Izuku, after hours of bustling about, could navigate anywhere inside the Stadium. Deducing his immediate location was an afterthought. Little details, though sparse, painted the greater picture in his mind's eye with even more clarity than the palm-sized maps dotting every intersection. It started when he noticed the floor. Each hallway had distinct tiles, with differing colors, sizes, and shapes depending on the facility's quarter—and then he saw the vending machines. No two floors sold the same snacks, or used the same machines.

By the sun, he'd figured the entire facility was built on the west-east line, and that the western half built bathrooms exclusively on the left, and the eastern half built bathrooms on the right. If an intersection employed a soda fountain, there would be a staircase nearby. If it was a water fountain, then he was near the clinic.

Paintings meant an arena-side entrance would appear around the bend, and framed posters indicated a campus-side exit. Murals designate a fire escape. The list went on.

Every decoration and utility was placed with meticulous care—an architect's headache, and a designer's delight. It screamed Nedzu. Reliable, if not creative. The building was a puzzle, the design the key, and Izuku's intuition the cipher. After only a few short minutes of exploring, Izuku relied entirely on the consistent design.

So, when the pattern broke, it was like the rug was pulled from under him. He'd intended to slip into the waiting area early and meditate through the ongoing match, focusing his mind and calming his nerves. It was something he desperately needed. With his stone-heavy shoulders and treacherously queasy stomach, he'd vomit before anyone threw a punch. Now, frozen in place, he knew he wouldn't have that much-needed chance to unwind.

Planted in the hall's center was an obstacle he hadn't accounted for, and it left him dizzy.

"Izuku," the obstacle said, nodding. Nighteye was all angles. With his limber arms buried in his pockets, two sharp triangles jutted from his torso. Unbent knees made his legs into stiff, parallel lines. His face was long and half-hidden in shadow, but his square glasses reflected a dim version of the overhead light.

He swallowed something arid—a cotton swab, perhaps. Maybe a rock.

"...Nighteye."

Nighteye leaned back, revealing a foreign quirk in his cheek. A smile. It struck Izuku dumb, both from the open endearment and the novelty of its presence. All at once, as if by magic, Nighteye softened. The changes were so slight, Izuku questioned if anything had changed at all—but he was certain a change occurred.

The triangles dulled as he pulled back his elbows. A dress-shoe twisted out, undoing the stark lines of his legs. His chest pushed out, and his shoulders lost their firm attention.

It was someone he'd never met. Even at his least guarded, most emotional, Nighteye had never appeared so… domestic. Izuku could almost mistake him for a well-dressed civilian. Almost. Long-honed skills had him scouring Nighteye's stance for weaknesses, and was surprised to find… so many. He hardly looked capable of blocking a punch, let alone dodging gunfire.

"Mm…" Nighteye hummed, observing Izuku observing him. His glasses glinted in the light. Without further preamble, Nighteye shrugged towards the hall's far end—down the path Izuku'd intended to take, though he wasn't so sure anymore. "Shall I escort you to your appointment? I believe your match will begin rather soon…"

Izuku nodded, his teeth glued together. He suppressed the shiver that came with Nighteye's deepening smile. Stepping into his flank, both males began the long walk to Izuku's destination, side by side.

He couldn't discern if their walk made Nighteye uncomfortable, but it certainly made him. On one hand, Nighteye, in many ways, raised him. The hero taught him everything he valued most, and was there when he needed guidance and support in equal amounts. It wouldn't be a ginormous, titanic stretch to call him almost, barely, just a little, teensy-bit fatherly.

On the other hand, he'd exposed Izuku's most private worries to an entire council of strangers. The betrayal sat in his mouth like brackish, bitter water. He'd spent hours trying to spit it out, but no luck. It still stung.

Nighteye seemed content to let the walk be a quiet thing, but Izuku found that unacceptable. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but he was sure something needed to be said. At the very least, if he didn't voice his grievances, he'd explode.

Problem was, that required his voice. That, he realized quickly, would be difficult if his teeth wouldn't pry apart. He spent an embarrassing amount of time wrangling back control of his facilities, working open his jaw, and untangling his tongue. It was a monumental effort, and by the time he finished, he realized paintings of classic heroes lined every wall. They'd almost arrived.

Panic struck him faster than the resignation. He was about to fight Setsuna, and after a bombardment of confusing signals, defeats, and hair-won victories, he felt more likely to collapse than compete. Izuku was more than tired, however. He was scared.

Of what, he still wasn't sure—but with a sudden realization, he understood who might know.

