Two years ago:

According to anime, romantic confessions were the sorts of things that took place around the back of the school building, while cherry blossoms were blown by the wind and the sun cast flattering shadows on peoples' faces. Unfortunately, it was freezing cold and snowing outside, so I would have to make do with an empty classroom, the teacher's potted cactus on the desk, and harsh fluorescent lighting. And, hey - it was Valentine's Day, right? That had to make up for everything else.

"Um… so, was there something you needed, Hikigaya-kun?"

Orimoto Kaori. Her name had been running through my head for, gosh, months. Maybe not everybody would understand why I liked her; she was popular, true, but it was a friendly-popular, not the kind of crazy drooling some guys got over vapid upperclassmen like Keimi just because they hit puberty early. Which isn't to say that Orimoto Kaori wasn't pretty. She was, or at least I thought so. The way her bright eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way she kept brushing tufts of cloudy hair behind her ears, the pale line of skin at the nape of her neck I could see when she bent forward in class - but, well, I wasn't superficial. I liked Orimoto Kaori because she was sincere. Because she was kind. She was the sort of person who wanted to be a hero, to help other people, she was good. She had a personality that just - I was happier when she was around.

And there was no way in hell I could make myself say any of that! Which was probably a good thing, because it would probably sound creepy as hell, but anyway. I didn't… I had a little hope that maybe she would say yes, obviously, or I wouldn't be doing this. But even if I was rejected, then at least she'd know. I took a deep breath and looked at Orimoto Kaori. She looked uncomfortable, her arms folded in front of her stomach, biting down on one corner of her lip in the cute way that she did when she was nervous.

The butterflies in my stomach multiplied. Maybe she liked me after all? "Orimoto-chan, I-" I think you're beautiful, I really admire you as a person, the fact that you keep working to be a hero is inspiring, I can't stop daydreaming about you, you're practically the only decent person in this cesspit of a school, "I - I like you!" I managed to stammer out. My voice cracked. My fingernails dug into my palms, and my stomach felt like it was in freefall.

For a second she just stood there, stunned, and I hurriedly put the second part of my master plan into play. Over the past few weeks, I'd been practicing with a copy of Arto-kun's Hologram quirk. He could create three-dimensional light sculptures as large and complicated as a human body; that gave me control of just enough volume to create a holographic flower. Unfortunately, all of my practice sessions had been done in my room, in the dark, under calm conditions. Under pressure, the rose I had planned to create came out looking lumpy and misshapen, like a red blob attached to a green stick.

Hideously, I heard a noise from the hallway. A shocked laugh, followed by a susurrus of whispers. Orimoto must have heard it too, because her eyes flickered towards the door before she pasted on a shaky smile. "Ah ha ha," she laughed nervously, "um, thank you Hikigaya-kun, but I'm sorry… this is really a shock. I hardly even know you, so…"

I don't actually remember clearly what happened immediately afterwards, only that I awkwardly left the room and skipped class to sulk up on the roof. Initially, in the aftermath of the rejection, I would be furious at her for saying those words. Just because your friends were watching didn't mean you had to disavow all knowledge of my existence! How embarrassing of a person was I, that you had to pretend like you had barely even spoken to me before?

Later, I would be furious at myself. After all, eventually even I realized that those words had been nothing but the unvarnished truth.

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One Year Ago:

It was official. Too much anime rotted the brain. "Hachiman-kun! My mighty general! My bosom companion, my comrade in arms! Truly, a day like this is one where the brotherhood between men such as ourselves is stronger than ever!" After all, that was the only possible explanation for Zaimokuza Yoshiteru.

I looked up from my bento at the tubby grey-haired oaf, who insisted on wearing a brown leather trench coat during all four seasons. At least during the winter it wasn't completely out of place. I finished chewing the bite of food I had just taken and swallowed forcefully so I could reply. "Sit down already," I said in irritation, "sunlight's rare enough in February without you blocking it."

"Oh ho! Are you practicing a new form of martial arts? Learning to harmonize your ki with the power of the sun? As expected of the almighty Hachiman!" You know we've only got like two months of middle school left, right? Is there a need to keep up the chuuni delusion gag until the very last second? Still, for all that he was a weirdo, Zaimokuza was a decent guy, and he cheerfully moved out of my sunlight to sit next to me.

