ledge of Aizawa's desk and sat down, meeting Izuku's eyelevel. There was an unfamiliar sigh on his voice, like he spoke whilst reminiscing.
"You did. Even besides those, you nearly aced everything. It's remarkable, really—perhaps, we can attribute some of your academic success to Shimisuka, but that's for later. What I truly wish to acknowledge is your practical."
Izuku glanced at Sasami, but she pursed her lips and turned away with a smirk. Nedzu never broke his stare; but Izuku didn't know how to respond.
"Uh… I'm sorry about the Zero Pointer?"
Perhaps, if Izuku looked more carefully, he would've seen a flicker of real mirth in the principal's void-black eyes.
"Bah!" He said, waving a paw. "There's nothing to forgive. It was a real help, after all—you saw those reporters. The fact that you took one down did 1Z a massive favor in their eyes. I should be thanking you, really—but no. I want to congratulate you on your score of 199. Did you know, this year, the second closest score barely cracked sixty?"
Izuku shook his head. His mouth went dry with the motion, and his stomach turned a bit. The anxiety that rooted through him felt undeserved, yet it persisted.
"...Sorry. I shouldn't have taken so many down. I didn't want to steal any points..."
"Nonsense. You earned your points, fair and square. Just… I wanted to establish that. You… nearly… made history."
Nedzu's tone shifted a bit, towards the end—like clear waters turning murky.
For a moment, he was curious—but then Sasami gave him a look, and his interest shifted. He didn't want to discuss the exam anymore, and he was tired of being out of the loop.
"Thank you, sir. However… I'd like to understand my current situation. Why is Ms. Fuji here?"
Behind Nedzu, Aizawa's face hovered over his desk. Near-inaudible snores floated between the group, and despite him sleeping on the clock, Nedzu didn't bother waking him. In a quieter voice, he gave Sasami a nod.
"She is your tutor, no? At least in a sense. It was one of the first things I noticed about you, after you applied to 1Z. Shimisuka is quite the big deal, as is my little alumni over here."
Sasami nodded for him.
"Yes. Mirai introduced us, and I've allowed him to sit in on my lectures ever since. He's got an unrivaled knack for quirk theory." She said, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Izuku's ears felt warm. The back of his neck tickled where four sets of eyes settled on him.
"Lovely. As a professor, what is your assessment of his education?"
"Not short of stellar. Easily manages to compete with my sophomores and oftentimes has more insight than my juniors."
"Very impressive, Ms. Fujimaki. And what of his other studies?"
"It's a very broad field, principal, as you know. If you're lacking in any major branch of knowledge—literature, science, math—then you simply can not comprehend quirk theory. In any of the big three, he holds a candle to my regular students. Especially in the last year or so, after he finished his highschool credits and acquired the time to do college prep."
A seed of the situation sprouted in his mind.
"That, ma'am, is exactly what I wanted to hear. Midoriya, you've finished all your highschool credits, no?"
He dry swallowed. With a small nod, his mind was wrenched back to Vlad King's hologram. The man warned him of this exact situation. They needed to discuss his classes—classes he'd already taken.
"Y-yes? Is that a problem?"
"Nope! But it does complicate things, no? You're very, very bright, Midoriya, and myself and our Shimisuka representative agree that putting you through classes you've already taken would be a waste." Nedzu said, and Sasami nodded with him. Her hand shifted from his shoulder to his back.
His heart was erratic in his chest. Was this happening?
"U.A. has a… scholarship program, in a sense. We've been working together in an informal fashion, Izu, and I think those times are coming to an end." Sasami said. The whole well of stress that built in Izuku's gut nearly bottomed out—but then Nedzu swooped in, and made his stance clear. Izuku nearly choked.
"What I'm offering you, Midoriya, is to split your time. Half your mornings will be spent amongst the books—such as your peers will be—but not here. The price will fall to my very own pockets—but Shimisuka's tuition is little more than change compared to the worth of your future. In the afternoons, you shall return here, and earn your heroic chops with the rest of your friends."
Aizawa's sleeping form twitched, and an eye cracked open. He rose to his feet.
