Chapter 11: Midoriya Izuku XI

A/N: So… I added a new form of textual style in this chapter in order to convey another aspect of the story. You'll all be able to see it when you get to it, so I'll leave it at that. Other than that, I hope that you all enjoy the upcoming events...

Weeks pass. Things seem to die down. Little of anything to note comes to pass. No sudden raids orchestrated by police, no abrupt appearances by a disapproving All Might, and no harsh upheavals of his life.

Instead are the usual training sessions with the detached Kurogiri, the myriad cherished intervals spent with Ibara in the park, and newfound lonely seatings on the bench in Sanaruko Park.

Things simply continue as they normally do.

What small changes do manifest come to affect little — like Izuku's growing interest in biology, for one. Sensei may not have mentioned the topic since the first time, and Izuku hasn't seen hair nor hide of Garaki since, but he wasn't willing to ignore the hint for what it was.

So he adds extended study-bound instances to his day, guiding himself to become at least somewhat familiar with the subjects of genetics and biochemistry. All things considered it's not as if it's a hard task; as long as he appears to be paying attention in class, he can do whatever to his heart's desire. It's not as if the teachers care, after all.

The only problem that comes with that… Well, Izuku finds once more that his frayed attention span has betrayed him. Specifically, his muttering habit comes unrestrained once more while reviewing a lesson on thermodynamics, thus earning the ire of an ever familiar head of ashy blonde hair.

Soon the bell that signifies the end of class rings, the usual hustle and bustle consuming the room. And although Izuku may be invested in his book, that doesn't mean that he misses the shuffle of Bakugou's feet and two others' heading towards his desk.

Izuku holds out from releasing a sigh through his lips, knowing that it'd do him more harm than good if Bakugou were to hear it. So he takes upon the most neutral expression that he can, places his book down on his desk — subtly covering it up with some papers — and raises his face to meet the eyes of his most hell-bent tormentor.

He asks, plain and simple, "Yes Bakugou?"

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Bakugou scoffs, his eyes narrowing in irritation.

Izuku holds back the usual urge to bite back. Just like all the times before he keeps his vexation tamed, hidden behind lock and key. No matter how much he'd rather not.

Oh, what I would do just to get the chance to punch him.

But that wouldn't really make a difference now, would it? Besides, would that really make you the better individual in this situation?

Internally, Izuku winces at the voice. Still, he isn't surprised; merely resigned. Because it seems like, for one reason or another, the universe really, truly hates him. After all, why else would his subconscious grow to sound exactly like Ibara? Even down to all her mannerisms and tone?

Well, Izuku argues, even when knowing the uselessness of it, I have to face him sometime about our antagonistic relationship. And I can't exactly let my dislike for him rule my life.

Just like how you let your hatred for Endeavor rule yours?

Izuku ignores the comeback. He switches instead to shrugging in response to Bakugou's question — listening to voices in your head is an optional activity in life, after all.

"Well yeah," Izuku says, looking at Bakugou. "What do you want me to say?"

Bakugou places his hands on the desk, leaning forward and getting into Izuku's face. "Maybe," he drags out the word, "an apology, for one?"

Izuku almost scoffs. But he holds it back, just barely. "You want me to apologize for angering the almighty and powerful Bakugou Katsuki?"

Izuku admits that he could have offered more of a… tactful response. But dealing with Bakugou has become more of a nuisance than something to fear, as of late. He can't help but skirt the line.

One of Bakugou's eyes flinches at the response. He very nearly lunges forward, only to be narrowingly stopped by the firm grip that has found its way around his shoulders.

"The fuck you doing, Wings?" Bakugou demands.

Tsubasa's eyes widen, hands darting away from the contact. Izuku's willing to say that the boy acted without thinking — a gesture he appreciates, even if it was a bit stupid for Tsubasa to have done.

"I, uh, well," Tsubasa stutters. "It's just that you already beat the nerd up this afternoon, ya know? And this morning too." He rubs the nape of his neck. "Another beating would be a bit more than usual, wouldn't it?"

"You getting soft on me, or something?" Bakugou sneers. "Why do you care how much hurt the nerd gets? Actually feeling sorry for the shitstain after all these years?"

