"F-four… F-f-five… Six…" Setsuna said, grinding out the reps. A hitch in her breathing lost the next few in translation. It wasn't exactly a core-engaging exercise—but the effort was still partially physical, and her breathing grew more labored with each push. "Thir…teen… F-fourteen… … …Fifteen."

As soon as the number left her lips, the pressure on her disembodied hands vanished. She tried to rise from the bench—but found her stamina far too depleted. Her floating hands, holding up the weight they'd been repping, fell to the floor like dead pigeons.

"Lizardy?" A voice asked—one she knew, but no longer had the energy to recognize. "Lizardy? Tokage—are you alright?"

She blinked—spiral ponytail, soft voice, obsidian hair.

"Mmmm… I think I need emotional support, Yaoyao." Setsuna said, calling upon an infinite well of determination to sit up—and found that she needed to scrape the bottom of that barrel to even get half-way there.

The black-haired princess had dimples, Setsuna noticed, when she smiled. It was cute. Setsuna reached out then, as if to claim her due emotional support, but Yaoyorozu back-stepped, a laugh escaping her pink lips.

"Sorry, Tokage, but after that? If you need emotional support, I'd say looking into a shower. I hear they're therapeutic."

Setsuna lifted an arm, taking a whiff of her pits—and grimaced. With her nub-wrists, she brushed her bangs from her face—or rather, tried to. Sweat glued the ladies to her forehead.

She stood at the cost of abandoning her hands to the floor. It was either walking or having opposable thumbs—and she needed to stop hogging the bench. It was Yaoyorozu's turn, after all.

The black-haired princess—Setsuna swore to heaven, she actually curtsied before sitting in Setsuna's pool of sweat—got under the weights, and began her set.

It was lighter than Setsuna's, but without any telekinetic strength, it was impressive. She could only thank whatever deity watching over her that spotting Yaoyorozu was unnecessary. Her form was excellent, and her weights were modest. Yaoyorozu's capability allowed her attention to waver and her eyes to wander.

She glanced around the room, checking on all the other pairs. Today, like all days, they were training to maximize their time. Most of them, if not all, had their own grueling at-home routines—so the first few days of class were outlining what exactly those at-home routines were, and then establishing expansions in the classroom.

Yaoyorozu's set was short, because she did most of her exercising at home. According to her, it was a "near-unending routine of cardio and calisthenics, all to the music of chemistry textbooks played in my headphones." So, she dedicated her in-class training to what she didn't do at home. For the most part, that looked like combat training, light weight-lifting, and quirk-limit testing.

Setsuna's was inverted because Gran drilled her on quirk-use and combat skills. So, she spent move of her time here strength training and the rest was theory-crafting for new techniques.

Since they both did strength training, but at different intervals, they were perfect partners. Every partnership began based on merit and affinity. Inasa and Shoto, bless his patience, were complex, high-powered emitters. She couldn't look in their direction without her hair waving or retinas burning.

Honenuki and Kendou, as polar opposites, stuck together on grounds of experimentation. Despite both having rather limited powers, when together, their combat-options were near limitless—as partners and opponents.

Iida and Monoma were the odd pair out, but under the strict guidance of Whirlwind, even they could maximize their time.

The only person not paired up was the spikey blond, Bakugo. That one… he made no clamor for a partner. Well, he didn't talk much in the first place.

Ground Zero was an intense one. Beyond that base observation, Setsuna couldn't figure him out. There was something there—a weight, perhaps, but… it wasn't like Izuku's—or even Mirio's. It was a weight, yes, but not of their flavors. It was obvious something sewed an adult-born mentality into the seams of his soul; but whatever that mentality might be, she couldn't identify..

What she meant to say was that he was off-putting.

Her wandering attention bit her in the ass when his crimson eyes flicked to hers, as though sensing her attention. Faster than her tired body should've let her, she turned back to Yaoyorozu. An ugly crack wormed through her gut—but she ignored it.

