Mirio takes one look at her when Monday comes and sighs a sigh. "Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not," Izumi shrugs. Her left cheek is a lovely painting of reds and purples and blues, and there's this bandaid stretching the bridge of her nose, the cause of which should and would remain a secret. Preferably forever.
"Did you at least see the nurse?"
He's kidding. "You're kidding, right?" He's not. "You want me to go and see Recovery Girl on my very first day in the program for a bruise and a few scratches? Are you crazy?"
He frowns at her. "It's a head injury. You should always be cautious of potential concussions. You risk doing more harm by ignoring it."
"It's a bruise, you worrywort, not a contusion!"
"A contusion is a bruise, Izumi." He shakes his head and lets out a groan far too exhausted for her not to take offense. "At least promise me you'll say something if you start feeling dizzy or having trouble focusing?"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." It really wasn't that big of a deal, she just tripped and fell head first into a brick wall while fleeing for her life. It happens to everyone. "Where's Amajiki?"
"Tamaki? Bathroom. You know how he is. First days are always bad for him."
That is gross and she makes sure to tell Mirio exactly why. There are certain things in this world that a girl simply did not wish nor need to hear about, Tamaki's weak bowels being one of many.
Later, after their party had become three then two again, she and Tamaki stand before the doors to their homeroom. Each one stood as tall as they ever did. Imposing and material. They are intimidating beyond measure, though Izumi understands that is hardly the point. Quirks are always a wildcard when it comes to anatomy, and Yuei needed a way to be accommodating to any and all of her potential students.
There's a frog in her throat as she stares up at them, and it's jumping and it's leaping and it's doing all manner of froggy things, but she can't help but hope that she is the one who gets the chance to do the croaking. At least then she won't have to face her new classmates. First day jitters spared not even her.
A hand lands upon her shoulder, offering up a short and reassuring squeeze to her as tribute. "Everything will be f-fine, Izumi."
She pats the hand sympathetically and turns to give her friend a fleeting grin. "That's sweet, Tamaki, but …" you're the one trembling here.
Through chattering teeth, Tamaki says, "No 'buts.' It will be fine. I'll make s-sure of it."
With one last steadying breath, Izumi nods and steels herself. "Should we head inside then? Face the music?" His lack of a verbal response is as good as she'd expected to get, so she nods again and takes a step forward. Tamaki's hand tightens like an anchor, though, stopping her forward march in its infancy. "Tamaki? What happened? Aren't we going in?"
He swallows. "I can't move my legs."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't move my legs."
She glances down at them but they seem totally fine. Neither missing nor buckling nor anything else, for that matter. She looks back up at him. "I'm pretty sure you can, dude."
"No," he shakes his head, "No, I really can't."
"Tamaki, you walked here. Your legs work."
"That was then," he argues, and it would absolutely not hold up in a court of law, "They're just not—They're not working anymore!"
Her eyebrow twitches. He's being ridiculous. "What do you expect me to do about it? Carry you into class?"
"I meant it as a joke," she groans as they cross the threshold.
Tamaki tucks his face shamefully into her shoulder and whispers an apology that does nothing to ease the burden he's placing on her arms. Nor does it make what follows any easier.
Somebody coughs when she walks deeper and despite her best attempt to silently make it to Tamaki's desk—and her classmates best intentions, she's sure—the rest soon catch sight of them. "Amajiki!" one pipes up, waving. It only makes his trembling worse. Others turn to look at them and murmur to one another, asking 'who's the girl again?' and 'is that Midoriya?'
The hero department's newest cohort is thirty students strong, but only twelve of which reside in the class she will soon call home—thirteen now, with her included. Tamaki and Nejire make two, so there were only ten students unaccounted for.
Izuku knows most of them well enough. As part of the transfer process, she'd been shadowing and joining various lessons when they fell within gaps in her curriculum. The Sports Festival doesn't come until after the deadline for switching classes, likely by design, so the burden of meeting the requirements necessary for transfer land solely upon the hero hopeful's shoulders—hers. It's truthfully a bit ridiculous, especially considering she already had to stand the podium at the festival to even be considered, but alas. Those are the rules as they are written and nothing she is capable of would change them.