Tsubasa raises his hands up in defense. "No! No. It's just, well." His eyes dart around the room, eventually latching onto one spot. "The teacher's still in the room. Usually you wait."

The teacher indeed is still present, grading away at some papers. But if his aloof expression is anything to go by, he doesn't even care that this scenario is playing out in his classroom. Or rather, is willfully playing the ignorant fool.

"Oh, so now you're turning into a scared little bird, are you?" Bakugou questions. "What happened to that big mean dragon you're always blabbering about being, huh!?"

Tsubasa doesn't respond back. If anything, Izuku prefers it that way; at the very least as a result Tsubasa wouldn't be digging himself further into trouble than he already is in.

Bakugou turns his attention back to Izuku. He seems less angry than before — all due to Tsubasa's intervention, no doubt — but his steady glare gives Izuku the notion that he doesn't want to leave without at least some modicum of success.

Which, of course, means that something has to happen.

Izuku hears it coming before any real movement has occured, but the proximity of himself to Bakugou prevents any sort of stalling action. Bakugou swipes down at the desk, taking Izuku's book. The papers atop it fly loose, leaving the book's title out for all to see.

"Biochemistry?" Bakugou asks, scrutinizing the book. He flips open a few pages, eyes growing dark the further he gets. "What the fuck are you doing with this?"

"I just want a foothold in the subject considering how complex it is," Izuku answers honestly. He knows that a lie won't suffice. Not with the evidence blatantly out in the open.

"Is that so? Are you trying to get ahead? You think you're better than me or something, huh!?"

Heh. Honestly, Bakugou. Really?

"That's up to you to decide," Izuku retorts. "After all, you said it, not me."

Bakugou huffs. A small pop abruptly fills the space in front of Izuku, the textbook in Bakugou's hand going up in flames.

Izuku watches as the smoldering remains fall to his desk, tattered and unrecoverable. Still, he keeps his face passive against Bakugou's own smug look. Thankfully, he doesn't have to hold it up for long. A book's corpse is seemingly enough to sate the boy's desires, Bakugou finally turning around and heading towards the door.

It's not until after Garou follows suit with a similar looking face, and Tsubasa offers his own apologetic look before turning around, that Izuku takes the chance to let loose.

All the irritation he had been holding over the encounter bleeds out, a deep sigh sweltering out as his thoughts loosen up from their fortified location. It's a bit too much, and he can't help but bring his frustration to words.

"Fuckface."

…

…

"The HELL did you say?!"

…

Oh. That slipped out, didn't it? And with my quirk too…

"Bakugou!" Tsubasa yells out. "Wai—!"

Izuku can move. He wants to move. But he knows that it would just escalate the situation. So he doesn't.

Bakugou spins in his spot and propels himself towards Izuku. Once he reaches his destination he sets off a weak explosion; just enough to breach past Izuku's clothes and singe his shoulder, however.

So there Izuku is, stuck in his seat as Bakugou stands before him, triumphant and proud. All while he sits there, meek and feeble, clutching at his shoulder.

The burns sting of course. And he's a bit dazed from the blow. But it's nothing that he hasn't already experienced before. Nothing that he hasn't already spent hours reeling over, or days cursing off.

And perhaps, that's exactly what works against Izuku's favor.

He's not exactly sure what triggers it. Perhaps it's the years of unresolved anguish building up and finally toppling down. Or maybe today was just a bit too much than usual. Because suddenly, all of his restraint and sense of preservation is gone.

He does something that he's never done before. He talks back.

"Is that all you got?"

The words echo throughout the room. Garou and Tsubasa stand frozen, the former confused while the latter stands shocked. And Bakugou? He stands in place, frozen, but with calculating eyes locked onto the boy in front of him.

Izuku only realizes what he's done too late. He's too surprised with himself, still wondering if his mouth really opened, to really react to what comes next.

"Oh," Bakugou smirks, "I've got plenty."

He's still in his seat, with a desk and the need to push his chair out from said desk preventing a quick escape. He hears it, sees it, but can't do anything about it. He can only listen as his doom nears ever closer.

An explosion charges up — more force behind it than before. The hand rips past the length of his desk. And then the explosion goes off. Right next to his ear.

There's a sharp pain, and the sensation of liquid flowing down his head. He falls out of his chair and onto the ground in a frenzy, curling up and clutching at his ear.

