"I smile to show the pressure of heroes and to trick the fear inside of me."
The following day, the school was closed; repairs began on Mr. Thirteen's USJ while my classmates recovered at home. The main building of UA was strangely quiet, as barely a single soul was to be found within, save for a few teachers- including Mr. Thirteen and my father, who were in and out of Recovery Girl's office for most of the day.
As for me, I was asleep for almost the entire day.
The next morning greeted me with bright light, which filtered through the blinds to my recovery room, which was connected to Recovery Girl's main infirmary. I had woken in the middle of the night, unable to return to sleep for the remainder of it. Images of Shigaraki Tomura filled my mind, his warped voice echoing through my ears and making my hair stand on end. My thoughts did not help put me at ease, alone in my dark recovery room, and so I had instead laid awake, staring at the ceiling.
The steady beeping of the heart monitor next to me filled the silence of my room until the school bell sounded that morning. I could hear faint footsteps through the wall, along with the shouts of my classmates, but no one came into my room. I laid alone with my IV drip, staring blankly at the ceiling, awaiting some sort of company.
None came.
It was just myself and my thoughts for the entirety of the school day. I pondered many things, but for some reason was having great difficulty when it came to recovering my memories past a certain point during the villain's attack. I remembered Shigaraki Tomura- that much I knew. I remembered Shouto talking to me, but I was having trouble remembering what it had been about. I remembered feeling very angry; I remember feeling hatred; I remembered feeling pain.
My blue eyes shifted to my right, where my arm lay limply on the bed beside me. From my forearm to just below my shoulder was wrapped with bandages, and a dull throb was ebbing in and out of noticeability from the area nearest my elbow. I pursed my lips, wanting to investigate but deciding that it was better not to. Even if I had wanted to, my body still felt so weak that I wondered if I could bear to lift my left arm- the arm that house my IV drip- to remove the bandages from its counterpart.
I let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Where is everyone?"
My words were a faint whisper, sounding bored and dejected as they rang out through the emptiness of my room. I was beginning to feel rather ignored. None of my friends had come to visit me, Recovery Girl had not come to check on me, nor had my father.
Was I dead?
That seemed to be the only logical explanation. Perhaps I had not really woken up at all. Was this recovery room some kind of purgatory? Was I condemned to suffer in agonizing boredom for the rest of eternity?
I scoffed.
That couldn't be right.
A sudden noise just outside of my door interrupted my thoughts. I froze, my eyes widening and heart rate quickening in anticipation; the heart monitor echoed the thumping in my ears. Finally, someone was coming to see me. The door slid open, revealing my visitor; I let out a shrill gasp.
"Ack! Mummy!" The person in the doorway rolled their eyes through the bandages that covered their face.
"Calm down. It's your father." he said blandly, sliding the door shut behind him. I let out a puff of air.
"That's a relief." I murmured
The mummified version of my father shuffled towards me, bandages scuffing against each other with every move that he made. At the side of my bed he paused, glancing almost casually at the fluid levels in my IV drip, the readouts on the heart monitor, and then, finally, at me. I blinked dumbly, my tired body content to passively observe him; I did not speak, preferring to save my energy and allow him to say his piece before I considered getting up the energy to say anything.
"It's good to see you're awake," he said softly, gazing at me through the fabric wrappings on his face. I said nothing, watching him while he took a seat, forming a triangle with myself and my bedside table. "Honestly I expected for you to be asleep for a while longer…"
"Hm," was my numb reply, a muffled hum through pursed lips. My father blinked wearily.
"I'm sorry for not visiting you sooner- I had my own stint in isolated care," he gestured briefly to his wrappings. "The school was only closer for one day, after all." I nodded; my father narrowed his eyes. "What is this, a Vow of Silence?"
"No," I replied at last, my voice stony. My father raised what I assumed to be an eyebrow, though it was concealed beneath layers of mummy bandages. "Maybe I've forgotten how to speak- I was left all alone in here for so long, after all."
"Alright, cool it."
