For the first time in nearly three years, when Izuku woke up, he had a headache. Sure, with his lifestyle, waking up with headaches wasn't uncommon—but this was a familiar beast. He knew every facet of this headache—every pain, every ache, every curve and shape. One could pluck the headache from his skull and cast it aside, flinging it ten kilometers away, and he'd recognize it. For a far-too-long time, this headache and him were one and the same.

He dialed Danger Sense down a bit. It worked, and the pain receded—but the buzz never quite left. Regardless, the buzz stayed, even on his lowest setting. For a split second, he allowed the quirk to approach his limits—but the source stayed vague. It was as if he was in a danger-bubble, but the bubble's walls were so far away that the atmosphere clouded them. So, he let his limits recede.

A small self-examination made him frown. Beyond the buzz, there was a slight discomfort when he manifested a Blackwhip; and when he allowed One for All to flow, it felt odd.

It was worrying, but then again, it was an ancient, nearly unknowable entity. He filed the buzz away under "distractions," and shoved it into one of his empty brain compartments—never quite considering it, never quite forgetting it. Still, his eyes stayed peeled on his walk to Setsuna's house, and no little detail escaped his notice after picking her up.

"Are you alright?" Setsuna asked, when their train came to a screeching stop and the boarding doors opened. They rose from their cabin seats. His eyes drank in every detail—subways were hubs of danger, after all. It took leaving the station, ascending the subway stairs, and breathing fresh air for him to relax even a little.

"...Maybe. Keep your eyes open, Set," he said, once he confirmed that the evil, ominous aura wasn't coming from the sleeping homeless man across the street. He hadn't intended to say any more, but when her eyes widened and her attention glued itself to his face, the words came out on their own. "I've got a bad feeling about today. Just… stay vigilant. It's probably nothing, but better safe than sorry."

She said nothing in response, but he could feel her reaction. Her hips nearly glued to his as they walked, and the heat of proximity warmed him. Perhaps it was intentional—perhaps it was not. Regardless, her warmth calmed him, step by step, block by block, mile by mile. By the time they got to U.A.'s gates, he'd almost forgotten the fear.

They said their goodbyes and she turned to leave. Before she could escape him, however, he snagged her forearm. He didn't know why he did it. He didn't remember doing it either, a second later, when her cute nose peeked around the fringe of her swamp-green fringe—but he didn't regret it. That sense of foreboding overcame him again, in one last desperate attempt for his attention. He felt none of it, staring at her.

Izuku didn't end up saying anything. He just squeezed her forearm and smothered the embarrassing jolt of sadness when he finally released her and she left.

Not one to loiter, despite his sudden drop in energy, he made his way to campus. First, he stopped by the Support Department's dropbox, and submitted a hand-written query for a costume upgrade. It wasn't a true, full-blown request. He was still working on overhauling his whole design, but with all of 1A making requests, he figured it'd be good to throw his hat into the ring. All he wanted for now was a self-healing shirt without the second sleeve.

Once that was in order, he got back to homeroom—and felt his spirits brighten. Kirishima barreled into him upon entering, and without missing a beat, absorbed him into the ongoing conversation—something about frogs, he noted. Asui seemed to be an expert, and the ongoing discussion leader.

Then, the shiver ran down his spine, and he scrambled to his seat. Quickly, the Frog & Toad Discussion fell to the ravages of tragedy, and everyone gave Aizawa their full attention.

He wasn't wearing a watch, but he still checked his wrist, frowning.

"It's been a week, but it still takes you almost ten seconds to ready yourselves. Remember, one second can save a hundred lives. How many can ten?"

A tentative hand rose. Ashido.

"A thousand?"

Not even a smile.

"Alright then, Ms. Ashido," he said, turning to her with the weight of a man who shouldn't be tested. "If your math skills are so sharp, be the vote-counter. Everyone, decide on a Class President and Vice President. You have ten minutes."

All at once, the class order fell apart, and Aizawa fell asleep at his desk.

"Ooh! Ooh!" Ashido said, jumping up from her desk. "I wanna be Prez! Lemme have it!"

Behind her, Kodai shrugged, looking away a bit. Hers was the most subtle, but she wasn't the only one with disagreements—several others made their own claim on the title. Some had good points, some had bad ones, but all had a voice—but those voices were lost in the teenage machine. As he did earlier, however, Kirishima bulldozed through it.

"A vote!" He cried, leaping to the top of a desk. He glanced down at Izuku, who could only raise an eyebrow in response. Apparently, that was the reassurance he needed. "A democracy!"

"Why is he on a desk?" Jirou asked, and Izuku, despite himself, could only stifle a laugh. Kirishima hopped down after that, and pointed at the pink girl.

"Aizawa said it himself! You're the vote counter! I can see his intentions from a mile away. Everyone else, cast your votes!" He said, before looking around himself, confused. "Ah… does anyone have any paper?"

Before anyone could beat him to it, Izuku provided a notebook. It felt nice to be useful.

"Hey, guys," Izuku said, whilst the boys were making the paper-slips. "Don't vote for yourselves, alright? And give two votes. One for a President and one for a Vice."