"More like I decided I had enough regular depression without adding the Seasonal Affective kind to it," I snarked back. "What's up?"

Zaimokuza grabbed my shoulder, the square-framed glasses boxing in his eyes as they stared at me in a way which I'm sure he thought was penetrating or intimidating, but actually just wound up looking kinda stupid. "Hachiman-kun. Forgive me for asking this, but I must be clear. Have you betrayed the sacred brotherhood? Consumed the substance poisonous to the -"

I cut him off, rolling my eyes. "No, Zaimokuza, nothing but giri-choco for me this year, either." I paused for a second, my chopsticks hovering in mid air above my rice. "Komachi doesn't count, right?"

Zaimokuza laughed, placing his hands on his hips. I scooted sideways a little bit on the back steps to avoid getting elbowed in the ribs. "Of course not! It is only chocolate given with romantic love that is fatal to men of ambition such as ourselves!"

"You say that, but we both know that if you were given any that it'd be gone in like, five minutes, right?" I asked.

"Humph. This and that are different! I keep telling you, Hachiman-kun, that my quirk requires an intense expenditure of caloric energy to operate! Thus, even if I have to choke down poison to make the cells of my body operate at full power, I! Will! Not! Falter!" Each and every one of those last four words were accompanied by a 'cool'-looking pose from Zaimokuza as he karate-chopped the air like a dying camel.

"Uh huh," I said dryly. "So what brought this on, anyway? I mean, the fact that I was only ever going to be given chocolate out of obligation should be obvious."

Zaimokuza stopped posing, instead adopting a 'contemplative' stance with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his folded hands. "Your entrance exam to UA is in two weeks, is it not?"

"Twelve days," I said sourly, stabbing at my cold rice out of anxiety. "So?"

"So, at this point, you have already acquired a hero's physique! A hero's fortitude! A hero's muscularity! And unlike me, your mighty form is not hidden under the fuel required for your quirk!" Given that Zaimokuza's general approach to exercise was to pretend that it didn't exist, I sincerely doubted that there was any such thing as a 'mighty form' lurking underneath his strategic fat reserves, but I understood what he was getting at.

I sighed. "Zaimokuza. Yes, girls at our school have all the depth of the average puddle, and absolutely would start liking a boy just because he's in shape. Source: the fact that guys like Yamagata, Hyogo, and Tochigi are actually popular for some bizarre reason. Girls like that aren't going to go for someone like me, and even if they were, it's not like I'd be interested." That was a lie, if a girl confessed to me right now I doubted that I would care who it was, but Zaimokuza was either nice or unobservant enough not to call me out on it.

"Homuhomu." Instead, Zaimokuza muttered a few nonsense words in agreement. "Indeed, even the greatest of novels would lie overlooked on a shelf were it poorly advertised."

That's what you got from my comment? No matter how much you advertise one of your terrible stories, only masochists are going to read it. Still, just telling him that he wasn't making any sense would be rude, so instead I just shrugged. "Well, somebody's bound to read a novel like that eventually, right? After that, it's all just word of mouth." When in doubt, go for vague encouragement!

"Hah! Well said, Hachiman-kun!" Zaimokuza cheered enthusiastically. Um, sure? If you say so? "You know, I've been thinking," he began, "after you become a hero, you will need a chronicler, will you not? A journalist, someone to catalogue and share your deeds to your adoring masses?"

I smiled sarcastically. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have do it than you," I told him. I mean, really, who else would be suitable? Not everybody had the same gift for creating incredibly implausible fiction as Zaimokuza Yoshiteru.

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This Year:

I stole down the quiet, rubble-choked streets, my hands gripping tightly to the bags of groceries in my hands. A shadowy figure loomed on the street corner. Hulking. Twisted. Wrong. As I passed it, it inhaled deeply. I heard the wet snuffle, and despite the fact that I had done this before I still felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Like the civilian I was pretending to be, I just kept walking, never making eye contact with the beast in an over-large trench coat. One step. Another. After a subjective eternity - maybe half a block in real time - I exhaled in relief. As I passed the 'nicer' section of town and passed into the true ruins, my steps got faster.