"Your form is great, Yaoyorozu." She said, forcing a smile to her lips—but when the brunette smiled back, that crack widened—deepened, as though a stake hammered through her brittle heart.

Yaoyorozu was sweet as sugar—but she wouldn't have been her first pick of partner.

"Thank you, Tokage; though your power is so much more impressive. Good form comes with practice, and that's easy. Good strength comes from discipline. Now… now that's something else."

Setsuna rolled her eyes.

"Oh yes, that ever-elusive discipline thing. You wouldn't know much about that, wouldja? Said Miss Work-Out-All-Day Study-All-Night. Ya gotta be put in a museum, girlie. It's not a stretch to call you the second most driven person I know. And—quit the Tokage stuff. I'm Set."

A tint of pink crept over the girl's cheeks. Their eyes met for a moment, but Yaoyorozu looked aside.

"Thanks. You can call me Momo, if you want; I know my last name is a handful. Would you… mind telling me who the most driven person you know is? It's always fun to compare notes—and see what the limits of people are. Maybe I could be doing more."

"Hmm…" Setsuna hummed, tapping a nub against her chin. It was a thoughtless act, made under the assumption of fingers. She choked when she noticed her fingers making her intended motion on the floor. Momo tilted her head, confused, before her keen eyes caught her hands on the floor. The look on her face was priceless—and Setsuna was tired. She burst out laughing, quickly echoed by Momo. After a moment, when their breathing was once again normal, she couldn't help but tease her friend a little more. "You're just trying to squeeze into my top spot, huh?"

Momo laughed again and waved her off, but the blush didn't quite dissipate.

"Don't be silly. I'm just curious. I know I'm rather… dedicated, but it's rare to see that in others. Not everyone has their parents pushing them so hard."

"Parents?" Setsuna asked, a hint of confusion coloring her thoughts. Momo nodded without a beat, as if what she said was perfectly normal.

"Of course. They're my biggest supporters. Ever since my quirk came in, they've been setting me up for success. They care for me, guide me, and motivate me. It's rare to be born into families with that many expectations for you, so I'm curious about your friend's."

Setsuna blinked, hearing her, but not quite understanding.

"Since your quirk came in? Like you turned four and your parents started… teaching you?"

Momo smiled at her. It was a simple thing, perfect from one dimple to the other. Her teeth, a pearlescent, startling white—her chin, a lesson in renaissance sculpting. She was, perhaps, the most beautiful girl Setsuna'd ever seen. Midnight included. As such, it was startling when Momo nodded.

"Almost! Once we figured out my quirk was based on atomic structures, the ball started rolling, so to speak. I was around four and a half. My mom even picked out my hero name. Dad wasn't so creative."

Setsuna parted her lips, but found her throat a fair bit drier than it was moments prior. Was Momo… brought up for this line of work? At a glance, she seemed happy, and it was by no means Setsuna's business—but the phrasing drove a deeper, angrier stab into her guts.

"...Well, I'm glad you're so supported. My parents knew I'd be good at this, but kinda just let me do my own things until I decided what I wanted. As for my friend…"

She paused, unsure what she should say next. That he was perfect? A little emo? That he was powerful? That he held secrets so tightly against his chest she feared his ribs would break? That he was cute?

Setsuna glanced at Momo. She absorbed the girl's innocence with a quick scan—button chin, chiseled nose, rosy cheeks, smooth skin, high cheekbones, rounded eyes—and decided against that last bit. A treacherous hand snaked to her own features. Definitely not that last bit.

Her tongue ran over her lower lip.

How was one to accurately describe Izuku? Powerful, cute, secretive… they were all appropriate adjectives, but base descriptors fell short when dealing with him. There was something else there, something special, something a little heavier than adjectives conveyed.

In short, she couldn't—or rather, she couldn't do a perfect job. With a slow, deliberate effort, she willed her hands to meld back with her wrists. The words came with time, and she dedicated that brief, empty moment to studying her cuticles.