Kirishima, with the help of Sero, who always carried scissors, cut twenty pieces from his notebook. Taking those pieces, Izuku passed them around, careful to not embarrass himself. It was an awkward task with one hand.

He gave pieces to his friends first, then to the closest people, and finally the kids who didn't look him in the eye. There was no particular motive there—he just wanted to waste his friends' time the least. Most of them nodded in thanks—even the ones he weren't close with—and even the ones who were less than such.

But when he got to Ibara's seat, she didn't even look up. Her eyes locked onto the back of the seat ahead of her, and Izuku realized he'd rather not disturb such an intense look. Izuku let her paper float down to her desk like a dry autumn leaf . He left with a slight hurt in his chest.

He supposed he couldn't please everyone—even just by being perfectly nice.

Once he distributed all the papers, he got back to his seat. Retrieving his nicest pen, he sat at his desk, and looked at his paper. And continued to look.

It took no more than three seconds to realize his conundrum. Who would he vote for?

He glanced around the room, looking for proper candidates—but the task wasn't as simple as who looked the most Presidential. It was an important role, he understood, and he wouldn't want to give the job to someone based on looks alone. Nor did he want to just vote for a friend because they were a friend. Bias was inevitable, sure, but he wanted to try and be objective.

It took quite a few seconds for him to think it through. Of course, he could only vote for someone he trusted—but in a sense, he trusted them all. They were all heroes in training—even if they had their own personal hurdles to still leap. Quickly, he narrowed his options downed to the few he'd actually spoken with—and a few names jumped to mind.

Ashido, for her enthusiasm and sociability. Hitoshi, for his dry, objective remarks. Kirishima, for his charisma. Mezou, for his strength and careful thought.

…Ibara, for her calm demeanor and grounded values.

The choice, he realized, became infinitely easier once he remembered they needed a President and a Vice President. Choosing two took the sting out of rejecting the rest.

With careful calligraphy, he scribbled down his votes and handed in his paper. Within another minute, everyone made their choice. With all the performance of a stage actress, Ashido swiped all their votes into a pencil bag and shook it up. She walked to the front. Aizawa still slept behind his desk, so when she spoke, she was quiet—but no less energetic.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" She said, giving the pencil bag another shake—but when the papers began rustling a little too loud, she ceased. "I've gathered you all here today—"

"Please, Ashido," Reiko interrupted, raising a hand. "He said ten minutes. It's been five. Let's hurry this up."

The pink girl pouted, but nodded in agreement. With an unceremonious dump, she poured all the slips of paper onto the nearest student's desk, Uraraka's, and began pulling them apart.

"Two points for Asui." Ashido said, and in the same fashion, continued.

"One for Kouda."

Many of the votes ended up looking like that—though that didn't seem fair. Everyone in class had the chops for leadership, in his opinion—though he supposed some were better prepared than others.

After a while, Ashido cooed.

"Ooh! Three points for Mezou. Things are getting interesting!"

"Two for Uraraka!" She said next, nudging the girl whose desk she'd commandeered.

A couple other people had a singular vote—Jirou, Satou, Sero, Toru, Shinso, and Pony—but after them, everyone else hit the big leads. Just about everyone looked flattered with any amount of votes, but the next person took that reaction up a level.

"Ibara, queen of the vines herself, hath procured a quartet of votes!"

Izuku's ears twitched, hearing the testy vine-girl's name. If he was honest—there was a little surprise there. Not that she got so many votes—but that she hadn't gotten more. She was easily one of the most level headed in class—and even if the Christian religion wasn't his thing, he couldn't begrudge the virtues they preached. It was one of the many reasons she was pick for Vice.

Ibara, however, seemed more appalled than anything. She stood up in an instant, her face a scarlet mess, her vines swinging with the erratic shaking of her head.

"Who in the name of the lord voted for me?" She asked, but before anyone could step forward and confess their apparent sin, Ashido squealed.

"Awww guys! I got four votes too? Who? Give me names! And addresses! You're getting a wine basket in the mail! Courtesy of U.A.'s 1A."

"That would be a serious overreach of power, Mina." Uraraka said, her voice flat and tired. Ashido waved her off and continued her duty, though the slightest happy giggle echoed her voice from then on out.

"More two pointers!" She said, plucking out four slips and setting them aside. "For Jirou and Tokoyami. I think…we're. There's just a few more slips."

Izuku heard the oddest noise. It was like churning sand mixed with the wet crunch of a chocolate bar. He glanced around, first to Hitoshi in front of him, and then to his side, where Kirishima—

The red-headed boy was staring straight ahead at Ashido, focused beyond Izuku's understanding, with the meanest pant-leg grip he'd ever seen. The boy's hand was a mess of stone-carved hardening, and it was a miracle his sharpened nails didn't poke holes in the garment.

Slowly, however, Izuku noticed how the boy's fingers softened, one by one. It felt weird to watch Kirishima's hand under his desk, however, so Izuku elected to turn aside—but what he saw stuck with him. A nervous tick, maybe?

Hitoshi turned to him as Ashido frowned, parsing through the rest of the paperslips.

"So is everyone out? Four votes for two people is a crazy gap, right? Even getting three is pretty tough." He asked. Izuku shrugged.