As I passed under a bridge, outside of the view of cameras, I pulled down the scarf covering my face and vomited. Streams of silvery liquid splattered all over the ground, then slowly reconfigured themselves into a copy of myself - bags under my eyes, my hair too long, my wrists uncomfortably thin-looking where they peeked out of the heavy coat. It picked up a pair of the white trash bags that had been waiting for it under the bridge and left, appearing to all outside observers that there was nothing of any significance under this bridge at all.

I rested one hand against the wall and it parted like a curtain, creating a narrow passageway into darkness just wide enough for one person to squeeze through. Picking up the groceries, I stepped through, closing the wall behind me and leaving no trace of my passage.

After a long, dark corridor, the room beyond was surprisingly homey. It may have just been a disused basement, but with the addition of chairs, tables, lamps, and rugs it almost looked cozy. Of course, that was before I took in the red streamers and pink balloons, the construction paper hearts on the walls and the sounds of sappy romantic music playing from a radio somewhere. "What's all this?" I called out, an amused smile creeping its way onto my face. "Is there a reason we're celebrating Valentine's Day all of a sudden?"

A cheerful, sparkling-eyed figure jumped into the room, her arms wide open, displaying a sheaf of construction paper in one hand and some heavy-duty scissors in the other. "Tada!" Komachi shouted. "You're home early, onii-chan! The Nomu didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

I wasn't about to admit weakness in front of my sister. "Of course not. Do they ever?" I walked past her into the 'kitchen', unpacking bags of rice and cans of beans onto the mostly empty shelves. "I'd be astonished if they didn't just think I was Quirkless after they smelled me, let alone someone with a quirk strong enough to be a hero."

"Oh, Onii-chan." Komachi sighed. "You're so proud of being useless."

"Oi." My eyebrow twitched. "So? What's the occasion for all these decorations?"

"Stupid onii-chan, it's Valentine's Day, obviously!" Komachi said, pouting at me. "How could you forget the most important holiday of the year?"

"Most important?" I looked at her strangely. "Don't you think we have more important things to deal with right now than romance? In case you haven't noticed, the world is terrible right now."

Komachi sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "Honestly, onii-chan? Love is just about the most important thing there is in the world, you know. Obviously we have to celebrate!"

"If you say so," I muttered. I looked around the empty room, feeling sort of off-balance. "Uh, so… where's everybody else?" The radio kept playing, blaring out some sort of sappy tune, but I couldn't seem to make out the words. Where had I heard it before?

"What?" Komachi said obliviously, sitting down to cut out a construction paper heart, her scissors making snik snik snik noises as she worked. "Can't a little sister celebrate with her big brother alone?"

"Valentine's day?" I said in disbelief.

As I picked up another can of beans and put it on the shelf, I heard a soft noise, almost wet-sounding. "Is this better?" Yukinoshita Yukino asked. I looked up. Where my sister had been, still cutting valentines' hearts out of construction paper, was the long-haired cool beauty I had become so familiar with over the last few weeks at school. Her soaked combat uniform clung to her modest curves, the almost see-through fabric offering a tantalizing view. "You'd much rather spend Valentine's day with me, wouldn't you Ecchigaya?"

"Yukinoshita?" I gasped. Cold chills ran up the back of my spine. I felt paralyzed, somehow rooted to the spot.

Her skin rippled and melted, and her combat uniform shifted to something more like the typical UA uniform. As her hair slowly shifted from glossy black to a bluish silver, Kawasaki Saki raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe someone else?" She asked. "The new flame?"

Another organic squelch and the long blue hair became a frizzy light brown. "The old one?" Orimoto Kaori continued.

"The rich girl?" Yaoyorozu Momo asked, smiling at me the way she usually did during our Class President duties.

She stood up, unbuttoning her UA uniform with her left hand, and keeping the shining metal scissors in her right. As her shirt fell open, it revealed a tantalizing glimpse of white lace, and a long, flawless stretch of stomach. Yuigahama Yui smiled. "Or maybe her? After all, you saved her dog, didn't you? How could she possibly say no to a hero like you?"

"You're… you're her," I choked out. "You're the villain, the contractor."

At my accusation, her face began to peel, the skin sloughing off to reveal dirty blonde hair and a blushing, sharp-toothed smile. She let her disguise fail over her chest and hips as well, revealing the nakedness beneath, but rather than seeming embarrassed by it being on display just seemed to excite her more. I realized where I had heard the music before. It was the Theme Song quirk playing, not an ordinary radio. "Happy Valentine's Day, boyfriend!" She said with an eerie grin.