I sat in my room silently, exchanging glowers with my mummified father every now and again. He did not seem to be in the best of moods. Not only that, but something in his demeanor suggested an apprehensiveness that I could not quite understand. It was a withholding sort of rigidness that suggested that something- I was not sure what- was weighing on his mind; he did not seem at all inclined to share with me what it was.
"How are you feeling?" he asked finally- a low mumble through his face bandages. I shrugged.
"Mediocre." I replied tartly. My voice sounded as stiff as my body felt.
"Do you remember much?" I shook my head. "What's the last thing that you remember?" I paused, grasping around my consciousness for some semblance of memory. I came up mostly empty. "I worried as much…"
"Were you expecting for me not to remember?"
"You suffered a febrile seizure shortly after you came here," my father said. His voice was very soft against his bandages. "Your temperature was dangerously high- any higher, and you may not have made it… It cooled down very quickly, though…"
"I see…" I murmured.
I touched the back of my hand to my head, half expecting to still be sporting an astounding temperature. I felt dewy, a little warm, though that was nothing out of the ordinary for me. I seemed to be constantly crippled by a low-grade fever.
My gaze shifted beneath my fingertips, which hung in my eyes as my hand was placed against my forehead. My blue eyes fell on a stack of papers on my bedside table, which I had not noticed until that moment.
They looked rather official- like test results of some kind- though the angling of my body was not doing any favors for me as I attempted to read the tiny print out of the corners of my eyes. My father, noticing my staring, reached out one wrapped arm, flipping over the papers. The blank side of the plain white printer paper greeted me tauntingly.
"What are those?" I asked softly, my voice a hoarse whisper.
"We can discuss that later."
"I'd like to know," I protested.
Summoning what little strength I had I lunged for the papers, the pole that held my IV drip bag shifting with my sudden movement. My thin fingers clutched the crisp white paper, pulling the sheets towards me despite the uncomfortable tugging of the needle in my arm. My father's hand, now placed on top of the stack of papers, stopping me.
"Like I said," he began, his tone now much more serious. "We can discuss those later."
Before I could let out even a single utterance of protest I was interrupted by the door to my room being slid open. I jolted slightly, swiping my hand away from the stack of papers and facing forwards in one swift motion. Several familiar pairs of eyes greeted me: The nervous but smiling faces of Ochaco, Izuku, Tsuyu, Tenya, and Todoroki Shouto appeared on the other side of the door.
"Daichi-chan!" Ochaco breathed, rushing into my room happily. "You're awake!"
"Uh-"
I began to stammer out some sort of half-assed reply, but was stopped by Ochaco's shoulder covering my mouth when she hugged me. Izuku smiled and waved at me in an awkward sort of manner as he walked to my bedside; Tenya gave me a stiff nod of encouragement; Shouto just looked bored.
"It's good to see that you're awake," Tenya said sternly as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You were quite a sight fighting those villains, Aizawa-san." I pursed my lips- I had forgotten that they would probably know my secret, now.
"Yeah, you were amazing, Daichi-chan!" Izuku exclaimed.
Ochaco had finally released me from her hug, but was still beaming at me from her place beside of Izuku. I had to admit that, side by side, they looked like a very adorable couple.
"I've never seen anyone fight like that," Ochaco remarked airily. "Not anybody our age, anyways…"
"You broke that villain's arm." Tsuyu croaked matter-of-factly.
My eyes widened, my breath catching in my throat after hearing Tsuyu. A vague memory of anger stirred within the depths of my mind, and Tomura's red eyes flashed across my consciousness. Had I really done that much damage to a villain? Shouto gave a soft 'hn' noise of agreement, casting his mismatched eyes toward my father, who was still sitting silently by my bed.
"What do you think, Father-san?" Shouto said, his tone mildly taunting.
My father met his gaze, not bothering to conceal his annoyed glare. He sighed, stiffening as he straightened his body in his seat before answering.
