As Izuku watched Yoru Sashimi stumble into the hallway, he kept perfectly still. In the bleacher's shade, he felt torn. Sashimi groped the walls, dragged his feet, and blinked in random directions. Even in the dark, his eyes were bright, still retaining some of their earlier luminosity. Most was gone now, used to eviscerate the Stage; but not all.
He tripped on something, but caught himself in a kneel. Cursing, he leaned into the wall and slowly righted himself.
"...This is gonna take ages…" Sashimi said, speaking into his chest. Izuku did nothing. The boy tripped again, a few seconds later, but managed to keep his feet. He drifted across the hall, aimlessly meandering down it.
Yoru Sashimi was blind, sometimes. It was a side effect of his quirk—and as far as Izuku knew, uniquely his own. While his uncle could convert matter into explosive kinetic energy, Yoru could generate his own. It would've been a wonderful quirk, if not for the drawback. It reminded Izuku of Kaminari, whose powers were so great that it overloaded his brain. In this case, however, it was the rest of his nervous system; primarily, his optical nerves.
It was vindicating to know Yoru Sashimi's weakness. By studying him, Izuku could conceivably deduce the weaknesses of his uncle…
But more than that, it was sad. Everytime he looked at the punk-ginger, he felt a shiver run down his spine and guilt flood his guts. He wasn't truly seeing the boy; just the foul shadow haloing him. Did that make Izuku a bad person? Izuku couldn't say for certain. Probably not. But did not helping a blind boy walk straight make him one?
…Yes, Izuku decided. Stalking from the shadows wasn't honorable. Something spurred him from the darkness, something beyond him—something warm and hot. He didn't want to help Sashimi, but he did anyway.
Before Sashimi could careen into another wall, Izuku took up his left elbow and steered him straight.
"Hey, woah!" Sashimi said, flinching at the touch. "Hands off, bub. Who the fuck are you?"
He tried to pull away, but Izuku's grip was pure iron. Sashimi swatted at him twice, but his exhaustion, awkward posture, and blindness made it a little difficult. Izuku let both attempts fly past him. Stepping past the ginger, Izuku pulled him along, nearly throwing his balance off entirely.
"What the hell? What fuckin' gives, man? I can get by just fin—" Sashimi's complaints cut short as he tripped over himself again. Izuku didn't stop walking—he was not a gentle guide, but he was firm. With a sharp tug, Sashimi stood fast, and soon they navigated the halls with fire in their heels. Sashimi's questions, step by step, turn by turn, dried up. His pride still simmered like a desert road, but it didn't interrupt Izuku's charity.
When they got close to the bleachers, Sashimi shrugged off Izuku's hand. Izuku let him; his vision was partially back, by now. He didn't need the help as much—but he still stayed. Partially because he wanted to see it through, but also because Sashimi finally broke his otherwise grumpy silence.
"I really didn't want to lose to that guy," Sashimi said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And I could've, without the spectacle… but I wanted it to be convincing. Now I'm…"
Izuku held his tongue. Sashimi shouldn't have done what he did; had Iida landed poorly, he could've broken his neck. His now-free hand reached up to feel his face, where the newly healed scar had settled nicely. The skin was rough, but still delicate. He could peel it off with a pinch. Had One for All not been reinforcing his bones, his neck would've likely snapped.
But, he understood. The fear of losing could drive weaker men up the wall; it happened to him, at times.
"I wanted to be stronger than him," Sashimi said, continuing. "I was stronger. I'm sure of it. If U.A. just gave me the chance, instead of throwing me away… They hate me, especially after what happened. Sins of the father and all that shit. They want me to fail. They want me gone…"
Izuku swallowed. He wanted Sashimi gone, too—and after his fight, he suspected the list grew. Despite that, hearing the self-awareness was disorienting. Why would U.A. want him gone? He was rash, rude, and hot-tempered, but not a bad person. Sashimi had the makings of a good hero, if only he figured himself out.
For a brief moment, Izuku forgot himself, and he almost reached out. Sashimi's shoulder was within reach, and sometimes, all it took was a touch. Today was not one of those times, however.
As they stepped into the light of the overhead Stadium, Sashimi's eyes lost whatever charge his quirk built up. He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut before adjusting to the light. In a moment of instinctual awareness, Izuku knew his blindness was gone, and Izuku should leave with it. Not saying a word, Izuku half-jogged ahead and merged into the crowd. Hopefully, the guy wouldn't realize who helped him. If he did, then Izuku doubted he would be free of Sashimi's ire for a long while.
