Shinsou Hitoshi opens his eyes to a beautiful day.
He does not wake up to his alarm, neither does he wake up to the sound of chirping birds. He, instead, wakes up to an unfortunately familiar voice coming from just outside his window:
"Hi-to-shi," the voice says, in an irritating and infuriating sing-song. "Let's play!"
Hitoshi's first thought: that must be a nightmare. Hitoshi's second thought: I'm awake, though. Hitoshi's third though: no fucking way.
Hitoshi sits up abruptly—his blanket thrown askew at his movement—and opens his window.
Yes fucking way, apparently.
"Hi-to-shi," Midoriya Izuku sing-songs, standing right outside his window. Behind the hands forming a cone to act as a makeshift megaphone, his smile is a sight that Hitoshi would rather not see first thing in the morning. Or ever. "Le-et's-play!"
Hitoshi closes his window.
A window is not, of course, a very significant detriment for someone (some thing ) like Midoriya Izuku. Hitoshi knows this. But just for a single moment—just a single, delusional, fleeting moment—he would like to pretend that everything is alright in the world. Not a single thing out of place. And he definitely, certainly, absolutely, does not have an exorcist standing outside his window at—
He squints at his phone. Six thirty in the morning, fuck. And then he is promptly distracted by a new notification on his screen.
You have a new text message, it says. Unknown number, it says. Open the door please :3, it says.
Hitoshi stares. He stares at his phone hard. Especially at the :3 emoji.
So the guy really does have his phone number.
At six thirty-five, Monday morning, beautiful day, Shinsou Hitoshi opens the front door of the class 1-A dorm for Midoriya Izuku—part-time Exorcist, temporary (?) 1-A student.
"Good morning!" Midoriya greets him, looking as prim as a delivery boy in his UA uniform.
"Couldn't you just, like, reality-bend your way in?" Hitoshi greets him back, looking as miserable as ever in his cat-print pajamas.
"That would be a crime, Hitoshi," says Midoriya, as cheerful as a bird. "And reality isn't bendable, only arguable."
Hitoshi puts two hands over his face, as if it would shield him from this arguable reality. "Silence," Hitoshi groans. Another one of Midoriya's cryptic and unsettling fucking cosmological allegories that Hitoshi does not have the capacity to parse right now. "Nope. Not another one of your uhh, fuckin' cosmic heebie-jeebies. Not at six thirty fucking a.m, you won't, not before my coffee."
"Do you have milo?" Midoriya says.
Hitoshi glares at him from the gaps between his fingers. "If I give you milo, would you go away?"
Midoriya does not. Midoriya is still here, in fact, when the other kids have made their way downstairs for breakfast. It's a fucked up sight, if you ask Hitoshi, because it's as if Midoriya is actually a member of their class.
The way that the others aren't even batting an eye does not help.
"Mornin', Midoriya-kun," Ashido yawns. She's still in her pajamas, walking to the kitchen pantry. Ashido is one of those people who is incapable of functioning in the morning, proven by the way she is blindly groping the drawers like a very sleepy chimpanzee.
"Here you go, Ashido-san," says Midoriya, handing her a mug.
"Oh, nice, thanks.. hey, does anyone know where the tea—"
Midoriya reaches for a drawer. "Here you go."
"Sweet. Huh, where did Koda put the—"
"Here is the cream," Midoriya pushes the creamer her way dutifully. "And the sugar cubes."
"Heaven," sighs Ashido, leaning on the countertop with her newly procured morning milk tea, Midoriya-express.
Hitoshi stares. "How the hell do you know where everything is?"
Midoriya blinks owlishly at him above his own mug of milo. Which, now that Hitoshi thinks about it, he made himself without even asking where the milo powder was. "Mm, coincidence?"
"Yeah, right," as if anything could be a coincidence with this guy.
"Mornin' guys," Uraraka yawns as she makes her way to the pantry. She too, like Ashido, is not a morning person. "Umm, does anybody know where we keep the spare—"
"Here is your spare toothbrush," says Midoriya, handing her one.
"What the fuck," Hitoshi says.
"What the fuck, why is Midoriya here?" says Jirou, who is the only other sane person around.
"Morning, Jirou-san," Midoriya chirps at her, then hands her her favorite mug.
"For god's sake, do not talk to me, Midiorya," Jirou says, but she does take her mug from his hand. "Not before I have my—"
Midoriya pushes the coffee pot her way. Jirou receives it despairingly.
"Oh, Midoriya's here.."
"Hey, Midoriya."
"Good morning, Midoriya-san!"
"What's up, Midoriya."
"Bonjour, Midoriya-kun!"
Good morning, Midoriya-kun, Koda signs.
Okay, at this point, it has become painfully and excruciatingly clear that class 1-A has the sense of self-preservation of a suicidal tadpole. If they want to go and befriend the blasphemous entity right over there, that's on them.
But the most alarming thing of all, Hitoshi finds, is that Midoriya does not look out of place. Not here, holding his second mug of milo in his prim UA uniform and that big ass bag leaning against the side of the fridge. He fits the picture just fine, like he's always been here. Like he's meant to be here.
It's uncanny. And also super creepy.
