Izuku leaned into the turn with his whole body, narrowly traversing the side-street shortcut. Pressing his knees together and planting an elbow on the right handlebar, he reached across the body frame to finger the buttons. The distance was a little longer than his forearm, but he didn't have a choice.
Barely reaching the closest button, a burst of green smoke exploded out behind his motorcycle. His speed didn't increase much—but it was enough. The side-street came to an abrupt end, but with his rocket-powered speed boost, he could jump the incoming gap and land on the second side-street. In the corner of his eye, he saw his bike arc over Setsuna's.
"Damn." Shoto said. Behind him, the boy made an obnoxious sucking noise on his empty drink. "You're smoking, Izu."
After making the gap, Izuku re-grasped the handlebar. The side-street became a far more narrow course after the jump, and he needed his whole attention to manage it. The first few times he tried it, he crashed. There were many obstacles encouraging power-up use, but without a left hand, tight, careful driving gave him a better shot..
If he crashed, he lost. He'd respawn on the main course, but far, far behind Setsuna. If he managed to pass each challenge, however, he'd make it far enough ahead that she'd never catch up.
Dodging and weaving between obstacles, walls, and narrow passages, Izuku felt comical. His aggressive turning and leaning on the arcade motorbikes was excessive. For once, however, he felt confident. He'd never quite beaten this track using this shortcut, but—
All of a sudden, the side-street widened. For a moment, Izuku relaxed, no longer feeling the pressure of the tight corridor's precision, but then his eyes settled ahead. Two doors. Milliseconds. He didn't have time to check the minimap in the corner—he couldn't know which was the optimal path, but that didn't matter. So long as he tried his best, he had a chance.
Swerving left, he felt his heart drop—it was a sheer cliff, and candescent light turned the pit a dull red. Right when his tires abandoned solid ground and his panic crescendoed, he resigned himself. He was going to respawn.
But then a bright purple path flickered to life—curvy and wavy and straight as a jungle river—before disappearing once more. It was a sheer cliff again, with no way of saving himself, yet he wasn't falling. Like staring into the sun for too long, the path invisible path burned into his retinas. With the whole confidence of a man about to lose, he veered right.. He couldn't be certain if he was still on the road or if he'd flown straight off, but that didn't matter. Izuku saw his path, knew it to be his only chance, and threw himself into it, no matter the obstacle.
Despite all the odds, Izuku's faith paid off. Seconds later, after eight close calls, his front wheel kissed solid ground and he returned to the race. The obstacles were a blur in his peripherals as he sped past them, curving into a dark tunnel. After all the tight driving, the cramped tube was nothing. In a flash, the darkness gave way to light and Izuku crossed the finish line.
He leaned back, smiling, satisfied with his victor—.
"Tie!" The robotic voice announced, and he couldn't help how his eyebrows shot to his forehead. Beside him, Setsuna swung a leg over the motorbike and slid off. She landed on the floor ungracefully—one of her knees buckled and her kneel only survived via a supporting arm. Her bangs glued to her forehead, matching her cheeks ruddy. He made to go help her, but she waved him off. Tilting her head back, he got his first good look at her eyes—and his heart skipped.
Swamp-green fire. Penultimate focus. Perhaps he was staring. She flicked his forehead.
"I've perfected the course, dude." She said, getting to her feet. "Don't think some hail-mary shortcut is gonna hand out a free win. That goes for you too, Shoto."
"One more race?" The machine asked, before either boy could respond.
She kicked the faux-motorbike's plastic back tire.
"Nah. That wiped me out, especially after today. I'm gonna grab some grub."
Izuku didn't follow. His eyes traced her path to the food desk, but his legs had long since turned to jelly. Beside him, Shoto sucked on his empty drink again, an eyebrow quirked.
"I don't get you."
"Huh?" Izuku turned, nearly missing what the boy said. "Don't get what?"
"You, as a general rule. And her, though not so much. I guess it's surreal. Having friends. Living our life. Seeing you guys… be like that."
"W-what? I—"
"It's not really my business. Well, it kind've is, since you guys are my friends. Still, I'm struggling to wrap my head around it. You both can box pros. She's in U.A.'s best course… and you're on your way. I just don't really get why you guys don't talk to each other about it. You're certainly capable of it."
Heat rushed to his cheeks. He looked anywhere but Shoto's face. An unwelcome weight settled in his gut.
"I… seriously, I don't know what you mean."
Shoto sucked on his obnoxious drink.
"Okay."