"Bakugou!" Tsubasa yells, running up to Izuku's downed form. "What the hell!?"

"Oh, piss off!" Bakugou scowls. "This isn't the first time it's happened! You were there the first time; you know that he'll get over it!"

Tsubasa takes his own hands away from Izuku's ear, almost backing away in shock at what he sees. "He's bleeding! And it looks really bad this time!"

"Oh, fuck you! It wasn't that strong!" Bakugou turns and walks towards the door. "Come on, Fingers. We're going. We'll let Wings catch up if he decides to stop acting like the nerd suddenly matters!"

Tsubasa switches between looking at the leaving duo and back to Izuku. Once Bakugou's out of sight, he starts to help Izuku to his feet.

"Come on man," Tsubasa says as he struggles to drape Izuku over his shoulders, "we'll get you to the nurse. And then—"

"No."

Tsubasa sharks his head to his side. "What? But you're—"

"No."

Tsubasa almost jumps in place. Izuku scowls at the accidental display of his quirk, but he shakes it off. It doesn't matter at the moment.

"I don't trust the nurse," Izuku breathes. "I trust her as far as I would be able to throw Sensei."

"The teacher?" Tsubasa asks. "I mean, i guess, but—"

"Nevermind!" Izuku almost shouts. He can feel himself getting more and more dazed. "Just… get me to a closet."

"What? Dude—"

"Janitor closet!" Izuku hisses. "And get my stuff… Please."

"But what would a closet—"

"This is my best chance. I… fuck! This hurts!" Izuku groans. He takes a moment to recover, doing his best to focus his eyes. "Please. It's for the best.

Tsubasa shakes his head. "Fine. I hope you know what you're doing."

The two start their journey, Izuku dragging himself along as he goes. He ignores the piercing gaze of the teacher as he stumbles out of the room, ignores the pain screeching and scratching and peeling at his head for as long as he can hold out, and focuses on placing one foot out in front of the other..

They reach a janitor's closet in no time. Izuku pushes himself off of his savior. He ignores the concerned look on Tusbasa's face. Without another word, he takes his things, pulls the door open, stumbles in, and slams it shut — leaving him engulfed in darkness.

He prefers it. The less stimuli, the better. Of course, that doesn't mean much, with the way his quirk is going haywire. But some reprieve is better than none.

He collapses against the door, sliding to the floor. He ignores Tsubasa's desperate cries, fishing out his phone instead. He peeks down at the screen.

Pain pain pain. A world of pain is all that fills his eyes. But he tries his best.

It's a miracle that he's able to navigate his fingers, going to his contacts and calling Kurogiri.

But he doesn't get the chance to speak, the last things he hears being the dial tone on his phone.

He drops the phone, the plastic and metal clattering to the tiled floor.

His breaths turn ragged. His back is pelted by Tsubasa's fist pounding on the other side. There are bugs in the walls, car in the distance, people talking, yelling, birds chirping, cats meowing, water flowing through pipes—

Too many sounds. Unfiltered and unrestrained. His brain pulses within it's cramped prison.

Soon, the world…

...turns

to black...

His eyes flutter open, a hint of grogginess and fatigue pervading the movement. He almost doesn't recognize where he is at first, but the grungy-looking ceiling and the telltale sounds of dilapidated architecture bring him back into focus.

Tomura's off in the corner as usual, playing his games. And Kurogiri's actually in the back of the establishment, seemingly doing inventory. Unfortunately, that information does little to indicate exactly who owns the third set of lungs he can hear. The best Izuku can tell, the individual's likely a smoker, given the audible condition of their lungs.

He groans as he slowly sits up. He finds that he's been placed in one of the booths among the bar's many tables. A slow turning of his head to the left reveals the third individual present, sitting across from him.

He's a middle-aged man with grey hair, with an accompanying goatee and mustache to match. His glowing pink eyes hide behind his round polarized glasses, and they compliment the strange, almost intestine-looking scarf around his neck. As Izuku hones in on the cigarette sticking out from the man's mouth — smoker indeed — the unknown figure grins, revealing a missing front tooth.

"Heyo, sport." The man does a little mock salute. "How's the gear? Up to par, I hope?"