"C'mon, Iida," Kaminari whines. "Just for a bit! To keep our spirits up!"
"I must refuse, Kaminari-kun, we have received multiple complaints from class 1-B, and noise pollution is a serious issue—"
"Please," Kaminari says, doing an honest-to-god dogeza on the floor. "I beg you. I beg you. It's for the vibes." Hitoshi feels it's essential to note that Kaminari, for some reason, has been sleeping in a fucking chicken onesie. Which means that it looks as if Iida is currently being worshipped by a 168 centimetres tall chicken in the middle of the living room.
Hitoshi also feels that it's essential to note that this is a common and normal sight in the class 1-A dorm. Hitoshi has no idea how they are supposed to be the best Hero candidates in all of Japan.
Iida sighs heavily akin to a father relenting to his seven year old kid's unreasonable request. "Just for five minutes." At this admission, the furry chicken abomination that is his child punches the air in victory and runs to the stereo.
Hitoshi understands, then, what Kaminari is trying to do. He jumps up from his seat at the pantry. "Hey, Kaminari, I don't think it's a good idea—"
Too late. The speaker turns on and Kaminari the furry chicken leaps to stand on the coffee table, holding Tsuyu's comb as a pretend microphone. "Gooood morning bitches and bros and non-binary hoes—"
"Just say 'everyone,'" says Todoroki as he passes the sofa.
"Good morning everyone! " Kaminari corrects himself with quickness. "To celebrate the day where we send our class' best to their first Hero-Work study I have prepared for you all a performance—"
"That nobody asked for," Jirou says.
"—and I love you too Jirou Kyouka! " Kaminari blows a flying chicken kiss at her. Jirou makes a vague gesture at the air as if to dispel said flying chicken kiss. "This one is for you baby. Hit it bro!"
"We are going to be late for class," Tsuyu says calmly, as they watch Kaminari begin dancing to Hatsune Miku's rendition of Ievan Polkka blaring in high volume. "For this."
"I don't know," Ashido says. "I think the fursuit makes him look kinda cute.."
"You did not just call Kaminari's fursuit cute," Jirou says.
"Hey, a girl got taste.."
"No, seriously," Hitoshi says, just when Kaminari does a backflip and nearly slips on his chicken tail as a result. "I don't think this is—"
Hatsune Miku's voice suddenly comes to a stop. Kaminari, who is in the middle of an unsuccessful split, lifts his chicken head to look at the stereo in annoyance. "Hey, who paused the—"
And then a loud, ear-splitting guitar riff explodes the room.
"What the hell," Jirou says beside him. Her voice is barely audible below the noise from hell coming from the speaker. "Turn it off!"
"I'm trying!" Kaminari says, or at least Hitoshi presumes that he's saying it, because at this point everyone is reading everyone else's lips.
This is what Hitoshi was afraid of. Hitoshi turns to glare at Midoriya, who is currently nursing his third mug of milo without a care in the goddamn world. "Would you stop this?"
Midoriya blinks at him. "Stop what?" Mama done told me! The singer from hell shrieks. Papa done scold me!
"You did this!"
SUPERSTITION! Guitar riff, drum roll. The song is so loud that it sounds distorted, and Hitoshi swears he can feel the vibration all the way down the walls and the countertop. The surface of his coffee is in ripples. COME HELL OR HIGH WATER!
"Unplug the damn thing!" Jirou screams.
"I'm trying!" Kaminari screams.
COME HELL OR HIGH WATER! The singer screams.
Kaminari, who is closing an ear with one of his chicken hands, reaches for the cable with his other chicken hand. The speaker is now successfully unplugged. Which, surprise surprise, does not stop it from screaming again and again: COME HELL OR HIGH WATER!
"My ears are going to bleed," Hitoshi seethes. "Do something!"
"I'm not the one doing it," Midoriya says, but as he is saying it, the volume does lower on its own. Still loud, but to a borderline reasonable level, as if whatever force is at play here decides to relent however little. Come hell or high water!
"God, what the hell is up with you and songs about hell ?"
Midoriya looks at him above his third mug of hot milo. And then he grins.
The childish, vague distanceness that always clouds his face disappears for a moment and for the first time, he actually does look Hitoshi's age. It's the first time Hitoshi has seen that expression on Midoriya's face—something almost naughty, in a teenage, mischievous kind of way.
It's startling. No, it's alarming, actually. So much, in fact, that Hitoshi can't help but take a step back.
"I think that, too, Hitoshi," Midoriya says. A drawl. He traces the rim of his mug in a lazy circle with a slender finger. "Is what you would call a coincidence."
Hitoshi swallows. He doesn't know why. "Never thought you'd believe in coincidence," he says. "Aren't you the one who keeps preaching about fate?"
The grin fades, replaced with that familiar, distant smile. "Coincidence and Fate go hand in hand, Hitoshi," says Midoriya unhelpfully. "What's that allegory, again. Two sides of the same coin, et cetera. Both Coincidence and Fate are inevitable, no?"
"Stop forcing my brain to do existential aerobics."
Come hell or high water!
"So this is because of you?" Jirou says, crankily. Her ears are more sensitive to sound; that must've sucked to her especially. "Does AC/DC always play in your fucking vicinity or what?"