He turned away, then, and walked over to the booth they'd designated as their own. He pulled his backpack off the table as Setsuna joined him, setting down a tray of food.
It wasn't that he didn't want to go join them. He really did. Today had been stressful, and there was so much to talk about—but when he tried to walk over, he found his strength was still gone. That weight in his gut and his jelly legs worked together to strand him, alone but for the motorbikes..
Gnawing on the inside of his lip, he looked to the ceiling.
Izuku knew what Shoto was talking about. He felt it all the time. That his reality was contradictory; odd, even. Sometimes, when he zoomed out, it confused him, too. They really were quite a capable pair, in the grand scheme of things. Great students in a great school with great ambitions—yet the tension in the air was thick as butter.
This morning cemented that fact for him, and the race was the cherry on top. They were close—so close that physical touch was a barrier long-crossed. Hell, they'd held hands this morning—was that something normal friends did? He didn't think so. Despite their individual virtues, neither were capable of breaching the next gap, and it was his fault.
His arm felt like it was pushing through sludge as he hovered his palm before his eyes. Izuku turned it over, inspecting it. Calluses littered his hand. They hugged his knuckles, embraced his finger tips, and lathered his palm. Some were thicker than others, some were thinner, but all worked together to make a hard-feeling hand. A tough one.
It'd been a while since he'd seriously trained his martial arts… It was like Aizawa once said. He'd over-relied on his quirk, and forgotten to dedicate time to his body. Of course, he constantly conditioned, exercised, and trained, but training his body for his body and for his quirk were different things. What was the old adage? "You're only as strong as your weakest link?"
It rang true… yet as he considered how to rectify it, to make his tough hand even tougher, he felt his heart droop. Taking time to strengthen his base skills meant less time for One for All. Less time meant with One for All meant it would take more time to master, and the longer it took to master One for All…
His eyes drifted back to Shoto, and Setsuna beside him.
…The longer he would be incomplete.
Even now, he felt his throat constrict against his will, his tongue going dry. All he wanted to do, at this moment, was spill his guts to Setsuna. To get on his knees and tell her everything—to warn her, and Shoto too—about him. A shiver ran down his spine.
That tension, that undeniable gap between them… it was his fault. How could he spill his feelings when she didn't even know who he was? What he was? What he'll be, one day, and how he'll live his life? How could he ask for her absolute trust when he couldn't offer her an inch of truth?
He thought back to that magic a few days ago, when U.A. accepted him and she'd tackled him. Recalling the moment when he'd pulled her down to a hug… it was easy. That weightlessness, that sheer infinity in his chest… Izuku bit his lip and turned aside.
There must be something he could do. He couldn't live like this. Seeing her everyday. Feeling so spiritually close yet so intimately far away. If things kept going this way… he might explode.
He resolved to talk to Nighteye—or maybe Dr. Fujimaki… Or should he come clean with his mom? Gran Torino was older, so maybe he had some experience…
"What about me?" Five asked, manifesting beside him. Without a second thought, Izuku smothered the vestige's presence and sent him back to sleep.
"Like hell I'd ask you. You're a part of the freaking problem."
"...Midoriya?" Someone asked behind him. Still lost in thought, Izuku turned, half-expecting Shoto, but the sight of bright pink skin yanked him from his reverie.
"A-A-Ashido?"
His pink-haired classmate had a charming appearance. Smooth pink skin met an even pinker scalp, which founded the platform from which her small horns grew. She had raccoon-like eyes, with black sclera and golden irises—but he took it in stride. He knew people with stranger appearances.
He hadn't seen her since bumping into her in the crowd. But, even before then, he hadn't spoken to her. After the physical test, he hadn't spoken to many people… Yet deja vu still infused his body. He'd seen her before, in this very building.
"H-hey…" She said, looking anywhere but his eyes. "You… ah, you frequent here, right? I think I've seen you around…"
He nodded, blushing nearly as vibrantly as her natural skin. This felt very odd.
"Uh, yeah. I come here with… friends."
"Cool. I only really come by myself… anyways… I wanted to apologize."
As soon as Izuku heard any mention of an apology, he straightened. Before he could stop her, however, she bulldozed him.
"I know I wasn't the only one, but I've been feeling bad all day, and I just saw you and—I'm sorry. The whole test kinda spooked me. I didn't even realize your condition, and then that whole confrontation at the ball toss… It was really cool, man. I felt like I shoulda joined your little group afterwards. It felt super unheroic to just pretend like nothing happened. Sorry for avoiding you."