Izuku crinkles his nose and files away the question for later. He's not exactly worried for his safety — in regards to the man in front of him, that is (what's relative safety when Sensei is involved, after all?) — but that doesn't mean that he can't still be wary.

"Who are you?" Izuku asks, voice cracking.

"Me?" The man gestures to himself. "Well that's simple, really. I'm a man of many tastes, and a man of many walks of life. I've dealt with individuals of all shapes and sizes, and I fester in your heart till the day you die." The man laughs, sending a lazy gaze at Izuku. "But you can just call me Giran."

The name sparks something in Izuku's mind. He's heard about Giran of course; it's a bit hard not to when he's been investigating all there is to the underbelly of Japan. After all, Giran is perhaps the most well-connected and established broker in the entire country, tending to villains and vigilantes (and some heroes) alike. The only missing element to his repertoire was that Izuku never had a face to the name. Until now that is.

"Giran, huh?" Izuku says. "Otherwise known as Okuta Kagero, right?"

Giran raises an eyebrow at that, his cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth. He takes a moment to reorient himself. "Huh," he mutters. "Kurogiri over there really wasn't lying when he said you were well-informed. I've got to admit that I'm impressed."

"Though," Giran takes a drag of his cigarette, pointing it towards Izuku, "mind me asking how you came across that info?"

"Well, it definitely wasn't easy to find, that's for sure," Izuku explains. "Whatever method you used to purge your records was thorough, but not thorough enough."

"And…?"

Izuku shrugs. "I suppose that I can offer more… For a price."

"Oho? You saying that the little contraption in your ear isn't enough?" Giran asks.

The question does alert Izuku to the previously unnoticed pressure in his left ear. He almost didn't notice it with how snugly it fit in, but it's existence is now clear. Still, Izuku doesn't relay his surprise nor his interest in whatever is resting in his ear. He keeps up a confident grin, looking straight at Giran.

"I'm sure that it's already been paid for," Izuku offers. "Whether by Kurogiri or… someone else. Thus, separate payment would be needed for the information you're yearning for."

Giran's face is all but unreadable for a full minute. But eventually the man lets out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair as he does so. "I'm curious. How old are ya, kid? Now that info can't cost too much now, can it?"

"Nope," Izuku says, "because I can offer that for free. I'm nine by the way. Nearing ten soon."

Giran whistles "Shit, really?" The disbelief is clear in his voice. "You keep this up and you'll be my favorite client in no time."

Izuku tilts his head in thought at that. He could be looking too deeply into the wording, but… he has his suspicions.

"You were the one responsible for setting up my laptop, weren't you?"

Giran nods. "Got it in one. Hope you haven't broken it or anything; that thing costs a small fortune. I'm not sure that even All For One would want to ask for a replacement. I mean, don't get me wrong, such a thing didn't put a dent in his savings. But still."

Right. All For One — Sensei's alias in the greater landscape of Japan. A name held in whispers and with only the darkest wretches of society. Izuku's known about it for a while, but having it being brought up in conversation… He has to admit that it's a little weird when all he calls the man is 'Sensei.'

"You don't have to worry about that," Izuku answers. "I've kept it dry and safe — there's not a dent or scratch on it."

Giran nods. "Glad to hear it; make sure that care extends to your new tech, will ya? They're not exactly things I get asked for too often, a replacement might take a while if you lose 'em or damage them in a fight."

"Right," Izuku mutters, bringing his fingers up to his ear to feel at the device. He traces the length of the smooth synthetic surface, noting the… surprisingly small contrast between the feel of the device and the softness of the skin and cartilage of his ear.

"How'd you get my ear healed so quickly?"

Giran puffs out a cloud of smoke. He smirks. "Who said that was me?"

Izuku hums in thought. "Alright; then how about explaining what exactly is in my ear? You… wouldn't mind that, would you?"

"Not at all. Simply put, it's a sound therapy machine. White noise masking, sound habituation protocols, and the like. Everything in our age that works to ease the burden of conditions such as yours."

Izuku frowns at the information, his mind already providing a basis to what all those words have in common. "Tinnitus?" Izuku whispers, addled. He leans back in his seat. "Knew it was only a matter of time."

"Correct…" Giran scrutinizes the boy in front of him. "Why do you sound as if you didn't already have Tinnitus before?"

