"So even though nothing remotely exciting is going on, I can't leave?"

"Yes."

"What's the point when there are no criminals doing criminal activity right now?"

"The point is that heroism is not all about saving people and apprehending wrongdoers. It's also about paperwork and responsibilities."

"Just say that your secretary is on maternity leave, so you're short on staff! I hate it when guys talk about the issue in a roundabout manner. Be straightforward, dammit!"

Determined to have the last word, Katsuki slammed the door shut on his way out of Best Jeanist's office. His behavior was rather petulant, but then again, he did have a valid point. Katsuki valued honesty and integrity over everything else. More than once, people called him brutal for his brashness, but sugarcoating did not change the situation. At least, that was the ideology he lived by. And that was the ideology he wanted to continue to pursue once he started his own hero agency.

So when he arrived at Best Jeanist's agency after college classes were done for the day, he had not been expecting to be sorely disappointed. The problem was not that Katsuki detested paperwork, administration, and the like. Actually, he was a diligent worker and knew that there were more aspects to the hero industry than shown on television. The problem was that he felt lied to.

The betrayal made the pile of documents on his desk that much unappealing.

Katsuki sighed, "Now how am I going to pick up those drumsticks that I ordered?"

Since college started a few weeks ago, Katsuki had decided to take up one of his hobbies for the sake of his mental health. Especially with first exams rounding the corner, more so than ever. And music was his particular favorite. The bang and clash of the beaters against the wood of the drum and the bronze of the cymbals matched the beat of his attitude. Fierce, feisty, and fearless. His quirk, explosion, enabled him to destroy things to smithereens. Whenever he was angry, the power amplified. The drums, however, allowed him to create things. His temper, his vitality … all of it concentrated into his hands into the drumsticks. There was candor in music because music was an outlet of emotions understood by all.

Right now, Katsuki wanted nothing more than to hold that pair of quality drumsticks and try them out. He had ordered them from a reputable music school, and a notification arrived in his email inbox that his shipment had arrived. He wanted to be the first and only one to lay hands on them, but as much as he was loath to admit it, he had to compromise.

He waited for the broccoli-haired idiot to pick up his phone. Finally, said idiot did.

"There's something I need you to do," Katsuki said, straight to the point. "Consider it as returning a favor for when I helped you get ready for your date-not-date." When he finished, he half-expected Izuku to make an excuse about not being able to do so. So when Izuku replied that he was already out for patrols and could stop by for this extra errand, Katsuki was genuinely surprised. Although, he had plenty pride to not express the sentiment over the phone.

"Dumbass," Katsuki said to no one after the call ended. One would call that rude behavior, if not for the smirk that lit his face.

Then he looked at the documents. "Dumbass," he muttered again. There was no smirk this time.

Kamiko was nervous.

She tried to console herself that she had no reason to be. When she told her parents about the music school and her idea of working there, they had understood the hidden meaning behind her words. They were supportive of her plan. Her parents even went as far as to critique and build her job application.

Kamiko had parental support, the school was within walking distance, and it was accepting of all quirks. Then why was she so afraid?

Because simply submitting the resume was not enough to secure a seat. There was the dreaded second part of any job-hiring process: the interview. Most people shuddered at that aspect. In Kamiko's case - with her timid, anxious, and squeaking tendency - that word was the equivalent of death.

A letter had arrived, detailing that she had passed the first round and qualified for the second step. However, because of her lack of a college degree, the most the school could offer her was an intern position. She would be guided under the tutelage of one of the teachers and be required to take mandatory classes. It would be a lie to say that she was not dismayed, but something was better than nothing. At least she had a chance. Kamiko had decided to approach it as an opportunity to still pursue what she loved. Swallowing all thoughts of anxiety, she prepared for the interview.

But now that the moment had arrived, she wanted to flee.

Sitting in one of the lobby chairs outside the interview room, Kamiko repeatedly recited her prepped answers to the questions and reminded herself not to squeak. At all. First impressions mattered, and she would not botch it up.

So when she was called in, she spared a moment to wipe the sweat from her hands before entering.

Inside the room was an ensemble of instruments. Orchestral, band, percussion, classical, modern, Japanese, Western. Truly, it was a treasure trove for the connoisseurs of music like her. But upon further glance, Kamiko noted that the instruments were not made of fine wood or brass like professional ones are. These were made of plastic and paper, designed to break and crumble after two uses. Even the piano in the corner of the room was well-worn. For a moment, she thought to herself whether this school was really what it had advertised itself to be on its website.