If Izuku wasn't quite at Ashido's level of pinkness before, he was now. He opened his mouth to dismiss her, to tell her it was okay—but only air came out. Trying again, he found the same to be true. After opening and closing his mouth like a fish, it occurred to him that he didn't want to dismiss it. Izuku appreciated the apology—no, he'd needed it.
He'd felt like shit all day, and it was in no small part due to his classmates avoiding him. Besides the four who'd stuck by him, 1A felt more like solitary confinement than a class.
Izuku granted her a smile. Holding out his fist, he motioned for a bump.
She gave him an odd look, like maybe his reaction was weird, but he was in too deep. Tapping knuckles, he pulled away and motioned towards his friends.
"It's no problem. You needed time to adjust—that's the reason I was wearing the fake in the first place. It just… ended up doing more harm than good. Ripping off my own arm probably turned more people away than you—but that's for me to deal with. But… you said you come here by yourself?"
Her eyes widened a fraction, and she nodded.
"Well, how about joining us?"
[x]
It felt odd, hopping onto the opposite train the next morning. He'd expected to always ride the north-bound train, which took him to U.A. He'd spent several hours over the last few days memorizing the route and optimizing it—but today, he threw that all out the window. He stepped off the station platform onto the west-bound train and found himself a comfortable seat.
It wasn't like he'd never been on this train, he thought, watching the station fall away through the window. Of course, most days, Nighteye personally took him to Shimisuka—but there were days when that simply wasn't possible. This train was familiar, by this point, but surreal. It felt wrong, to be honest, not heading straight to U.A. after all the effort to secure his spot there.
Still, he leaned into what little familiarity he had, and the commute passed by quickly enough. Arriving at Shimisuka also felt familiar, but surreal. Technically, according to Nedzu, Sasami, and an official looking envelope, he was a student at Shimisuka. He'd been coming here for years… yet today was the first time he was recognized in any official capacity.
His feet found Sasami's office with ease, and soon Izuku found himself surrounded by quite a few young adults. When Sasami, or he supposed now, Ms. Fujimaki stepped into the room, it felt almost normal—yet he reminded himself this wasn't his old norm, but a new one.
He didn't get a word in edgewise before the class actually started. All he got as acknowledgement was a heavy-handed wink and a thumbs up, and the ball started rolling.
Muscle-memory saved him here, as his mind began to drift. His notes were out in a jiffy, and already he was half-way through scribbling a line on the first page. It didn't take much brain power—technically, he'd already sat in on this exact lecture two weeks ago.
Izuku thought about U.A. then, and wondered what his friends were doing. Setsuna and Shoto were probably fighting for their lives, wrestling robots and sparring with Hawks and dodging blasts from the legendary Whirlwind. His peers were probably wrestling with math, if his original syllabus was accurate. Oh, how he'd love to learn from Ectoplasm right now…
His heels rubbed together with his nerves, his mind half-memorizing Ms. Fujimaki's lecture and half day-dreaming about pro heroes. He didn't exactly feel like he was missing out. The adults were correct: he really, really did not want to repeat classes he'd taken years ago—but that didn't mean he wasn't the smallest bit jealous. Learning directly from Present Mic? Sure, his English was fluent, but still… he loved Present Mic. He'd listen to the wild blond's lectures in a heartbeat. This whole Shimisuka situation was really sucking the novelty out of U.A.'s class structure.
Soon, however, those daydreams turned a bit sad. His peers might avoid him again, of course. Ashido had been kind enough to actually apologize, but her actions were not a reflection of the whole.
His heart drooped, imagining what his afternoon would look like. What if they didn't even look at him?
Some of them might never forgive him—or at least, never look at him the same. He understood that his… deficiencies came as a shock. On one hand, as a hero school, they should only expect the most physically apt students—so he could understand their surprise. On the other hand… they were hero students. Accepting everyone's shape and form was a part of the morality of heroics.
There was a wall between him and his peers now, and it scared him. He…
Izuku shook his head. Whatever happens, happens, and he'd deal with it then. He pushed aside all his worries, doubts, and fears for the moment and resettled into his chair. Every few minutes, Ms. Fujimaki would give him a long stare, and he didn't want to disappoint her with a half-assed note page. From now on, as a representative of U.A., he'd only be going Plus Ultra.
She wasn't the only one staring at him, however—there were half a dozen eyes on the back of his neck. Danger Sense didn't sense a thing, so he elected to ignore the attention—but he couldn't forget it entirely.
The lecture winded down to a close, and Izuku set down his pen. People were already filing out the door, but Izuku kept still.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Ms. Fujimaki asked, throwing him a quizzical look.