Still, Sashimi's words lingered in his mind, echoing, even as he found himself a seat.
U.A. wanted him gone.
U.A. wanted Izuku to struggle.
U.A. was…
"Well folks, I enjoyed our little break. Living blurs and explosive finishes are fun, but I rather liked our more relaxed match just now!" Present Mic said, drawing Izuku's attention to the announcer's booth.
The man's voice was a harsh reminder: U.A. had its own motives, and now, they knew his secret. They had him by the balls. Nedzu's fall from power was… encouraging, he supposed, but he'd just been a single obstacle. A very powerful, intelligent obstacle, but just one. Knowing that nearly all of his teachers now knew about what he'd done to All Might… For all he knew, he was in enemy territory. Until someone could update him, he could only assume the worst.
"But, I can't say I didn't miss a little more… action. So! Let me introduce you to our second head-to-head match! Welcome the dark-haired beauties of 1Z, Momo Yaoyorozu and our spokeswoman, Setsuna Tokage! Calling it a catfight is a disservice—this is a battle of panthers!"
Izuku's eyes snapped to the arena, half-standing before he even realized he'd moved. He felt a few eyes turn to him—was that Danger Sense, or instinct?—as he froze. An entire match slipped past him, unnoticed; and in its place, Setsuna was taking the stage. Every fiber of his being wanting to cheer her on, but his logic stopped him. It held him down, like a weighted blanket woven with a neutron star, heavy and smothering.
Did she want him to watch? Would she want his cheers; did he deserve to cheer her on? Should he just sit still? Was he capable of an unbiased, unopinionated existence? Could he be passive, in this?
Yaoyorozu seemed like a nice girl. She'd seen to Iida nearly as quickly as himself, and everyone spoke highly of her. He didn't want to see her pummeled, per say, but… he had little hope for her.
A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Setsuna's stare. It'd been the kind to look straight under your skin, examine you, and flip you over for further study. She'd—in the name of strategy, taken the flag in his mouth with her own. At the time, it'd been cataclysmic—world news, in his tiny way. But… Now, it felt so… long ago.
Izuku didn't know how long he'd spent in the dunes, nor how long he'd spent on them, after surfacing. He didn't remember anything after being pulled free—but he did remember his resolution. His resolve. Echoes of a conversation, a revelation.
Slowly, he corrected his hunched, awkward posture. He pinned back his shoulders with sheer force of will, straightened his spine, and set his eyes upon the stage. Stepping towards the railing, he took a place beside Shoto.
He didn't acknowledge Izuku; in fact, he didn't acknowledge anyone. He focused upon the combatants like a chemist might a new formula. It was rather endearing; Yaoyorozu was clearly becoming a good friend of his, and of course Setsuna was an old pal. The way his eyes darted between them, expression shifting between confused, resolved, and hopeless, was almost… amusing.
Yaoyorozu gave the crowd a princess-wave as Present Mic began counting down.
"Let's let these panthers loose in… Three!"
Setsuna didn't acknowledge the crowd's roaring cry. Like the cats Present Mic compared her to, she kept her eyes on the prize. Even from this distance, he could feel the intensity—or, perhaps, he was simply attuned to her. She probably wouldn't like the comparison, but it wasn't unlike Katsuki's approach.
"...Two!"
The crowd was like an engine, revving up for higher and higher speeds. Yaoyorozu stretched a little before rolling up her pant's ankles and unbuttoning her shirt's hem. Setsuna cocked her head to the side.
As Present Mic's commanding voice reached the final number, a thought struck Izuku—one so loud and obvious that it was a wonder he hadn't thought of it already.
"One!"
Instantly, Yaoyorozu's exposed hip lit up, and she quickdrew a bulky pistol and fired. A small net, woven with fine silky threads, sliced straight through Setsuna like an apple-press. Passing through the gaps unhindered, Setsuna didn't bother to re-form. Flying at Yaoyorozu as a storm of limbs, she came down upon the girl like thunder.
A dozen pieces merged into a fist that struck Yaoyorozu's face, only to split again before Yaoyorozu could counter. Her leg formed from heel to quad, striking Yaoyorozu's ribs, and then an amalgamation of her shoulder and right knee struck her stomach.
The combo sent the brunette flying. Landing on her shoulder, she clutched her stomach, and even from this distance, Izuku could tell she was choking. Curled into the fetal position, it looked over. Setsuna's approach was swift and undeterred.
