It's the fifteenth of November when Midnight asks Izumi to meet with her at the end of the school day. She knocks on the closed door to the staff room at a quarter after, and it swings open seemingly without cause.
That should have been her second clue, in truth. The first is obvious. Nothing good comes on the ides, everybody knows that. Well, Caesar didn't, but he's kinda the one who set the theme, so. Butts to him, really.
The third clue. Well, that's a fun one.
"Midoriya," Midnight greets her with a nod and a smile, "Good, you're here. Come, join us." She gestures to an open seat at the other side of her desk. Its partner is filled by a familiar face, though she struggled to see its profile from behind a wall of periwinkle hair.
"What's this about, Miss Midnight?" Her heart is already in her throat as is—she hates when adults ask to speak with her. It's never ended well for her in the past and she isn't hopeful that today would be the day that breaks the mold. "Did we do something wrong?"
Luckily, their homeroom teacher is quick to assuage any worries. "You're not in trouble. I just wanted to meet with you in regard to your cohabitation project."
Izumi blinks. That isn't what she expected. She's not quite sure how to respond, because nothing about that mess was worth describing to their professor, so she needs to find a way to soften the blow. Or sidestep it entirely and—
"Is everybody getting these meetings, or just us?"
—choke on her own spit. What?
Like a broken gear, Izumi spins with a stutter to stare wide-eyed at her partner. Nejire is sitting with her legs crossed and arms twisted. Reclined and poignant. Haughty—that's how she ought to be described. That along with another homophone.
Midnight is similarly surprised, yet half as stunned. "No," she answers, ignoring Nejire's informal tone, "Only those who we believe need them." Before her partner can interject and say anything else damning, Midnight continues. "Your current score is in the negatives. How do you intend to rectify this?"
Izumi imagines the silence that follows is music to the hero's ears. No words to come, no further challenges to her authority.
"If you find yourself struggling to complete a task assigned to you, whether it be in class, at home, or even in your careers in the years to come, what do you think your first step should be?"
"Try harder," Nejire answers.
It comes in the same breath that Izumi guesses, joking and laughing nervously, "Cry?"
Midnight squints at one of their faces then the other. "Ask for help," she says after a moment of judgment, "The answer is to ask for help. Though trying harder is always a good idea. And I suppose crying can be a helpful and healthy outlet as well."
"Oh." That does ring a bell now that she thinks about it, she feels like she's heard it somewhere before.
"The reality is that nobody is capable of doing everything. It is why, since the dawn of time, mankind has put so much effort into building societies to raise each other up with. Everybody struggles with something, and when that happens we have others to fall back on. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. That sort of thing."
Suddenly, it clicks with Izumi. "Oh! Like in All Might's fight with Toxic Chainsaw."
"Er." Midnight didn't quite know how to respond. It probably wasn't a villain she was familiar with.
Nejire, however, rolls her eyes at her, even turns her head just so Izumi couldn't miss it. "All Might won that fight without anyone's help."
"Um, actually," Izumi adjusts her metaphorical glasses because that's not fully true. "Due to the dangers the villain presented, All Might was forced to prioritize combat over rescue. There likely would have been more casualties if the first responders and other heroes didn't act to extract civilians from the battle area while he fought."
The room is quiet for a moment, but only a moment. Nejire is quick to let out a long sigh, whispering a "maji ka" to the ceiling that everybody else clearly hears. That they were obviously meant to.
Izumi takes it on the chin, instead choosing to just smile at their professor as if she didn't hear it at all.
"This is what I am talking about," Miss Midnight drags her finger between the two of them, humming in what could only be disappointment. "Was there this much animosity between you two before the project began?"
Again they both answer at the same time. Again, their answers differ.
"No," Izumi shakes her head. They had never been friends, but their interactions were so rare that it would be easier to simply call them strangers.
"Yes," Nejire tells her, capturing both of their interests. "Nothing has changed."
Izumi opens her mouth, jaw hanging low, but she has no words. She would be lying if she said it didn't hurt. They had been doing better, she thought. Yes, their score was negative, but it rarely decreased. Apparently it was all in her head.
Midnight looks away quickly, coughing, and Izumi takes the excuse to follow her wandering eyes. There's a man approaching, another faculty member often seen around their academy. With blonde hair gelled so high it seems to defy gravity. Present Mic is his name and, in Izumi's experience, he is a kind man. Perhaps a little loud, perhaps not always the most organized of teachers, but kind and fair.
It doesn't hurt that he's attractive. If he shaved the mustache and left his hair down she's certain she could see in him what all her peers did.
He walks in their direction and, once near, loses grip on the stack of files he's carrying. Papers go everywhere and Izumi jumps from her seat to help him, using her quirk to swiftly gather those she can.
"Thank you, Midoriya." He smiles handsomely down at her as he accepts them back, making Izumi avert her gaze. Then, after a quick glance to Midnight, he asks, "Would you be willing to help me carry all these?"