"It's not always AC/DC," Midoriya says.
"What, you can shuffle to Black Sabbath? Metallica?" Hitoshi snarks. "The Rolling Stones?"
"Let me guess," Jirou says drily. "Sympathy for the Devil?"
And then, as if on cue, the music turns off.
"Oh, finally," Kaminari says. "It's—are you fucking kidding me, it's not even plugged!"
PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF, a different singer sings along to the beats of smooth, rhythmical maracas. I'M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE.
"Holy shit. Nah. Nah," Jirou says. This time, she takes a step back, some kind of terror stricken on her face. "Listen, I'm not religious. I don't even believe in, like—but fuck. What are you, satan's son? The fucking anti-christ?"
Midoriya laughs, in a well-mannered, polite kind of way, as if Jirou was making a joke and not being one hundred per-cent serious in accusing Midoriya of being the devil's incarnation.
I'VE BEEN AROUND FOR A LONG, LONG YEAR, the singer promises, STOLE MANY A MAN'S SOUL AND FAITH.
"How are you doing this?" Hitoshi says. "What's this, some kind of Quirk that gives you background 20th century western rock music?"
"I'm not the one doing it," Midoriya says calmly. "I told you. It's a coincidence."
"Coincidence that satanic music always plays whenever you're in the room?" Jirou says. She's moved a little behind Hitoshi, as if he was going to shield her from whatever it is that Midoriya is addled with, which is probably contagious. Which, well. "Look, I don't necessarily believe in, like, superstitions, but that is some serious sign of like. Some fucked up shit going on. Straight up devil's business, dude. Like, I think you, really, really are legit—" her voice slows down before she continues, realizing what she's saying, "legit.. Cursed.."
At that, Midoriya raises his mug of milo, as if saying cheers.
PLEASED TO MEET YOU, HOPE YOU GUESSED MY NAME!
"You guys have your symptoms," Midoriya calmly informs them, "and I have mine."
BUT WHAT'S PUZZLING YOU, the music screams, IS THE NATURE OF MY—
BOOM.
Silence. The entire room turns to see Bakugou standing over the freshly-exploded speaker and Kaminari with smoke rising from both his hands, still in his pajamas. A part of Kaminari's fursuit is blackened from the residue of Bakugou's Quirk, so now he looks like a half-roasted chicken.
"IT'S NOT FUCKING SEVEN YET," Bakugou roars. His voice, impressively, is almost at the same decibel level as the singers from hell.
Silence again. And then the smoke alarm rings.
"Our luck really is getting worse," Ashido notes, as they watch as Todoroki proceeds to freeze the entire stereo system to prevent the sprinkles from being activated. Iida is currently scolding both pajama-wearing Bakugou and half-roasted chicken-wearing Kaminari like a disappointed father of two.
"Aizawa-sensei is going to be so mad at us when we're late," Tsuyu says calmly. When, she says, not if.
This is ridiculous. Hitoshi decides that he needs more caffeine. And as if fucking reading his mind, Midoriya pushes the pot his way.
Hitoshi stares. Midoriya smiles. "More coffee?"
Hitoshi pours himself another mug.
"Your patrol route is outside of Nighteye's surveillance area in this case. Keep in constant contact with Togata and I and we will rendezvous in three hours. Understand?"
"I don't understand," Hitoshi says.
It's his most hated string of words now: I don't understand. Hitoshi doesn't think that he's exceptionally smart, but he likes to think that he has a good enough common sense. But with the amount of times he has said I don't understand for the past week alone, he's starting to feel like an idiot.
"I will not repeat myself."
"No, but—I mean, isn't he, technically, a civilian?"
The he in question, of course, is Midoriya Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, who is currently taking bright yellow All Might head-shaped candies at the receptionist desk of Nighteye Agency Hero Office. There is no sign that specify people to take one, but Hitoshi is pretty sure you aren't supposed to take ten and shove them all in your pocket, which is exactly what Midoriya is doing. Continuously.
"Yes," Aizawa confirms. "Midoriya is a civilian, but he also holds the temporary status of being a UA student."
"But he doesn't have the provisional license!"
"Which is why he will not be participating in any Heroics, Hero-work study or otherwise."
"So he's just going to tag along?" Hitoshi says, and tries his best not to sound hysterical. "With me?"
"As per his request."
Hitoshi sputters. "But, but—"
"Nezu greenlit it."
"But, but—"
"Off you go," Eraserhead says. "Before he robs this place of every single candy they have."
"These candies are really good," says Midoriya once they are effectively kicked outside the agency. "Honey lemon but with a hint of, like, tangerine."
"This shouldn't be allowed," says Shinsou Hitoshi, fifteen years old and miserable.
"What shouldn't?" says Midoriya Izuku, fifteen years old and the cause of Shinsou Hitoshi's misery.
Or at least, Hitoshi assumes that Midoriya is fifteen years old. Who knows at this point, really? "Want one?" says the who-knows years old to Hitoshi.
Hitoshi stares at the piece of All Might-head candy in distaste. But he takes it anyway.
"This. You. This is like, bad for me. Bad for my mental health. Bad for my sanity. Bad for my fundamental sense of self-identity."