"I think that Daichi displayed exemplary skills as a hero-in-training," he said at last, being careful to keep his tone neutral. "However, right now she has very little memory of what she did. She likely needs to rest just a little longer,"
"Ah… We should have asked before coming here, I suppose…" Ochaco mused, a finger poking her chin.
"Our apologies, Aizawa-sensei," Tenya said, bowing to my father.
My father nodded blandly, seeming resigned to sitting silently at my bedside until my friends cleared out. The group slowly made their way towards the door, pausing in the doorframe after realizing that Shouto had not followed them. He was still at my bedside, though he had moved closer to the bedside table. In his hands Shouto clutched a small glass bottle, which he placed gently on the tabletop before turning and following the rest of the group.
"It's candied ginger," he murmured, fingers tugging the door closed behind him. "You usually feel nauseous after fighting… I've heard it's good for nausea."
The door slid shut, leaving myself, my father, and the ginger alone in the room once more. I small smile tugged at my lips, my blue eyes glancing downward and staring gleefully at the small bottle of candied ginger.
I reached for it, picking it up carefully before unscrewing the cap and plucking a strip of the ginger out from the bottle. The subtle spice of candied ginger soon filled my mouth; I took a swig of water, swishing it around in my mouth, enjoying the mixture of cool water and hot ginger.
My father remained stony faced.
I was kept out of school for three more days, although I was released from Recovery Girl's care almost immediately after waking up. My father kept a close watch on me- it seemed that wherever I went in the house, if he was not at the school teaching, he was my shadow.
Congee was on the menu morning, noon, and night. The taste of ginger refused to leave my mouth, and every evening my father cornered me and thrust a thermometer into my hands. My temperature remained a constant, even, one hundred degrees.
By the third afternoon of this behavior I had grown weary of all of it. The constant ginger smell that filled our home, my lack of training, the feel of a thermometer prodding at the underside of my tongue. Most of all, I resented my father's silence; the mental image of the stack of papers by my recovery bed had filled my mind since that day, but my father had yet to discuss their contents with me.
From the living room couch I heard the click of the front door, followed by a creak as my father opened it, having returned from teaching. I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him sharply as he made his way through the house, making a beeline for the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Bandages still covered every inch of his body, and I wondered vaguely how many times a day he had to change his bandages. It seemed like a pain in the ass, though my sympathy for him was dulled by the fact that my father had behaved like a human bandage to me for the last several days. As such, he had become a huge pain in my ass.
"I was thinking about training today, papa."
My voice, forcefully resolute, broke through the silence between my father and I. I heard him swallow his water, which told me that I had put him on edge; a soft tap indicated that he had replaced his glass on the countertop. I felt his eyes boring holes into me, but I did not take my eyes off of the picture of my mother. I stayed planted firmly on the couch, not moving a muscle.
"You can come with me, if you like."
My father remained quiet, much to my annoyance. Still refusing to turn my head and look at him, I made vague mental guesses about what he was doing in the kitchen. Loud clacking noises and the sound of liquid hitting something met my ears. It stayed like this for ten minutes; my father saying absolutely nothing, me doing the same completely out of spite. At last my father came into view, a steaming bowl of congee in his hands, which he placed on the coffee table in front of me.
"Eat." he commanded blandly through his bandages. "You're not going out today."
"What?"
"You heard me,"
"Why not?" I countered, standing up to face him. He said nothing. "You can't just keep me in here- I'm healed, I'm bored, and the sports festival is-"
"You won't be participating in that." he said resolutely. My heart stopped, and my protests caught in my throat. "Now, eat your food… Don't forget to take your temperature before-"
My father's words were cut short when I slammed my palm into the side of the congee bowl on the tabletop. A loud slapping sound hit my ears, and the clay bowl of steaming rice porridge was sent flying at the wall. A loud smash from my left told me that it had broken; thick splats indicated that the porridge was dripping down the wall and landing on the floor. I was glaring heatedly at my father, my mouth pursed in a tight frown.