"He's… Everything he does comes from his heart. This line of work… it's like he was made for it." She said, and the words fell from her lips like spring water—easy and crystal and cool. "I can't really say I'd be here without him… literally. He's got "Hero" engraved on every cell, every inch of skin, every muscle. His mom's a trooper, yeah, and makes everything he works for easier—but that effort comes from him. It's really something."

When she pulled her eyes from her fingernails, each a cute, short-cut green, she found Momo on her feet. There was something there, buried deep in her beautiful coals. Like a spark—but softer; and the blush of her lips parted in a refined, slack-jaw like way. It was dignified, but childlike in her expressiveness. It was wonder.

Her dimples deepened ever-so-slightly—and her eyes slanted, a knowing look growing over them. The pink of her cheeks only became more vibrant with time.

"He, you said? A boy?" She said, and the question came off as a scandalous whisper. Momo glanced aside, guilt in every movement, like what she asked was against the rules. "Like—like a boyfriend?"

Setsuna didn't blush at the question—nor did she splutter, trip over herself, or any other silly trope. Perhaps, if she was to stand before the heavens and lay herself bare, she could admit the slightest flutter of her heart. That wasn't her focus, however. What stuck out to her were not the words, but their delivery. When Momo spoke of boyfriends, she had an odd cadence—like gossip was a foreign concept—like she'd never even uttered the word without an academic cadence.

What wormed its way through the crack in her heart was no longer a stake. No, it went backwards, breaking free instead of piercing. A floodgate of emotions exploded, taking her by the ankles and almost drowning her in their murky depths—but her hands snagged a rock. She pulled herself to shore, wet but alive, and only had the small drip of Pity, Tired, and Worry to show for her suppressed troubles.

She gave Momo a smile. With a finger, she curled her hair and threw the black-haired princess a wink.

"I'll never tell. Buuuuut—" Setsuna said, before releasing her hair and throwing it over her shoulder. "Maybe I can snitch on myself a little over lunch, yea?"

With the ferocity of Momo's sudden nod, Setsuna gathered that the girl really liked that idea. She wondered, for a moment, if Momo'd ever gossiped before—but decided it didn't matter. It would be fun—and a learning experience for them both. Momo, with peasant gossip, and herself, with having a girl in her hero-corner.

She hoped Izuku would like her, when she introduced them—but not too much. Not too much.

[x]

Izuku stifled a yawn, walking into the cafeteria. Walking through the throng of students, Izuku just managed to acquire lunch without tripping. It was nice, he realized, that he actually had to navigate the crowds now. For the last few days, students moved for him—or rather, avoided him. Now it seemed they set their hearts on ignoring him—which was an improvement, in his opinion.

Still, navigating crowds wasn't easy. Squeezing between elbows, a million excuses escaping his lips, scouring crowds for weak points he could path through—it all required a certain brain power he lacked at the moment.

He felt sluggish today—well, he'd felt sluggish for the last few days. Ever since he'd sent Snipe and Setsuna out to patrol for more campus anomalies, his stomach began disagreeing with him. Much like the ever-churning swell of One for All, this anxiety never rested.

When he caught sight of his lunch table, however, a small weight fell from his shoulders. Mezou saw him first—and stoic though he was, gave Izuku a small wave. Izuku smiled. Kirishima and Ashido noticed him next, and that weight eased even more—but then his eyes crossed from Ashido to Uraraka, and the empty collar between them.

Toru wasn't looking at him—but she had been. For a split second. She knew he was there, and was still ignoring him for whatever reason.

Izuku chewed the inside of his lip. The small gap on his lunch booth's ledge looked so enticing… but today was Thursday. Tomorrow, the Suit Adjustment Assignment was due, and they were going to the USJ. With Toru giving him the silent treatment, they hadn't even come close to discussing hero suits.

So, while it went against his base desires, when he got to the booth, he did not join them.