…If all of U.A.'s staff now knew his secret, then what did it matter keeping Setsuna in the dark? Hell, Izuku thought, remembering the tense Shoto beside him, what was stopping him from telling him, too?
Setsuna stopped short of Yaoyorozu, still revolving around herself in a limb-storm. In the heart of her storm, her face and throat congealed. With all the moving parts, he couldn't read her muted lips, but he gathered all he needed. She asked Yaoyorozu to surrender.
But, just as the words left her, Yaoyorozu moved. Uncoiling like a cobra, she used the full length of her legs to spring straight through Setsuna's storm, tackling and stealing the collected mass of her face.
"Oh thank heaven," Shoto muttered, his shoulders easing as Yaoyorozu landed on Setsuna's other side, her hand a thriving white flame. A small rucksack burst into existence around Setsuna's surprised face before Yaoyorozu slammed it closed. Hugging it under her arm, she dodged the remaining pieces just as they converged on where she'd been.
Izuku couldn't help but raise his eyebrows—in one bait and switch, Yaoyorozu neutralized Setsuna's greatest advantage—her multifaceted vision. So far as he saw, Setsuna's entire face, lips and nose and both eyes together, were now stuck in a dark bag. Playing possum wasn't a strategy Izuku ever managed with her; she knew him too well. He'd never known it might work so well.
Yaoyorozu was blessed with long legs, and she put them to use here. Setsuna's general self-awareness was enough to keep her remaining limbs from collapsing in confusion, but without explicit visual queues, it seemed she couldn't quite control them effectively.
The brunette sprinted across the stage, just barely keeping ahead of the limbs. Though she kept ahead, the big screens zoomed in on her wide-eyed, panicked expression.
"Oh baby! It seems the underpowered Yaoyorozu caught Setsuna in an ingenious gambit—but now that the trap is sprung, what can she do?" Present Mic said, sounding like a kid on Christmas. His raw giddiness kept Izuku from losing himself in the fight, as he had with Iida and Sashimi.
As Setsuna's blind limbs floundered around Yaoyorozu, Izuku found himself returning to his questions. Really, what was stopping him? Yes, U.A. knowing couldn't be a good thing; nothing ever was, for him, but it opened so many doors. If more people now knew, did that mean the quirk wouldn't care so much if Izuku just…
He prodded Shoto's shoulder, feeling a certain excitement bubble up within. The boy didn't take on the first touch, but a second, firmer shake broke the invisible spell his old friend was under. Shoto blinked at him several times before Izuku thought the boy actually saw them.
"They're really going at it, huh?" Shoto said, flicking his eyes to the fight and back. "Yaoyorozu seemed so nervous, and I couldn't bring myself to lie to her about her chances, but she's actually doing rather well. She's been training hard, I think, to live up to Set's example. They might be friends, but I think Yaoyorozu kind've looks up to her. This… it's good for her.
Izuku's excitement tapered down a smidge. Turning back to the big screen, Izuku scrutinized Yaoyorozu's wide-eyed expression, and found himself surprised. Shoto was right. There was a hint of something more than raw panic—there was a deep set, if subtle, exuberance radiating off her every feature.
It was something he would've noticed before, he realized, if he'd had the pleasure of knowing her. He'd…
He'd never thought about it, but in delaying himself further, he'd missed a critical part of joining the class: watching their dynamics evolve. It was a saddening idea; one made more bitter knowing it was intentionally orchestrated this way. The very same person to string him along in this tournament, to lead him down these dark paths, was the same to take that experience from him.
Nedzu wasn't in control anymore, however. Present Mic, Midnight, Whirlwind, Sasami, and Mirio now knew. The secret was growing less secret; so why not?
"Shoto," Izuku said, catching the boy's attention before it drifted to the fight again. "You remember how I got my quirk?"
He froze, his eyes widening a fraction at the question. A slow nod.
"Yes, I believe. You were a late bloomer?"
"I wasn't a bloomer at all, actually," Izuku said. His tongue felt rather large in his mouth, like an overfed snake in a two-gallon enclosure. Shoto shifted towards him, eyebrows pinched together as Izuku continued. "I… Wow, I've never really explained this to someone, but my quirk… isn't…
The words grew more scarce as Izuku searched for them. That giddiness in his chest turned an agonizing sour as his tongue swelled. Familiar anxiety fell to sadness as he realized the truth: he still couldn't do it. His was locked shut, the world a few feet away, and his tongue a million kilos. Shoto still stared at him, wide-eyed and attentive, but Izuku just… couldn't.