"Not necessarily. There's still around fifteen points left floating in that bag."

Hitoshi narrowed his eyes, but after a second, nodded and returned to watching Ashido. In the small time that the purple-haired boy stole Izuku's attention, however, Ashido's glow seemed to have given away to genuine surprise. Her eyes widened as she pulled five slips of paper from the remaining pile. Izuku caught the way her other hand scrunched the ten remaining slips, as though ensuring the security of their pile.

Ashido blinked up and in his direction—then shifted a little to his right. Kirishima's hand, having finished going soft, went hard at once all over again.

"Kiri got five points." She said, and Izuku couldn't help but smile. If he had to choose between anyone based on charisma alone, Kirishima was the guy to go for. It was why he voted for him, after all—and for many more reasons.

"Nice job, man," Izuku said, leaning across the aisle to whisper it to him. The smile he received was crooked—but happy. "You're probably the President, then. Congrats. Democracy wins again."

Kirishima's smile, crooked as it was, seemed to tilt even more at the words—like he'd heard some odd joke. Hitoshi glanced at him, but Kirishma spoke before he could interject.

"Yeah…" he said, a small breathlessness to him. "About that…"

Ashido lifted the remaining slips in one hand, as if it was aflame and her quirk made fire retardant instead of acid. One by one, she let the slips of paper float to the ground, messy and out of order. As they all fluttered in the air, however, it began to dawn on him that they all possessed the same written characters.

When she spoke, her voice had the same giggle—but it was a sort of awe-struck giggle—a giggle one might utter upon gazing absurdity.

"Uh," she said, as the last slip fell from her palm. "Midoriya's the President. Ten points."

It all happened very quickly, after that—1A raised a small cheer, and they swept Izuku alongside Kirishima to the front of the room. There was no king nor any sword to knight them, but Ashido stepped aside and made an extravagant bow.

"And here be I, humble messenger, delivering unto you gracious folk our newly sworn leaders. Firstly, I'd like to thank…"

Izuku, after a certain point, could no longer hear her. His heart beat too loudly, drummed too fiercely, screamed too quickly. Blood pumped in his ears and as the seconds ticked by and the situation dawned on him. He flushed. Ten points? A quarter of the votes?

Him? President? Of… 1A?

He could feel his pulse without needing to check.

For a moment, after he swallowed the surprise, he entertained the thought. He imagined being 1A's Class President, Kirishima by his side, and spending his school days being a pillar for his classmates. That world unfurled before him, here, and life seemed so simple. His peers respected him with unanimous appreciation—no more quiet looks, questions, no indifference. No, he grew to be friends with everyone—Sero, Ibara, Reiko, Satou, Yui—and everyone else who didn't talk to him.

It would be a normal class, then. One he could thrive in, easily and unbothered.

It would be a nice fantasy.

"Ah, sorry to disappoint," Izuku said, looking between the still-bowing Ashido and the rest of class. He could guess most of everyone who voted for him. His friends, of course, were obvious, looking back. Even beyond them, he'd spoken with some of the others—Kaminari, Kouda, Asui—but what puzzled him was the final, tenth vote. Guessing the first nine was easy—but who was the tenth? He supposed it didn't matter, as he gazed across the room. Most everyone met his eyes as he scanned the room—all but Ibara, whose eyes seemed magnetized away from his own. "But I can't be Class President."

It was with that shock that their eyes finally met, and Izuku got his first serious impression of Shiozaki Ibara. Before now, he'd seen her, heard her talk, and exchanged a nod—but he'd never held such crystal eye contact.

She seemed a little… ashamed? Surprised? An odd mix of feelings poured through her eyes as he made his declaration. Their contact only broke when a stiff hand clamped his shoulder, spinning him away from the class.

"What?" Kirishima asked, his eyebrows pinched and eyes wide. "Why the hell not? You're perfectly fine, dude—"

Izuku removed Kirishima's hand with a gentle push. He offered the boy a soft smile, hoping it was gracious, before he looked back to the class, his eyes crossing over his friends.

"I really appreciate it, guys. Seriously, I do—and I know," he said, pausing to look at the people he knew for certain didn't vote for him. His eyes lingered on Ibara. "That not everyone here wants me as the Class President. If that's true for any of you… then congrats. I can't be President of this class—not when I won't be here long enough to take responsibility for the honor."

"Excuse me?" Uraraka said, half standing from her front-row seat. Likewise, there was an uncomfortable shift around the room, as if Uraraka's jerk caused a ripple effect. He let the wave run its course.

"Are you dropping out?" Hitoshi asked, his eyes a shadowed purple.

"School transfer?" Toru asked, her voice cracking half-way through.

Kirishima looked behind him, to where Aizawa still slept. He gave Izuku a serious squint.

"Is Aizawa pressuring you? Giving you a hard time? I swear—"

Izuku raised a hand—at first, in a quieting wave, and then curled his fingers into a fist. He pumped it once, feeling the massive ocean of One for All churn in his stomach. Looking down, he stared into its deep, brilliant depths, and took a dive. Warmth infused every inch of him—from his bangs to his toenails. It was a comforting warmth, the kind he only got with his quirk—and with his mom, and with his Setsuna.