Before Izuku could master himself, his panic won. Squealing to a stop, his sneakers pivoted, and following their lead, Izuku shoved his escort against the wall with all his lop-sided strength. Nighteye choked as his back smashed against a delicate portrait of Joust, the Silver-Age Martyr of Hokkaido. Eyes wide, he reached for Izuku, but Blackwhip was already out. In a flash, Nighteye was pinned against the wall by unruly, shifting whips.

Izuku held him there by a thread. Already, Blackwhip bucked against his control, seeking freedom and following the path of least resistance. His mind scrambled to regain control, but he could only pay half his attention to his whips when the other half was repressing the desire to shove the man a second, cathartic time.

After just a few more seconds of struggling, Nighteye stilled. There was no fight in his eyes—just serene, almost angelic resignation. The transparent acceptance of his situation put Izuku off, but busy as he was controlling his whips, he paid it little mind.

"Why?" Izuku rasped, unable to string together anything more complicated. Of all the things he needed from Nighteye, however, this was the most important. Superfluous language be damned—he needed to know. "Why!?"

Nighteye did not fidget, and met Izuku's eyes when he spoke.

"It was a confession years in the making. I simply expedited it for your sake—"

"My sake?" Izuku interjected, pressing the bulk of his whips further into his chest. It hardly had his desired effect, but that didn't matter. "How is throwing away centuries of security for my sake? How could you say that!"

Nighteye's unfamiliar smile was long gone, but nothing had replaced it. No stone-cold stare, no calculating eyes—Mirai Sasaki looked like a blank slate. A mannequin with no inputs to give.

"You said it yourself. Centuries. Nearly three hundred years—all building up to you, us, and the decision I made. I've been thinking about this for months… years, really. Maybe decades, but I'm not… Nevermind. At the very least, ever since you brought Tokage into our world, it's—"

Blackwhip vanished like a rainbow without perspiration. Black motes of energy hovered between, obscuring Nighteye for as long as they lingered, but it was an insubstantial barrier. Nighteye walked through their bulk, appearing so suddenly that Izuku stumbled back. His ears rang.

"Don't… Don't you dare…" He said, swallowing. Something drew his eyes down, away from Nighteye's. He tried to fight it, but he simply wasn't strong enough. His fist curled into a ball. When he called for Blackwhip, it didn't come. "Don't you dare say that. You swore me—everyone—to discretion. It's taken so much…"

One of Nighteye's shoes left the ground, and Izuku flinched back. He took a step forward, and then another. Izuku's heels dragged backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. Nighteye didn't stop walking until their positions reversed, with Izuku backed into a corner.

"Dare I say what? That despite my efforts, resources, and guidance, she's the one who makes you better? Dare I say what you need most is help? Dare I say that what killed Eight wasn't a villain, but a lifetime of secrecy, solitude, and arrogance? Dare I say," Nighteye said, grabbing Izuku's chin and forcing their eyes to meet, "that I was wrong?"

Neither moved, a silent war waging in the unsaid. Izuku tried to stay strong, but inch by inch, Nighteye took ground, and Izuku relinquished it. He began to loom over Izuku, towering not just in stature, but in ferocity. The mannequin vanished, and what replaced it wasn't anger, or even frustration with Izuku. It was regret. When Izuku's hips joined his shoulders on the wall, it was over.

Izuku let out a shaking breath. It dawned on him, in that moment, that Nighteye was simply incapable of understanding. Mirai Sasaki was a perfectionist. There were no blemishes in his record, no fatalities, and nothing to bridge the gap that divided them. Oh, he knew pain and grief, but Sir Nighteye's experience gave him blindspots. Even after years of washing blood stains from his sleeves, he'd never learned that you couldn't simply wash blood off your hands.

Izuku killed a man, hurt countless others, and endangered everyone he loved. It took a crippling reality check and years of maturing to accept that he painted a target on Setsuna's back—and even more strength to fix it. Her heart would be his ball and chain for life, but just as he began moving on, Nighteye'd done the unforgivable: dragged more people in.

It was insane. Sir Nighteye, of all people—Mr. Mystique and Secrecy himself—openly admitting that the world was a worse place because of Izuku's sins. Six years ago, just the chance of Izuku's corruption had Nighteye pressuring him to quit. Years of Nighteye holding Setsuna at arm's length flickered past his mind's eye. Grave conversations held over sweat-pooled gym mats and long car rides followed. Every time One for All held his tongue came next. Sashimi's grotesque face, ruined by a nine-year-old's tantrum. Setsuna, unconscious in his arms, burned and beaten.