"Ego death is a pertinent point of a hero's journey," says Midoriya. "I'm basically helping you with your studies."
"Screw you," says Hitoshi gloomily.
The street they're walking on is not one of the main streets, less busy and more laidback, one that Hitoshi knows they wouldn't get any action in. He wonders if his other classmates get a better deal out of this Hero-work study thing, but he doubts it—the upperclassmen, maybe, but not the first-years. "You know, didn't you say you have school? Why aren't you going to school."
Because it's eleven on a Monday and Midoriya, despite it all, is a highschool freshman just like everyone else. Right? A lot of things Hitoshi has on Midoriya are just based on assumptions. Midoriya is really less of a person and more of an abstract concept. Hitoshi squints his eyes. "Where is your school, anyway?" he demands. "Give me a name."
Not that Hitoshi ever really expected an answer. Therefore, his eyebrows arch so high that they disappear from his forehead the moment Midoriya replies: "Aldera high school."
A straight answer? A straight answer that is both comprehensible and making sense? From Midoriya fucking Izuku?
Hell has frozen over.
"That school's just around the neighborhood," Hitoshi says when he manages to speak again. He looks at Midoriya suspiciously. "What. That's just so.."
Midoriya blinks at him.
".. normal," Hitoshi finishes.
They pass a record shop. The song playing in the record shop is a smooth jazzy tune and Hitoshi isn't one hundred per-cent sure, but as they walk pass it, Hitoshi could swear he hears it turn into a screamo rock n' roll song. Now that he pays attention, isn't he hearing screamo rock n' roll songs coming out of every building they just passed?
Hitoshi walks faster.
"This is all very exciting," Midoriya says beside him. A little behind him, actually, since Hitoshi has very long legs and is walking very fast. Midoriya, on the other hand, is taking a lighter stroll, chewing on his fifth piece of All Might candy. He looks like a tourist. Or a very calm lost child. "You really see this many Heroes everyday, Hitoshi? I'm jealous."
Midoriya has asked for the autograph of every single teacher he has come across on UA grounds (Hitoshi knows this, because Hitoshi has been dragged along for the occasion, because Hitoshi is, apparently, Midoriya's 'official UA student guide'). Not ten minutes ago, he has harangued every Pro-Hero and sidekick available in the receptionist area of Nighteye's agency for their autographs.
And to Hitoshi's alarm, Midoriya somehow knows their names. Every single one of them. Like, okay, Hitoshi is a Hero nerd—basically the baseline requirement to being an aspiring Hero—but he wouldn't know every freshly graduated sidekick and their mother, would he?
They had been happy signing Midoriya's autograph book, though, which Hitoshi has no idea where the former is keeping, because Midoriya isn't carrying his giant bag for once. He isn't carrying anything at all, in fact, except maybe the unholy amount of candies he's stuffed inside the pockets of his hoodie.
"Nah, it's also my first time seeing some of them." Hitoshi didn't participate in the first Hero internship after the Sports Festival, what with him still being under Aizawa's tutorship. Which could be considered an internship, if an internship normally consists of hours and hours of grueling training and being bitten by mosquitos in the woods.
"I really wanted to meet Nighteye," Midoriya sighs, and he sounds actually wistful, like he means it. They hadn't allowed Midoriya to enter the meeting (because he is, lawfully, a civilian) hence Midoriya was left loitering at the receptionist (hence the candy-robbing part). "He has such an amazing Quirk … and an exceptional collection of All Might merch, I bet.." Midoriya dolefully pops another candy in his mouth. "Mm. Perhaps in another Life."
"Right," Hitoshi says. "Why are you tagging along with me, anyway?"
"You have very bad luck today," answers Midoriya readily.
At this point, Hitoshi is somewhat used to being told things like you have very bad luck today or nothing is real and we are all going to die in Midoriya's standard merry-go-round tone of voice. His eyebrows barely twitch. "What, does that mean I'm gonna encounter a Villain?" Hitoshi says, snarkily. "That would be great, 'cause this is boring as h—" he pauses. It feels wise not to mention the H word around Midoriya Izuku. Speak of the devil and such and such. "As heck."
"Hm," Midoriya smiles politely. "Funny you should say that."
Hitoshi turns to squint at Midoriya suspiciously. "What does that—"
"Shinsou-kun! Midoriya-kun!"
Both of them turn to see Uraraka and Tsuyu jogging lightly in their direction. Both of them, like Hitoshi, are wearing their Hero costumes.
"Hey guys! Oops, I should be calling you by your Hero name, I forgot. Mindjack, right?"
"The placeholder is that, yeah," Hitoshi says. His Hero name is still in the works. "I thought you guys were with Ryukyu's agency?"
"We separated with Nejire-chan and they gave us this area to patrol," Tsuyu says. "Can I have some of those candies, Midoriya-kun?"
"You guys too, huh?" Hitoshi says. Figures. He himself (plus Midoriya) separated from Togata-senpai a while ago.
"We met Kiri—Red Riot and some other guys too," Uraraka says, taking a candy offered to her by Midoriya. "All of the first-years are kinda all in this area, looks like."