When he opened his eyes, he heard Kirishima's near-silent breath intake.

"I'm sorry for wasting your votes. I can't be President of this class if I'm not in it—which has been my goal from the start. In seven weeks, I'm going to crush the Sports Festival, and take my place in 1Z's roster."

If Uraraka's surprise produced a wave in the class, his declaration birthed a tsunami. Jaws hung from faces. Eyebrows kissed hairlines. Everyone's reaction held an element of surprise to them—though everyone also had a unique quirk to them. Everyone except calm and collected Shoji Mezou, everyone except rational, dry Shinso Hitoshi, and everyone except Shouta Aizawa, whose snores ceased with Izuku's loudly-spoken announcement.

"You're still the President, Midoriya." He said, nearly giving Izuku a heart attack from behind. "You got anything to say before you abdicate?"

Izuku looked at the man, wondering if he'd ever even been asleep in the first place, before looking back to class. The man was right. He was still the President, even if only for the next few seconds.

Well, he thought, there was only one thing left to do.

"Ashido," he said, and the girl's awestruck expression flung from her, replaced by the whole of her attention.

"Y-yes?"

"I've never… I've never really been in a school with a Class President system before… but I've seen movies. This kinda thing is hard. It kinda sucks. It's kinda a big responsibility. You… are you sure you'd want the job? Because as much as I think you'd be great, I didn't think you'd like it very much."

The question seemed to startle her. She opened her mouth to retort, but when her lips flapped, nothing came out. When she tried again, the result was the same. After a few seconds of wires sparking and neurons firing, Izuku saw when the realization hit like a truck.

"...Oh yea." She said, her lips forming an O. " I kinda suck at organizing and scheduling."

"Nonsense!" Ibara interjected, rising from her seat. "It just requires a fine hand. Anyone can do it with dedication. You'd be a perfectly fine Vice President, Ashido."

Izuku and Ashido made the briefest eye contact, yet the smiles they took from it endured far longer. He coughed into a fist.

"Good thing you're aware of that, Ibara." He said, pausing as the room's attention returned to him. "Since I voted for you as Vice, right under Kirishima. So, if Ashido is willing to withdraw, I'd like my first and last declaration to be appointing you as Kirishima's second."

It took mere seconds for Izuku and Ibara to swap places, but the moment still felt longer than some of the life-and-death situations he'd faced. They passed each other, as Izuku made his way to his seat and Ibara made her way to Aizawa's desk. Her eyes, wide as saucers, never left his. He only offered her an encouraging smile in return, and made sure not to touch her when he slipped straight past.

While Izuku settled down and Ibara stood before them, Kirishima was still reeling from Izuku's declaration to join 1Z. He was looking between the spot Izuku held moments ago and the girl who now stood on his opposite hand, confused. At last, when it seemed he'd never find himself, Izuku cupped a hand over his mouth.

"Kiri!" He called out, snatching the boy's attention. "You're gonna be a great Class President!"

Kirishima blinked, and only then did it seem to dawn on him that he was the Class President of 1A. For a single zeptosecond, the boy adorned a look of sheer horror—his hand hardened, and his fingers softened—but then Ibara stepped forward and bowed to the class.

"Thank you to whoever voted for me. I will not let you down."

The red-headed boy at her side twitched, puffed his chest, and bowed with her.

"What she said!"

Izuku smiled. They were a good pair for the job—though that annoying buzz was still the back of his mind, nagging him ever-so-slightly.

When Ibara rose, her eyes caught Izuku's for a split second before she looked away again. His smile fell away—but the hurt didn't have a chance to come.

"Fantastic," Aizawa said, his voice a slow drawl. With a near-silent wheeze, he heaved himself to his feet and shambled over to the door. "Mr. President, grab the class and swap into your uniforms. Then, head to the building entrance. Account for everyone, then load onto the bus. We'll be going to the furthest edge of campus."

[x]

"Break." Hawks said, when it was clear Iida was unable to unpin himself from the floor. In a huff, Bakugo released him.

Setsuna enjoyed a long sip of water, glad that her grappling partner was the much less abrasive Mudman, Honenuki. She wanted to get another sip in, but Hawks turned to her, then, a casual death-sentence in his eyes, and nodded.

"Mudboy and Gecko, you're up."

Setsuna rolled her eyes as she tossed her bottle aside and stepped into the ring. Honenuki stood opposite her, his posture low and his signature stance applied. His palms faced down, his fingers splayed, ready to liquify the ground the second she stepped at him.

They were the best grapplers in the team, despite neither of them being the strongest. For all his smarts and his quirk, Honenuki was average in terms of athletics—and Setsuna was weird. There was no concrete way to say who for certain packed the most punch—but grappling was an endurance sport, not strength, and Setsuna was their best hybrid. That wasn't even considering her quirk, which trivialized wrestling. The only thing that could probably out-maneuver her would be a true telekinetic, a mind-controller, or a five-finger conditional. Even then, with her ability to break apart, the conditional would usually only apply to one piece.

Against anyone else, Honenuki had a magnificent chance in terms of quirk-supported wrestling. With a touch, he could sink the floor his opponents stood in, then pin them with ease. Against Setsuna, however?