"Daichi… Clean tha-"
"What the hell!" I screamed, cutting off my father's words. I felt my armpits begin to prickle with sweat, but I ignored my increasing body temperature. "Why are you acting like this? Are you trying to take me out of school?"
"I haven't made that decision, yet," my father answered. My face contorted into further anger.
"So you're thinking about it?" I hissed, outraged. My father nodded.
"What happened in the USJ-"
"Seems to me I totally saved your butt, from what I've heard!" I retorted. My father scoffed. "You got beaten to a pulp and your daughter totally saved your ass-!"
"Daichi." His voice was darker, now, more stern. I had clearly struck a nerve. "Don't let things like that go to your head. As your father, and as your teacher, I know what's best for-"
"Ooooo~" I spat mockingly, making sarcastic jazzhands. "As my father and my teacher you know what's best~" I spoke with a lisp, abandoning my shame and focussing only on mocking him. "Are you kidding me, papa? Don't act like you've got my best interests at heart when all you're doing is basically holding me hostage in my own home!"
"Don't be so dramatic," my father snapped back quickly. My frown deepened. "I need to observe you closely, now, before I can come to a decision about how best to proceed."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you need to observe me so closely?" I clarified, though I did not disguise my annoyance for having to state the painfully obvious. "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot? You're treating me like I'm a sick person- all I've eaten for three days is congee. Honestly, I'm shocked I haven't started pooping rice porridge!" My father rolled his eyes, but I gave him to time to retort.
"I'm sick of ginger, I'm sick of thermometers, and I am absolutely sick of you!"
My chest heaved with the strength of my convictions. My father watched me placidly from his place on the other side of the coffee table, assessing my anger and making some sort of mental calculation about how best to proceed from this point. His calm, analyzing demeanor only angered me more, though I was not sure of what else to say on the matter. The rice and ginger disaster I had made on the wall, I figured, was an adequate portrayal of my current feelings on the situation.
"I should have figured this would happen, I suppose…" My father's voice was tired, with a hint of disappointment, though I felt little sympathy for him. He let out a heavy sigh. "If I told you to go to your room right now, would you?"
"No way." I answered stiffly. He nodded; he looked annoyed.
"I thought as much…"
Silence blanketed us once again, neither of us very willing to budge on our defenses. My father was gazing off into some nondescript corner of the house, clearly pondering something. My fierce blue eyes were fixated on him, refusing to move until I got what I wanted, or until I got some kind of explanation.
"I want to know about those papers, papa." I said at last. His eyes met mine. "The ones you wouldn't let me see in the infirmary."
"What about them?" he asked sourly.
"Exactly: What about them?"
My father sighed, turning towards the kitchen and shuffling away from the living room. I paused, becoming briefly flustered by having been left alone. Much to my relief, he returned a few minutes later; he clutched the stack of papers in his bandaged fingers, the bright white sheets held together by a large paper clip.
"These papers?" he asked casually. My eyebrow twitched, unable to conceal my annoyance.
"Yes, those papers, papa." I answered stiffly. "Why wouldn't you let me see them before?"
"I was waiting until I had thought of how to address the situation best…" he muttered, glancing at the front of the papers briefly. His expression was an odd mix of helplessness and annoyance. "Unfortunately, even after three days of mulling it over I haven't been able to think of a good way to talk about it."
"Papa," I said, softly but sternly. "Please just get to the point… What are you hiding?"
The stack of papers hit the top of the coffee table with a soft slap, the paper clip clicking against the wooden table top as it landed. The front page somewhat resembled an intake form, the type one fills out when they go to the hospital. At the top I could read my name, though the farther down my eyes traveled, the more difficult it became to read. I glanced back up at my father, who was staring at the papers as though they had wronged him in some way.
"What is this?" I whispered. My father sighed, again.
"These are the results of some blood work that I had done for you while you were asleep." he admitted. His rigid posture and avoidance of eye contact told me that he felt guilty. "After these results came back, I had similar tests done on your sweat, spit, and your urine."