Izuku raises an eyebrow at that. "Because I didn't?"

Giran places his hand under his chin. "Hmm. The damage to your ear; your left, that is. That was a fresh injury. From today?"

"...Yeah? As long as it's still Thursday, anyways."

"It is," Giran affirms. "But what about your right ear?"

"What about it?"

Giran huffs, crossing his arms together. "I did a little testing myself while you were out. Turns out you have tinnitus in both your ears; the left ear just has a more pronounced case of it. As for your right ear? The scarring's a lot older, years old. But it's clear as day: there should be at least some ringing in your right too."

"But I..." Izuku crinkles his nose. He takes a moment to think. "I guess… Technically, this was the second time that Bakugou's blown one of my ears out. The first time was when we were kids; he went for my right ear at the time. Are you saying that I've had residual damage from that, and I haven't noticed for all these years?"

Giran shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you, kid. That's just what it looks like to me. Maybe you got used to the ringing when you were young? Grew to forget all about it? The damage's only minimal, after all."

"Only minimal…" Izuku mutters to himself. He thinks on it for a while, eventually grimacing at his eventual hypothesis. He looks at Giran. "I have a theory."

"Shoot."

Izuku reaches for his quirk. Everything's working as per usual, the constant chaos from before now gone. The newfound tech in his right ear is masking the signature sound of constant ringing in cases of tinnitus, so he actually has to strain himself to hear it. Everything's… normal.

And this 'normal' also includes the finer-tuned control of sound around his immediate body. Izuku never gave it much attention before; after all, it made sense for his quirk to be stronger the less range there needed to be covered.

But if Giran's right…

He tries… manipulating the aura of sound around him. Stretching it, pulling at it, whatever he can. He focuses on his right ear, morphing and changing until he — SNAP

And there it is. A low hum, filling up his right ear. Almost unnoticeable, but there as long as he strains to hear it. Izuku shakes his head, letting go of his reign over his quirk. The passive use of sound over his right ear settles back within moments, the low, effervescent hum leaving him.

"I think," Izuku begins, "that I've been subconsciously masking the sound with my quirk. I just tried working around it, and suddenly I could hear it."

"You saying that my services were unneeded this time around? You could've done the same with your other ear, right?"

Izuku shakes his head. "Not at all. The buzz in my right ear… it's soft. But if my left ear is as bad as you say it is, I probably wouldn't be able to handle it."

"A bummer." Giran smirks. "But even then: Must be some quirk of yours then, holding up in protecting yourself for so long. When was the initial incident again?"

"It happened when I was five."

Giran narrows his eyes at that.

Izuku clears his throat. "It's… a long story."

"Eh, it's not my business," Giran mutters, standing up from his seat. He tosses a small pamphlet over to Izuku's side of the table. "Instruction manual, for your pleasure. I'll leave you to it... Unless you have something else for me?"

Izuku nods. "I can give you more details on how I uncovered your name later. I can send it to your email if you'd like."

Giran shifts his eyes to Izuku. "You are aware that I only give that out to a very small number of people, correct?"

"I know."

"Hah! Bold of you to ask, then!" Giran sticks his arm into his coat, pulling out a small business card and handing it over to Izuku. "Phone and email, for your pleasure. But remember, if any of that gets out and I learn that you're the leak? You're cut from any future dealings, you hear?"

Izuku nods. "Of course. You can't have backstabbers lingering around for long in your type of market, after all. Best to cull them as soon as possible, right?"

Giran tips his head. "Glad that we've come to an understanding, Midoriya. I look forward to having business with you in the future; you sure as hell are looking to be an interesting one."

Giran walks out of the bar as shiftily and stealthily as what Izuku has come to expect from a man with his profession.

With the man gone, the next thing Izuku had plans to do is read the manual to ensure he doesn't accidentally shock himself or damage his new tech.

That is, until he hears Tomura of all people pause his game out of nowhere. It only works to confuse Izuku more the second Tomura stands up and starts to trek over to his table.

Because of course the day isn't over yet.

A/N: And there we have it. Damaged ears, but they're able to be worked around. And Giran! He'll be playing a bit more of a prominent role in this fic, so prepare for more of him in the future.