They found Aizawa nestled in a large chair. An array of thirty screens covered the wall, each streaming the training grounds from different angles. Beside him was a small table and several ancient stools. Izuku swiped off dried-out leather flakes and took a seat. Midnight, Kirishima, and Uraraka joined him.
Without glancing their way, Aizawa kicked a case of water out from under his desk and Midnight passed them out. Old computers whirred and hummed just out of sight.
"So," Midnight chirped, unscrewing Izuku's cap for him, "any ideas?"
Izuku shook his head, thinking of the countless pages he'd filled brainstorming. Nothing ever felt… right. The names he felt the strongest for were absolutely off limits. He took a long swig. The unfurnished building had little in ways of AC, but that wasn't why he sweated.
Uraraka and Kirishima's eyes were heavy on him. He coughed into his fist.
"I-I haven't thought about it since I was little. Before… y'know, I suppose."
Midnight nodded, her teacher persona brightening behind her eyes like an invisible hand-crank.
"Well then, while everyone has their think, let's go over some things," Midnight said. She cleared her throat and straightened. "A student's first hero name, while impermanent, often accidentally sticks. Thus, even for a week-long work study, a student must remember three core tenets. One: The name must reflect you.
"Whether that reflects your unique visage, strong morals, hopes and dreams, or your behavior, that depends on you. Everyone's identity leans towards one more than the others. However, therein lies the trap many students fall into—they name themselves after their gimmick. To debase yourself is to disrespect yourself, and if you don't respect yourself, no one will.
"Two: The name must be memorable. Some students name themselves after tools, others actions, and others entire ideas. While there's no character limit per say, very few heroes named after whole sentences ever climb the ladder. And, even if popularity isn't your goal, reciting Shakespeare mid-battle has killed more than one person.
"Finally, three: Christening a new hero is like naming a newborn. You are not naming a student, you are naming a pillar of the community who slaves day and night to the country's well being. In school, I knew a man who went by Rookie because he spent his school years treating his internships like revolving doors. He was never "not" the new guy on any team he fought with—thus, Rookie. Then he graduated, and started his own agency with everything he learned, but even as the boss, he was still the Rookie. Babies may be cute and helpless, but they're named for the functional adults they become, not the pudgy blobs they are."
Izuku blinked. As Midnight's speech crawled to a close, it dawned on him that it must've been her typical spiel. Red-faced and short on breath, she collapsed into her stool as though abandoning a great weight. If not for the amputation, he might've clapped.
"That seems… rather complicated. Shouldn't you have told everyone before setting them loose?" Kirishima asked, glancing at the screen array.
By the cameras, it seemed 1A broke into smaller groups. Some students sparred, others raced, and still more simply loitered, freely using their quirks in small ways. They spoke, but the feeds were silent. No one, however, seemed to make any progress.
"No," Aizawa answered. "Allowing them free reign will give them a fundamentally different perspective, and later, when it's their turn, they'll have a foundation we can sculpt. Let me emphasize that Kayama's speech is for students on a deadline—and you're on the tightest one. There will be no take-backs. 1A won't see field action for potentially another year, while you're heading out in just a few weeks. Whatever you pick tomorrow, you may as well pick for life."
Uraraka turned her head to Izuku in slow motion.
"...And you have no ideas?"
Carefully, he shook his head.
"...That sucks."
Kirishima filled the silence by drumming his fingers. He glanced around, still uncomfortable, but something in his expression settled. With a deep breath, he sighed.
"I know what I wanna be called," Kirishima said, chewing on his cheek. "It, uh, seems like it hits all the marks, but I don't think it'd be very helpful for… reasons."
"Please, share it anyways," Izuku asked.
Kirishima fidgeted, but acquiesced.
"...I've wanted to call myself Red Riot since forever," Kirishima said. "I always adored Crimson Riot, and my dad used to call me Red when I was a kid. Crimson's always been underrated, and way cooler than most mid-listers, and…"
He realized he was rambling, and promptly paused. His cheeks brightened.
"W-well," he continued, after a beat, "I've always felt inspired by his undefeatable attitude. I want to emulate everything great about him, and honor both the man and the impact he had on me—so I'm "Red Riot." But I understand why you might not feel the same, Midoriya."
"...That's very good, Kirishima," Midnight said. "I like the name. Thanks for sharing. And Uraraka?"
She flinched, surprised.
"Me? Uh, I'm not as confident in my name, but I've been workshopping… Uravity, for a while. I-I think it's kinda cute? Mixes my name and my power," Uraraka said. She cupped her hearing aid as she spoke. "How Izuku could do that, I don't know. Your quirk is way more complicated than Zero Gravity."