Somebody in the room gasps and that's all it takes for whispers to become shouts. "It is Midoriya," one of them cheers, laughing. "Where have you been, girl? You disappeared all of a sudden, and now you come back with your face all scratched and bruised? You didn't even make it to summer training. Totally missed it! Was it the yakuza? You'd tell us if it was, right? Midoriya, you have to promise me it's the yakuza. It's very important."
The questions spark a heated debate that spreads through the room like wildfire. It's as good a chance as she's going to get, so Izumi secrets them both her and her ride-along off to Tamaki's desk and drops him in his seat. Her arms relish the chance to breathe and she shakes them out with all she has. His desk is against the wall closest to the door, halfway back, and just beside a large window. It's a sunny day outside, and brighter than bright. Her pupils constrict to pinpricks the longer she looks out over the cityscape of Musutafu.
By the time she drags her attention back to the front of the room there's a man at the front of the room possessing all the energy of a narcoleptic goat. Black of hair, black of eye, black of heart, black of coffee. He grunts when he steps up behind the podium and, miraculously, Izumi translates it into an order for her to appear beside him.
"As many of you have probably surmised by now, a new student will be joining your classes from now on. As the coordinator and overseer of the hero department's transfer program, it is my," he squints at his script somewhat distastefully, and mutters something under his breath, "It is my distinct privilege to introduce her. I'm sure you have already met, but for those of you who may have forgotten. This is Izumi Midoriya. Silver medalist in the Sports Festival this year, and a recent transfer from the general education department."
Izumi waits for him to say more, but it becomes clear after a long pause that he has no intention of doing so. Awkward, she turns and smiles stiffly at the gathered students. "Please take care of me," she asks as she bows.
With that done and out of the way, the tired man nudges her forward. "Take any of the open desks. It doesn't matter which, if it already belongs to a student then it won't for long."
Hesitantly, she chooses the one beside Tamaki, silently letting up a prayer that she was not just the reason for somebody's expulsion. The man up front nods in approval and makes a quick note on the seating chart. "Now—"
"Er." Somebody immediately interrupts him. Daring. "Sorry, sir, but I have a question."
Black eyes slide up to the offending person and their even more offending hand. It waved in the air like the white flag of the defeated: trembling and unsure. "Then quit wasting everybody's time and ask it."
"Right," they cough, "Um. Where's our, like, uh—our actual teacher?"
He holds their gaze for just long enough to be uncomfortable, yet somehow not too long to where he makes himself out to be a hypocrite and a time-waster. It's a thin line he dances upon, but dance it, he does. "Midnight is out on mission, she was supposed to be back by now, but obviously she's not. There will be no further questions. Now, as you have all completed the summer training," his wandering eyes found Izumi and he sighed, telling her quickly to speak with him after class, "The next step is to focus on another limiting factor for all aspiring heroes: control."
They follow the tired man to Gym Gamma. Their class is scheduled for theory, but it appears they'd be partaking in the lab portion early. The gym is in a large building she's been to once or twice before, and the insides are as unmiraculous as they ever were. It's a concrete tomb with windows and air conditioning. Raised balconies, orange and green, circle the room on two levels and on one stands another professor. A figure who more closely resembles a block of cement than a man. His hero alias is Cementoss and he once gave Izumi failing marks on a subjective literature essay for not citing her sources properly.
For the moment, the tired man ignores his colleague and turns to the assembled students, raising the stack of papers he holds for them to see. "In my hand I hold the assignments Midnight prepared in advance for each of you. On them, she lists specific areas in which you should focus your attentions both in and out of class. For some, it's potential techniques, for others, it's ways to further refine things you are already capable of doing."
Beside her, Izumi thinks she hears somebody swallow. When she looks to check who it is, she sees a boy with his jaw hanging low and smoke pouring from either side like drool. He catches her eye and turns away, scratching his neck in embarrassment as his jaw clicks shut.