All Might, with a hole in his chest the size of a bowling ball. One for All, granting him its quirks, but not the strength he oh-so-needed.

It was a heavy realization, but an easy one. Even if a miracle occurred and Setsuna accepted the dangers, and even if she could protect herself, or he could protect her, it wouldn't be worth the risk. To be worth it, he'd have to deserve her, and she would need to deserve him—which was impossible. She deserved the world, and he deserved the torture it put him through.

Now, in going behind his back, Nighteye inadvertently passed the curse Izuku'd been trying to save Setsuna from onto the poor backs of these exhausted, overworked heroes.

Nighteye opened his mouth, but Izuku heard none of it. The dull ring had grown into a full whine, devouring any and everything audible. He couldn't hear his own breathing, let alone whatever philosophical epiphanies Nighteye excreted.

One for All was a burden in his chest, an angry monsoon sending wrathful ocean waves crashing into sandy dunes. It did nothing to wash away the coast's vast beach. He felt every jarring impact as a kick to the stomach, and every quiet recession as a deep ache. Izuku blinked through tears, but could still see regret lacing Nighteye's face, and the tiny, inexcusable confusion lingering within.

"You don't get it," Izuku forced out, though he couldn't tell if it was audible. He couldn't even hear his own messy thoughts anymore. Opening his mouth again, he tried explaining his ire, his fears—but his throat denied him. One for All tugged at his collar, and his explanation bled away.

Screw this.

He cracked his fist against Nighteye's wrist and tore his chin free. Before his mentor could react, Izuku spartan-kicked him across the hall. He barely glimpsed a purple flash before screwing his eyes shut and sprinting away. The piercing whine ate his every footfall, every hoarse breath, and every flap of his rustling U.A. uniform. His tongue tasted like copper and his nose felt so clogged with snot he could hardly breathe. All he had left was his blurry, wet vision and the inescapable itch.

More than anything, the itch remained.

His fervor petered out once Nighteye's eyes were off him, but his blind sprint didn't cease. Thoughts toiled about his mind in a storm, never settling. Unable to break free, he did the one thing that didn't require a decision: following the too-preppy announcement of his match. It was time.

Then, he bulldozed a purplish-green teenager coming the opposite way. Only the faint flicker of Danger Sense made him stomp the brakes, but even then, his victim crashed on the floor, and Izuku's skull stung where it met their's.

As they groaned and rolled onto their side, Izuku wiped away his tears. It dawned on him that the teenager himself wasn't purple and green—their face was just painted in bruises. Stupefied at his injuries, Izuku didn't move until the boy stood on his own.

A greenish left eyelid blinked out of sync with a swollen purple lid.

"Dude… what the hell?" The boy said, rubbing his forehead. A rare patch of pale skin was turning red, and Izuku could feel his forehead mirror it. Izuku struggled to repress his embarrassment, but it was useless. He prepared his apology forthwith, but couldn't force it out before the boy's eyes shot open. Jaw on the floor, the boy nearly choked on his own surprise. "...Wait! No way! I—holy shit!"

Izuku froze up. Something curdled in his stomach as the boy seemingly forgot his tattered health and began bouncing in place.

"Dude! Dude, dude, dude!" He said, grabbing Izuku's shoulders and shaking them. Izuku couldn't fathom where his energy came from—a moment ago, he'd looked like an unwrapped mummy. Now he was practically lifting Izuku off the ground. "Dude—how didn't I notice earlier! You're Izuku Midoriya!"

It was all Izuku could do to nod. At once, the boy seemed to remember himself and retreated five steps, but his energy remained. His weight bounced from foot to foot while his hands shook and flapped all around him.

"I don't know how I missed it. When I got knocked out, I must've gotten in my own head. It's ridiculous how I could miss your name in the speakers, but now that I can see you up close, it's totally you! Man, this is crazy…"

"...And—" Izuku began, pausing to cough. "How… Why… Uh, is there anything I can help you with?"

The boy froze mid-bounce, eyes wide. He blinked, and Izuku pretended the boy's eyes didn't flick to the empty stump on his shoulder. Izuku shifted to show his better profile.

Izuku couldn't concoct a single reasonable justification for the guy's energy. It left him wary—in his experience, eliciting this strong of a reaction meant he'd done something wrong.

"Oh! Dude—my man, uh, we've never met! But I'd never forget your face, dude. Not in a million years. You saved Tatsumi's life! You're my fuckin'—gosh, dude, sorry to say, but you're my hero!"