Midnight hummed in approval. Aizawa's mouse clicked as he reorganized the streams; Izuku wasn't positive he was paying attention.
"I lean towards Uraraka's methodology," Midnight said. "Although I try to keep my personal life as separate as possible. "Midnight" may seem out of place given my powers and persona, but it's exactly what you see when my quirk takes full effect. It also has a darkly feminine connotation, and I like to lean on that. It took almost four years to settle on that."
Izuku wished he brought a notepad, or even his phone. He tried to commit their insights to memory, but his mind was fogging up with details and concepts. It felt a shame to waste their good points—
"—Ack!" Izuku spat, as an old notepad bonked his head. As it clattered on the table, he glared at the culprit—an Aizawa who hadn't even turned before chucking it. Where he pulled it from, he didn't know. When Aizawa also flicked a pencil over his shoulder, Izuku was sure to catch it.
Ignoring Midnight's snicker, he jotted down what seemed important.
"Three tenets… inspiration from older heroes, mixing my name and powers…" Izuku murmured. He spared Midnight a look. "...Darkly feminine connotation. Okay. What about you, Mr. Aizawa?"
"Don't care."
"Um, sorry?"
He peered over his shoulder and held Izuku's eyes. Something cold crawled down his spine, and he wasn't sure if it was Erasure or instinct. Aizawa didn't elaborate.
Returning to the notepad, he tapped the eraser end.
Inspiration, quirk, name… and a darkly feminine connotation. He decided not to take the last part literally. A Hero Name was something more than himself; it was shorthand for everything he was. When people saw him, whatever name he decided on would be their first thought; but the reverse was also true—when his name crossed their mind, his deeds and face would follow. They were intertwined; and here, in the planning stage, everything revolved around what he wanted. However…
When he was small, all he wanted to be was All Might.
Putting a smile on everyone's face was his goal. Saving people was his calling. Undefeatable, unbreakable. That's the man—the thing—he wanted to be.
…Yet he knew better than anyone how fallible All Might was. Yet he also knew it wasn't due to flaws, but circumstance.
He glanced at his peers. They snapped their heads away, poorly hiding their stares. His reveal was still fresh, and he wondered whether their respectful gesture in the classroom reflected their true feelings or their immediate reactions. Given enough time, would they turn to blame him?
Izuku shook his head. These kinds of tangents would only weaken his focus further. Inspiration. Quirk. Name. Darkly feminine connotations, and the three tenets. He must stay focused.
[x]
"Ribbit," Tsuyu said, as she noticed Toru's torso shimmer into reality. Toru squeaked and spun around, but found nothing. "Yo. Up here, Toru."
The military-grade stealth equipment bent backwards as Toru looked up.
"H-hey! You scared the crap out of me!" Toru said, barely hiding her whine. "That wasn't very nice."
Tsuyu shrugged. In her opinion, it wasn't very mean, either.
"My bad. How's the quest comin'?"
Toru's outfit fidgeted. Tsuyu couldn't divine why she looked so uncomfortable.
"Can you ask me again when you're not clinging to the wall? The sun is in my eyes."
Oh, Tsuyu thought. Flexing her extremities, she broke the air-tight seals that enabled her to stick to the wall. Toru yelped as she fell three stories, but Tsuyu hardly felt the impact on her knees. She'd fallen farther.
A low whistle sounded behind Tsuyu as she popped up. Shinso leaned against a lamppost, slow-clapping.
"Now that's what we're here for!" He said, glancing between her and the floor she'd jumped. "Quirk-recess must be fun for you, Tsu, since you get to run and jump and do whatever you want. With my quirk, though, this is just an uncomfortable stroll. This fake city gives me the creeps."
Tsuyu glanced at Toru, then overhead. With the beating sun, Toru could probably charge a few light beams, but in general, she was in the same boat as Shinso. Given free reign, there was little in her quirk to abuse.
"You want to enslave me for a bit?" Tsuyu asked Shinso. The procedure wouldn't bother her. "It would be a shame to waste this freedom just because the exercise doesn't fit your ability."
Shinso's applause froze half-way through the motion. He blinked at her, dumbstruck, as a tinge of pink crept over his cheeks.
"U-uh, thanks but no thanks. R-regardless, the point of this freedom is to enable our creativity, right? Well, my brainwashing usually renders people incognizant. You can't exactly brainstorm while brainwashed."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I chose my hero name already. Enslave me whenever you want," Tsuyu said, tacking on the last bit just for fun. Shinso's already pink cheeks darkened. She smiled.