"I'm just—"
"I'm not your only teacher anymore, kiddo. C78 is your next class, I believe. Hurry along. Didn't you check your email? I had a digital syllabus arranged for you."
"Oh! Really!?" Izuku said, jumping to his feet. He fumbled for his phone—and found the exact email she spoke of. For a moment, he hovered, surprised at his own error, but then Sasami waved him away and he was out.
Thank god he spent time with Shoto exploring campus, otherwise he would've been late to his next class.
A warm feeling emerged in his gut as he hurried down the hall, accumulating every odd and confused glance one could. Izuku thought he would've been stuck with Ms. Fujimaki all morning, but that was silly. He was a student here, not just an apprentice. Of course he'd have other classes.
For the first time since elementary school, the accident, and One for All,Izuku stepped into a conventional classroom. There was no special treatment, no strange circumstances, no blindsiding physical fitness test—just advanced mathematics.
The modest experience relaxed him. He pushed through the awkwardness of being a highschooler in college, of being the lone lopsided-student, and the growing anxiety. Izuku simply enjoyed the novel experience of class. Pro hero teachers be damned, learning was learning, and he rather liked it.
[x]
Breathe in, breathe out.
His hand rested on the classroom door, each digit extended to their full length. He spent a small time listening to his classmates. Ashido was in there, chatting amicably with just about anyone. Kirishima was close to the door, speaking softly but with clear enthusiasm. Izuku couldn't quite make out who he was speaking with, but by their deep, frivolous cadence, he could only assume Tokoyami.
He leaned against the door, pressing his forehead above his hand. The commute over to U.A. from Shimisuka nearly broke him with anxiety, but now he was here, and all was quiet in his mind. Whereas on the commute, his mind was static and wild and electric and fear, here it became calm. It was not serene, however; more like the eye of the storm..
Izuku wanted to let it all go; the anxiety was a burden he'd rather abandon. He wanted to walk straight through the door, full of confidence and charm… but that would be lying, wouldn't it? Lying was the exact opposite thing he wanted to do, now.
After all, that was what he tried to do yesterday. To hype himself up, to emit a stronger front than he possessed. That, he now realized, was foolish.
He was confident, in reality. He believed in his skill and his ambitions—yet he faltered at a setback. It nearly broke him, back stepping… but he now realized that was reality. The way the world worked. Life was a game of push and pull, of unsteady progress—and all that mattered was his determination to take that unsteadiness and push through anyways.
So, he couldn't erase all his anxiety, but when he pulled back from the door, he allowed his true confidence to come through. Not one bolstered by a fake arm, but one born in the depths of Nighteye's training. One for All hummed in his fingertips as he grasped the doorknob and twisted.
The room dimmed with his entrance. For a brief, nauseating moment, every single student paused their conversations to stare him down. No one greeted him, or even acknowledged him. They just stared. His lip almost trembled, but he swallowed down his misgivings. He'd expected this reaction, after all—
"Bro!" Kirishima said, ramming his shoulder into Izuku's own. "What's up?"
"Wuh—Uhm! I'm okay?" Izuku said, frazzled.
"Midoriya!" "Green bean!"
All too fast, they swarmed him. The first to reach him Kirishima and Uraraka and Tokoyami and Hitoshi—followed by Ashido. The attention they lathered him with was as nauseating as his anxiety—but a good kind of nausea, like from a rollercoaster. Nearly drowning under their flurry of questions, he backed away, reclaiming his personal space.
"Woah, woah! What's with the greeting?" He asked, searching each of their faces. "Well!" Ashido started, glancing around. "We didn't know where you were! No one thought you would have willingly missed the first real day, or at least, none of us, especially after yesterday. You didn't look sick last night—I was worried you got hit by a car or something."
That drew some attention for whatever reason. Uraraka gave her a side eye, and Hitoshi seemed a bit startled.
"Last night?" Tokoyami asked, confused, before his eyes shot open and he backstepped. He raised a defensive arm between himself and the pink girl, horror smote across his expression. "So that's why you're suddenly on such good terms? Dear god…"
Izuku watched in confused silence as Ashido somehow became more pink. She swatted the bird-headed boy, and they nearly began to scrap before Kirishima pulled them apart. He looked to Uraraka, trying to convey his question through his eyes, but she only squinted at him, scrutinizing his every move.
After a moment, her focus deteriorated and her gaze softened.