Izuku blinked.

The boy blinked. He lifted his hand to the height of his ear, lifting a swollen eyebrow. When Izuku didn't react, he faced each palm to each other and chopped them through the air, keeping them close together. Finally, when he mimed cradling a baby, Izuku shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know a Tatsumi. Is she a… friend?" Izuku asked, glancing over the boy's shoulder. He tried not to let his nerves show.

The boy made a sound in the back of his throat, considering his response. After a few seconds, he sighed.

"I guess you never got her name, then. Tat is my sister, and a few years ago, she nearly died during that crazy bridge bombing. Lil' Sai nearly ate it with her. They were both screwed, but before bad got worse, you showed up, right? Before Endeavor, before his sidekicks—hell, before you were even, what, thirteen? You were there. I wouldn't have a nephew without you, dude."

As the story unfolded, Izuku was sent tumbling back in time. Headaches, heartaches, explosions, blood—and a single mother, dangling off the bridge's ledge.

When Izuku came to, he realized the boy was grinning from ear to ear.

"So you do remember, right?"

Izuku closed his jaw. He hadn't remembered opening it. Experimenting with different vowels and consonants made him feel like a toddler, but to enunciate what he was feeling, he'd need every trick in the book. In short, he made an awkward gurgling noise before clearing his throat.

"She's—they're alright?" Izuku asked, struck by how little he'd thought of them in recent years. They weren't the first people he ever helped, but he was certain their deaths were the first he prevented.

"Oh yeah, they're in the crowd today! Almost wasted their time, before I got this second chance. Sai's started walking a bit ago, and he's been speaking like a little lawyer. It's freaky how the little dude picks up all my interests—he's got All Might sheets on his bed, y'know? Begged for them. I—"

The boy babbled on, and Izuku let him. So, that little baby was a person, now? The mom was somewhere above them, watching the show? With her child?

…There was a toddler in the stands, watching him today. One that wouldn't be there if not for him. That whole day was a blur, but he could see Tatsumi's face now with her little brother before him. They shared the same cheeks, and narrow foreheads. Mostly, however, he was struck by the familiar smile. Izuku had no doubt: they were blood.

His memory of her gratitude was clear, but in the corners of her smile, Izuku couldn't help but imagine disappointment. She and her baby watched him make a miserable fool of himself today. They'd seen him be… they knew he'd…

Knowing that they'd seen him like this was a blow straight to the heart. It burned like hell, and he hadn't the slightest clue what to do..

He glanced at his hand. Trembling. Distantly, he was aware that the boy was still babbling.

Biting his inner lip, Izuku placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. It quieted his story and Izuku's tremors in equal part. After Nighteye—and this—he needed space, and desperately.

"I'm glad they were here to see your second chance," Izuku said, lowering his eyes from the boy's bruises. "And I hope they get to see you perform even better next year."

The boy blinked. His greenish-purple face twisted into a lumpy smile, and he laughed.

"Dude, it doesn't get much better than this! Not only did I get to meet you, I'm moving onto the finals!"

Huh?

"Huh?"

"Battle Fist was awesome! Did you see the shiner she gave me?" He asked, gesturing at his entire face. "But I finagled her out of bounds! Dude, you're going next, right? After you win, we'll both be finalists! Gosh, this is so cool."

Smiling to himself, the boy ducked out from Izuku's hand and stepped past him.

"Anyways, watching you save my sister on the news has stuck with me, dude! I wouldn't be at U.A. without seeing what you could do—what anyone could do, given the chance. You're a cool dude, man. Good luck!" He said, waving Izuku goodbye as he half-jogged down the hall. Izuku waved back, but his tongue was stuck in his mouth. His inability to voice his thoughts frustrated him…

But he wasn't sure what he would've said regardless.

Izuku stared at the space the boy occupied, tracing the path he'd left with. He hadn't left any scuff marks on the tiles, and Izuku's sinuses were so full he couldn't smell the hard-earned sweat wafting off him. It was like the other boy'd never been there. Like he'd been some pleasant spirit stopping by. An insubstantial visit, but profound for the material man.

And Izuku was feeling very material.

He walked the remaining distance to the arena's entrance with an upset stomach, stone-heavy shoulders, and an even heavier heart. When he stepped into the Stadium's open air, he kept his head down. Present Mic's voice could barely compete with the blood pounding in his ears.

"Where've—been? Nerves getting—ya? Any—words for—today?"