"W-w-wait," Toru stuttered, "you're ready to decide already?"
"No. My little sister called me "Froppy." Now I'm Froppy. There's nothing to decide," Tsuyu replied. "Ribbit."
"Aw man…" Toru mumbled, squeezing both fists against her chest. "That's adorable! Your sister's a friggin' genius… I got absolutely nothing."
Shinso tweaked his head.
"But you're invisible. Surely that's good enough, yeah?"
"Sure, but like…"
Translucent, fingerless gloves covered where her face might've been. It might've been bashful, if Tsuyu could see her..
"...But you're invisible."
"I know I'm invisible! That's the problem! No play on words, no puns, no references—I'm just so plain…"
Shinso and Tsuyu's eyes met. Tsuyu didn't know much about hero names, but she was positive that "being invisible" needed no crutch. It was one of the classic powers. Had she never been on the internet before?
It didn't make sense. The girl had a strong sense of fashion and a powerful personality—but she couldn't think of a simple hero name?
"Stealth," Shinso offered, after a pause. Ideas whirled behind his eyes. "Translucent, Opaque, Light, Shadow, Mirror, Mystery, Complexion, Ghost, Camouflage, Cryptic, Incon—"
"Invisible Girl," Tsuyu said, cutting the purple-haired boy off. "Worst case scenario: just call yourself Invisible Girl."
"Oh my gosh, you're so right!" Toru said, crushing Tsuyu in a hug. "Thank you, genius must run in the family!"
"Ribbit," Tsuyu croaked.
Shinso looked so offended, it nearly made her laugh. To placate him, she apologized.
"I suppose some people's strengths lie entirely inside motifs, while others lie outside. What clever thing have you designed, Shinso?" She asked.
His offense regressed into a blank expression.
"I dunno. My name is already Shinso, so I think I'll just stick with that for now. Making up a whole new name seems like a pain for everyone."
Tsuyu frowned, and considered both her peers. How could two such creative people disappoint her so much?
…Then again, she hadn't put a lick of thought into naming herself either. If she was Midoriya, she'd be mighty disappointed in them.
"Shinso," she said. "That's a terrible name. Why not enslave me and think about how that makes you feel, and work off that."
His expressionless facade crumbled as his face flushed.
"P-please stop offering like that…"
[x]
"Names, names, names…" Shiozaki muttered. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture all her favorite heroes. Fleeting ideas passed; All Might, Best Jeanist, Stars and Stripes, St. Patrick—
She shot up and blinked away the harsh sun. U.A, grape juice, sentai fighters, wheatfields. With all her fervor, she crammed as many concepts between her ears as possible, and prayed they would wash away that last name from her mind.
Edgeshot, Cementoss, Joan of Arc—
"Goddamn it!" Shiozaki said, then slapped a hand over her mouth. She glanced around, wary of anyone catching her using the Lord's name in vain, but there was no one.
In a far corner of the training grounds, Shiozaki sequestered herself amongst her vines. She sat in the middle of a roof, and let her hair grow. They curled under her, shaping a living bed, and spread out to dangle off the roof in every direction. It was a natural phenomenon. Not a spec of the original rooftop was visible, but not a single vine superseded or grew across another—her hair naturally positioned itself to absorb every photon of sunlight. Better cable management was unknown in nature.
She was a one-woman solar farm.
Nourishing photosynthesis crept into her scalp every second. Her entire body boiled. She figured her temperature was much higher than any average fever; but she didn't feel the least bit fatigued—on the other hand, she felt energized. Perhaps too much so.
Any fugue she normally dealt with disappeared. Her mind felt pushed to its apex, where thoughts and feelings came sprinting when they might've otherwise shuffled.
At first, it was fun. The world felt like she'd taken off a veil she'd worn all her life. Freedom—clarity—was liberating in a way that made her swoon, and in all honesty, with her inhibitions and distractions cast aside, she finally understood the appeal of beer.
Shiozaki was drunk on power, but she knew better. This exercise—and granting of trust—was for cultivating ideas. Her feelings on Midoriya at the moment were a frenzied mix, but ultimately, he was a good man and deserved her help. She wouldn't hold anything back, and that was when her problems began.
The second she tried thinking of a hero name, a veritable tsunami of tangled concepts bludgeoned the back of her skull. Nourishing sunlight fueled countless calculations. Every tidbit of information she'd ever learned overwhelmed her.
