Chapter Eight – The U.S.J.
The idea of becoming a rescue-focused hero hadn't grown on Clay by the time the day came to go to the U.S.J. Still, he was more than happy to spend a day out of the classroom and in the field—even if it wasn't quite the field he'd been hoping for.
"So, it was Thirteen who recommended you?" Tsuyu asked, her big, curious eyes steady on him as she settled into the seat beside him.
Clay scratched his beard, feeling a little sheepish under her gaze. "Yeah, reckon so," he replied. "Didn't expect it to be someone who's all about rescue work, though. Never thought about my quirk bein' much good outside of… y'know… fightin'." He chuckled, but there was a trace of uncertainty behind it.
Tsuyu tilted her head slightly, her calm expression unchanging. "Your quirk's got a lot of potential for rescue. Rats can get to places people can't, ribbit," she said in her usual soft tone, her words direct but thoughtful. "You might surprise yourself with what you can do."
"More or less what she told me," Clay said with a dry chuckle. "I don't know. Guess I'll just have to stick with what I'm good at… But then again, they say, 'Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life,' right? …or somethin' like that."
Clay turned his head as Iida started his rant again—something about maintaining order on the bus. Clay couldn't help but smile. As annoying as Iida could be, maybe it wasn't the worst thing to have someone like him around to keep everyone in line.
"We're training to be heroes, not going to a cow auction," Bakugo spat, prowling up and down the aisle in open defiance of Iida's repeated instructions to sit down.
Clay couldn't help but snort at Bakugo's antics, leaning over to Tsuyu with a smirk. "Guess it wouldn't hurt if someone kept him in line, too."
Tsuyu blinked, a small smile creeping across her usually calm expression. "He'd probably need more than just one person, ribbit."
Just then, Iida, who had clearly reached his limit, spun around to face Bakugo with an air of righteous determination. "Bakugo, please sit down and respect the transportation protocol!" he declared, his arms chopping through the air in sharp, precise motions. "We are U.A. students and must uphold standards of safety and decorum at all times!"
Bakugo sneered, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the seats, glaring down at Iida. "And who put you in charge, four-eyes? If I want to walk, I'll walk."
Before Iida could fire back, Kirishima jumped in, laughing nervously. "Come on, Bakugo, we'll be at the U.S.J. soon. Might as well just chill, right?"
"Yeah, Bakugo!" Mina piped up from the back. "You don't want to waste all your energy on the bus when we've got real work ahead!"
"We're here," came Aizawa's flat voice. "Stop messing around and get ready."
The U.S.J. was a marvel, and Clay could see why Thirteen was so eager to show it off.
"Welcome, students," she greeted, her voice crackling with that comforting, faraway tone that tugged at memories of Clay's childhood. "I'm excited to show you around! There are just a few things we need to go over before we get started."
At that, Clay's attention drifted. His gaze roamed over the massive buildings, mountainous terrain, and even a random ship placed right in the middle of it all. Somewhere nearby, Aizawa was grumbling about All Might's lack of responsibility, but Clay barely noticed. Sure, he liked All Might more than Aizawa—most students did—but right now, none of that mattered. He wasn't stuck in a too-small classroom desk, and that alone meant today was going to be a good day.
Then, the rim of lights around the dome flickered—and abruptly went out. Bit of a weird start, Clay thought. He only noticed the misty, purple portal forming by the fountain because Aizawa had turned sharply toward it. Normally oblivious to subtle shifts in body language, Clay picked up on it right away. Something was wrong.
"Stay together and don't move!" Aizawa's voice, louder and sharper than its usual low monotone, was enough to keep Clay's feet planted.
Shambling out of the portal was one of the strangest things Clay had ever seen: a lanky man covered in what seemed like a collection of disembodied arms. And he wasn't alone. Clay felt Skipper's tail slap against his face, and as he glanced down, he noticed a few rats had already scurried out of his sleeves. "Stay close, boys," he muttered.
The air turned thick with tension as more figures emerged from the portal, each one stranger than the last. Clay's heart started hammering as he took in the sight—villains. Real, breathing villains, far beyond the simulations they'd practiced in class. Aizawa's expression was stone-cold, his gaze never leaving the strange, twitching man with the hands covering his body. There was no mistaking it—this was no drill.
"Everyone, get back! Don't engage!" Aizawa ordered, his scarf unfurling around him like a striking serpent. He was moving before anyone could respond, charging straight into the group of villains with an agility and precision Clay hadn't yet seen from him.
Beside him, Tsuyu's eyes narrowed as she reached up, instinctively readying her stance. "This isn't part of the training… Those are real villains, ribbit," she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically grim.
"Looks like it," Clay muttered, feeling his own instincts kick in. He nudged Skipper into his sleeve, his focus sharpening. The villains hadn't reached them yet, but the looming threat was unmistakable.