"Hey, guys. How're we feeling?" He said, meeting everyone's eyes one by one, confirming their status. They all seemed well—that made things easier. If all were well, then he didn't have any regrets. His eyes settled on Toru's, her chin still pointed down, not looking at him. He wondered if her body language was often like that, since few people could gauge her.

"Toru," he said, and the invisible girl's head shot up, and if he had to wager, her eyes widened. "Could you come with me? If we don't get our Suit Adjustment thing done, it won't end well for either of us. You know how Aizawa is."

Perhaps it came off as weird, the way he stared at her—but could she really blame him? It took everything he had to make her out. His eyes, tired as they were, caught the crinkles in her uniform—both from lackluster ironing, and from how her shoulders pulled inwards. Her collar tilted a bit to the left and then the right, and it wasn't hard to imagine her looking for some excuse to escape. He almost felt bad, putting her on the spot—but his grade depended on her. And, consequently, her grade relied on his ability to convince her.

After a second, she looked down again and sighed.

"Yea, you're right," she said. It took her a moment of struggling, but by Uraraka and Hitoshi's grace, she slipped free and stood beside Izuku. He couldn't exactly wave at them whilst holding his tray, but he gave them a farewell-nod. It did not escape him that the finger-shaped grooves in Toru's bag deepened with it.

"There's an empty table across the cafeteria; does that sound good?" He said, glancing at her eyes. The grooves in her bag were almost breaking into the definition of gouges. Thank god she wasn't wearing acrylics—she'd just tear holes in the poor thing.

While he tried to maintain eye contact with her in order to confirm her cooperation, his politeness only seemed to backfire. Her ice-cold stance deteriorated, her obvious discomfort melting into awkward looseness. She looked away from him with a single, sharp nod. Izuku suppressed the uncomfortable bubble in his throat.

He pierced through the ever-social throng of students. One might think the crowding would die once people sat to eat, but that was not the case, he'd learned. Many people continued to wander, even whilst eating, and many more skipped their meals for the chance to socialize. Even still, despite his introvertedness, it was his duty to guide Toru to somewhere they could talk—even if that meant confronting the social machine that was the highschool collective.

Izuku dodged, weaved, and pathfound through various obstacles—none of whom, he noticed, gave Toru any mind either. They ignored them together, just as they ignored them apart. For a brief moment, when he struggled between two loiterers, he thought they'd finally make notice of him—but no. As soon as he got past them, they closed up again, and Toru and him became trapped on opposite sides.

She hovered for a second, and a small anger overcame Izuku. People like him didn't go to hero schools. It wouldn't be hard to call him defective. Izuku was an outlier—and not thanks to his quirk. Toru, on the other hand? Heavens above—Izuku knew he didn't deserve his treatment, he knew it was unfair for him, he knew his peers should be better—but seeing them treat Toru the way they treated him—like he was invisible—just irked him.

They could trade places, and there wouldn't be much difference. His skin could be made of glass, his hair transparent, his reflection empty—and Toru could be missing an arm, and nothing would change for either of them, here.

"Hey," he said, right as Toru made to take the long way around. The two boys—older, maybe juniors—turned to him, eyes wide, as if seeing him for the first time. "You're blocking the way. Could you please scoot over?"

They glanced between each other, confused, before turning around. Their notice of Toru made them flinch. She slipped past in their surprise, and before they could even apologize, Izuku and Toru escaped.

Now that Izuku acquired a taste of power, he went mad with it. With Toru as the wind to his sails, he politely excused everyone in his way. Excusing himself became a thing of the past. He did not bend under their weaponized negligence—no, he bulldozed straight over it.

"Excuse you," he said, pushing through a crowd piling between two tables. "Please move, thanks."

All the while, Toru stayed silent behind him—but she stood a little closer, now, and her existent felt far more relaxed.

At long, long last, they slipped into the empty table, and when he sat down, he sat down with the weight of a man aged a thousand years. He swore his soul escaped his lips with the sigh he uttered—but it came right back when his ears heard Toru's giggle.