In this very safe area with low criminal activity. Hitoshi knows that's the reason why they are being allowed to patrol without supervision and only minimum monitoring, because what they are doing is less patrolling and more like taking a goddamn stroll in costume. This case these agencies are taking on, they definitely aren't planning to have the first-years handling them. Hence, boring.
It's annoying being handled with kid gloves like that, but he supposes it's better than having the Hero-Work studies activity canceled entirely. They (minus Hitoshi) have faced against the League of Villains multiple times in the past year. It's bizarre, Hitoshi thinks, that they don't just expel the entire class 1-A for their own safety. Feels a little like tempting fate.
Speaking of.
"You want another candy?" Midoriya says, at Hitoshi's stare.
"No thanks," Hitoshi replies. And then, "keep that up and you'll die of diabetes."
"We'll all die of something," Midoriya replies. And then, "that store is being robbed."
"What?" Hitoshi says.
Midoriya points at the store that is being robbed. They turn to see exactly that. Of fucking course, because that's just life for Hitoshi now. "Shit," Hitoshi says.
"Oh, dear," Tsuyu says.
"Hell yes, Villains!" Uraraka punches the air, which is not a proper response to robbery or any other kind of Villainous activity.
"They are getting away," Midoriya points out helpfully.
They snap into action. Froppy is the fastest, with Uravity and Hitoshi following right behind her. The door dings obediently the moment they step in the Seven-Eleven. The cashier, who has their hands up, looks over to the three aspiring Pro-Heroes standing by the door. And so do the Villain holding the cashier at gunpoint.
To clarify, at gunpoint is merely an expression. The gun in question is not a gun at all, but instead a sword. The Villain holding it turns to look at them, takes stock of the three UA students, and—having decided that they pose no threat—sneers. "Go away, kiddy-Heroes, and you won't get hurt."
"Whoah, your outfit is so cool," Hitoshi says. The ragged red scarf and the makeshift mask, it's obvious who the Villain is trying to cosplay. "Is that the new trend in this month's edition of Villain Vogue?"
The Villain glares. "Kid, you—"
Got him. "Drop your dumbass sword, you cringe ass Stain wanna-be."
The sword drops with a clang. Hitoshi is feeling pretty good about himself when Froppy says, "Mindjack, watch out—"
Too late.
What hit him in the head, as he finds out later, is a can of mosquito repellant. Right now, though, Hitoshi is on his back on the floor blinking tears away from his eyes having absolutely no idea what just happened. He sits up and—
Idiot. He should've checked whether the Villain was alone. What is he, an amateur? Fuck.
(He is an amateur.)
He must've blacked out for a few seconds, because things have already taken flight. Hitoshi watches, somewhat sulkily, as the girls take down the Villains with way less effort than it ought. Tsuyu is holding her own more than well enough against the Stain wanna-be guy while Uraraka is handling the other Villain—presumably the one who threw the mosquito repellent at Hitoshi's head, with the telekinesis Quirk the guy is sporting.
Hitoshi is also pretty sure that the store's speaker wasn't playing a rock song before, but it does now. Heroes, hard to find, laments the singer. Don't make the news 'til they're doin' time..
"You naive, impudent girl!" the Stain-wanna-be roars. He is clearly losing in his fight against the said naive, impudent girl. "Do you children even know what you are doing?"
"Kicking your ass?" Tsuyu guesses.
"You are being blinded by this commercialized society! Justice is dying, it's being sold out! Heroism is the true crime!"
"The true crime here is your outfit."
The Villain ignores Tsuyu's brutal heckling in favor of continuing his Villainous monologue. "You children are sheeps, being used to advertise the hypocritical morals of this Hero-worshipping society! The true meaning of Justice has been diluted to nothing but hashtags in social media! And I have plans. Oh, I have great plans for the betterment of society. I have great plans."
"You were robbing a Seven-Eleven," Tsuyu points out calmly.
"I have great plans," the Villain insists.
"You just failed to rob a Seven-Eleven, though," Tsuyu says.
It's pathetic to watch. Tsuyu strips the Villain of his sword with two moves and takes him down in one. Hitoshi almost feels bad, but he's glad someone is embarrassing themself more than he did.
Some sin for gold, some sin for shame, some sin for cash..
"I called backup," Hitoshi informs Tsuyu after she cuffed the Villain down. "They'll be here in five."
But I ain't gonna be the fool who's gonna have to sin for nothing!
"Nice," Tsuyu says. She seems to notice Hitoshi's souring mood, because she adds nicely, "don't worry about it, Mindjack. You were really cool at the beginning." She isn't even breaking out a sweat after all that. "Until you passed out. But before then, you were really cool."
"Thanks," says Hitoshi, not feeling any better at all. He didn't even get to show off his capture weapon, this whole experience is just sucking so much.
The other Villain, seemingly panicked now that his partner has been beaten by a fifteen year old girl, is now backed into the corner by another fifteen year old girl. "Stay away!" he says, waving a knife he has procured with his telekinesis.
"That is a very dangerous thing you have there," Uraraka says, while she levitates an entire refrigerator along with every bottle of wine inside it. "What if someone gets hurt?"
The refrigerator must weigh at least 200 kg. It's honestly scary to watch.