This was his friend of almost five years. He hadn't even known Midnight for one; and now even she knew more than his own training partner. It was a horrendous situation, but even as Izuku tried and tried, One for All simply wouldn't let him talk.
"...N-nevermind…" He muttered, unable to finish. With his admission, he felt a knot in his chest loosen. It was not pleasant.
Shoto's lips parted, and the crowd roared.
Yaoyorozu's sprint around the stage came to a skin-crawling close. In one hand, she held Setsuna's face, and in the other, an electric swat racket. Setsuna's pieces, in the time between their conversation, grew more organized. They began individually pelting Yaoyorozu as she ran; and as a counter to this, she pulled the racket from her belly. Not only could she more easily swat away the smaller limbs, once they felt the shock, they froze mid-air. It was a fascinating strategy, and something Izuku felt the need to test immediately—but even as her tool made her life easier, it wasn't enough.
All at once, all the pieces froze. The storm stopped, frozen in space and time. Yaoyorozu kept running, putting herself as far from the still core as possible, but that wasn't enough for what came after. Like a switch flipped, each and every piece of Setsuna moved, converging on Yaoyorozu's position like heat-seeking missiles.
Yaoyorozu swat aside two instantly, but couldn't help taking one to the back. Instead of throwing her off her feet, however, the piece—one of Setsuna's back dimples, he thought—simply glomped onto her, gluing itself over the girl's shoulder blade. She tried swatting the piece, but even as it froze, it stayed attached. A second piece joined a moment later—Setsuna's latissimus dorsi—right alongside her back dimple. Before Yaoyorozu could swat that piece too, however, two parts of Setsuna's wrist clamped around Yaoyorozu's and pulled, puppeteering the brunette and the swatter with her.
More and more pieces of Setsuna's muscular back crashed against Yaoyorozu, building a sort of second muscle layer around the girl. It didn't stop at her back, however—soon, the pieces began wrapping around Yaoyorozu's obliques and ribs, covering her like half a jacket sleeve. Setsuna's left arm crept over Yaoyorozu's, forcing the limb behind her back where more pieces glued themselves over her wrist.
The girl's furious sprint slowed as the layers of muscles began restricting her movements. She fell to her knees as Setsuna's chest and shoulders formed just behind her spiky ponytail. Yaoyorozu's free hand was too busy clutching her rucksack to even attempt peeling off the accumulating pieces. By the time Yaoyorozu's left half was swallowed, Setsuna's entire upper body, headless, had formed overtop of Yaoyorozu's like a conjoined twin. With the arm not puppeteering Yaoyorozu's, Setsuna hooked her elbow under Yaoyorozu's chin and pulled tight, choking the girl. Controlling her other arm, Setsuna flung Yaoyorozu's electric fly swatter off the stage entirely.
Setsuna eased Yaoyorozu's head against the cold concrete with the care of a new mother tucking in her firstborn. The last pieces of Setsuna, from her powerful legs to her diced internal organs, slowly weaved a blanket of flesh that pinned the rest of Yaoyorozu.
Izuku could only stare, transfixed. Present Mic grew as silent as a cemetery, watching the scene. Even his perky commentary could not remedy the way Setsuna's slow victory made stomachs churn.
It was, perhaps, the scariest thing Izuku'd ever seen. Nothing could understate the pride in his chest.
Midnight only stepped in after the fleshy, writhing mass ceased moving.
"Momo Yaoyorozu can not move! The victory goes to Setsuna Tokage!"
The crowd didn't applaud, at first. They could only watch as, piece by piece, Setsuna pulled herself off Yaoyorozu's prone form. Her organs came off first, arranging themselves mid-air like some sort of diagram. Once all her organs were organized, her muscles eased off Yaoyorozu and enveloped the floating cloud of intestines, kidneys, and lungs. Like a peeled orange, Setsuna unwrapped her upper body from the brunette's back and floated away. Her blanket-like flesh met with her lopsided legs, stomach, and hips, until only her head remained missing.