Iconography, functionality, inspiration, popularity, raw presence—her brain saw it all, and fed her curiosity as though her conscience was a gaping chasm, capable of taking it all. Her overcharged mind saw the whole picture, but solidifying any one idea was like sculpting water.
And, with the barest misguided droplet, a stain filled the whole volume.
Midnight, Kamui Woods, St. Peter.
—María, Mother Teresa, Pope Gregory—
Shiozaki screamed in frustration, and then again in embarrassment. She tried to pry them apart in her mind, but it was impossible. Her entire life, she was fed to bursting with idols. Heroes in the city, saints in the scripts—it didn't matter; she knew all the good men, distant in space or time regardless.
They refused to give her peace. Had she been a year younger, or even a month removed from the USJ, she might've followed the path of least resistance. If her mind followed martyrs, then that would simply be her destination.
However, she wasn't a year younger. She was on the other side of the USJ, and she'd made it by the skin of her teeth. So why? Why wouldn't her mind take her somewhere new? Somewhere exciting, or interesting, or impressive—any place virtuous was fine by her, just so long as that virtue wasn't guided by scripture.
To help Midoriya, she couldn't take the easy route. She needed to think.
Another wave of ideas crashed against her shores, but this time, she took hold of it. Most slipped between her fingers and drew back out to sea—but what she retained, she treasured.
Shiozaki pictured herself amongst the greats and the famous. She saw herself shoulder to shoulder with picturesque heroines and heroes alike, with stature beyond her height or build. It was her at her best, her most beautiful, her most cultured and virtuous. Shoulder to shoulder with the best, how would they address her?
One of them turned and addressed her, the shape of their mouth quirked. Shiozaki tried to read their lips and failed.
The illusion faded away and Shiozaki found herself back on the roof, head swimming.
Vines, her deeds, her image, her behavior—she told herself that somewhere, there was a perfect name mixing them all. She told herself with enough time, she could find it. She told herself that nothing else mattered.
Shiozaki buried herself in calculation, hardly even noticing how her own vines coiled and cocooned her.
[x]
A wall of heat nearly knocked Jirou flat. Gagging, she turned and waved Kaminari away.
"Not this one–ack! That's hot, man," she said, slamming the door closed. The noxious aroma of burning asphalt lingered, even after putting the door between her and the source. Instead, she suffered the sun and its scorching rays.
Kaminari's sneaker scraped the curb as he wilted.
"...I'm dying… Clouds, please come back… Too hot…"
He looked like a forgotten popsicle. Half-melted and pathetic, she couldn't help but pity how his leather jacket must've boiled under the beating sun—especially since she was in the same boat.
In her off hand, she held her jacket via a rubber loop under the nape. If Jirou held it by the leather, she was afraid she'd burn away her fingerprints. It absorbed heat like nothing.
They'd spent half their allotted hour trying to find shade, but neither wanted to just sit in an alleyway. Jirou felt like a solicitor, going door to door and searching for the perfect building. She was confident they'd find a suitable one, but reality dashed her hopes.
Half the buildings were ovens. Something about Cementoss's concrete seemed to drink in UV, heating everything a magnitude beyond the norm.
She wrinkled her nose as her shirt stuck to her. At a glance, it could've been a T-shirt, but nowadays, the material was thick enough to ward away blades. It, like the cement ovens, cooked her alive.
"Surely… hah…" Jirou said, panting, "the next will be good…"
Kaminari just tugged at his collar, eyes dull; he looked half as stupid as his quirk often made him. They trudged towards the next building.
A short staircase led to the entrance; no more than five steps. Jirou glanced at Kaminari. He didn't even blink. With a long-suffering sigh, she set her shoulders and attempted the perilous journey.
Reaching the doorknob took everything she had. Her quads protested. Her dampened spirits complained. Her hope—wherever that might've disappeared to—didn't show face. All her efforts traced themselves back to one simple desire:
Not letting Kaminari get heat stroke.
Yet, even as she turned the door knob and braced herself, she didn't believe for a second that they'd finally found the one. The nondescript building was no different from any other. The city already scorned her enough.
The door creaked open.
"Kaminari," she said. The boy continued staring off into space. "Kaminari!"
"Huh?"
Jirou collapsed face-first inside. The second her cheek met the cool concrete floor, it contorted into a smile, and she sighed.
Kaminari tripped over himself following her. She twisted just in time to see him belly flop right beside her. Deciphering whether his groan was from pain or satisfaction seemed impossible, so she focused her efforts on closing the door without standing.