"Gross." I muttered, shooting a glare at the papers. "Why'd you do that?"
"Something that you did when you were fighting with the villain Tomura," my father explained, his voice strained but calm.
"Oh… Yeah, Tsuyu said I broke his arm?" I mused, glancing off into space as I recalled our brief interaction. "What's so strange about that- just that I was able to hold my own?"
"It wasn't what you did, Daichi, it was how you did it." he said sternly. I blinked at him quizzically, displaying my confusion. "Watching you fight, I saw you control a number of things that- if your Quirk was truly what we thought it was- you should not have been able to control."
"Such as…?" I was working very hard to keep my voice calm, though upon hearing the shaking I painfully aware that I was doing a terrible job.
"A number of things." my father began slowly. "You controlled glass… Metal… Blood…" My breath caught in my throat, and my father's eyes at last made their way to mine. "The blood was what surprised me the most."
"I… I don't remember doing that…" I whispered. I tore my eyes away from my father's, staring at the stack of papers once again. "What do… What do those say?"
"To some degree, they tell me the true nature of your Quirk."
"You had my Quirk factor analyzed?"
"That's right." he said, voice drawn, body stiff. I had never seen my father look so uncomfortable. "The testing of other bodily fluids was just to work out a theory."
"What's your theory, exactly?" I breathed. If the house had not been so quiet, I would bet my voice would not have been heard, at all.
"Your Quirk, I think, is not earth manipulation. Rather, it's pure manipulation."
"What does that mean?" I replied nervously. "And why did you have to test all of this to figure that out?"
"When I say pure manipulation, I mean exactly that." he said calmly. Realizing that I was not eager to read the papers myself, my father picked them back up. "I'm not saying that it's limitless- no Quirk can be limitless. But, to some degree, you have the ability to control almost anything."
"Why do you sound so scared when you say that?" I whispered darkly. My father averted his eyes.
"These tests tell me how the hell a Quirk like that is possible," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "That's what worries me."
I reclaimed my seat on the couch, my knees suddenly feeling dangerously wobbly. My father came around to the other side of the coffee table, seating himself on top of it, across from me. Neither one of us could look at each other in the eyes.
"It seems that your Quirk, for the most part, behaves exactly like a virus does." I contorted my face in thought, still staring at the ground. "Your Quirk factor copies itself in your cells, and disperses itself out into the air through a number of ways- I assume mainly sweat, and pheromones."
"... And that's how I can control things, then?" I asked quietly.
"When your Quirk gets into the open air I assume it's able to infiltrate anything that's even slightly porous." my father explained, clearing his throat and running his eyes over the papers once again. "Unlike a real virus, it can infect non-living things, too."
"Please don't say infect," I muttered. "It makes me uncomfortable." My father made no reply to this, and instead barreled on with his explanation.
"I think that rocks are what came easiest for you because they're non-living, and they're very porous." he continued. "Unfortunately, it seems that your Quirk almost has a will of its own- similar to Tokoyami's Dark Shadow."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that your own body could, potentially, be subject to your Quirk's manipulation." When I did not display the appropriate reaction, my father supplied further clarification. "Your Quirk could take over your body, Daichi."
A panicked numbness spread through my body, giving me the strange sensation that I was being submerged in freezing cold water. A ringing filled my ears, my breath stuck in my throat. My mind searched my body, as though I expected to stumble upon some foreign entity within me. My Quirk lurked within me- watching, waiting- and I had been completely unaware that I had been using a power that had the ability to take my life from me.
"Is that why I can't really remember what happened in the USJ?" I asked softly, finally speaking up. I was still having trouble feeling my body. "Is that why I was able to do so much damage to Tomura? My Quirk… It was controlling me…?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Why has that never happened before?" I was doing my very best to remain calm. Now was not the time for a tantrum, or to panic… I needed to know everything my father knew.
"The interesting thing is that it seems that your body naturally produces antibodies that help you stay out of your Quirk's control," he began, glancing at the papers again. "The increase in your body temperature is a fever- your body is fighting your Quirk like it would fight any other sickness."