"All of them! Their blood! You-" Suddenly, I couldn't talk. My whole body seemed powerless. I looked down to see the heavy duty scissors sticking out of my lung, curiously painless, and the spreading pool of red liquid on the school tiles below me.

"Shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?" She asked hypothetically. Suddenly, her phone rang. "What's that, Kurogiri?" Her voice echoed strangely, sounding almost like it was underwater. "No, no, it's fine. It's not like he was a real hero, right?"

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The night before the Sports Festival:

I woke up with a gasp, clutching my chest. My heart felt like it was beating at a thousand kilometers an hour, and my forehead was covered with cold sweat. Above me was the familiar ceiling of my bedroom. There was no light coming through the window, so it was still before dawn, and I slowly realized that it had all just been a dream.

I fumbled for my alarm clock, turning it to face me. Fourteen minutes past two in the morning. Definitely too early for me to be able to get away with not going back to sleep. With a groan, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and staggered into the kitchen. Maybe some warm milk would help?

"Onii-chan?" As I opened the cupboard to reach for a mug, Komachi's voice called out to me. I barely managed to restrain myself from slamming the cupboard and jumping three feet in the air.

I turned to face her. Luckily, instead of being in a UA school uniform, Komachi was bleary-eyed, mussy-haired, and wearing bear pajamas. "Jeez, make some noise when you walk!" I hissed.

She yawned. "Sorry onii-chan. Did you have bad dreams again?" I nodded. Turning away from her for a second, I reached into the fridge for some milk. "Was it the ooze guy again?"

I paused for a second as my fingers touched the handle of the milk jug. Surprisingly, no, it hadn't. Normally my nightmares either featured being slowly suffocated in the ooze villain's body, or watching helplessly as my hands dissolved into piles of green protoplasm, but for some reason tonight had been different. Was it because I had gone to sleep normally in order to rest up for the sports festival instead of using ooze to access a stockpile of Kawasaki's sleep quirk? It figured. I finally figured out a way to stop having the same nightmares almost every night, and the end result was that I just had different nightmares instead. "Not this time," I eventually answered Komachi. "Just ordinary performance anxiety dreams."

"Sounded pretty bad for one of those," Komachi muttered skeptically.

"Sorry," I muttered. I put the mug of milk in the microwave and hit the appropriate buttons. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Suddenly, a pair of incredibly strong arms wrapped themselves around my ribs, squeezing me with a careful gentleness that belied the incredible power they contained. My quirk flared to life the way it always did, reassuring me that the Komachi hugging me was indeed my adorable little sister, and not some imposter. "You'll be fine, onii-chan," she murmured into my T-shirt. "And even if you mess up and look like a total doofus on live television I promise I'll still be proud of you."

An exasperated smile found its way to my lips. "Thanks, Komachi. If I wind up looking like a doofus on live television I'm sure I'll find that comforting." I twisted slightly in her grip so that I could ruffle her hair with one hand.

"You look like a doofus anyway," Komachi said, still clinging to my back like a limpet. "So even if you do wind up looking like a total doofus, probably nobody will even notice a difference."

I sighed. "So, so comforting." I twisted a little bit more, and used the hand that had been messing with her hair to push her off of me. "Go back to bed, Komachi," I told her. "I'll try to keep the noise down."

"It's not your fault," she said with a yawn, "I left my door open for Kamakura. G'night onii-chan."

"Good night, Komachi." The door to her room, padded to keep out a little bit more noise from the rest of the house, closed with its usual heavy thud. I just stood there for a while in the dark kitchen, sipping on warm milk and letting my racing heart settle down. Sure enough as the adrenaline passed, exhaustion finally caught back up to me.

As I started heading back to my room, a glimpse of paper on the dining room table caught my eye. I took another look at the list of tips UA had prepared for students participating in the Sports Festival. Eat a large meal heavy in carbohydrates before the night of the match, it read. Avoid strenuous exercise the day before. Avoid the use of metabolic quirks. Get a good night's sleep.

"Dammit, UA," I muttered under my breath. "Give advice that's less mutually exclusive next time."