Once they were finally alone inside, Jirou relaxed. Kaminari was still panting like a dog, but the temperature was unilaterally better to him inside than out. His flushed cheeks faded, and his expression edged towards competence rather than ignorance. She couldn't decide whether it was an upgrade or a downgrade.
After a good minute of cooling down, Kaminari finally gained the wherewithal to shrug off his leather. Jirou celebrated in silence. When he got stupid, it was nearly impossible to help it off him.
"Phew," he said, sitting up and letting his head fall against the wall. His amber eyes rolled towards her. "Thanks, uh, dude."
Jirou picked at her ankles. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the room.
"No problem… dude," she said. That last addition tasted bitter, and set her face in a frown. "Anyways… We're not leaving, are we?"
"Not until we gotta… So like, ten minutes? Let's savor it."
Jirou glanced at her watch.
"...Thirty minutes, actually. Guess it felt like longer."
"Imagine that," Kaminari said. He shifted into a more comfortable position and glanced around. "So… uh, what's the point of this again?"
"So you don't get heat stroke?"
"No, no, I mean, why are we even here? I kinda, possibly, might've… not have listened…"
Jirou blinked. He blinked back. She looked at the door for a good, hard second, but ultimately decided against standing him up.
So this was what she had to work with, huh? She resisted the urge to smack him silly; it was still too hot to lose her temper.
"We…" She began, carefully controlling her tone, "...are here because Midoriya is leaving 1A. When he goes to 1Z, he will immediately need a hero name. So, we're here to brainstorm names for ourselves and then give him feedback; the teachers organized it like a good-bye gift."
"Oh, word."
Another exercise of patience. A higher power was testing her, and she was not pleased.
"...Word?"
Kaminari perked up.
"Yeah! So we just gotta think of a name? We can totally do that. What kind of names have you been thinking about?"
Jirou's eyes widened.
"W-well, uh—"
"Me personally, I got lucky. My quirk is totally pliable; anything electric is usually a lay up. I just gotta choose a cool lightning synonym and adlib somethin'."
"I-I…"
"Choosing them is totally tough, but Thunder, Lightning, Static… Heck, even Plasma kinda works. To be honest, though, I've got my heart set on Bolt. Something Bolt—or Bolt something. Still not sure. What about you, Ji?"
He tilted his head just so, watching her flounder. She hadn't expected him to yap her ear off, and for some reason, she didn't mind—which only confused her more.
Choking down her embarrassment, she cleared her throat.
"...You're right. Having a standard power is really lucky for naming yourself," Jirou said, twirling one of her ear jacks around her finger. "My diet-sized freak show is harder to work with."
She fiddled with the plug-like protrusion at the end. Technically, it was a conductive metal, mixing silver and copper, but the elemental blueprint was a bone-like carbon. It had durability akin to titanium, without the weight. Counting both ears, it was only six grams of material. Had she been born with more, she might've been something special—another Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, she supposed.
Instead, she just had weird ears.
Amber obliterated her introspection.
"E-excuse me?" Jirou asked, scrambling back. Without her notice, Kaminari had crawled off the wall and stopped mere inches short of her, his eyes pondering the same earlobe she'd invested in.
He stroked his chin as though he sported a grand beard, heedless of her glare.
"Wild… I've never really paid it much mind, but it really is identical to an audio cable, huh? Does it actually fit old phones or stereos?"
Slowly, she nodded.
"Just barely. I can fiddle with the frequency on radios, but not antique smartphones. I… I don't really think it matters, though. I'm not sure if my quirk is even worth naming myself after."
"That's just silly," Kaminari said, still miming facial hair. "Calling it unworthy is dramatic. Quirks are just another piece of the puzzle—do you want to be known by your ability? Gimmick? Ideals? Outfit? No, I doubt that. The best names are balanced around everything you are. So, who are you?"
Jirou just stared. To herself, she wondered if Kaminari was secretly wise.
"...Uh," Jirou stammered, fanning herself. "I-I guess I…"
She looked everywhere but his eyes.
"...I think I just want people to respect me…" Jirou said. Embarrassment roasted her cheeks. She twirled her earlobes. Had it not been a very relevant fact, she would've rather died than admit it. With Kaminari looking so earnest, however… "A-and I don't want to embarrass the punk scene with a stupid name. Something… cool, I guess, that fits my vibe."
Kaminari leaned back, and she could finally breathe easy. He continued stroking his non-existent beard, and Jirou slowly came to the decision that he was most certainly the antithesis to "secretly wise."