"Then why did it control me this time?"
"I think the injury from Tomura sent your body into shock." my father explained. His eyes darkened when he said Tomura's name; I could tell he now harbored a grudge. "When that happened, your immune system became compromised- your defenses went down. I think, in a situation like that, your Quirk could easily take hold of you…"
My father jolted slightly as I stood up, the swift motion taking him by surprise. My hands were balled into fists, my teeth were clenched. A strange paranoia was threatening to take hold in my mind; I was suddenly possessed with a hyper awareness that at every moment my Quirk had the ability to control me, and at last I voiced the concern that had been plaguing me for the entirety of our conversation.
"C… Can I…" I was choking on my own spit, stumbling over my words. "Can I control other people, papa?" My voice was a harsh whisper. My father looked up at me from the coffee table, his eyes filled with a sadness I rarely saw.
"I don't doubt it." he answered. I pursed my lips. "The thing is, other people don't have those antibodies like you do, Daichi…"
I breathed in sharply, realizing quickly where he was going with this. I had learned of something similar in a history class long ago… About how American pilgrims gave blankets infected with smallpox to Native American Indians.
"I think that, if you were to control another person for too long… I think that you would very likely kill them."
And then I was running. The door slammed behind me loudly, muffling the panicked calls of my father, who I had left behind in the living room. I sprinted across the UA campus, ignoring the pains in my bare feet as they scraped across the sharp pavement. My mind was filled with confusion, panic, anger and betrayal. Could one be betrayed by their own Quirk? I wondered vaguely if any other person had ever had to experience such a thing before…
After several minutes I stopped running. My brief stint of house arrest had weakened me, my breathing embarrassingly labored after only a short period of running. My light orange hair stuck to my face, sweat dripping down my neck. I wiped it away, glaring bitterly at the moisture on my fingers as I considered how much power of 'manipulation' was contained in those salty drops of sweat. I wiped my hand off angrily, smearing my sweat on my track pants.
"Why is this happening…"
I breathed heavily, pressing my back against the side of the building and sliding down the brick wall. I held my face in my hands, periodically hitting myself in the face in an attempt to quell the tears that had begun to spill down my cheeks. I felt overwhelmed with resent for my own being. Even these tears, something that should be an innocent, personal action, was a dangerous act; each tear drop contained the ability to manipulate someone else against their will. I felt sick.
"... Oi…"
The sudden greeting shocked me out of my shameful thought spiral. I blinked, attempting to rid my eyes of tears before looking up at whoever it was that I had joined me. I felt my heart skip a beat, suddenly feeling very unnerved by the presence of another person. Whoever it was, it was someone that I could completely rob of their agency- of their life- if I wasn't careful enough. I sighed, wiping the tears away sloppily before meeting their eyes.
The person before was someone that I had never seen before. His wild purple hair stuck out in every direction, giving him the appearance of some kind of mad scientist. His eyes, which looked remarkably tired, matched his hair in color, though the dark circles beneath them detracted from their color. His hands were stuffed lazily in the pockets of his track pants, his plain white t shirt bunching above his wrists. He was sweaty, indicating to me that he had stayed after hours to use the UA training facilities. We locked eyes, and he shot me an expression that fell somewhere between confusion and disappointment.
"You're crying?" the person scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you from class 1-A? How embarrassing…"
Hello again!
as usual, thank you to everyone who read, favorite, followed, and reviewed. all of your words of support are very appreciated and help me very much in my writing! to everyone who has offered their compliments and words of support, it means so much! please don't hesitate to let me know what you think- I'm sorry for the lack of action in this chapter. Honestly it was difficult to get through for me but I knew I needed a chapter of explanation to get over the hump and move into the arc of the sports festival! rest assured not all has been revealed and Daichi has a long way to go if she's going to be able to compete competently in the festival~
thanks again and as always, leave a review and let me know what you think!
Shi-chan