"Midoriya." He said, and Izuku couldn't help the way his heart squeezed at the man's tone. "The offer is simple. You will be an official Shimisuka student in the mornings and a U.A. student in the afternoons—but this will be hard. I understand Nighteye will still be conditioning you—and even I know the importance of your social life. This situation will devour you if you are not absolutely certain in your dedication. Choose. Carefully."
With that said, he sat back down. Everyone's gaze seemed to settle on his shoulders—his lopsided, asymmetrical shoulders.
Perhaps, this morning, it might've taken him more time. This morning, his will wavered and his conviction faltered—but he'd made a vow to Aizawa, himself, and Setsuna.
He would be the master of himself, and that meant taking the hardest route, no matter how seductive the easy way was. Izuku sighed, and rose to his feet.
Putting out a hand, he waited for Nedzu to shake it.
"I thought you hated me, sir. But if this is your angle, then I suppose a second discussion truly is inevitable."
"Yes…" Nedzu said, hopping to his feet and taking his hand in both paws. His voice attained an alien quality. "It is."
[x]
Ants. They were little more than ants from this distance, though Keigo knew the truth. His crimson wings tilted back, catching a draft. Flying all the higher for it, those ants seemed to deflate—yet the truth was still absolute. They were people, and they all had a story.
It was odd. At this altitude, competing with Tokyo's tallest towers, they were nearly indistinguishable from the ground. Yet each had someone they loved, somewhere to belong, and ideals worth expressing.
A tingle rang through his left wing, and he tucked it inwards. Corkscrewing into a freefall, he carved through the air like an arrow. A second passed, then two, and those little black ants grew arms and torsos and cartoonish hair colors—and then his wings spread, and his momentum shot him through the streets like a bullet.
With a flick, a dozen arrows jumped from his left wing. Hardened into blades, they cut into the purse-snatcher's clothes, pinning him without so much as drawing blood. A nearby officer saw the commotion and tackled the downed-man, pinning him. Keigo and this officer shared the briefest look before he retrieved his feathers and went on his way.
There was just something… odd, about hero work. All those superhero cartoons with their corny messages and All Might rip-offs taught him something: everyone is the hero of their own story. Always, the superhero defeats the bad guy, sure, but usually they were also moral paragons. They saw the best in people, even those who snatched purses. It was supposed to teach kids to see the best in people, and to buy the hero's merchandise.
Thinking back on those days now left him feeling awkward. Maybe that purse snatcher needed that money? Maybe that officer was off-duty, and Keigo just wasted his one afternoon break?
Keigo was a simple man. He didn't like thinking about the ants when he flew—but he couldn't help it.
And now he was responsible for his own colony of ants—at least in part. He'd take a backseat to Swirly, of course… but there was still responsibility on his shoulders.
His sigh was lost in the wind.
He continued to monitor the streets as he flew, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. A single feather stopped a car thief, half a wing stopped a runaway car, and he actually touched down on a couple's windowsill when he saw a fight break out through a penthouse window. Really, it was a rather light half-hour. Sometimes, he wondered if things were like this back in the day, before All Might got murked, but it didn't really matter. At least he wasn't bored.
He settled the penthouse fight quickly—and left them off with a warning. Afterwards, he allowed himself to tumble out their window. He closed his eyes through the fall, lathering his wings in attention—but there was no tingle. No disturbance in the air other than terminal velocity. No abrupt violence, no screaming, no blaring car horns.
Keigo flexed his wings out to either side and slingshot himself back into the sky. Dipping into his reserves, he willed the feathers to push him faster—and then faster, and faster, and faster still. To an onlooker, he might've been a crimson comet. Instead of crashing down, however, he flew to where the sky was thin and the air chilled.
Pulling his goggles down over his eyes, he tapped a little rubber button on their side. Immediately, oxygen came to his lungs easily and warmth wrapped his cheeks. His coat did a good enough job keeping him warm—but there was a novel chill that he didn't mind.