Her doubts must have been an open book on her face because a voice clarified them for her. "The curriculum of this school requires for each student to master at least one musical instrument." Kamiko yelped and looked at the owner of the voice: a middle-aged man in business casual attire and with spectacles. She chastised herself internally for noticing him earlier, and especially for not introducing herself at the start. Beginner interview mistakes. Not one minute in, and she had damaged the first impression she strived so hard to create. Her tail responded likewise with an agitated spasm. Again, the man read her thoughts. He smiled warmly before continuing. "During the interview, we ask the interviewee to try each of the instruments. With mind to the multitude of quirks and all the accidents that can ensue, we give them cheap quality instruments. If these break, it is no problem. Only after the interviewee has exhibited aptitude in an instrument and passed the actual interview, do we give them a proper replica."

That made plenty of sense now.

Then Kamiko remembered herself. She bowed in greeting and introduced herself. A delayed introduction was better than no introduction. Even if that introduction came with a series of squeaks and squeals. She would salvage this somehow. She had to.

The man grinned and returned the greeting.

"Would you like to start with the interview first or the instruments?"

There was no squeak in her response this time. "The instruments, please."

Izuku did not accept Katsuki's request because Katsuki wanted him to.

Actually, he agreed because it gave him an excuse to meet Furukawa.

A few days ago, he had called her to spend some time together. Over the phone, he had learned that she was applying to a music school. When she told him that it was by the beach they frequented, he was elated. Izuku imagined surprising her on the day of her interview and boosting her morale. He knew that she suffered from a lack of self-confidence, like he once did. And he also knew how important and effective words of motivation could be at moments like that.

However, he could not simply go there and give a grand speech. He would have come off as a stalker, and stalking was a surefire way to end any friendship. Since that phone call, he racked his head with a viable excuse to meet her when Katsuki gave him the perfect reason to go there.

So after picking up the package under Katsuki's name, he strolled the hallways, searching for her.

And then he heard a familiar squeak. Rather, a series of squeaks.

Izuku turned toward the source of the sound. And what he saw shocked him. A door with a glass window looked into a room with broken remnants of plastic and paper strewn. In the center of it all was Furukawa. She was crying as a man stood by. Izuku was livid. Who was the guy with the death wish who made his friend cry? He was about to storm inside and confront the perpetrator when he realized that he was misunderstanding the situation. The man was doing more than just standing there - he was consoling Furukawa. Their voices could be heard outside the room.

"I - squeak - I'm so sorry!" Furukawa exclaimed. "You said it was okay if they broke but - squeak - I don't like breaking things! Particularly precious things!"

The man replied, "It's fine. Really. It's all worth it when finding your soulmate in melody. Here. Try the trumpet next."

Izuku debated stepping inside when he thought better of it. Interrupting the interview would be disrespectful. Largely after he wrongfully villainized an innocent person. However, the urge to comfort Furukawa persisted. He hated watching a friend cry.

Reluctantly, Furukawa brought the trumpet to her lips and blew. Granted, Izuku was no genius about the musical arts, but even he recognized terrible quality. The sound she produced could make the dead awake from their graves to tell her to quiet it down. It was an insolent thought, but briefly Izuku entertained it. Instinctively, he snickered at the imaginary sight. Then he immediately regretted it. He had no right to find this funny when the other was obviously suffering. The valves of the trumpet broke one by one, and with it, so did Furukawa's self-esteem. Again, he felt the need to enter the room.

This time, the man gave her a violin. With shaking fingers, she accepted the instrument and bow. Just like the trumpet, the strings snapped and curled one by one.

Izuku could not help but ponder over the situation. Furukawa had told him that she was passionate about music, so how was she so horrible at playing the physical manifestations of music? Maybe she would have better luck if she attempted singing? Or perhaps if the instruments were bigger, she could handle them with greater ease? It was that second point, he realized, was the issue. From rudimentary music classes from primary school, he remembered that instruments came in a few sizes, but there was a limit. Furukawa's fingers were simply too long for even the large-sized instruments available. The ratio was just too disproportional.

Finally, the only instrument standing intact amongst the rubble was the piano.

It was contrasted with the utterly defeated look in Furukawa's eyes, her drooped ears, and limp tail.

Izuku had had enough.