"Well," Izuku began, trying to speak to Ashido before she could resume her assault on Tokoyami. "Three days a week, my mornings are spent off-campus. I'll be here tomorrow, but not the day after. It alternates."
"Oh," she said, relaxing. Tokoyami shimmied over to the fringe of the group, far from the pink menace. She glanced around at the others' faces. "Word. Did you guys know?"
Kirishima shook his head, now free of his duty as peacemaker.
"Nope! I thought he had nuclear-meltdown diarrhea.."
Izuku winced.
"Oh yeah… no. I won't lie about being a little anxious though. Cause… y'know."
Ashido looked aside as Hitoshi shrugged. Behind them, Izuku swore he saw some gazes avert.
"Well, it's good to have you back, I guess. I've been worried that without you, Aizawa will remember to expel me.." Hitoshi said, and Izuku couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him.
"I never forget a student," a dull voice said from behind them. On instinct, Izuku spun around, Blackwhip half-way activated, before realizing who it was. Aizawa was half-way through the door, holding a stopwatch. 43 seconds. "Sit down, or I'll start burning through my list of potential failures—and be warned. You're still at the top, Hitoshi. I only let you slide due to… yesterday's extraordinary events."
They didn't quite sit at the speed of light, but they were close. Aizawa clicked the timer, stopping it at 59 seconds.
"Hmm…" He said, pondering the device. "Nearly a minute. Better than yesterday… but not good enough. If I don't see a remarkable improvement soon… Hitoshi, Toru, and Kouda, you were yesterday's bottom three. You'll be the first to be expelled."
After the intensity of yesterday, nobody had the will to question him. If Izuku strained, he could hear a soft whimper. Aizawa didn't wait for any complaints and strolled to the center of the room.
"Traditionally, Introduction to Heroics is taught by a part-timer, typically in the top fifty. Unfortunately for you, the last few years have left us a little thin, so I'm all you get. Celebrate on your own time, not mine. Question." Aizawa said, pausing to glance over to one of the classroom's blank walls. "Who here designed their own suit? I know you submitted your applications a few days ago."
Izuku lifted a half-hearted arm. He hadn't so much as designed a hero outfit than he did establish his needs. No matter how much time he spent over his desk, sketching out hero costumes or ideas or names, none stuck. So, when he submitted his application, it was blank bar two basic needs. Its appearance was out of his hands.
Everyone else in class's hand shot to the ceiling.
"Yeah, that checks out. Most of the designs I approved physically hurt me to pass along to the support department. Now," Aizawa said, pointing over to the blank wall. In his other hand, he pressed a small remote. "Deal with the consequences of your awful, terrible outfits."
As soon as he finished speaking, hydraulic pistons pierced everyone's ears. The unassuming wall seemed to hiccup, trembling. Unassuming grooves in the wall widened, growing into substantial gaps. Through those gaps, steam whistled outward while the wall came away and sunk into the floor, revealing a small bunker-like closet behind. Izuku could barely see through the steam, but then he caught a glint of light. Then another, and then another. It took a moment, but he soon realized twenty silver suitcases lined the bunker's walls.
"What the—"
"—Holy crap! Is that—?"
"Each case holds your Beta Suit. Ironically, we'll be heading to Ground Beta now, so change quickly and meet me there. Don't forget if you're not fast enough, Kouda's career as a hero is extinguished. Dismissed." Aizawa said, before slipping back from where he came.
Izuku, feeling for Kouda and Hitoshi and Toru, made his way to the bunker as fast as he could—though he suspected the stampede that followed him might not have been so well-intending.
"Where's my case?
"Dude, that's my suit! Hand it over!"
"No, that one's yours! This one has my name on it!"
Izuku was nimble and lithe, so he was half-way out the classroom door, case-in-hand, before the next person even escaped the mob. In one peripheral, he could see down the hall, where Aizawa's back was a gnat in the far distance. In the other, he could see the thrashing, nervous conglomerate of tomfoolery his classmates became. Perhaps hero suits were a bigger deal than he thought. He bit his lip, feeling the seconds slip past without anyone joining him. If he left now, he could guarantee his performance wouldn't get some of his peers expelled, but if he let this mindless mob continue…
Setting his suitcase back on the threshold, he ran back into the room. Finding the most familiar elbow, he grabbed it, hauling the person attached out from the mob.
Tokoyami spluttered, confused, before Izuku paused his questioning with a pointed finger.
"Guys! Back up! Boys! I mean males! Satou, Shoji, Kouda, get out!" Izuku half-yelled, half pleaded, his voice nearly cracking. "Let the girls grab their stuff first! It'll take them longer to change!"