The Villain seems to be scared too. And well, all right, they are all amateurs here. Hitoshi has never faced a criminal before, and while both Tsuyu and Uraraka have respectively had their own share of League of Villains shenanigans, neither of them have ever experienced a robbery situation. They don't really know how small-time Villains think, do they? What they will know very soon, however, is that this breed of Villains usually turn into cowardly, desperate measures when scared.
Such as pulling a hostage, for example. And the hostage, as often the case, would be the nearest civilian in sight. And the nearest civilian in sight, in this case, would be Midoriya Izuku.
Midoriya blinks as the Villain's arm wraps around his neck. Judging from the cheek bulge, Hitoshi would bet a thousand yen that the fucker still has candy inside his mouth.
"Get away from me or I'll kill him!" the Villain declares, with a knife pressed against Midoriya's neck.
Silence. And then Uraraka drops her refrigerator, which then falls with gravity to a very loud and noisy BANG. And then silence again.
"Midoriya," Hitoshi says, being the first one to find his voice. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm being taken hostage," Midoriya cheerfully informs him.
"We can fucking see that," Hitoshi seethes.
"Shut up!" the Villain says. "I'm serious. I'll kill him."
Hitoshi laughs, and notes that he sounds mildly deranged even to himself. "Oh, buddy," Hitoshi says, to the Villain, shaking his head. Pitying. "You have no idea what you're in for, man.."
"Absolutely no idea," Tsuyu agrees.
"Poor guy," Uraraka adds.
"Are you religious, sir?" Hitoshi says. "If you are, I suggest you start praying. Like, right now."
"You should just brainwash him, Mindjack," Tsuyu says.
"He might be a Villain, but he doesn't deserve what's coming," Uraraka agrees.
"This is so cool, I can't believe I'm a victim," Midoriya says. To the robber holding him by the neck, he asks in genuine delight, "can I have your autograph later on sir?"
"All of you, shut up!" The Villain seems hysterical. "Get the fuck away or I'll—"
"Oh, we'd love to get away from you, all right," Hitoshi says. To prove his point, the three of them take a step back, effectively leaving the Villain a clear pathway for the exit. "You are on your own, dude. Trust me."
Confusion and suspicion flash over the Villain's expression, but the desire to escape wins out. He drags Midoriya by the neck as he barks out to the cashier. "Hand me the bag! You Hero kids, don't move!"
"Whoa, that's a lot of money," Midoriya sounds vaguely impressed, peering down at the money-filled bag the cashier hands them. "How much is that, do you think?"
"You shut up."
Midoriya tilts his head, the knife sharp against his neck. "Ah, you made ¥ 10,275.22. Congratulations."
"If you don't shut your mouth, kid—"
"Can I buy your knife?"
The question is apparently so out of left field that the Villain shuts himself up for a second. "What?"
"Everything has a price, after all," Midoriya says. "Wouldn't you agree? Everything can be bought. Just like this knife."
Some sin for gold, the Seven-Eleven speaker sings, some sin for shame, some sin for cash..
The kitchen knife that's digging underneath Midoriya's jaw. The blade is pressing just right over his jugular, glinting under the fluorescent light. The stainless steel shines stark against Midoriya's skin. "What's your price, Osaki Seiichi?"
You gotta lay down the rules, push up the price!
The knife shakes. "How—how do you know my—'' some sort of horrifying conviction sinks on Osaki Seiichi's face. "I'm going to kill—"
"I'm afraid you can't kill me, sir," Midoriya informs him regretfully. "The Authority to do that has to be paid. And you don't have enough in your balance to do that. But maybe.."
Dealers looking round, wheel is turning round, coming round for you!
Midoriya's hands reach up to wrap over Osaki's grip on the knife. "Maybe you can buy that Authority with this knife. A soul in exchange for its taker," Midoriya smiles, teeth white and eyes blank. "The Universe loves its paradoxes."
Maybe it's the panic. Maybe it's the fear. Maybe it's a lapse of judgement. But whatever it is, at that very second, Osaki Seiichi slits the boy's throat.
He has every intention to do it. In the drag of his hand, the grip of his fingers—it takes strength to sink the blade into human skin, into human flesh. And to take a life, oh, what does it take to take a life? To kill? It takes a special kind of leap of the heart. It takes a special kind of sick, blinding delight. It takes a special kind of hopelessness. It takes, most of all, a special kind of will.
"I told you," the boy says, in that airy, tenor cadence of his voice. "You don't have enough balance to pay for that."
The knife falls to the floor with a loud, ringing rattle.
"¥ 10,275.22 doesn't nearly cover the cost, unfortunately," Midoriya Izuku says. "Or would you like to pay in installments?"
Ain't gonna sin for nothing. You get nothing for nothing!
What was that? What was that? What the hell was that?
He dragged the knife. He did it. He slit his throat. It was there, the intent, the action, it was there. But it was not. Osaki Seiichi shakes and steps back. The knife glints at him from the floor with the promise of fatalism.
"Of course," Midoriya Izuku informs Osaki Seiichi kindly. "There is a hefty price to free will. Installments shall be paid with interest."