"Hehe…" She huffed, smothering her laugh under his eyes—but there was a brightness to her general expression, no longer pulled inward. Her shoulders felt set in their comfortable posture, but soft, without their old intensity. Without her exact expression, this was all Izuku could see—but he didn't just need to see her to understand. He could listen.

"That was pretty fun," she said at last. The end of her giggles turned into the beginning of her words. Each was a blessing on the ears after days of silence. "I usually just let them do their own thing—but the looks on those guys' faces when they saw me! Wow—just, wow."

"Yeah," he said, suppressing the exhaustion that wracked his frame. Who knew being assertive was so tiring. "I guess it can be pretty amusing. I usually don't get such strong reactions myself."

"Mm. Yeah. People usually just don't notice me. It's a whole other thing to be ignored." She paused, her collar pinching as she looked around. A soft sigh met his ears. "…I'm sorry."

He waved her off.

"Being ignored is my norm. I get it."

"No!" She said, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward. "I meant—like… I-I—I meant for ignoring you. Me. Me doing the ignoring. I've just… been frazzled since the Battle Trial. I'm sorry."

"No, I know." Izuku replied, not looking at her. The words came easily, but he couldn't quite bring himself to hold eye contact with her while he said them. "People will come around eventually, or they won't. You just needed a second. You agreeing to talk with me is proof enough that you don't have anything against me, y'know? So it's fine. Cope however."

"That's not fair to you, though."

"Almost nothing is."

When neither of them made to follow up, Izuku reached into his bag and pulled out his essay. After a moment of fumbling, Toru presented hers as well—but setting them next to the other, it was clear something was wrong.

His stack of papers dwarfed her own—which was fine by him. Toru, however, couldn't sit still, looking at the piles.

"I… I don't have the rest. I-I didn't bring it today." She said, and the sheer shame in her voice hurt.

"You've brought plenty," he said, reaching for his own essay. He split the stack in half, and then pried the front two pages from the back half. "These two pages exclusively talk about possible changes to your existing outfits. Pages 1-5 are about the hypothetical invisible threads. Every page after eight is about military-grade stealth gear. So, really, I only wrote a little that's actually applicable for you right now."

Her stare, if that's what it was, was flat, like she didn't appreciate a joke he'd said—but then she squeaked.

"Oh! By the way!" She said, nearly falling out of her seat during her burst of excitement. "I went to the support department—I didn't get a yes or no, but I gave them a hair sample. Apparently they'll ship it out to a lab and I'll get a letter in a few weeks. I think—I think it'll turn out good. It isn't U.A.'s first time with this kinda thing, yeah?"

"Oh yeah, they've been doing this for ages. I'm glad I was able to help."

He couldn't say if she smiled—but her posture brightened.

"I… Really, you're a genius, dude. I can't thank you enough."

"You don't have to," Izuku said, glancing down at Toru's essay. "But if you want to, then tell me all about your essay. I've been doing some self reflection myself, you see, so I want to combine some ideas…"

After that, they engulfed themselves in their work. Food funneled into their mouths faster than they could eat, all so they could talk faster. Their time in the cafeteria was limited—and after days of deliberation, their time was ever-more precious. Toru spent time explaining her quirk's details, such as how she could take all the light that traveled through her body and refract it all at once. He noted that down, then outlined the basics of his ideas with the invisible threads and stealth gear—but what they spent the most time on ended up being her gloves.

"They're impractical," he said, pointing out their bulk. "The color is fine, but they're simply too thick. Half the reason I can take you on is because I can see your hands."

"Oh yeah," she replied, a pout in her voice. "And the other half is because you're psychic. I literally took them off for our bout. I'm keeping the gloves. They're cute."

"That's what stealth gear is for! You can make it stylish and still invisible. Think about a more streamlined design."