It might've been encouragement. It might've been his professionalism saving face for Izuku's tardiness. He hadn't meant to be late, he wanted to say. People just kept slowing him down.

Forgetting himself, he nearly raised his eyes off the floor. Ascending the Arena's stairs, he almost glimpsed her, and flinched.

Neck up, he might've been the same color as his sneakers. He thought he needed space. This wasn't what he meant. The Arena's open air made breathing even harder—the entire Stadium's attention pressed on his chest like an elephant doing a handstand. It was a miracle he didn't pop… or melt.

Her presence was an overfed bonfire, outrageously large and left to burn. More than his eyes, his skin felt her, even some twenty paces apart. She was a radiant thing—terrifyingly hot and ravenous, devouring even Midnight's powerful presence. To him, there was only one person before him, and the idea alone of meeting her eyes was herculean.

Midnight asked her something, but Izuku knew her attention never left him. Though to his best ability he ignored her overwhelming warmth, her gaze was a focused laser. It was a sharp pain—a knife dancing across his face, roaming his features, drinking him in—but not as sharp as her words. They cut through the thick air as a red-hot knife through soap.

"I am ready," Setsuna said. They were simple things, but she said them with such conviction that Izuku was startled into looking up—and once he had, there was no going back.

Dark green eyes paralyzed him. The crowd fell away, and for the trillionth time, he found her more than simply pretty. There was a tired, gaunt look to her now that tugged at his heart, but it did nothing to diminish her. Her charm simply overpowered the exhaustion.

Yet, the flaws persisted in his mind as weeds in a garden. Whatever torment she'd gone through, whatever she'd done to herself—she wouldn't have gone so far if he'd simply let her go sooner. He hadn't saved her from this pain, but his efforts would prevent future catastrophe. As the saying went: The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now.

In his mind, he apologized to Shoto. He'd meant it, when he said it—he'd been ready to talk to her. But, it seemed, circumstances begged for something more drastic.

He didn't know why the woman's face flashed by his mind again. Tatsumi's visage, shoving Sai into his hands and preparing to die faded as fast as it came.

A fly buzzed in his ear. It sounded something like Midnight's voice, guised with her sultry performance.

"And do you, Midoriya, accept the match?"

With all his strength, his eyes broke from Setsuna's strangling hold—only to settle just above, on the pale gap between her bangs. He remembered kissing her forehead, thinking it might've all been over.

His jaw ached where he'd soon after scraped the flesh off to the bone. His eyes slid down her face, where her sharp teeth had dug into the flag he'd released from his own. His eyes slid lower, crossing her torso until finding her leg.

A shiver ran down his spine, imagining what might've happened if she couldn't regenerate. Her limb would be lost forever. He'd never see her proud, confident stance again. She'd never run with him again, never train the same. They'd never dance together.

She'd be crippled, just like him. It was better this way, he knew; they might not dance together, but at least she could dance with someone else.

He took a deep, long breath, filling every inch of his lungs despite how his throat itched. When he couldn't take any more, he let it all go in a huff. Sliding back his left foot, Izuku raised his guard and extended Danger Sense to Setsuna. He didn't even bother with himself.

His chest was heavy, and when he gave Midnight her answer, it grew no lighter.

"Let's get this over with."

Then, without him moving, something put Setsuna in danger, but he couldn't gauge what, as his entire world flickered black.

[x]

Something cracked in her fist as it met Izuku's cheek. Her ring and pinkie finger broke, she thought. It was a marvel she didn't feel Izuku's cheek break in turn, but she didn't marvel for long. His back bounced off the ground once, and then he lay still. Before he even twitched, she was on him again. Her heel cracked the ground where his head was, but he'd woken up in a hurry. Spinning on his hip, he swept her feet out from under her, and she let him.

Both her ankles went flying into the distance, but shins and above, she didn't budge. Grabbing his shirt by the collar, she lifted and tossed him across the arena, as far from the border as possible. Twisting mid-air, he landed in a crouch and slid back. Springing up, he braced himself—and she was on him again, throwing a second hook with her broken hand. He leaned into it, throwing his neck into the crook of her elbow. Before she could react, he twisted his palm to grab her inner thigh and leveraged their proximity to flip her.

She hardly felt the concrete below her. This prolonged contact was like magma, searing and melting where they touched. He was too warm, his proximity too hot.

He let go first. Scurrying back, he gave himself enough space to spew smoke. From where she laid, she launched her fist forward, planting it deep in his gut to cut off his air. His choke cut off his smoke. She only saw his grimace for a second, however, before his smoke enveloping him in a filmy, green armor. It wasn't enough to camouflage him, but it was enough to strengthen him.