Reluctantly, Kamiko took her place on the stool in front of the piano. She did not want to break this one, too, but given her luck and ineptitude, it seemed unavoidable. What would come apart first this time? Black keys? Tuning pins? Or more unbelievably, what if the cover broke? How would she achieve that?

With a resigned sigh, she let her fingers hover the chords, preparing to strike a note. Suddenly, a pair of hands enveloped hers. Startled, she searched for its owner. There. Standing just behind her was the face of the forest green-eyed boy she could never forget. But what was he doing here? And how come she did not notice? Her hearing was impeccable. Those questions escaped her mouth as a stutter.

But Midoriya simply smiled and answered them confidently. "I came to pick up an order for a friend, when I caught a glimpse of you outside the door. I watched how heartbroken you were after each failed attempt, so I thought I could encourage you. The kind man here acknowledged my request to keep my arrival silent." He gestured toward said man, who grinned with a knowing glint in his eyes. Before she could ponder what that meant, Midoriya's words returned her attention to him. "You learn to be stealthy when you've spent a few years as a hero. So please don't feel bad about not noticing me. I wanted to surprise you and save you your last chance at getting this internship. May I?"

He beckoned toward the empty spot beside her on the stool, and she acquiesced, still in shock.

"It would take a miracle to break this one, so let's keep this one intact, alright?" he joked, trying to lighten her mood.

Kamiko let out an embarrassed giggle, but the guilt remained. What if by some miracle she really did destroy this last instrument in the room? The marks on the wood and the scratches on the seat showed that this piano had been in use for years. It had a history; it was a memory. She could not bear destroying such a beautiful memory. Damaging this would feel like she had damaged the one at her home, which also had a history just as old - if not older - than the piano here. She was about to rise from her place and request to proceed to the interview when Midoriya wrapped his hands around hers again and guided them to the chords. The sensation made her jolt visibly. With wide eyes, she stared at him, but his attention was focused elsewhere: where their hands connected. His cheeks were flaming, but he did not withdraw. Instead, he stroked the thin layer of fur that coated them. Repeatedly.

He murmured, "It's been years since I last played the piano, but I don't think I'm too rusty." And then he pressed a finger against hers, strumming a chord.

Kamiko did not know what to say. Should she have said something? Either way, she did not get the chance. Midoriya guided her through the warm-ups, applying slight pressure to her fingertips with his. With each octave, she only became all too aware of the physical contact. Kamiko kept trying to remind herself that it was the mate bond making her tail twitch in a rapid rhythm. But who was she lying to? Herself? Truth was, she enjoyed his touch. It was overflowing with respect and understanding and care. As though Midoriya saw her more than just a cross between fox and human. As though he genuinely wanted to get to know her as a fellow person. How long had it been since someone approached her with such noble intent? Twice they had met - thrice, if the night he saved her could qualify - and each time he had been nothing but kind to her. Subconsciously, her tail did more than just quiver. It reached over to him and brushed his lower back. At the same time, her ears had the opposite reaction - they eased from his presence.

Suddenly aware that they had an audience, Kamiko suppressed the instinct. She chastised herself to focus on the interview. After they finished warm-ups, Midoriya released her hands and started to play by himself. He flashed a sweet smile, implying that she follow his lead. Kamiko recognized the piece after he played only a few notes: "Always With Me." One of her all-time favorite pieces. And he played it so wonderfully. She forgot all about pressing the chords in sync with him. The melody was enrapturing. This time when her tail reached for him again, just once, she let it stroke him. No. Once was not enough. Again. And again. And again. The way his fingers pressed each key to release a harmonious note had a beauty she could not put to words. Kamiko could listen to him play forever.

So when the piece inevitably ended, she was saddened. Her tail strokes - which, she had stopped paying attention to soon after giving in - seized midway before returning to her side. Though, she masked it before he could notice. "You said that you had lost practice," Kamiko whispered. "But you have not lost your touch."

"It's time to show your touch for music. Can you repeat what I just played?" Kamiko nodded vigorously and proved it. This time, the instrument did not break. She almost broke into tears again. The interviewer applauded her for a fine job, after which he beckoned Midoriya out of the room. Kamiko understood why he was being asked to leave, but a part of her wanted to ask him to stay. So when he spoke just before stepping out the door, Kamiko was elated. She did not hide it. He said, "I'll be waiting outside. All the best."

Perhaps her interview could be salvaged. Those seven words gave her the confidence to carry forth with her dreams.