"There's no guarantee that I could even get my hands on stealth gear. It's military grade for a reason. Military-Grade. M-I-L-I-T—"

"1Z has plenty of military-grade equipment. I hear Mudman and… Ground Zero use some. I'm… I'm sure you could get approved."

He trailed off then, the volley of conversation they'd built pittered out.

Ground Zero with military grade equipment? The thought alone sent a shiver down his spine and a ladle swirling through his guts. Toru's energy matched him at the mention of the class. Her collar did a weird thing, like scrunching at the nape—something he could only diagnose as looking straight up.

"I'm not sure." Toru said at last, when no one spoke for a good few seconds. Izuku shook his head.

"No, I'm serious. Setsuna gave me a rundown on Z's gear. It's really cool stuff—but their quality isn't exclusive. You could definitely get something."

"That's not what I-I—" Toru began, her collar uncreasing as she looked at him. She tripped over her words for a second before finding them—though the voice that empowered them felt ever-so-slightly more terse. "Just… I like the gloves. How can I get popular if the only thing people see are my boots?"

Izuku's eyebrows rose.

"Is your goal to climb the ranks?" He asked, and Toru's eyes flicked to him, confusion evident in her shoulders.

"Isn't everyones? It looks so fun—pushing yourself, competing, seeing your numbers go up—that's super important, no? Like saving people is the intrinsic priority, but what motivates you when you're down? When you're depressed? It's trying to raise your number. You see your number and go "Oh! If I get up from this couch, I could get this number higher;" and that's what helps you help people even when you don't have the energy."

He blinked.

Climbing the ranks was not his goal—though he supposed it was important. A byproduct, if anything. Reaching his full potential was more valuable to him than any number.

The thought was tiresome. For a moment, he gazed through the cafeteria, not looking at it, but past it. His eyes settled beyond the walls separating him and his friend. His grip on the essays tightened enough to crinkle them. Yeah. Even if not for himself, even if not for the world, then for her, he needed to become the best. That was the priority, even more so than reaching the top rank. He needed to tell her the truth. If he didn't, and she got hurt because of it…

By no means did he begrudge Toru for her goals, however. It was admirable—to become popular meant earning it, and he supported those efforts with his whole chest. He released the essays ever-so-slightly and granted the invisible girl a soft smile, his eyes focused on her own.

"I've never thought about it like that, before. That makes sense—though… it'll be hard to get popular, won't it? What with…" He gestured in her direction. "You." Then he gestured at himself. "Me." And then he nodded at the crowded cafeteria. "Them not seeing us."

Toru's shoulders slumped even further as she leaned forward. Part of her skirt lifted as she planted her heel on her seat. She leaned her chest into the thigh, which looked almost funny out of context but only seemed to stir the anxiety in his stomach. Hugging the leg close, she muttered something into her knee that he could only barely hear.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

[x]

"Greetings, Commander." Whirlwind said, giving him a medium bow. Nedzu put him at ease, and gestured for the old man to take a seat. He didn't take it, but he did grab the seat's rest and lean into it.

"Good Afternoon, Yoarashi. How're the cadets coming?" He asked, before taking a sip of his tea. Its sheer heat was distracting, and distracting was good.

"I don't think I've seen a finer batch of kids, sir. You certainly picked the best—but why am I here? And where is my Lieutenant?"

Nedzu took another sip of his tea.

"I just wanted to hear it from a professional's lips. I know their statistics, their histories, and their abilities—but I'm no hero. I can't see the things you might see. Hawks is dispensable in this regard—he's loose-lipped and pays ill-attention to your kids. So, what have you seen?"

Yoarashi nodded—a firm, sharp thing—and took a moment to concoct an appropriate answer.

"Well, first of all, most are social. With a little discipline, they'll be able to learn cooperation and teamwork sooner than projected. Perhaps even before the license exam. There are, however, a pair of oddballs in that regard."

Nedzu craved for more drink—but he crossed his paws and held them there. He nodded for Yoarashi to continue.