"Begin."

She could create leverage out of nothing, completely avoid his one commanding advantage, and, not to toot her own horn, demolish him in an arm wrestling competition.

Suffice to say, she pinned him in seconds.

"Break. Gecko, were you even trying?" Hawks asked, raising one scruffed eyebrow in her direction. She did her best to look gracious—but in truth, her heart was brimming with pride. By no means did she want to show that, however—especially when it was as unearned as it was. Setsuna was Honenuki's natural counter. It was only reasonable she'd crush him.

"No, sir. I don't think there's much value in our matchup." She replied, remembering all the drilling Gran gave her over the years. The man expected quick, snappy analysis. She wondered who accustomed him to that.

Regardless, Hawks, though for different reasons, also appreciated the reply.

Beside him, Bakugo was wiping sweat from his eyes. Hawks glanced at the boy, then Setsuna, and his eyebrows did an odd little thing she didn't like.

"Zero," he said, his eyebrows still eyebrowing as he glanced between them. Bakugo's head snapped up to meet the hero's, a dull expression on his face. "Would you like to swap partners with Mudguy?"

It didn't take less than a second for any remaining pride in her chest to flush down the toilet. What replaced it was an inexplicable, unending tightness in her chest. She looked at him, a silent pleading in her eye, but he didn't look her in the eyes.

Bakugo shook his head, and she withheld the deep, heavy sigh of relief. She did not want to touch him—not the least of which because he was the sweatiest man she'd ever smelled.

"Nah. If you wanna swap me, gimme Hands. Or the daddy's boy."

Hawks gave them both a veritable squint, but like the world's laziest bird of prey, gave up the chase once they resisted whatsoever.

With his idea thwarted, Hawks wandered off to supervise a different group, leaving the four of them alone. Only when the man's back was turned did Bakugo look at her, and only once she swallowed down her complaints and met his gaze did he speak.

"Yer Midoriya's girl, right? I don't needa be putting my hands on you. Leasta which is 'cause you'd put 'em back on me."

The question struck something inside her, like two live wires accidentally touching.

"You know Izu?" She asked, and maybe her confusion surprised him, because his scarlet eyes widened.

"Don't you know anything?" He asked, and there was a tang of something foreign in his voice. Whatever it was, she couldn't recognize it—nor what he was referencing. When she shook her head, the blond frowned. Not scowled. Not sulked. Not grimaced. Frowned. A soft, little thing she didn't know he was capable of producing. He turned from her, then, and rejoined Iida, who spent his time watching their interaction with an expression as confused as she felt.

"I'm just a bad memory. Don't mention it." He said, and it was the last she heard of him before the pair pulled away from her entirely.

"I'll—ah, I'm going to take a break." Honenuki said, before slipping away and leaving her alone. She blinked, and that dull pain in her stomach only grew in her sudden solitude.

Not knowing what to do, she wandered over to some couches and settled herself. Her mind was abuzz with thoughts. Izuku's weird behavior worried her, Bakugo's warning confused her, and his "bad memory" statement left her uneasy. Before her mind could consume her, however, a loud, stern voice brought her back.

"Cadet Tokage! Care to explain your current task?" Whirlwind said, his larynx probably crying out with the effort. The old man spoke like a pressurized can, always ready to explode. His words echoed around the 1Z training facility—but by now, the team was used to it. No one even spared them a glance.

She gave him an american-style salute, but didn't rise to her feet.

"Sorry, Sarg. Mudboy took a break, and we're about done with our specific regimen anyways. Just following his example."

For a moment, she wondered if the man would make her stand and start doing laps around the building, but then he nodded—an enormous, sharp movement—and then sat beside her, ramrod straight.

"Excellent. You will never improve if your muscles never have time to relax." He said, and his voice was quieter, but no less hard. "Tell me about your training. Do you feel like you've improved since coming to class? This is a yes or no question, cadet."

"Yes, sir." She said, and before he could speak, elaborated. "Nothing here has broken new ground, but it's pushed me to explore my current limits. It feels easier to reach maximum efficiency now."

His eyes were hard in a way that his son's weren't. His face, aged and immortal, felt carved of stone. Inasa Yoarashi definitely had his father in him, yes. However, it was impossible to cram the titan at her left hand into the young man she called a peer. There was something about him—something simply more. When he moved, her hair rustled, when he breathed, she breathed. When he pointed and told her "Go," the wind was at her back. When he said "Stop," the very world resisted her. Inasa was a far less controlled existence—his wind came with his wildness, in his excitement. With his father, the wind came with his very being—his movement, his action, his intent.

"Good work, Cadet. Enjoy your break. Weights are in half an hour." He said, and suddenly her bangs, glued to her forehead by sweat, swayed free and air-dry. Her clothes ruffled all around, and the back of her neck felt heavenly with a cool breeze.

That wind snaked its way around her, cooling and cleaning her—and all at once, when it blew the bottom of her chin, she came to understand another difference between father and son.

Inasa was strong, and could command the winds to achieve his dreams. He could kill, if necessary, if provoked, if needed, as unfortunately as such a situation might be. His father, however? It felt far more like he controlled the winds. Limited them. Told them to spare villains more often than he willed them to kill.