The chaos didn't cease in full, but it dwindled and became manageable. The boy's filed out after only a second of complaints, and soon the girls had the space they needed to grab their stuff.
"It's in alphabetical order by the way!" Izuku said, remembering Mashirao and Kouda's case being on either side of his. His words had the desired effect, and a few "Eureka!"s later, the girls were filing out of the room, cases in hand.
"Thanks Midoriya!" Uraraka and Ashido said, leading the charge to the locker room.
"'Preciate it, Mido." Asui croaked. Jirou nodded with her.
"You're a m-man, man!" Pony said, stumbling over her Japanese.
Ibara just blinked at him on her way out, shoulder-to-shoulder with Reiko, who mimicked her.
Last but not least was Toru, who nearly tripped over herself trying to catch up with the rest of the girls.
"Oh god, oh god, ohmygod, crap, I'm gonna get expelled…" She said, finally escaping the classroom. A beat passed before her empty uniform peaked back around the threshold. "Thank you so much Midoriyaaa…"
And then she was gone again.
All the boys gave him a look before exploding back into a frenzy, tearing their suitcases free and tumbling out the door. Now knowing about the alphabetical order and without the girls crowding up the bunker, they were even quicker than the girls, despite there being more boys. Izuku felt almost awkward, standing there, watching the boy's speed through the bunker as he himself did not move. Soon, however, it was just himself, Kirishima, and Tokoyami. Hitoshi was long gone, fear fueling his burning heels.
"Dude…" Kirishima said, grabbing his suitcase. "That was kinda cool."
"Indeed," Tokoyami replied, still nursing an elbow. "But let's not waste his nobility. Let's get moving."
The sprint to the locker room was stressful, but thrilling, in a way. All the way, Izuku was very aware of the time he wasted keeping pace with Tokoyami and Kirishima, but he tried not to worry. Even if he blasted ahead of them, Aizawa's count would only cap when everyone gathered together. Him being faster didn't mean squat, unless he elected to carry the boys—though he doubted they'd appreciate that.
By the time they arrived in the locker room, most of the guys were half-way done. Izuku only allowed himself a second to peek at their hero costumes before chastising himself. It'd be better to see their hero suits in the sunlight anyway.
He spared Kirishima and Tokoyami's suits one last glance—shoulder pads and a cape?—before his eyes settled on his suitcase. Setting it down on the concrete bench below his locker, it made a metallic clang. It rang through his hand and ears alike, light and high-pitched. Nearly empty. It popped open with a hiss, and Izuku greeted his first ever hero costume.
First, of course, was the ventilator-humidifier hybrid. It was the only piece of custom equipment he requested, and turning it over in his hand, he decided he liked it. It wasn't bulky like a conventional gas mask. It was perhaps a centimeter thick around the mouth, and when he placed it over his lips, he found he could breathe easily. Finding the button on the bottom of his chin, he flicked it.
That second puff nearly caused him to retch. While the mask was thin around his mouth, his jaws were a different story. They were large and bulky, giving his lower face a hard look—but it wasn't purely face armor. Within the bulkiest parts of the mask were two hollow gaps filled with liquid. When he pressed the small button on the bottom of his chin, the half-metaphorical half-literal floodgates opened, and the thin filter over his lips and nose grew a smidge humid.
A third puff, and he grew accustomed to it. When activated, it would keep his throat wet and soft, even when abusing Smokescreen. Pulling it off his face, he gave the mask one last glance. It was nondescript, but that was okay. Style could come later, function came now.
Setting it aside, he pulled out a belt—standard utility, first aid, rope, the works—and set that aside too. At last, he ran a finger across his suit's chest. Soft.
Slipping off his pants, he shimmied into the suit's leggings. For a second, he struggled to get his foot past the integrated boot, but by pulling the heel's zipper, he found enough room to slip in. Putting on the utility belt was awkward with one arm—already, he knew this wouldn't work long-term. Velcro would become a necessity sooner or later, but at this moment, it wasn't his biggest problem.
Perhaps he was a little hasty. The longer he spent dilly dallying, the more time slipped through his fingers. Without thinking, he flung his blazer and button-up off his shoulders, chucked them in a locker, and slipped on his chestpiece.
Fear might've influenced his speed, in a sense. Even though his skin was only bare for a second or two, he caught at least three sets of eyes on him. Of course, two were his closest peers, Kirishima and Tokoyami, but he couldn't help but notice the way Mezou's top left hand morphed into an eye, scrutinizing him. The eyes on him were bothersome, and he wanted to get it over with.