"The first oddball would be Endeavor's son. He's… I suppose someone could call him shy, sir. Very quiet. Disregards most everyone except the Tokage girl. It's worrying, but he's respectful, in a quiet way. It's hard to say if he's cooperative or not—but he seems mindful. Todoroki reeks of individualism, but also hesitance, and it's a poor combo."

"Indeed," Nedzu agreed, pressing his paws against the desk even more. Cursed instincts. "To be a solo act is to move on a dime. He's naturally inclined for the work—but if he doesn't know that, then it's sure to cause problems in the short term. What of the second "oddball?"

At that, the stone-carved face that was the legendary Whirlwind cracked in a grimace.

"Ground Zero, unlike Heatseeker, is a total antisocial. He trains, at least in our gym, harder than anyone. He doesn't talk much, let alone to peers. When he speaks, it's either to me, or to himself. I… of course, I saw his bout with Snipe, where he lost—but with further inspection, I think we've underestimated him. He's… he's easily as good as the Legacy folk."

"...Interesting," Nedzu said, filing that information away for later. The Legacy kids weren't officially the best, but between Inasa and Shoto, they carried a lot of the team. Tenya was a single step below them, side-by-side with Tokage, according to his calculations. Perhaps… perhaps Katsuki stood with them. It hadn't occurred to him. When conducting his research on the boy, all he noted was his quiet attitude and his latent ability—but perhaps his ability was less "latent" than he imagined.

Still, the boy's oddities were not the most interesting thing about him. No, his connection to One for All was far more intriguing.

There was an invisible history there, Nedzu'd found, something unspoken and undercut by tragedy. Such was another motivator for his caution—Katsuki Bakugo, by all records, was as clean as a baby's leg—but not all records were trustworthy. There was a darker truth, there, he suspected. Bullying wasn't exactly rare, he knew—and neither was the oppression of the weak.

Nine and Bakugo went to the same school. Nedzu's methods weren't necessary to deduce what kinds of things a boy like Bakugo might've done to a quirkless Nine. Especially when Nine had a public meltdown the last they met. It was basic math. Antisocial, aggressive boy? PTSD reactive meltdown at his mere existence?

They were oil and water, at one point—which is fine. That was the past. What made Nedzu's hairs bristle and his brow scrunch and his paws flex were thoughts of the present. Omens of war were painted on U.A.'s walls. Security breaches? Hostile Yakuza? Murders in the Labyrinth?

Something was brewing, and that meant 1Z and the Ninth might need to collide sooner rather than later. Of course, Nine was a friendly type, so he wasn't worried—but what happens when oil meets water again after five years?

He caved. Nedzu took a sip of his tea.

Everything is contaminated.

"Yoarashi?" He asked, his voice light and polite—but firm, in a way he'd learned Whirlwind respected.

The man's attention rejuvenated in an instant. He swore he heard the man's heels click as he grew to attention.

"Yes, sir?"

The pads of his paws drummed against his desk.

"Stay alert," He said after a moment. "Something is brewing. Your assistance may prove vital."

"Yes sir. And 1Z?"

His drumming ceased.

"Do with them what you must. And keep an eye on Ground Zero."

[x]

AN: *Cries* We failed the bechdel test :C. I can't help it~~~the first section was just so-idk. Setsuna was going through some serious stuff, but at the same time, the dynamic of the homeschooled, innocent richie and the sarcastic, more experienced (not at all, lmfao) social butterfly was just so fun.

This was the last setup chapter for the next arc. Look forward to 48, unless I'm insane. Personally, I just finished writing chapter 50, which... IDK. It liked the chapter a lot, but I'm going to need to do some editing-and some celebrating. Getting to chapter fifty on a story of this scale is a big deal to me, but still. Long way to go.

All love, peeps. Wish me luck on the other side-I start 51 in an hour.

Review!~~~

(Updated this chapter because I realized I wanted to add an addition, but also realized I posted the WRONG version, because the last version didn't have an author's note. I'm a moron, lol)