She blinked, and in a flutter of breeze, Whirlwind disappeared, reappearing half-way across the facility, inspecting some other poor student. Her eyes outlined his shoulders, and couldn't help but shudder. A man that huge who could move that fast? Sure, he might've been a dinosaur, predating even All Might, but watching him handle her peers, she couldn't shake the idea that he was made of different stuff. Or… rather… forged in a fire without All Might.

…Kinda like them.

A hand came up to her face, feeling around her soft spots. She hoped her face didn't look so hard when she got older.

As her eyes settled on Whirlwind, however, something made her stomach turn a little. Something right over his shoulder—a distant, far shape—perhaps a mile or two out. A dome. One of U.A.'s buildings.

It looked a little weird.

[x]

"Single file line, folks! Single file!" Kirishima called, and Izuku couldn't help but roll his eyes. Fifteen minutes as their leader, and already mad with power. Still, he humored his friend's command, and followed closely behind Tokoyami as they boarded the bus. It felt a little silly, getting on a bus for something less than a few miles away—but he supposed it was time efficient.

He settled into an aisle-side seat. Tokoyami got the window, and the row across from him housed Mina and Uraraka. The exact seat behind him was Hitoshi's, and beside him, Asui. Unsure what to do with his hand, he just placed it on his thigh and waited—but a subtle bump made his head turn.

Tokoyami looked pale—or as pale as a feathered biped might become. His eyes bounced all around them, as if inspecting every inch of the bus, before settling on him. He leaned in, the epitome of subterfuge, and whispered.

"Hey, were you for real about the Sports Festival? I… Well, we kinda heard you talk about it once, but that wasn't you telling us, that was us eavesdropping."

"Uh, yeah?" Izuku replied, confused. He matched the boy's tone, though he wasn't sure why. "Why are we whispering?"

Maybe what Tokoyami's face did was a blush. Hard to say. The boy pulled back then, and adjusted the hem of his cloak. Beneath it, an eye blinked up at him. Dark Shadow, Izuku believed its name was. He gave it a little wave. The bird-boy coughed into a fist and fastened the cloak before the shadow had a chance to respond. In the fashion of conventional conversation, he answered.

"I suppose it was foolish, but I find the idea rather awkward. You are, after all, staking a claim that you would win. I know you're rather advanced, but I've never known you to boast."

Beneath their feet, the bus purred to life. Aizawa boarded soon after, gave the driver a casual "go ahead," and slumped into the front seat.

"Well," Izuku said, his eyes on the man's crown of shaggy hair. "I didn't mean to come off like that. 1Z, the nigh-professional team, will also be competing with our class. My win is by no means guaranteed—but…"

He blinked, and he saw his face. Their faces.

"It's not really a question of me really wanting the class. I need it. The quality instruction. The experience. The work. This career—it's my life. It's been my life for a long, long time—and if I don't win the Festival, then I'll be wasting it."

Tokoyami's expressions were hard to master, but Izuku fancied he was getting the hang of it. The boy seemed, in a word, conflicted.

"...Is staying with us truly so awful?" He asked, and his voice was small, like a hatchling's. Immediately, Izuku's stomach dropped.

"No!" He said, and he meant it. "This class is incredible! You guys—you, Tokoyami—are incredible. Everyone with a spot in 1A should be grateful, seriously. It's just… This class isn't built for me, it's built for you."

"I don't understand," he said, his eyes flicking down to Izuku's shoulder. "Is it—"

"No, no," Izuku said, nipping that thought before it could form. "It's just—Think of it this way. How long have you been using your quirk?"

"Since I was born."

"Exactly. Now, how long have you been training your quirk to fight?"

The question seemed to throw a wrench in the boy's cogs.

"I… I really haven't. Dark Shadow has always loved fighting. …Maybe more than he should. Either way, I've never felt the need to learn—I just work on coordination and controlling him. He can kind've get carried away."

"Fair," Izuku nodded, but his questioning wasn't finished. "So, how long have you spent limit testing, developing coordinated combos, and studying strategy? How long have you been studying quirk law, and the classic Samaritan Edict? What about quirk biology? How often do you spar with professional fighters?"

"Ah… I did a bit of training before the U.A. exam. Enough to function in combat—and I've gotten a fair understanding of quirkology. Mostly second hand stuff. But… I haven't done much of what you've talked about. That's why I came to U.A.—so they could teach us all this."

Izuku nodded, not surprised.

"And you're right. That's what U.A. does. It takes kids with untapped potential and makes them into heroes. 1A is made for you, Tokoyami. Tailored for you. But me? It's as you said. I'm not better than anyone by any means—but I am further along. This is my life. My whole world. Staying in this class means repeating everything I've gone through hell to learn for the past four years. 1A takes untapped potential and realizes it—but 1Z takes realized potential and gives them the tools to work in the real world. It's built for people who're already professionally trained."

Tokoyami didn't reply as he spent time absorbing Izuku's claim. The brevity gave him a moment to breathe, and look around—and immediately wish he hadn't. There were at least eight pairs of eyes peeking over the bus seats at him. Maybe he'd been speaking too loudly.