"You, you—" He slit the boy's throat. He did, but he didn't. He did, but he didn't. He did. He didn't. Amidst the sudden dose of nonsensical panic, instinct kicks in. He has no knife, but his Quirk can summon him more knives.
Except for the fact that, for the first and last time in his life, Osaki Seiichi can't feel his Quirk.
He takes a step back, away from Midoriya Izuku, unsteady on his feet. "What is this?" he asks. "What is this?" this, this sudden, overbearing helplessness. This sudden lapse of action. A taste of the exact opposite of omnipotence.
You get nothing for nothing, the Universe sings.
Midoriya Izuku smiles. It is a cruel thing, to let a man try and slit predeterminism by the throat. But the Universe has never been quite capable of sympathy.
"Do you want to Know?" he asks.
"Great job, guys!" Togata Mirio says, clapping Hitoshi by the back. "We'll bring these guys 'round to the station, but you guys still need to rendezvous with us in a few. We'll need your statements. But all in all, I'm impressed!" he beams. "Though it would be appreciated if there were less property damage."
"Sorry," says Uraraka, who obliterated a fridge.
"The school will be paying for it anyways," says Tsuyu, who doesn't really care.
Togata valiantly ignores Tsuyu's unethical comment. "Considering that this is your first—third time, for some of you—to encounter a Villain, it was a feat that no one was hurt," Togata turns to glance curiously at the Villains being carried to the police car. "Though, one of the Villains seems to suffer from … some shock.."
They can hear the aforementioned Villain's voice from where they stand, muttering in a crazed, fugue sort of voice with words like entropy and liberation and causation being thrown around.
"Wonder why," says Hitoshi flatly.
"As for you," Togata turns to the fourth kid present in the conversation. "Midoriya-kun, was it?"
"That's me," Midoriya chirps.
"I heard you held well on your own. That's admirable, but we understand that Villain attacks can be a deeply traumatic experience, and this case is no exception—"
"To the Villain," Hitoshi mutters under his breath.
"—so if you ever feel the need to reach out, please do not hesitate to do so! I've heard of your circumstances from Eraserhead," Togata adds, and Hitoshi really wonders what it is that Aizawa told him, and if it included things like Curses and Demons and Hell. "I hope this experience will not be a detriment for you from learning more about Heroism."
"Oh, not at all," Midoriya says calmly.
"Good!" and then Togata Mirio, bless his heart, says, "is there anything else we can do for you?"
"Oh, yes. Is it possible for me to get the Villains' autographs?" Midoriya says. "This is my first time being taken hostage, you see, and—"
"We are fine, senpai," Hitoshi announces with an unnecessarily loud voice. "We'll rendezvous with you at the agency. We are fine." For extra measure, he puts two thumbs up, to illustrate that they are fine. Both Uraraka and Tsuyu follow his example, flashing their own thumbs. Because absolutely nothing is wrong and everything is normal, of course.
Hitoshi sighs in some relief when Togata finally leaves them for the police station. He is a good person, and he doesn't deserve to deal with Midoriya's ... Midoriyaness. "We gotta go to Ryukyu's agency to report, so you guys have to gather round—c'mon, come here. Just like that, and—" Uraraka proceeds to take a selfie of the four of them. "Nice. I'm snapchatting Todoroki-kun."
Ah. That guy. "He isn't doing Hero-Work studies, is he?"
"Yep. Didn't pass the provisional license 'cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest."
"Oh, right," Hitoshi says. That was kinda huge. "They blew up the arena with that fire tornado."
"They blew up the arena with that fire tornado," she agrees. "Anyway. We gotta go."
"Don't stop existing," says Tsuyu to them, which is very normal. And then the girls went off.
Hitoshi exhales a long, long sigh. "Well. That wasn't so bad," he says.
"I hope we'll get to do it again," Midoriya says.
"You're crazy," Hitoshi says.
The light turns red. They cross the road. The agency is just a ten minute walk from where they are—the police cars didn't have space for two of them, anyway. "That wasn't that bad of luck," Hitoshi says, absent-mindedly. Sure, he did embarrass himself a little by passing out on his first Villain attack, but it was a success, all in all. At the cost of one of the Villain's sanity.
"Mm. That wasn't."
Hitoshi moves to the side as a delivery guy bikes past him. The green man is blinking. "What, are you saying there is more?"
"There is always more," Midoriya says, in that dreamy, neutral tone of his.
"Can you stop being cryptid for once?"
They arrive at the other side of the road, this one is a more crowded part of the city. A couple children are skipping by the sidewalk, entering the ice cream shop. Hitoshi side-steps a pothole.
Well, what-fucking-ever. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I'm getting used to this shit." Hitoshi, to his own surprise, finds that he's telling the truth. He is getting used to … whatever this all is. This incredulous, existential chaos that's become of his life. Just, whatever happens, happens, right? "But seriously, you should stop saying weird sh—"
Something stops him in his tracks.
Hitoshi pauses, and looks down. Alarmed, he crouches, "ah—are you—are you okay?"
The little girl, who just bumped into his leg, looks up at him with a pair of big, watery eyes. Shit, she's crying. "Sorry, did I hurt you?" Hitoshi isn't good with kids. "Where does it … hurt.." Hitoshi's voice trails to a stop the moment he notices that the little girl is entirely covered with scars.