Maybe his speed was thanks to his enthusiasm. It was his first hero suit, after all, and once it settled over his shoulders, he instantly felt something changed. Like a cold cavity in his chest filled with warmth. Like he found something he didn't know he lost. On more than just a physical level, it was made for him.
He was so hasty that he didn't even notice that his suit had two full sleeves before his head slipped through the neck and the waist fixed itself around his hips. When he turned, the empty sleeve flapped at his side.
The boys began to file out, their suits on, even as Izuku floundered in place. Why did he have two sleeves? Did the support department not know that he—
His panic dwindled as reality set in. He couldn't blame the support department; not when he didn't expressly say not to give him two sleeves. It'd been such an obvious oversight on his end that he only had himself to blame.
"Damn." Kirishima said, when it was only the three of them left. He was staring at Izuku's chest, and every few seconds his eyes would flick over to his limp sleeve. "Our uniforms are a little baggy, so it slipped my mind before… but with that bodysuit, it's so much more obvious…"
"Indeed. You're jacked." Tokoyami said. Izuku fought down a blush as the bird-headed boy reached out to him, pausing an inch from his bad shoulder. He tilted his head at Izuku, his eyes an ocean at night. There was a gleam to them, however, one that asked "May I?"
Biting his lip, Izuku nodded, though he wasn't sure what he agreed to.
With quick, nimble fingers, Tokoyami grabbed Izuku's sleeve and looped it over itself, tying it into a knot. Slipping the loose wrist into the core of the knot, he stepped back to admire his work. It was still a little flappy, but the knot was close to his deltoid and stayed in place when he wiggled. He stretched in place, and when it didn't budge, he gave Tokoyami a smile.
"Thanks. I'm not much for knots."
"Just dumbbells, then? Cuz gawd damn. Are you sure this isn't padding? This is really skin tight?" Kirishima asked, sneaking around to Izuku's opposite side and squeezing his bicep. Izuku couldn't help the squeak that tore itself from his throat at the contact—it tickled.
"Says you," Izuku said, managing to control himself after a moment. "You're built like a tank!"
It was true. Kirishima was just as big as him, if not a few pounds heavier. Despite a few deficiencies in his sides and back, he was quite the specimen. His hero costume wasn't afraid to show that off either. Really, all he wore was a pair of pants and some cosmetic shoulderpads.
"Maybe, but you're so cut. I—"
"Perhaps you two can continue lathering each other with praise later. I believe we're about to run late."
Izuku's eyes shot open, realizing he was right. Dear god, how long had they been talking!?
A moment later they were out the door, scrambling to catch up to the rest of class.
As they sprinted, a sense of ease overcame Izuku. Even through the panic of being late and the embarrassment of having a faulty costume, he felt good. Better than he thought he would.
Despite having spent more time staring at the backs of his classmates than their faces, he felt closer to some than he'd ever expected. Running side-by-side with two boys his age, zero dismay between them, felt ethereal. It was amazing for him to have friends like this after such a short time. There was a stark divide between the people he'd thought they'd be and who they were—and he was loving every difference.
Of course… it wouldn't last forever. Soon, he'd leave this class; but now, for the first time, he realized he might miss them.
They barely made it to Ground Beta in time, and no one got expelled, though Aizawa maintained they were on thin ice.
He bumped shoulders with his friends, checking out each's costume. Hitoshi, like him, had a nondescript bodysuit, but his equipment differed from Izuku's mask. At a glance, he had rather thick shoulder-pads, but with some scrutiny, Izuku realized they were speakers. His eyes followed a tiny wire that snaked up his neck and settled over his ear. If Izuku had to hazard a guess, he'd call it a microphone.
Whatever his quirk was, it must've been voice activated, so that seemed like a good use of hero tools. Barely visible on the speaker's trim was the Detnerat engravement, which Izuku applauded. Their stuff was top of the line, and he'd considered ordering a Detnerat request for his ventilator.
Tokoyami's was also quite simple, though he didn't quite understand how it impacted his quirk yet. A dark cloak hung around his shoulders, hugging his chest and flowing all the way to his ankles. Under it, Izuku glanced an equally dark outfit: a black t-shirt and black cargo pants, military style. Though it was simple, the combined effect was nice on the eyes and fit the boy well.
He wandered through the crowd a bit, eyeing everyone. A few more people had bodysuits, some had magnificent capes, and he even saw someone in a ballroom gown. He was a little worried about Kaminari, though—despite having a sweet jacket, his face looked rather… green.