"Sure!" Anything to get out of here. "But, Miss Midnight? Would that be okay?"
"Of course, dear. Hurry back once you're done. There is more for us to discuss."
A quarter of his pile makes its way into her arms and she carries it dutifully. Since she has the lighter load, she opens and closes the door for him. She's distracted asking him where they are headed when the door collides with her heel just before the threshold. It leaves it open long enough for her to hear Midnight start speaking again, somewhat hushed, saying something Izumi probably wasn't meant to be privy to.
"Midoriya?"
She startles and turns. "Hm? Yeah?" Present Mic is standing just a few paces away, half turned so he could call to her, and she shuffles her feet to catch up.
"I asked how you were doing today."
It's harder to smile as she lies and tells him that she's well. Not when it's very clear this was all meant to be a distraction, to give Midnight a chance to speak with Nejire without embarrassing Izumi by asking her to leave. She ought to be thankful, she hadn't wanted to be in there anyway, but the victory feels pyrrhic with her current knowledge. And all she feels is shame.
"Are your courses going well? Nothing tripping you up that I might be able to help with?"
"No, sir. Nothing that comes to mind."
He bobs his head and directs her to take a left. "That's good. You've been doing well, so don't take my concern as admonishment, I just always prefer to ask. If you ever need anything, just holler, 'kay kiddo?"
She nods her head. "Okay," she tells him, but deep down she knows she wouldn't.
The room he leads her to is the dean's office. Nedzu is waiting at his desk as they enter, smiling cheerfully. It's honestly still still a bit strange to speak with a quirked animal, but she was quickly getting over it. "Miss Midoriya, it has been too long! A pleasure, as before. Would you care for some tea?"
Her belly rolls at the thought. Too upset to stomach the thought of anything of the sort. "No, sir, but thank you. We're just here to drop off some files."
Nezu barely spares the papers a second of his attention, clearly unconcerned by their presence. It only gives more credence to the theory that this room was never their intended destination. It was only a detour long enough for Nejire's private conversation.
"No matter! I actually wished to speak with you about something!"
Present Mic eyes him skeptically. "How lucky."
The dean laughs. "If by 'luck' you mean the reasonable deduction that during their scheduled meeting with Miss Kayama pertaining to the hero commission's inane pet project, mind you, one of the two would make a remark concerning enough to warrant a private conversation. And that said person was most likely to be Hado Nejire due to her difficulties integrating with her classmates. And that, in order to separate the two, my capable staff would wordlessly work out a distraction with enough feasibility to go unnoticed, inevitably bringing Miss Midoriya here to my office? If that is what you mean then yes, I was indeed very lucky."
Though he was previously intending to leave, Izumi soon finds Present Mic at her shoulder, frowning at the rodent. "You should not reveal private information about one of our students without their consent."
Nedzu blinks. "But I haven't said much of anything yet. It would only be truly concerning if I were to tell Miss Midoriya here that Miss Hado's confusing feelings stem from a place of—"
"Enough," Mic interrupts, "You've said more than enough, Dean Nedzu."
He shrugs, unbothered. "If you say so. Your human customs are so foreign to one such as I!"
Neither of them believed that. He was clearly only trying to use his difference in species as an excuse.
"You're not entirely right, sir."
"Oh?" His ear twitches and he paws blindly for his tea cup, beady eyes never straying Izumi's—who curses her mouth and her tongue each for speaking out of turn. It was not she who asked it of them. "Do tell."
"It didn't go unnoticed," she announces, "The distraction, that is."
The dean's answering laugh is nothing short of concerning, but it does not last long. "Marvelous! Truly marvelous! And how did my faculty fail to escape your discerning eye?" He doesn't give her any time to answer. "No wait! Don't tell me, I'd like the chance to puzzle it out. But later! Later," he nods, "As I was saying, I was hoping today would be the day we'd get the chance to speak again, Miss Midoriya!"
She shifts her wait from one foot to the other, eyes flickering briefly to the professor at her shoulder. "What about?"
"Your quirk, of course!"
Her head tilts and her hair goes with it—bangs wrapping around her jaw and hanging across her throat. "Pardon? I assumed you already knew my quirk?" She had used it quite extensively in the Sports Festival, after all.
He slow blinks at her. "Of course! The 'attraction of small objects,' yes? The same as your mother, according to the registrar!"
Izumi nods. "Exactly. I can attract items up to a certain size toward my hands and feet with minor telekinesis." She hesitates before adding, "That's about all there is to it. It's not a very exciting one to study, I'm afraid."
"Hardly so! It is often the simplest of powers that I find to be the most astounding!" From within one of the drawers of his desk, he pulls a paperweight. "Is your power limited by only size? Or by weight as well?"