And then a smooth, adult voice says, "you can't be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?"
Hitoshi lifts his head to look into Chisaki Kai's eyes.
Chisaki Kai inclines his head at him good-naturedly. "I'm sorry about my daughter, Hero," he says. If it were not for the mask, Hitoshi would probably be able to see his smile. "She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself."
Hitoshi's heart is a loud, arrhythmic thump in his ears. It's him. There is no mistake about it. The man the agencies are looking for. Fuck. Fuck.
Hitoshi's grip tightens around the girl's shoulder. She is so small, how old is she? Five? Six?
"What the hell are you doing to her?" Hitoshi says to Overhaul.
"Yep. Didn't pass the provisional license 'cuz he fought with that Shiketsu guy in the middle of the exam in some kinda pissing contest."
Hitoshi blinks.
Uraraka is shaking her head, typing on her phone. "Like, they ruined the entire arena. Oh look, he replied. Who taught Todoroki-kun to use emojis?"
"Probably Mina."
Hitoshi breathes, sharp. Dizzy.
"You okay, Shinsou-kun?" Tsuyu says. "You look pale."
"I—" he feels sick. Very sick. "I don't.."
"Hey, you should sit down," Uraraka says, sounding worried. "Have they checked you for concussion? You did black out for a bit." Behind her, Hitoshi can see the police cars driving away. The Seven-Eleven is right behind him.
The alleyway and the little girl and Chisaki Kai are nowhere to be seen.
"No, I'm okay," Hitoshi says, even though he wants to throw up. There is a ringing in his ears. "I'm—I'm fine. Just remembered something, is all.."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay.." neither Uraraka nor Tsuyu look convinced. "You should get yourself checked again at Nighteye's agency."
"Sure," Hitoshi strains out.
"We gotta get going. Don't push yourself, okay?"
"Don't stop existing," Tsuyu says.
The moment both girls are gone, Hitoshi spins to look at Midoriya. "What the fuck was that?"
Midoriya isn't looking back at him. No, Midoriya is walking towards the crossroad, and Hitoshi, for some incomprehensible reason, is doing the exact same thing, feet moving without his consent. "That, Hitoshi," Midoriya says with that dreamy, neutral tone of his, "is bad luck."
"What?" Hitoshi says. The light turns red. They are crossing the road. Why is he crossing the road? Why are they crossing the road? The agency is just ten-minutes away. Hitoshi feels out of his own skin. Dread feels razor sharp underneath his tongue. "Midoriya, what in the goddamn hell is happening?"
"Universal conundrum," Midoriya says.
"What does that—"
"You see," Midoriya says, still in that infuriatingly calm voice. A voice so neutral that it's ice cold. "This isn't supposed to happen. In the … ah, let's say, in the Canonical Universe, you aren't supposed to be in this arc."
The bicycle passes by Hitoshi's shoulder, the delivery guy. They arrive across the street. Hitoshi stares. "Arc?" he echoes.
"Yes, arc," Midoriya says, and they are walking past the ice cream shop, past the small boutique, past the pothole with the traffic cones. "You are not supposed to be present in this particular curvature of space-time, you see. In the Canonical Universe, Hitoshi, you weren't supposed to meet her yet. But as coincidence has it, you and Uraraka Ochako and Asui Tsuyu just happen to solve a robbery, preventing Togata Mirio from ever passing this alley, and take this particular shortcut to Nighteye's agency. Bad luck."
Hitoshi doesn't understand even a shred of what Midoriya is saying. At fucking all. But that doesn't matter, because just like before, they have stopped right in front of the alley. And just like before, a little girl runs forward to bump Hitoshi's knees.
Just like before, the little girl, who just bumped into his leg, looks up at him with a pair of big, watery eyes. Shit, she's crying. Just like before, she is covered entirely with scars.
"What's happening?" Hitoshi says. He's crouched down, holding the little girl by the shoulders. She's so thin. And so small. "What's happening?"
A smooth, adult voice says, "you can't be bothering the Heroes like that, can you now, Eri?"
Hitoshi lifts his head to look into Chisaki Kai's eyes.
Chisaki Kai inclines his head at him good-naturedly. "I'm sorry about my daughter, Hero," he says. If it were not for the mask, Hitoshi would probably be able to see his smile. "She has trouble staying still, you see. She keeps hurting herself."
Hitoshi takes his eyes away from the incomprehensible scene in front of him. "Midoriya," he says hoarsely, desperately, helplessly. "What's happening?"
Midoriya is looking back at him, this time. A pair of dark eyes. His scar is thin white under the afternoon sun. His eyes, blots of green so black. "I suppose you can call this a glitch. An error. Something that Never Happened."
Ah, this feeling again. Like the ground just opened up underneath him. Like there isn't enough space for Hitoshi, in this world. A dissonance between his skin and the static, rupturing air. The pit of his chest feels like ice and somewhere in the distance, Hitoshi thinks he can hear the fluttering wings of butterflies.
Hitoshi feels so, so sick.
"In the Canonical Universe," Midoriya Izuku says, "Shinsou Hitoshi is not supposed to be in class 1-A."