One camera made the brave choice of zooming in on Yaoyorozu as she stood. Her reaction was non-existent, like she hadn't realized what'd happened. She was white as a sheet, with pale lips and empty cheeks. For a moment, she seemed so shell-shocked that Izuku thought she'd need the clinic, but then the rucksack in her tight grasp wiggled. With a start, color rushed back to her cheeks and she opened the rucksack, freeing Setsuna's face
It was at that moment that Izuku moved. He didn't choose to do so—he didn't even want to; she just deserved it, and he was hopeless to the unlawful vacancy of applause. The key appeared, the world reached out, and the weight vanished. Cupping his mouth, Izuku screamed.
"Nice fight, guys!"
Unable to clap but equally unable to contain his swollen passion, Izuku pounded his chest, and like a snowball pushed off Everest, the rest was history. Shoto, though still wary of Izuku's oddity, likewise joined him, calling after the girls and clapping. The classes joined him, and once the classes were hollering, their entire half of the stadium was chanting the girls' names.
Once she was whole, the drones grew brave enough to fixate upon Setsuna as well. Despite his embarrassment, Izuku couldn't help but smile at the soft upward curve of Setsuna's lips. It was hard to see her actual smile, since she wasn't looking at the drone. Only Yaoyorozu gave the drone her full attention, and only once her cheeks were bright red and her own smile broke the surface. She wasn't abashed, despite her shock and loss; she took it in stride.
Glancing at Shoto, he saw how the girl transfixed him, turning his eyes glossy and stupid. It tapped into a quiet warmth in his chest, separate and unchanged by his own wild emotions. He was happy for Shoto. In all their years, Izuku hadn't quite imagined his friend had that kind of heart for anyone…
He spotted it in the corner of his eye.
Izuku didn't give it a second thought, when he noticed Setsuna wasn't looking at the drone. He'd figured, in the brief moment he'd looked, that the girl must've been consoling Yaoyorozu or checking out Midnight—but no. Her eyes were locked onto the Stadium's combatant section, and focused on the front row.
He met her eyes. It froze him. She was smiling at him and he didn't know how to react; how should he? Maybe, if One for All let him tell Shoto, he would've thrown it all away and gone down there this moment. Maybe he would've told her, the whole world, if not for One for All hadn't held him back. Now, though? Izuku didn't have a clue how to treat her. After failing to even tell Shoto, after knowing her and avoiding her and kissing—
Shoto's elbow caught his ribs, and like a gunked-up robot smacked with a stick, he started with a lurch. He still didn't know what to do, and his mind was a mess of promises and failures, but he had to do something.
So, he sent her a thumbs up.
He didn't expect her smile to vanish so suddenly. Neither did he expect her to point straight at him, pivot a hundred degrees, and take Yaoyorozu with her off the stage.
"Uh, what was that?" Izuku said, rubbing throat. The crowd continued to chant through his question, and Izuku was struck with a sudden sense of apartness. He'd been singled out, but for what?
Shoto only raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"In my experience, being glared at and acknowledged means she just challenged you."
Izuku's jaw dropped open, but before he could collect himself, Shoto broke away and began walking down the aisle. Stunned, Izuku was too late to catch Shoto before he left, but he missed by a hair.
He was alone.
It struck him, then, that the realization didn't change him much. Any sense of companionship seemed to have faded with his failure to confess. As seats changed hands and people came and went, Izuku remained standing, slightly apart from the buzzing bystanders. Where had he gone wrong?
[x]
Shoto kept his hands deep in his pockets, disregarding the handrails even as he hurried down the steps. With his heat generators fluctuating this much, he was liable to reforge the handrails with a touch. Instead, he just burned holes in his pockets. Better he lost his pockets than U.A. lost their safety-regulation gold star.
Did he mess up? Where did he go wrong? He'd felt Izuku's eagerness, seen it with his own eyes, heard it with his ears, but right on the cusp of… something, Izuku froze.
Shoto'd been hesitant to give his friend too much mind, before. After Sashimi's match, Shoto thought it best to leave Izuku to his devices; but Izuku approached him, not the other way around. From the first touch to the last, Izuku initiated it all.
"Never bloomed…?" Shoto asked himself, trailing off as the stairs evened out. What did he almost say? Why did he stop? "...I've never told anyone before…"
Nothing was more clear than that. Somewhere in that big head of his, Izuku'd garnered the courage to tell him… something, but stopped short. Why had he stopped?
No matter how he turned it over in his head, he could only come to one conclusion. Somehow, in some unintended way, he'd put Izuku off. Something unconscious in him showed itself on his face, and he accidentally scared his friend off. As soon as Izuku trailed off, Shoto knew he'd messed up.