"Nighteye's your master, right?" Tokoyami asked, right before Izuku burst into embarrassed flames. Like a lifeline, Izuku grabbed the thread of conversation and held on for dear life.

"Yes," he said, a little too fast, nearly hissing. "Yes, yes he is. It's how it is with 1Z. All the students there were either directly trained by a pro hero or got sponsored by one."

"May I ask how that came to be? Nighteye has quite the claim to fame, you know. It's not everyday you sit on a bus with the student of All Might's sidekick."

The question, and then the follow up, were like thunderbolts to his nervous system. Perhaps when he next spoke, he spoke with more severity than he intended.

"I'm sorry, no you may not." Izuku said, gritting his teeth. Tokoyami's eyes widened a fraction, and Izuku knew he had to calm himself. With a deep breath, he tried to offer an amicable response—but he knew Tokoyami saw through it. Still, the bird-boy rode along with it, and Izuku blessed him.

"He's an unforgiving slave driver," Izuku admitted, and watched with careful eyes as Tokoyami leaned into their shared seat, listening. "With a penchant for brutal, efficient exercises. Under his hand, I've gone from being literally unable to walk in a straight line—" he paused to gesture at his nub, "—to the best Hero School in Japan. His team literally picked me up piece by piece and made me who I am—so if it wasn't obvious enough already, another reason I need to get into 1Z is to make him proud."

Something he said seemed to have caught the boy off guard.

"Uh—Piece by piece? Do you mean…?"

Izuku's nub itched. He nodded.

"From the very beginning. His efforts saved my life and made me. I have no one to thank before him, except his friend. And my mom."

Tokoyami's eyelids lowered, then rose again—in something reminiscent of a blink, but far, far slower. They shared a thick pause between them, and during that time, the bus's low rumble ceased.

When they stepped off the bus, Izuku craned his neck. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint was an inconceivable dome-structure. Easily, it could house the core facilities of U.A., two full-scale parking garages, and maybe ten football fields. He had to turn his head to see the opposite ends of the building. No matter how far he shuffled backwards, the building was simply wider than his eyes could capture in one image. Perhaps it was the sheer size that lodged a rod of discomfort in his gut, or perhaps not.

With a raised fist, Aizawa had them gather around him. Izuku slipped into an empty space between Tokoyami and Toru.

"This is the USJ. Here, you'll be coming at least once a week to study, theorize, and test different methods of rescue work. In the coming years, you'll be able to take specific classes here—but for now, take today as a trial run. Behave yourselves, and be polite to our Rescue Instructor, who you'll be meeting in a moment. If you aren't, you know the drill. C'mon."

As a unit, they began to move. The doors were quite the intense decoration—thick, heavy, and computer-operated. There were handles, but he imagined it'd take a special type of strength to operate them.

That feeling of discomfort only grew as they walked inside and the interior unfurled. It was even bigger on the inside than the outside. Easily, the USJ was the size of Ground Beta, and that was a whole mock-city. From the entrance, he could make out various custom biomes. Roughly twelve zones centered around a central hub—much like a clock.

At twelve o'clock was a series of hills surrounding a mountain. The zone they were in, six, held dozens of half-destroyed buildings. Ten was on fire. Four held a smaller dome, like a Russian nesting doll, and from here, it appeared to rain inside. Seven had a lake. Two looked like six, but a landslide swallowed most of the buildings.

Their biome was quite interesting. Unlike in the rest of the dome, where skylights and heavy-duty light fixtures kept the giant dome bright, this zone was dark. It wasn't quite night-time, but more like dawn or dusk. He could see his hands, but his skin looked blue and a little fuzzy—and that was in the middle of the street. It was nearly impossible to see in the building's shadows.

Aizawa snaked through the destroyed buildings like he'd done it a million times—which Izuku supposed he might've. The class struggled to keep up. Loose rubble under their feet, the cramped experience of a twenty-man crowd, and the total unfamiliarity were not their friends.

As they weaved through broken alleys, he felt a nudge in his side. It was Tokoyami again, but his expression seemed changed. Maybe it was due to the humidity making his feathers stand on end—but Izuku saw the new understanding in his eyes.

"I'm sorry if it came off like an accusation earlier. It was a rather shocking claim you made in front of the whole class—but I don't think you were boasting. After listening to your story, I can see you've got a lot to lose."

Aizawa jumped over a piece of rubble blocking the thin path, and the class followed one-by-one. Before Izuku had a chance to make the climb, however, Tokoyami pushed past him, nearly slipping before reaching the top. With a too-long-limb slipping from the crevice of his cloak, he offered Izuku a hand up. He took it, and Dark Shadow hauled him up in one. He took a moment to appreciate the creature's texture before turning and helping the person behind them, Toru.

After making sure she got down fine, he turned to Tokoyami.

"Thanks for understanding. It'd be the epitome of irony if I came across as an arrogant prick. I don't want you thinking I think I'm better than you, and especially not because I have a good quirk."

Tokoyami looked like he had something he intended to say, but then he twitched, and said something else.

"Epitome of irony?"

Something squeezed in his chest—and the space behind his eyes grew fierce. The discomfort piercing his gut dislodged, and began spreading through the rest of him. A cold itch traversed his back, starting at his neck and traveling down his spine.