"Come forward in order of your seat numbers to collect yours. Anybody out of turn will have their sheet burned. Start."
Nobody questions the order; neither its authenticity nor its sincerity. This is Izumi's first clue that the man is deadly serious. The second is that, of all the people, it's her wife—yes, that wife—that grabs her by the collar and drags her to her correct place in the line that's forming.
" … Nejire?" Izumi murmurs, confused.
The other girl doesn't need to turn for Izumi to know she's frowning. The stiffness in her posture is evidence enough. "Just shut up and wait for your paper. Aizawa has expelled students for less. Don't give him a reason because he doesn't need one."
"Why are you helping me though?" It's not as if the two of them were on especially good terms. Izumi has never gotten the impression Nejire wants her around; this would be the perfect chance to rid herself of a nuisance. "Don't you want me expelled?"
The comment is above Nejire's notice and neither says anything more. Tamaki is just ahead getting his paper, though he looks about ready to fold, and they're up next. Izumi thanks the tired man with a half smile and a short bow when her turn comes before shuffling away.
Her stomach drops as soon as she finishes reading the first few lines.
"Midoriya!" An excitable voice comes from behind and Izumi manages a smile as a girl by the name of Akari Doyle bounces over. "Looks like we get to work together on your first day back! And its flight training. Score!"
She chuckles as she scans their surroundings. "It should be fun," she agrees. At least as long as their group's last member permitted it to be so.
Nejire sighs as she approaches, intentionally loud, and ties her hair back. "Let's go outside."
"Outside?"
Her wife eyes her cheek. "Unless you'd prefer to eat concrete again?"
"Ah." No, she's actually quite alright in the regard. Once was enough. "We'll meet you out there."
Nejire leaves and bird songs follow her as she pushes through the front door. Akari lets out a low whistle. "Love to see her leave, but love to watch her go even more."
It startles a laugh from Izumi's chest so suddenly that she has nothing at the ready to make it stop. Akari basks in her success for as long as she's allowed, but then she's fishing through her backpack and withdrawing a book from its depths. It's paperback with curled pages and exposed binding. Golden mountains beneath a red sun stretch the cover and the title is torn away and missing.
"It's called 'The Hobbit,'" Akari explains when Izumi asks, "It's an old book, so my creation won't be as sturdy, but since this is practice," she shrugs and they head for the doors. "No need to break out my leathers for something like that."
She carelessly flips to somewhere close to the end of the book, opening to a page with a highlighted section. She begins to read aloud and the words flow like some kind of spell. With each word she utters, the corresponding one would lift from its spot on the page, floating and spinning around in the air around them. It's all done in English, so Izumi struggles to keep up with the pacing, but some of the words are recognizable. Things like 'eagle' and 'majestic.'
"Your quirk is so dumb," Izumi complains as the passage ends and the book unbinds itself. Some of the pages join the words where they dance and thrum through the air while others dip lower. Akari giggles through the last words in the passage and then, with no prompting from the reader, it all suddenly sews itself together in the shape of a giant eagle. "Like, it doesn't even make any sense." The bird's body is hollow, and loose words jump from the sheets and fill the spots where there isn't enough material. It ruffles its paper feathers and lets out a soundless cry.
"This coming from the esper?"
Izumi scoffs and curls her toes to begin floating up. Beside her, Akari climbs on the back of her creation. "My actual anatomy changed to accommodate these powers, thank you very much. It's scientific. Yours is just magical hoo-ha." They rise into the air and fly to the edge of a nearby wooded lot, laughing and spinning and smiling as they go. Izumi's shirt crawls up her waist during one particularly daring twist; she drags it down with a hand as soon as she's landed and free to do so. A third-year teaching assistant is waiting for them at the forest's edge, lazing about on their phone, and Nejire corkscrews around a cluster of trees a short distance away.
"Hoo-ha, it may be," Akari agrees as she touches down a moment after, "but isn't it just marvelous?"