Izuku retreated within himself soon after, and it was all Shoto could do to try and ignore it. He'd felt so awkward that he'd booked it the second the opportunity came.
His ears burned with each step, but as every one took him further from that grease fire of a conversation, he felt his fists unball a little more. By the time he arrived beneath the Stadium, he was almost ready to take his hands from his pockets—and once he met Yaoyorozu and Setsuna's eyes, he'd regulated his temperature and temperament both.
"Hello. That was quite the fight, guys," Shoto said, waving. It'd been to shake off the lingering smoke trails, but when the girls waved back, he forced himself to nod in greeting. "Horrifying, but entertaining."
Setsuna maintained a tight smile, dipping her head just barely. Beside her, Yaoyorozu stifled an awkward laugh.
"I must agree. It was… an experience, for sure. A good fight, though petering out like that was a touch embarrassing. I wish I'd…"
Yaoyorozu didn't finish. Even as she spoke of the good fight, her shoulders drooped and her sparkle faded. It felt like, even to Shoto's temperature-tolerant body, that the hall became a bit colder than before. More somber. Clearly, something was bothering the girl, but she remained stiff and prim. She really did seem like a princess, even whilst licking her wounds.
"You'd wish you'd what?" Setsuna said, her smile not wavering a millimeter. "Was being inside of me not enough? You wanted a strong finish, too?"
Yaoyorozu froze like a deer caught in headlights, her pale skin flushing red. Shoto's chin fell partially open. Setsuna didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't care. She kept a light pace, passing by Shoto in six careful, controlled steps. The red-faced, Yaoyorozu-shaped machine took several seconds to reboot and catch up, and another two before she could compute sentences.
"H-hey! You're so awful! Please don't say those things!"
"Such as? Like the fact that you took my first time on live television? Or the fact that you liked me on top?"
Shoto pinched his nose with his right hand as Yaoyorozu stumbled past, trying to catch Setsuna as she drew further away. It cooled his heated cheeks, but couldn't fix his embarrassment.
"No!" Yaoyorozu said, aghast as she managed to pinch the back of Setsuna's shirt. "D-don't group me in with you! You're some kind of deviant!"
Setsuna didn't force the girl off. Instead, she dragged her along as she glided across the hall. Yaoyorozu stumbled after, barely keeping up as she vollied complaint after complaint at the green-haired girl.
Seeing Yaoyorozu in such shambles should've disturbed Shoto—but for some reason, the opposite was true. Though he came to them feeling rather down, the girl's crimson cheeks and embarrassed splutter lit a fire under him. He followed them four paces behind, enjoying the show as Setsuna strutted down the hall and Yaoyorozu tripped. If only he'd brought popcorn.
"The electric swatter was a great idea, by the way. Really got me goin'."
"S-s-stop! It was a good strategy!"
"And good fun."
"Please!"
Being dead below the Stadium's bleachers, Shoto noted how the ceiling liked to rumble. It groaned with the spectators, and with the way the fans seemed to stomp and holler, there must be a pretty substantial ongoing match. If he had to guess, Kendo was probably fighting. Unfortunately, she and Honenuki were the only failures in 1Z, but at the same time, if they were still competing… maybe Whirlwind wouldn't put them on cleaning duty. Though they'd bottomed out in the second round, they were, after all, competing in the third.
Setsuna didn't lead them back to the bleachers. Instead, she brought them deeper; past the clinic, beyond the locker room, and just a hair further than the private viewing quarters. By the time they reached their destination, Yaoyorozu released Setsuna's shirt hem, though her cheeks were still pink.
She stood straighter, if a little more anxious, but without the drooping shoulders or somber air. It seemed that Setsuna's teasing had uplifted Yaoyorozu, rather than diminish her. Shoto found himself envying her ability to assure Yaoyorozu; though, had he worn her shoes, he probably wouldn't have had the bravery necessary to lob a sex joke in such an innocent face. Such a shock to her system probably wouldn't be welcome from him, regardless.
"Excuse me, but, ah, what are we doing here?" Shoto asked, eyeing Setsuna as she swung open the door. It was a door to nothing—beyond the threshold was just an infinite, formless black. At least, it was until Setsuna stepped within and flicked on a lightswitch. Immediately, it became clear where they were.