"D-don't…" He began, but the sudden escalation of his heartbeat caught him off guard. "Don't worry about it. Just… an inside joke."

Tokoyami held his eyes for a moment longer before relaxing. The budding nausea grew, its roots piercing through his guts and its branches pushing against his lungs.

"Sure, I guess. All I have to say, though," Tokoyami said, as the artificial sky brightened and 1A arrived at the Central Plaza, "is that I'm a little excited. You don't really get to go all-out in class, right? I'd love to see that. With how wild your quirk is, I bet the Sports Festival will be a spectacle—not to mention with 1Z competing. Just because you guys are gonna be leading the show, however, don't think us in 1A won't be trying."

Izuku wanted to smile, laugh, and agree—but at that exact moment, the little ache in his gut exploded into a nuclear holocaust. He stumbled as the crowd came to a stop. Fearing for his guts, he abandoned Tokoyami and pushed to the fringe of the crowd. When he bent over, however, no vomit came out.

"Alright, kids, say a welcome to our Rescue Instructor."

He didn't see who the class suddenly burst into cheers for, nor could he understand the garbled nonsense they began spouting.

"—rtheen! Een! Tir—"

"Oh! Ma-goss—"

The roaring crowd felt like searing clamps on his ears. As he fell to a kneel, he struggled to breathe. It was like he'd sunk straight to the ocean's bottom, and all the pressure the seas had to offer crushed him at once.

His only solace was a single, warm hand on his shoulder—but when he turned his wavering vision unto the hand's owner, found nothing.

"—you alright?" Toru asked, and he tried to say he was fine, tried to ignore this inconceivable discomfort—but then One for All clicked, and all went silent. He couldn't know how long this moment of sobriety could last, but he knew—if he wasted it, everyone could die.

"Everyone!" He screamed, his voice echoing back twice as strong with the massive dome. "Brace yourselves!"

His scream, a torn, curdling thing, ripped everyone from their exuberance. For a thin, vulnerable moment, nothing happened, and everyone just stared at him, uncomprehending. Toru, retracting a hand, took a half-step back.

"Uhm—are you… alright?" She asked, her voice careful. He shook her off, and in one big push, summoned Voidlimb. It fought him, for a second—but with grit teeth, he tamed it. Nobody reacted—nobody except Aizawa, who he made eye contact with. Without a word, he slipped his golden goggles, raised a fist, and slid into a defensive stance.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Sero asked, his voice sharp and cracking. "Midoriya, what are you—"

All at once, the Danger returned, and with it, a putrid, fetid smell. Instantly, his eyes jumped across the Plaza, and he put his arm out in front of Toru.

Black sludge surged from the ground in a typhoon of filth. It came from nowhere—no leaky pipe, no machine, no crack—just from thin air, this awful blackness formed, twisted, and then settled into the shape of a man.

He wore a simple, hooded brown cloak. A bird-shaped mask, the length of Izuku's forearm, covered most of his face. At one hip, a ceremonial sword hung, gilded and ornate, and at his opposite, a gun holster. In one hand, he held a small creature like a purse-dog. Its cranium was bare, showing its pink brains whilst blinking with wide, unknowing eyes. Black slime dripped from its lips. What little of the cloaked man's eyes Izuku could see were red-rimmed and pale.

The man stood between Aizawa and their Rescue Instructor, Space-Hero Thirteen, forming a triangle. Before any hero could engage him, however, the little creature burped, and the black sludge returned—but this time, instead one man, the sludge brought many.

Without a care for his limits, Izuku grabbed the dial for Danger Sense and cranked it. For a moment, he left the earth, his mind shattered in a million shards, and then he returned, and he knew.

At the cloaked man's right hand, nine men of every shape and size formed from the unknowable, awful sludge. To his left, a single, massive man formed. He held eight, terrible abominations by a leash, each with their brains exposed and their skin blackened and dark.

Behind this triumvirate of wickedness, one final sludge-hurricane formed. Of all the sludge-formations, this one reeked the least—but it was by far the largest. With its recession, 32 men and 8 women stepped forward, each with either guns, brass knuckles , or barb-wire bats. Each wore a bandana over their mouth with embroidered crow skull featured front and center.

The Crow's leader cracked his neck, and the sound reverberated through the whole dome. Not a soul interrupted him. He dropped the little creature at his feet, and wiped the hand that held it against his robe.

"I fucking hate that filthy quirk."

[x]

AN: The beginning of USJ.

I'm spending a lot of mental energy in my real life and in this story-I think, given I'm about to start 52 today, that'll be about either the half-way point, or the one-third point. It's tough. This whole arc went off script, in kinda a good way-but it's complicated everything. I'm running on dreggs, but it's been fun. I'm looking forward to the climax of the first part of this arc-and then the climax of the whole event.

I really liked this chapter, I've decided. I really really do. I hope you guys do, too.

And, if you haven't seen it already, I updated last chapter with a microscopic sentence change. It's toooootaallly worth rereading the whole thing, lol. Still, I realized I wanted it there. Sorry for failing to put it there in the first place.

Bon voyage, I'll see you next week.

Review!~~~