Nejire lands when she spots them and, without prompting, begins walking over to join them. Izumi watches her as she agrees, gauging her mood, but the fresh air seems to be working its usual wonders. Her wife seems lighter than usual—almost happy, if a devil could ever be so.
"So, you can use any passage from a book to form one of your creations? There's no requirements or anything like that?"
A shake of the head. "Yes and no. I can use any passage, but generally it's better to choose ones that are longer and more detailed. They hold together better that way."
The trees shift in the winds as Izumi considers that. "Electronic books?"
"If you don't care much for the tablet or whatever, sure. Books are easier to form and reform; found that out the hard way." According to her, the lack of material is a serious deterrent as well. Even something like a reading tablet is only capable of forming something mouse-sized.
The floodgates are open and Izumi can't hardly stop herself from asking question after question. She asks about the strength of the creations and the possibilities; her favorites and even ones she wishes she could try but never has. She asks her whether she's tried stone tablets or cloth tapestries or metal plaques or engraved statues. And she asks if there's any limit to what the written form could take; could she form winds and waters, and wishes too? If she recited a passage containing a magic spell, what would form in their world? A wizard? A staff? A fireball?
She asks questions until she has none more to ask, and then she asks some more. Akari is endlessly patient with her through it all, smiling as she gives one answer or another. The teaching assistant couldn't be bothered to force them to work, not even once looking up from their phone; they wouldn't say anything so long as their wages were paid. Nejire's silence is the strangest of any, but when Izumi checks she's doing nothing more than quietly practicing nearby. It strikes her as odd, but she's all questioned out for the moment, so she leaves it be.
"What's that tapestry you mentioned again?" Akari has her phone out so she can make some quick notes for later, and Izumi is happy to oblige. She turns her notebook around and shows her the name all spelled out. Akari squints at it, eyes flicking between it and her screen as she jots each letter down. "Bayeux? I'll have to ask my dad. He's Irish, but it's close enough to Normandy, ne?"
It's not, but Izumi is hardly an authority on the matter. It does not fall to her to say it, nor does she truly believe Akari is serious enough to warrant correction. The tapestry in question is seventy meters in length and tells the history of some dark ages lord and the war he waged. "Maybe. If you can find a replica and make it work, you might be able to get a bunch of armed soldiers out of it."
"That's a really good idea, thanks Midoriya! I had no idea you were such a history buff."
Well. In the sake of honesty and transparency, she only learned about it when researching medieval stuff so she could better get into her role when playing modded Skyrim with Tamaki. That information, however, is some she'd prefer to keep close to her chest. "Happy to help; really, one measly suggestion is hardly enough repayment for my badgering."
Akari's laugh is light and twinkling. "More than one, I promise you. And besides, I'd never miss a chance to talk about my quirk. I'm just glad somebody likes it enough to ask questions. It makes me really happy."
To the side, Nejire grunts and loses her concentration, falling half a meter to the ground. Izumi reaches over to steady her on instinct, but her hand is slapped away and her kindness scorned. It's the first time she's ever looked at her wife's face and truly considered it ugly. Nejire's lips are set in a scowl, deep and cruel, and her nose is pulled and flared. Something settles in Izumi's stomach as she looks at her; and it feels a lot like dread.
"Nobody asks about your quirk because it's weak and dull, Doyle. It takes half a business day for you to summon anything useful and god forbid there's rain in the forecast." She throws her head back and sends a heavy groan to the heavens. "Are we ever planning on training or are the two of you planning on putzing around, talking about shit-all, and blowing smoke up each other's asses for the rest of class? Get over yourselves."
Before either of them can get out a word of defense, Nejire takes off; and in her haste to leave she puts too much power through her feet, sending dirt and grass every which way. Akira is stunned and on the brink of crying and the teaching assistant seems more put out by the thought of actual work than helping, so it all falls to Izumi.
She sighs and mutters to herself, sending a look of scorn in the direction of the trees Nejire fled through. "Typical."