Square linoleum tiles. Wide, low sinks. A large, boxy cubicle. LED lights. Blue paint. Setsuna didn't acknowledge the first question. Instead, she just shot him the same tight smile she'd worn this whole walk, and then slipped inside the unisex bathroom. Shoto and Yaoyorozu shared a confused glance before finding themselves closing the door behind them.
When they turned back to their friend, however, they only found the open door of the toilet stall. Something felt off, as they approached. The air changed. It already felt weird being alone in a one-person bathroom with two girls, but that awkwardness felt dwarfed as they saw Setsuna sitting on the toilet, head in her hands, shoulders shaking. Shoto couldn't help himself.
"Oh, fuck," he said.
"Oh! Fuck!" Yaoyorozu said, freezing beside him in the stall's threshold.
"Oh fuck is right," Setsuna muttered, speaking into her hands. The quivering faded from her shoulders, taking the pride with it. They pulled inwards, shriveling like a flower out of season. She tilted her head back just enough to peer through her fingers and bangs. "Yao, you don't need to see me like this. Leave if you want… I just…"
Her eyes drifted off the petrified girl and onto his own. A shiver jumped up his spine—a cold not born in his chest, but his spirit.
Yaoyorozu remained frozen as Shoto took a half-step forward. It was all it took to reach her—the space was cramped, though pleasantly clean. The walls closed in on them, wrapping them in a tight bubble. He didn't know what came over him, but as that freezing shock jumped down his fingertips, he felt it only appropriate to warm them on Setsuna' shoulder.
The moment he touched her, he understood. It wasn't a physical revelation; rather, it was the four-year culmination of lethargic afternoons, arcade shenanigans, and third wheeling. Waves of anxiety, stress, and exhaustion flooded through their contact, crashing and mingling with his own. It was a rush of discomfort—but a familiar one. A familiarity he desperately missed, in the last month.
He leaned into it. Cupping her opposite ear, he pulled Setsuna's head into his stomach. She sank against him, warm and worried and not at all like the girl who'd conquered Momo Yaoyorozu so easily. Setsuna just didn't seem as… large. Her boisterous personality seemed stowed away, locked deep inside the skull that fell against him like a twenty pound bowling ball. Shoto wouldn't call her small, however; instead, this girl was simply tired.
It was easy to decipher the reason. Only one thing remained a constant with Setsuna; only one thing could eat away at her.
It'd been eating away at him, too. For more than a month, now, really—it'd started a long while before. He could understand the heaviness of her head, the feelings flooding him at her touch, because they were a mirror of his own.
"I… I'm moving on. I'll be going against Sashimi, then… Either you, or…"
She dropped her hands to her knees as she spoke. Shoto closed his eyes, feeling her soft voice tickle his stomach.
His match was soon. Yoarashi… he was a beast. A true powerhouse—probably the biggest one of 1Z, besides himself. In all likelihood, Shoto would face no power more vast than his in all the tournament. He should've been a shoe-in for his "Everest." With Izuku so… he just didn't know.
Izuku's face jumped back into his mind, his dimming excitement burned behind his eyelids. He thought of how he'd cradled Iida, how his shoulders stayed stiff, and the listless, lost expression he'd left behind in the second round. His skull cracking against the Stadium rang through his ears again, doubling and tripling over itself. Shoto kept replaying that moment over and over again, turning it over in his mind.
Something changed, right in that moment—but what, and why? He was a total wildcard, and…
He looked into the mess of Setsuna's hair. It was knotty, tangled, and didn't smell the best. It felt… off. Holding her up. Like he was a substitute teacher in a foreign land. Shoto wasn't built for this—for her. Someone else should've been comforting her, here.
But he wasn't. Izuku was drifting off somewhere, nursing a new scar along with the old.
Would he even beat Ojiro? Had he fallen so far? That spunky, ambitious amputee—had the cruel world finally beaten him down?
"We're so far apart on the bracket…" Setsuna said, slightly pulling away from him. The tip of her ear still brushed his shirt, but most of her warmth and weight eased away. "I did all this… to show him… But now that I'm moving on, I'm not even sure if he'll meet me on the other side."
In his mind's eye, Shoto pictured the bracket, and its possible futures. It was about as bad as it could get, if he was honest. The only way it could get worse was if they ended up on opposite brackets—
"Wait, you did all…" Shoto said, pausing to gesture in her general direction. "...This, for him?"
Setsuna pulled away entirely, choosing to keep her hands still and her eyes ahead. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a squeak rang through the bathroom.