With it, he was fast enough to hound her in moments. He grabbed her elbow as she stood up and tried throwing her, but again, she let her elbow pop off entirely without letting herself be pulled. Her hand, now mostly healed, shot around his throat and squeezed. With the thin layer of smoke between her fingers and his neck, he was able to breathe, but not escape.

He grabbed at her wrist, squeezing with all his enhanced strength. She felt her fingers give a little as his grip began to hurt—but with a shout, her discarded feet flew into his back. She felt his throat convulse as his control lapsed, and her iron claws met the bare flesh of his jugular.

His eyes met hers down the length of his nose, wide and watery—but still firm.

"Come on now! Is that all, Midoriya?" Setsuna shouted, redoubling her strength. She could feel how his surname affected him. It wasn't something she called him anymore, but it was to prove a point. Izuku gagged as she lifted him into the air. They ascended higher and higher, till they towered over the Stadium's highest seats. She presented him to the sun as an offering.

Izuku kicked at her thighs, but she hardly felt it. With her stranglehold, his smoke floated aimlessly around them. She stopped being careful with her strength a while ago, and wouldn't pretend his unenhanced kicks could hurt. Something fought through her fingers—a tiny exhale, an even smaller word.

"...Yes," Izuku answered. She thought her teeth might crack. Lifting him as high as her elbow extended, she pivoted mid-air and pitched him back to Earth. She watched him fall in silence. It was almost kind of sad, really—like a pebble thrown in a pond. He didn't even glide. Just hit the bottom in a puff of jostled silt.

She drifted down after him, watching him roll over and retch. Stopping just a few feet above his kneeling form, she considered him as his smoke began creeping back towards him. No whips, no inhuman reflexes. He hadn't even hit her—not really. Just tossed and squeezed. He hadn't even bit into her wrist with his fingernails. Hell—he'd even let her punch him first. Any other day he would've dodged and countered before Setsuna even finished throwing the punch.

"I watched both your matches, so I know you're not broken. You hit them, you can hit me. I can take it," Setsuna said. Izuku coughed and groaned as he stumbled to his feet. He wiped something wet from his lips. Vomit or saliva, she wasn't sure.

"You don't need any more of mine," Izuku wheezed out. Smoke snaked around his legs and embraced his form, just as he put his guard up. Setsuna chortled, but didn't find it funny.

"Anymore of your what? Emo-ness? Bullshit? Neglect? Mood-swings? Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm already signed up. For them, for you, and for life," Setsuna said.

It was true. She'd accepted the risks. She'd made her promises. Maybe he didn't truly understand why. Maybe something wouldn't let him. Maybe he and that something were one and the same—but she didn't care. Whatever he was hiding… She didn't need care, and she never had. They'd been together for years, and it was time he acknowledged that. Screw everything else.

Her words seemed to land on his shoulders like real, physical weights. They lowered, firm and tired, as his gaze locked onto the floor. His hand curled into a fist.

Slowly, part of the smoke swirling around him collected around his shoulder. They clouded her view of his form, and curious, she made no move to stop him as five whips sprouted from the smoke's swirling center. Braiding into one another, the whips ended in a knot that hung past his knees. From that knot, five distinct strands. The ball of smoke dripped down Voidlimb with long-honed muscle memory, and Izuku stood before her with his second arm.

The whips didn't falter. They remained still, obedient, and without personality. Their focus, their precision, was familiar. When Izuku lifted his head to meet her's, she saw the same focused pinch in his eyebrows, in his scrunched nose.

"...No," Izuku said, working his jaw. His eyes said a million things, but she could only hold her breath and listen to his words. "Not for life. We can't be together, Tokage. That would end terribly, and if I… If I have to prove it, then… so be it."

Setsuna stilled. She hadn't thought a single sentence from Izuku's mouth could've hurt more than the last few months combined, but she'd been wrong. It was a… rejection. Outright. Made aloud. He'd even discarded her name—the first thing she'd ever offered him.

One of his whip-fingers twitched. A tiny rebellion. That's all she saw before Voidlimb expanded to massive size and swatted her out of the sky.

[x]

AN: New MHA chapter makes my edgefest look half ass LOL. Sorry for another delay; had a death, school, and several days of writers block. Currently on the cusp of finishing the sports festival. I've been thinking about what I'll do when the sports festival finishes-I'm thinking I'll be posting oneshots for other fandoms for a little while. Shorter, snappier, higher quality stuff, I think.

review!