What really shocked him were Uraraka and Ashido's costumes. In Uraraka's case, she had a black-and-pink bodysuit, accented by bulbous, white shin-and-wrist guards. Her bodysuit left little to the imagination, and he forced himself to hold steady eye contact with her.
With Ashido, that was even harder. Her costume, while not the most egregious he saw in the crowd, was out there. She wore a aquamarine-hot pink skin-tight jumper up to her bust, which transitioned into a fur-lined leather mini jacket. Her sleeves were bare, as was the bottom half of her face. With her eyes covered in a white domino mask, all the colors worked together to point towards a particular part of her chest. If that was intentional, good for her—that was her right. Tactically, it was a good decision—it was probably quite the distraction in a fight, and magazines ate that kind of stuff up… but if it wasn't, then… he'd let someone else warn her later. Broaching that subject in front of the whole class wouldn't be fair to her
His eyes darted around the rest of the crowd, and he felt better about her. Eyes wouldn't settle on her with Aoyama walking around with a diamond cape.
Between himself, Hitoshi, Kouda and Satou, he felt they were rather invisible—and even then, those three had distinct color palettes. Purple, red, and yellow could be striking, if caught in the right light. His mud-green and gray costume lacked something… special, he supposed. Even his mask, which he thought was cool at first, now seemed a little… lackluster, in comparison to his peer's creativity. Even Toru, who was literally naked, had a better costume than him. Not to mention the literal knot that weighed on his shoulder like a paperweight composed of pure metaphysical failure.
Sighing, he resigned himself to his poor sense of fashion and joined his peers with Aizawa. A few glanced at his knot—Sero and Asui and Reiko—but most were staring straight ahead, and Izuku realized he'd missed the first half of Aizawa's announcement.
"—and in this Battle Trial, you'll be split into heroes and villains. Villains defend a bomb, heroes try to disarm it—and for the sake of the exercise, a single touch will constitute disarming. You'll get five minutes of prep time, and ten minutes to execute. As for teams, everyone will have a partner. Now, draw lots."
Izuku followed the motion of the crowd, and pulled a ball out of a small cardboard box. XIX reflected up at him when he turned it over. He saw a few others grab a ball, and they began listing off their number before Aizawa shut down the chatter.
"Now, let me announce the teams."
He squeezed his ball tight. Who would be his teammate? Hopefully Kirishima or Uraraka, but maybe Hitoshi? It'd be cool to figure out what his quirk really was. Of course, he wouldn't mind Tokoyami or Ashido, either.
"Our first villains will be One and Twenty, and our first heroes will be Two and Nineteen. Step forward."
Holding out a "I" ball, a pair of gloves stepped forward, quickly followed by "XX" in Mezou's hand. Izuku followed, offering his "XIX," and felt curious for who'd step up next.
A flicker of excitement flashed through him, knowing he'd be the first one up. Already, his mind began to whirl, his eyes bouncing between Toru and Mezou like a ping-pong ball. Invisibility and… an organ-based mutant? Fine by him. He was starting to get excited—he hadn't sparred anyone with a new quirk in a long while. Lizard Tail Splitter, Permeation, and Half-Hot Half-Cold were amazingly versatile, but after thousands and hundreds and dozens of bouts, the prospect of something new had his blood pumping. Even Foresight and Jet got stale after a while.
This was it. With his first official class at U.A., he could practically feel the weight of social anxiety lift. Finally, he could do something besides feeling bad for himself—he could flex his chops, and learn side-by-side with people his age.
Then, Kaminari faltered, took a half-step forward, and fell to his knees. He vomited on the ground, dropping his ball in the same moment. Izuku curled his lip as the ball rolled through a bit of throwup, ending up at his feet. Nudging it with his boot, the ball rolled over, and Izuku sighed.
Of course he drew the "II" ball.
And of course, when he turned to Aizawa, the man was smiling like a demon.
[x]
an: he got a tummy ache :C oh no :C now izuku has to :C have a cool 1v2 :C
I desperately need to reread My Villain Academia and probably watch season six so I can refresh myself. Like I remember Tomura Versus Gigantomachia being awesome and the whole takeover of MLA, but otherwise I'm drawing blanks. Oh, and Toga murderizing a bunch of people as Ochako.
Last two weeks have been incredibly low-energy for me but I'm keeping pace with the schedule. Hopefully looking towards 47-48-49 being the beginning of the next Big Event.
Review! Tootles~