"Size, primarily." Izumi lifts her hand and hovers it over the paperweight, wiggling her fingers to encourage it to raise up and hover there. It performs a bit of a bobbing motion dance as she does. To anyone else it would appear almost in time with the tugs of her fingers, but the dean was not just anyone else. Izumi cuts her quirk off suddenly when she realizes, but it's already too late.
"Ah," he hums, likely sounding as despondent as he could be, "So that is what she meant."
It could only be Recovery Girl he was referring to. Their conversation was still fresh in Izumi's mind. "I have it under control," she assures him, because she did.
Nedzu eyes her critically and slides his keyboard out. "When do you generally begin to notice the drawbacks from your ability?"
"I don't," she lies.
"Ah, ah! Miss Midoriya, though I may be mistaken, I am fairly certain it is seen as dishonorable to lie to your elders in this country's culture. So, please. Let us be honest with each other, shall we?" When she holds her tongue, he pushes the keyboard away again and stands. "You have gotten good at hiding it, I will admit, but your timing is off. Your heart beat just a quarter of a second more quickly than you pulled your fingers; you must be nervous, but there is no need for you to be!"
She works her jaw; another tell to announce her up and coming lie. "I don't know what you're talking about." Nor did she think he should be the one to dictate whether her nervousness was warranted.
"Then it is a good thing I am an educator at heart! Allow me to explain," he smiles, "We are, all of us, biological creatures, and our quirks are facets of that. Thusly, my High Specs, Present Mic here's Voice, and your Attraction of Small Objects are biological too. They all have mechanisms at work that allow them to function, whether that be an enlarged cerebrum, an enhanced voicebox, or—in your case—a heart which works as a vacuum."
All of this from the timing of the paperweight's bobbing. Izumi would find it impressive if it wasn't so annoying.
"I am correct, am I not? Our hearts work in both positive and negative pressures, but yours seems to take this to the extreme. Each time yours pumps it exerts the pressure through the entirety of your body, using your arteries and veins as channels, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. In doing so, it allows you to pull items toward you, correct?"
Correct. Though she would not admit it to him. Not willingly, at least.
"The issue naturally becomes, of course, and I am certain you already know this, that your blood is not completely immune to your quirk. The more you pull things toward you, the more you pull your blood back toward your heart, severely disrupting its flow."
"So, I risk losing a few fingers and toes. So what? I've made my peace with it. That won't stop me from saving somebody's life."
Though Nedzu's laughter is merry, his words are not. "Would a stroke? Truthfully, that is the more likely outcome. I wonder if suddenly dying without warning would be enough to stop you. You are quite spirited, but life is not a shonen manga. You will not be able to keep your brain from suffocating with willpower alone, I fear."
Heroes die sometimes. She's made her peace with that, too. It is not as if she got into this field for the retirement plan. The thought of endangering somebody she was trying to save did not sit well with her, however. Tonight would be a sleepless one, she decides, and spent with her journals as she planned how best to avoid such a fate.
"Are you expelling me?"
Suddenly, the dean is very, very quiet. He looks from her to Present Mic, then to a window that overlooks Musutafu. He hops off his chair, walking to it and looking out over the city. It was all very theatrical. "No, I won't be. You are a promising candidate and were obviously aware of these risks before you ever began walking down this path."
"Sir—" Present Mic tries, but the dean holds up a paw.
"Yuei's support department will be creating compression garments for your arms and legs. You will wear them around the clock. If you are ever discovered to be using your quirk without them on, you will face suspension. If you do it again, immediate transfer to another department of your choice." He turns to peer over his shoulder. "Do not mistake me, Miss Midoriya, heroes are a dime a dozen. Japan has little need for more. We are in an era of unprecedented peace, thanks to All Might and his many sacrifices. What we need now are not new heroes, but better ones. If I did not have faith in your ability to become an improvement of the common stock who patrol our streets, this conversation would have been very different."
Then, before she can say anything, his chipper smile returns and a large button appears in his paw. "Remember, Recovery Girl has also requested weekly visits from you! She will expect you every Thursday morning promptly at 0700! That will be all, enjoy!"
The floor opens up beneath her and Present Mic, sending each one down atop a slide that spits them back out on the floor below. The room they end up is clearly unused, with chairs flipped over atop tables and dust covering a fair amount of the surfaces.
Izumi lands with a yipe that started before the slide. She fixes her hair quickly and grunts as she stands, helped up by her professor. "Is he always like that?" she grumbles.
"More or less," Mic tells her. He looks as though he wants to say more, but must realize it will only fall upon deaf ears. That is something not even the power of his voice quirk can change. "Let's get you back to Nemuri. I do not believe you finished your conversation."
Just before he reaches the door, Izumi calls out to him, saying "Sir?" He pivots, humming. She's rubbing her elbow when he looks at her, abashed. "I really haven't had an issue with it in a long time. I'll wear the sleeves, but there's really no need for so much concern. I do have some resistance, and I've refined my techniques a lot."
"Sure," he says, after a brief hesitation. "Come along, now. We've kept her waiting long enough."