Keigo hummed to himself, for a moment, taking in the view. From here, the ants were nothing at all. The only signs of life were the lit windows of highrises and the greyhound buses snaking through intersections. His eyes traced the key-like shape of the horizon. From the squat, short banks to the towering corporate headquarters, each and every building housed someone's story.
And by turning to the south, he could see his.
He arrived at the Commission's headquarters in a blink. While he would've preferred just flying through the window, the headquarters wasn't nearly so lax. Touching down, he hurried through the front door. His keycard got him through every clearance level, and soon he was in an elevator—but not one that went upwards. The ride down was claustrophobic, but when he closed his eyes and blew air on the back of his hands, he could imagine himself flying again, free, and he felt comforted.
Entering the labyrinth, he made his way down the narrow, titanium-reinforced walls, and found his destination. Walking in, he locked eyes with the commission agents—and then his eyes turned to his other guests. Nighteye gave him a bow, which he didn't know how to reply to. Endeavor just nodded, as did Jeanist. He could work with that.
Throwing them all a thumbs up, he leapt into the table's head chair and folded his wings closed.
"So," he began, looking from face to face. "I bet you're wondering why I've gathered you here today."
Endeavor didn't play along for even a second. As soon as the words left Keigo's lips, the man huffed and leaned into his chair. Best Jeanist was close behind. A Commission agent stood up.
"Hawks. Refrain from the japes. If this isn't serious, do not gather us on such short notice."
Nighteye said nothing. He only gave the agent a brief glance before settling back on Keigo's face. It was kinda awkward, but he supposed he appreciated it. The man was all business—especially when it came to the Crow.
"Yea yea yea," he said, waving the agent back into his seat. Under the table, he dug the tip of his sneaker into the floor. "Let a guy have some fun once in a while. Either way, it doesn't change why I'm here. Y'all got my ass into this mess, so you're gonna deal with me when I relay your precious lil' info."
Another agent leaned inwards, then, his eyebrows shooting over the rim of his sunglasses.
"You've already found something? For real? Isn't your first day tomorrow?" He asked, and Keigo shrugged.
"Sure, but apparently there's teachers' conferences and orientation and emails n' stuff. Plus, Nedzu kinda wanted me to spill the beans, I think."
"What? Didn't he vehemently oppose your intrusion on his school?" Best Jeanist asked. Nighteye nodded beside him.
"Indeed," the fortune-telling hero said, pushing his glasses up his long nose. "Nedzu is a showboat, but he is intensely private. I believe you, however… his motivations are a tangled nightmare."
A flicker of flame escaped Endeavor's nostril as he snorted. When he met Keigo's eyes, he had to suppress a shudder. Sometimes, in moments of isolation, Endeavor seemed like an entirely different person. Of course, most of the time, he was a beacon. Still, he had a darkness to him—but Keigo didn't care. Not after what the man did for him. He met his gaze head-on.
"Nedzu is a giant fool. I saw the broadcast. Midoriya's accomplishments were pushed down for my son's peers."
The tips of his feathers crinkled—a static leapt from crimson peak to crimson peak, and this time he couldn't help but wince. He wasn't exactly sure what Endeavor was referring to, but by Nighteye's reaction, it might have touched a nerve. Sir Nighteye was staring at Endeavor with a purple glare, piercing and encompassing all in one.
Before an argument could break out, however, a thread broke the tension. Best Jeanist poked both men with his denim string, and the attention settled on him.
"Come now, men. Leave your problems at the door." He said, before his eyes slid to Keigo. "Now, Hawks, what have you learned, and why do you think Nedzu tipped his hand?"
He gave the man an appreciative nod, happy to see the oldheads relax. Whoever this Midoriya was, he'd have to check out—especially if it brought out a reaction from the number one. Planting his heels on the floor, he interlocked his fingers and began.
"Nedzu dislikes me. That's for certain—and honestly? I can't blame the little bugger. Regardless, the man is smart as hell, so I think he knows my worth. Whatever he tells his staff goes here, so I really think he wanted us to know this little tidbit—"
"Get to the meat already, boy." Endeavor said, and Keigo drooped. He tried to give the man a relaxed smile, but his fiery glare put that ambition in the dirt.