Yaoyorozu closed the door behind her, and stepped into the little space that remained in their bubble. Shoto held back his cringe as she kneeled on the public bathroom floor and took Setsuna's hands in hers. She didn't even seem to notice the floor, clean as it was, or her own proximity to the green-haired girl.
"I don't think I understand what you're saying very well," Yaoyorozu said, glancing between Setsuna and Shoto both, "or what's going unsaid. But… Are we talking about Izuku? Your old friend?"
Setsuna nodded, eyes cracked open a tad wider than before. The kneeling girl squeezed her hands, gave them a single pump, and released her.
"Then you're right. I don't need to be here. He's not really my friend—if anything, I only know him in a parasocial way, through you guys. You could be misleading me, for all I might know—but one thing keeps me certain all your stories aren't exaggerations."
Shoto's outstretched hand slowly slid off Setsuna's neck, falling limp by its side. The rush of emotions—the swirling storm of anxiety and stress—didn't fade.
"And what is that?" Shoto asked.
"Well," Yaoyorozu said, standing and dusting off her knees, "they trust him. 1A—the girls, the guys, all of them. I've seen it. Uraraka endured a terrible torture to keep him safe. No normal person would be worth that. I think… I think I can see why you're all worried. He almost died, earlier, and his behavior has felt off—but… you want to fight him? Both of you?"
Shoto and Setsuna glanced at each other before nodding.
"Is it only a little, or a lot? Is it the thing you two want most, in this moment?" Yaoyorozu continued, leaning forward. "Does he know you two have challenged him? Does he know how bad you both want it?"
They didn't confirm with one another; yet they still nodded in unison. Yaoyorozu nodded, then, and smiled at Setsuna.
"Then a friend like that wouldn't dare let you guys down, no matter how off-kilter he is. He's fighting Ojiro, no? You'll see," Yaoyorozu said, before turning to Shoto. His breath caught. She scrutinized him for a whole second, squeezing out all his remaining air before speaking. "...Trust him to give you the match you truly need, Todoroki, and don't let Yoarashi be the thing that stops you. He's a mountain—but it's just like his father said. Your Everest will be waiting for you afterwards. Yoarashi is just a foothill."
With that, Yaoyorozu spun around, hiding her face before stepping out of the bathroom stall. Following after her, he almost called her name—only to choke, having forgotten his empty lungs. Before either he or Setsuna could say a thing, she'd slipped out the bathroom door and beat the long hall with her echoing footsteps. They were alone.
"...Do you think she was right?" Shoto asked, after a long moment. "About Izuku not disappointing?"
Setsuna stepped past him, stopping at a sink. Slapping on the cold water, she plugged the drain with a thumb and let the basin fill. Once it was nearly spilling over, she dunked her face straight in, splashing water everywhere.
Her yelp only came out as bubbles. After a few seconds of muffled silence, Setsuna pulled her face free and unplugged the drain. Shoto stood in dead silence as she turned to face him, panting and dripping like a wet dog.
"They roughed him up, I kissed him, and he almost died. If that wasn't enough of a wake-up call, then I'll crucify him in his living room. Even if he makes it past Ojiro, Shoto… Don't reward him for the bare minimum. Don't hold back. He's put me through too much stress to get off easy. Sorry for worrying you. I'm alright now."
A crackle rang through the bathroom as an old speaker came to life.
"And agility fails to overcome raw skill and power! It was a good fight, Ms. Tsuyu, but Itsuka Kendo wins! Next up, the son of Endeavor, versus the son of our own Whirlwind!"
Shoto saluted Setsuna Tokage, turned, and left.
"Yes ma'am! With everything I've got."
As Shoto half-jogged down the lengthy underbelly of the U.A. stadium, Izuku's expression flashed across his mind one last time.
He would force the truth out of him next time, no matter what. If Izuku gets through, then Shoto won't ruin it again. They'll talk again, honestly, just like the old times.
Now, all he had to do was defeat the son of the Storm Hero himself.
[x]
AN: This week was one of the very few times I just haven't been able to discipline myself into writing a chapter. I wrote three hundred words friday, eight hundred monday, two hundred tuesday, and thirteen on wednesday. I'll be happy to be done with it all, as my fuse is steadily on the decline.
in other news, i've been getting braver. I may or may have stopped reading my reviews towards the end of the USJ thanks to all the negativity (some was deserved, but it was exhausting) and I'm pleased to see most of it has been positive. thanks
review!~ one day ill read them all