When Aizawa charged forward without hesitation, Clay felt a strong urge to join him. He wanted to—badly—but for some reason, his feet wouldn't move. Instead, he knelt down and scooped up the first rat he saw. It was Alert, named for his uncanny vigilance; Clay had never once caught him sleeping. "Keep an eye on Tsuyu," he murmured, watching as the rat gave a decisive nod before wriggling free of his hand and scurrying to Tsuyu's feet.
Clay straightened, his gaze fixed on the chaos unfolding. No hero he admired would fight alone, and he'd been itching for a good scrap for too long.
"We have to go!" Iida shouted.
Though Clay disagreed, Skipper clearly knew what he was thinking. A sharp bite to his wrist delivered Skipper's message loud and clear. Reluctantly, Clay turned and joined the others. But then—
A wall of purple mist rose between them and the exit. Before Clay could even process what the misty figure was saying, Bakugo and Kirishima lunged forward, diving right into it. Gritting his teeth, Clay charged after them, but he was too far behind. By the time he reached the mist, the figure had dispersed, swirling into a chaotic windstorm that kept him at bay.
The mist swirled, blinding Clay with an almost suffocating thickness. A dizzying sensation gripped him, his vision twisting in and out of focus. A few more rats poured from his sleeves. "Spread out! Find someone and latch on!" By the time he stumbled forward, the ground beneath him was rough and sloped, a far cry from the smooth, controlled surface of the U.S.J.'s entrance. Clay blinked, his mind struggling to catch up—he was standing in a rocky, barren landscape. Distant water roared behind him. The mist had transported him to the U.S.J.'s landslide zone.
A faint rustle at his shoulder alerted him to Skipper, who had managed to cling tightly through the teleportation. "You alright there, buddy?" he muttered, running a thumb over Skipper's tiny head as he regained his bearings.
It didn't take long for Clay to realize he wasn't alone. Across the uneven ground, villains were closing in, each one sizing him up with a twisted grin. He counted at least four—each with a glint in their eyes that spoke of eagerness for a fight. Clay felt his heartbeat quicken, but not with fear. This was the rush he'd been craving. The odds were against him, sure, but that's what made it interesting.
He knew he could give mental commands to his rats, even if it didn't always work perfectly. Before cracking his knuckles, he sent out a focused thought.
If y'all can hear me, stay with whoever you latched onto. Do what you can to help. Do as they say. And Alert, if Tsuyu comes out of this all right, I'll get you a whole block of cheese.
Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he felt a faint chorus of squeaks at the edge of his mind, as if the rats had heard him.
"Right," he muttered, turning to face the four villains. Three were of average size, but one loomed a head taller, clearly the muscle. Clay rolled his shoulders, locking eyes with them. "Who's first?"
The tallest of the group, a broad-shouldered brute with fists the size and rough shape of cinder blocks, let out a low, mocking laugh. "You talk tough for a kid," he sneered, cracking his knuckles with a series of thunderous pops. "Guess they don't teach heroes how to pick their battles these days."
Clay's smirk widened, his fingers twitching at his sides, anticipation humming through his veins. "What? Nineteen still counts as a kid here?"
Without warning, one of the smaller villains, a wiry guy with narrow eyes and fingers that looked like claws, sprang forward, aiming straight for Clay's face. Reacting quickly, Clay sidestepped and swung his arm out, his fist landing solidly against the villain's jaw. The guy stumbled, his hand clutching his face as Clay's rats leapt from his sleeve, scattering across the ground like a dark, living wave.
"Give 'em somethin' to remember, boys! Go for the eyes!" Clay called out. The rats split off, swarming around the villains' feet, climbing up their legs, nipping at exposed skin. The villains cursed and swatted, momentarily distracted as they tried to shake off the sudden, biting assault.
Just as the brute lunged forward, intent on barreling through the swarm, Clay dug his boots into the ground, steadying himself. He ducked low, dodging the villain's wild swing, and aimed a solid punch to his ribs. The big guy staggered, grunting in pain, his momentary surprise giving Clay an opening.
Skipper let out a fierce squeak, seemingly mirroring Clay's own determination as he bolted down Clay's arm, leaping onto the brute's shoulder. With a quick, nimble swipe, he sank his teeth into the villain's ear, causing the man to howl in pain, swatting at Skipper, who dodged and scurried back to Clay. Clay charged forward, landing a wild, clumsy punch to the villain's gut. From the way it felt, Clay reckoned that he at least knocked they guy's wind out.
Breathing hard but grinning, Clay raised his fists. "That all you got? C'mon, fight me like you mean it. This is just another bar fight for me."
The brute doubled over, clutching his gut as he gasped for breath, his glare fierce and angry. "You little punk…!" he growled, his voice strained. But before he could recover, another villain—a stocky man with dark, swirling tattoos across his forearms—stepped forward, his hands glowing with a strange, crackling energy.