"My bad. Anyways, apparently Nedzu has a special interest. He's got, like, a whole filing cabinet on the Crow. Showed the whole staff. Dude basically said he's been studying them since they became public."
Two agents seemed to drink in this fact. One seemed intrigued… but their reaction was a bit different. Odd. His attention could only hover there, however, before it glued to Nighteye's.
Sir Nighteye didn't seem amused.
"...And?" He asked. Keigo paused, checking the man's expression. He supposed that wouldn't impress him, given all the work he'd put in on his own research. Really, Nighteye constituted 90% of their intel on the bird-brains. He supposed a single filing cabinet wouldn't be enough to rationalize a whole meeting. But…
"And he's come to a conclusion, sirs. According to him, their history lines up towards info-sweeping, and he thinks he knows their next target. It's U.A."
He could've heard a pin drop.
"...I think I need to have my talk with Nedzu sooner, rather than later." Nighteye said, before the room burst into an explosion of questions.
[x]
As he took a step out the door, he bade his coworkers farewell. The meeting with the heroes had gone exactly as planned—and he'd acquired exactly the information he needed. Turning the corner, he found himself face-to-face with the lengthy, empty Labyrinth under Tokyo. It was so secure that there weren't even security cameras—just metal walls and heavily armed security. Spartan, but impenetrably via a digital data breach.
Good for them.
His clothes flowed off in clumps. For a moment, he couldn't see anything as his skin melted, but soon his face was clear and her skin was bare.
She giggled, feeling the air on her skin—there was always a little bit of excitement here. What if she gets caught? Someone seeing her in such a vulnerable position… it was thrilling by itself. Not to mention the fun she'd have gutting them. Her mouth nearly watered at the thought…
Dipping a hand in the sludge she'd just cast off, she retrieved three things. First things first, she popped a crimson vial and took a swig. Soon, the sludge moved, wrapping around her once more—and suddenly he had a new hair color, alongside a better taste in suits.
The second thing he did was take the keycard and find the nearest elevator. No one batted an eye at his appearance, to his happiness. He hadn't been sure this cover would've been effective—yet it seemed people were buying it! A shame that was the last of this guy's blood.
Finally, upon reaching fresh air and finding herself a comfortable bench, he pried open a device. It was in an ancient style, but modern-made. Less traceable, more durable, and generally cheaper than the nearly universal alternative: A flip-phone.
For a moment, he just enjoyed the breeze, pressing the rubber numbers. They made a small beep, each a different tone, and he did his best to improvise a song. Soon, however, he knew he'd lollygagged long enough.
It rang once, then twice, then half of a third before clicking. Pressing the top half to his ear, he spoke.
"U.A. thinks da birds are comin' for them next, 'Destro." Himiko Toga said, and despite their deep voice, their voice came out with a woman's pitch. Even to their ears it was funny. Redestro didn't seem to find it so funny, however. His response was flat and serious—though Himiko couldn't blame him. He'd been quiet ever since Double.
"Understood, darling. Hurry back to base, please. Oh—and I'll have something special delivered to your room. Incredible work as always."
"Understood, General! Muah." Himiko replied, and snapped the flip-phone shut. That was his favorite part.
His mind trailed back a few hours, to the beginning of her little intrusion—back when the meeting had only just begun.
Midoriya… the heroes had brought up one random boy… but he latched onto it. There was a nice ring to it—cute, even. If this Midoriya was important enough to grab Endeavor's attention… maybe he'd get a chance to see him.
As things were, however, he was looking forward to one thing far more. Himiko wondered if the Commission found the body she'd left behind yet.
[x]
AN: There goes Nedzu again, being a bastard. I loved all the comments along the lines of "I wonder how he messes this shit up" lmao. Dude basically spawned a battle with a harmless quip.
Anyways, sometimes you write a chapter a month ago only to realize that you've forgotten major aspects of said chapter, and have since written (not contradictory content, but mal-aligned) stuff that needs to be fixed. 45 basically needs a whole bandaid at this point. I'm really not feeling it right now lol. Hopefully I'll have the energy tomorrow.
Review!