Still, his insight surprised her.
"So you want to impress punks? So what we need is a cool-sounding, non-conformist name that is both "in-yo-face" and tinted with a music motif."
"Say "in-yo-face" again and that's exactly where my fist will end up," Jirou said, but didn't disagree. Quietly, she nodded. "...But yeah."
Kaminari punched his palm. He rubbed his knuckles whilst looking off, steam coming out of his ears while he brainstormed.
Jirou flinched, realizing she was just staring. She'd waited for his response, or at least some verbal jab, but it became obvious that he was actually trying to help her.
To herself, she recalled what he'd said—something about using Bolt? That alone kinda fit Kaminari, in her opinion, but if he wanted something more…
""Hey,"" they said in unison, after a while. ""I got two!""
Their eyes met.
""Stop that,"" they said again. Then, ""you go first!""
Jirou snapped her mouth shut. Kaminari did the same. Was she on the same wavelength as the class dunce…? A shiver went down her spine.
Holding out a hand, she waved away whatever telepathic link connected them, then reached across the gap and covered his mouth.
"I'll go first, okay?" She asked. He nodded, her hand still choking him, and she sighed in relief. "Okay…"
Deep breaths.
"So, you've got your taser gun, and assuming you'll continue using it… you could go by "Bolt Action," Jirou said, pointing at Kaminari's hip. "It's not exactly electric or even very sci-fi… but it's cool enough. As for m-my second idea… well, it's "Chargebolt."
"Perfect. Awesome. Amazing," Kaminari said. The ghost of a smile crossed his face, but what struck Jirou as strange was how his eyes didn't waver whatsoever. "My turn?"
She nodded.
"Cool. So, my first idea was "Auxiliary," because it's multi-purpose and pretty. My second idea, though, and I think you'll like this one more, is "Earphone Jack," Kaminari said. "While Auxiliary might roll off the tongue, Earphone Jack jumps off. It has less syllables and more auditory presence. Really gives off a "pow!"
Then, his cheek lifted, showing off his pearly white canine.
"It's really in-yo-face!" Kaminari said, and laughed.
For some reason, she didn't hit him. Something uncomfortable but not quite unwelcome blossomed in her chest. To herself, she whispered his second idea.
"Earphone Jack…"
She took hold of her earlobe, turning one over in her hand.
"..."
Kaminari's cheeky grin shrank as he backpedaled.
"W-well, if I had more time, I could think of more stuff. You channel and amplify your heartbeat, right? I-I could… uh… How about Pulse Riff? Heart Stopper? Rhythm—"
"Quit with the dorky names, I love Earphone Jack. It's perfect."
His lips smacked closed as Jirou stood up and stretched.
"Word," he said. "I also really like Chargebolt."
Auxiliary was good too, she thought. If she was any prettier, it might've fit, but alas. She wondered what Kaminari must've been smoking to figure it was appropriate for her.
"Then we're done here, right? Should we head back?" Jirou asked, trying and failing to keep the pride out of her voice. Coming up with "Chargebolt" was her stroke of genius.
Kaminari glanced out a window.
"...We still have fifteen minutes, yeah?" He asked, before melting onto the cool concrete floor. "Which means we'd have to wait on everyone else for fifteen minutes, plus some more… What if we just… stayed?"
Jirou paced a circle around the room, mulling it over. She'd spent more than enough time with the electric dunderhead, in her opinion… but the sun was definitely too hot. With a final glance outside, she plopped herself beside Kaminari. Before she knew it, they fell into small talk.
It was easy. Almost nice. Maybe Kaminari wasn't the brightest, but it wasn't so bad. If for whatever reason he thought she was pretty enough for something like "Auxiliary," then she could excuse it.
[x]
AN: It's been a minute, so it's unfortunate that this chapter is just a tiny little thing, but that's life. The Elden Ring DLC stole like a week and a half of my life, so that, plus funeral prep, plus INSANE writer's block got me delayed a significant amount of time. Some of this chapter was written a sentence per DAY. The scale of my failure is bonkers lol.
Anyways, six more chapters. I'm kinda sad, but mostly I'm relieved. Six more feels so daunting, so I'm glad it's no longer seven, lol. Still need the perfect hero name, and on a meta level, apart of this mini arc is me working through that. No matter what I pick, it'll disappoint someone, so I can only hope to minimize that.
Oh, and I uploaded a Elden Ring one-shot on AO3, if you're interested-Mercury_Milkshakes. It's been recieved pretty well, but I was hoping for more comments.
review!~