Clay didn't know what this guy could do, and he was able to figure that it wouldn't be good if he found out. In a move that he'd been working on, he swung his arm at the same time as he spawned a rat, launching it directly in the man's face.
The tattooed man stumbled backwards, trying to swat the rat who had bitten his nose and latched on. Clay used the distraction to charge forward, tackling him like any bar patron who dared talk about his mother.
The impact of the tackle sent both Clay and the tattooed villain sprawling across the rocky ground. Clay landed a few solid punches to the man's ribs, grinning as he heard the villain wheeze in pain. The rat still clung to the man's face, scratching and squeaking as the villain flailed, trying to pry it off with one hand while fending off Clay with the other.
"Get… off!" the villain snarled, throwing a wild punch that Clay barely dodged. Clay was easily able to retort with a stiff hit to the temple. He was out cold.
The other two villains seemed to be unable to focus on Clay with the gang of rats tormenting them, so Clay launched himself at the brute just as he was regaining his balance. Shouldering him, Clay was able to topple the beast down the hill.
"Okay fellas," Clay said with a pant. "That was fun, but I gotta sit down for a sec. I'd be good to call it here if you are," he said, still very much postured to fight. Somewhere along the way, he had a cut on his forehead, so he used his sleeve to wipe it off.
Clay could see the brute still tumbling down the hill, and the tattooed man was probably dreaming of a better life. He looked to the remaining two men, who were flailing on the ground, trying to shield themselves from the rat onslaught. "Good job boys, give them space," Clay said, watching as the gang of rats made a loose circle around the two men. "I'll ask again, are you good to call it here? I gotta sit down for a sec."
The two remaining villains froze, catching their breath as they glanced at the rats surrounding them in a cautious ring. One of the villains, a pale, wide-eyed guy with a shallow cut above his brow, raised his hands slowly, clearly eager to avoid any further rat-related attacks. "Y-yeah, we're good," he stammered, his voice trembling. "We don't want any more trouble… Just… call them off."
His partner, equally as shaken and desperately brushing off the last remnants of rat bites, nodded fervently. "We're good! We're definitely good," he added, scooting back against the rocks as if trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and Clay's furry reinforcements.
With a smirk, Clay gave a short whistle, and the rats began to back off, forming a retreating line toward him. Clay watched as the men scrambled away. "Try getting into construction. Heard there's money in that," he called, sucking in a breath and making sure the tattooed man was still out. Skipper perched on Clay's shoulder, looking every bit as victorious as his owner, his little chest puffed out with pride. "See? Didn't have to make this all difficult," Clay drawled, tipping his hat toward the two battered villains as they scrambled to their feet, stumbling down the hill in a frantic bid to escape.
He sank onto the rock, finally taking the moment of rest he'd been craving. Skipper chittered happily beside him, and Clay let out a tired chuckle. "Didn't think they'd break that easy. Guess a little rat trouble'll do that to a guy."
A strange sense of calm had washed over Clay. It wasn't the same calm that came to him just after a good fight, it was different. "Y'know, I think I'll give it a try…" he muttered to himself, closing his eyes. Skipper chittered at him curiously. "I'm trying to look through Alert's eyes… to check on Tsuyu."
Clay took a deep breath, focusing on the memory of Alert's small, ever-watchful face. He'd never fully attempted this before; the ability to see through his rats had always felt out of reach, like something hovering just at the edge of his mind. But if Thirteen was right, if his Quirk could do more than he'd ever realized, then maybe—just maybe—he could push it a bit further.
He held the image of Alert in his mind, the way the rat's beady eyes took in everything around him, sharp and clear. Slowly, he felt a strange sensation, a light pressure building behind his eyes. And then, as if a curtain had lifted, his surroundings changed.
He saw a different place. A boat. He saw things from Tsuyu's shoulder. She was there with Midoriya and… Mineta.
The sight was strange and a bit disorienting, the bobbing of the waves adding a sway to his vision. Through Alert's eyes, Clay took in the tense scene: Tsuyu was crouched low on the deck of a fancy new ship, and Midoriya stood a few feet away, fists clenched and eyes fixed on the dark waters surrounding them. Mineta, shaking and muttering to himself, clung to the side of the boat, his eyes darting around in a panic.
Clay's heart skipped a beat, and he gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of protectiveness. The boat was surrounded by villains, their silhouettes barely visible in the water, just… staring. His focus sharpened as he tried to keep track of the movements around them, hoping that somehow, through Alert, he could give Tsuyu the edge she needed to get out of this. But Clay couldn't think of anything, and he could feel his connection to Alert fading, until he found that he was just looking at the back of his eyelids. Skipper nipping his hands further severed his connection. At the very least, Tsuyu was okay… for now.
He opened his eyes to see he had a new visitor.
"Oh, hey big fella. I'll be with ya in a second."