Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, listener,” Hizashi said. “What’s up?”

“Um Is Aizawa-sensei here?” Midoriya asked.

“Yeah,” Hizashi said. “Come on in.” He slid the door back to allow Midoriya entry. “He’s over there. He may look asleep, but don’t worry, he’s awake!”

“Thank you, Yamada-sensei.” Midoriya gave a quick bow, then hurried over to Shouta’s couch.

Hizashi returned to his desk but didn’t get started on any of his work. He could think of only one reason why Midoriya would be here right now, and he wanted to see how it played out.

Midoriya didn’t wait for Shouta to open his eyes. “Aizawa-sensei,” he said. “About the exercise coming up. Um.”

“Just spit it out, Problem Child.” Oh, and Shou hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

Midoriya’s back straightened. “Aizawa-sensei, I am very uncomfortable with the idea of playing a villain in the exercise. I would prefer to—”

“Everyone would prefer to play a hero,” Shouta said. “That’s why the villain team is selected.”

“But sensei if it was a team it wouldn’t just be me!” Midoriya said. “I can’t possibly face the entire class, much less while pretending to be a villain. I don’t even know what kind of villain I’m supposed to be!”

“The assignment said to design your villain persona based as though the moment that inspired you to become a hero never happened.” Shouta cracked an eye open. “You just have to find that moment and imagine what your life would be like if it had never happened. As if the opposite had happened. Surely you can figure that out.”

“Well, yes,” Midoriya said. “I know what moment. But!—”

“Then that’s all you need,” Shouta said.

“Hai.” Midoriya’s head hung.

“Look, you don’t have to win,” Shouta said. “You just have to do your best.”

“But what if my friends all hate me?” Midoriya asked.

“Problem Child, it’s an assignment,” Shouta said. “They know you were assigned the villain role. They can’t fault you for that.”

“But what if they hate me when they see the kind of villain I could have become?” Midoriya asked.

“That’s why the villain team is made up of the people the class votes most heroic.” Shouta closed his eyes.

“And you couldn’t put the runner up on my team?” Midoriya asked. “I couldn’t have won by much. Probably only one vote, right? So—”

“It was unanimous,” Shouta said. “Everyone voted for you.”

“What about Tsu?” Midoriya asked. “I voted for her. Can’t she—”

“She will be leading the hero team,” Shouta said. “That’s how the exercise is set up.”

“It’s a dumb exercise,” Midoriya said.

“It’s thirty percent of your final grade,” Shouta said. “You’d better put in an appropriate level of effort.”

“And I don’t have to win to pass?” Midoriya asked.

“Yes,” Shouta said. “You’ll be emailed the rule book tonight. Until then just work on your villain persona. It may help you to stay in character the whole time.”

“Okay.” Midoriya bowed. “Thank you for your time, Aizawa-sensei.” He walked to the door, bowed to the room at large, and left, sliding the door closed again behind him.

“So,” Hizashi said. “Everyone voted for Midoriya, huh?”

Shouta just groaned from his couch.

“My class has seven students on the villain team,” Vlad said.

“Who’s leading your hero team?” Ishiyama asked.

“Kamakiri,” Vlad said. “Only Kendo voted for him, though.”

“Did you tell them they’d be in the same city-scape as 1A?” Nemuri asked.

“No,” Vlad said. “I didn’t want to listen to Monoma complaining about it all week long. I’ll tell the villain team in two days, and the hero team leader the day before it starts.”

“What about you?” Nemuri asked. “Shouta. Did you tell your class?”

“No,” Shouta said.

“Are you going to?” she pressed.

“No,” Shouta said. “They can figure it out themselves or they can realize it once they’ve begun.”

“That’s kind of mean, don’t you think,” Vlad said.

“ Life is kind of mean,” Shouta said. “My class has one villain to face. Midoriya can fly now and it’s Midoriya .”

“So you’ll tell him?” Vlad asked. “Since he’s at such a disadvantage?”

“I’m not telling any of them,” Shouta said. “I already don’t know how this is going to turn out. I won’t—”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Vlad asked. “There’s only one villain. Of course the hero team will win. Probably on the first day after their first encounter.”

“If it were someone else, maybe,” Shouta said. “But it’s Midoriya .”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Vlad asked.

“Midoriya’s quirk is super impressive,” Nemuri said. “He could probably take on half the class at once with that thing.”

“The green haired one?” Vlad asked. “I thought his quirk broke his bones.”

“He fixed that problem.” Shouta’s voice was almost muffled by his sleeping bag. “He doesn't break his bones anymore, and he can fly, and he’s got sentient tentacles that want to destroy things living in his arms.”

“What.” Vlad’s face showed that he clearly thought this was another of Shouta’s logical ruses.

“You should see it in action,” Nemuri said. “It’s like an eldritch horror is trying to possess him.”

Hizashi walked over to Shouta’s couch and sat in the chair next to Shouta’s head. “You’re worried about the exercise.”

“They all voted for him,” Shouta said quietly, his mouth covered by the lip of his sleeping bag. “That’s never happened before. But it’s Midoirya . If anyone could fight the whole class and win, it would be him.”

“So you think he’ll just storm their headquarters and wipe them out?” Hizashi asked. “Get it over with quickly and call it done?”

“No,” Shouta said. “He always makes things more difficult than they need to be. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But he’s going to do something to make it more of a challenge than it needs to be.”

“Like what?” Hizashi asked.

“I’m sure he’ll tell us,” Shouta said.

Chapter Text

“Aizawa-sensei,” Midoriya said.

“What, Problem Child.”

“I was wondering if it would be possible to get a quirk suppression bracelet for the exercise?” Midoriya asked.

“You’re not allowed to erase any of your opponents’ quirks, no.” Shouta had to give him points for originality. In all the years he’d been teaching this class, none of his students had thought to ask for quirk cancelling bracelets to make their jobs easier.

“No, for me,” Midoriya said.

“What.” Why would the Problem Child even consider having his own quirk erased when he would be facing his whole class?

“I wanted the quirk suppression bracelet for me,” Midoriya said. “Just for the duration of the exercise. I didn’t have any negative side effects during quirkless week, so there won’t be any negative side effects to worry about. Recovery Girl won’t have to get involved.”

“ Why would you want your quirk suppressed when you’ll be facing off against your entire class?” Shouta asked.

“Um. Well, yesterday you said that I was supposed to base my villain persona off of the moment that allowed me to become a hero but if it had gone the opposite of how it actually had,” Midoriya said. “Um. And for me that moment has to do with my quirk coming in? I was, um. I was a late bloomer, so I can remember when it happened, unlike most people, so I thought that the opposite would be if I didn’t have a quirk, and I thought it might be easier if I had one of those quirk suppression bracelets.”

Shouta sighed. “If you feel that you would have become a villain if your quirk hadn’t come in, I can get you one of the bracelets.”

“Thank you!” Midoriya said. “Um. But. I wouldn’t have become a villain if I had stayed quirkless. It. The moment was. Complicated? Some very specific things would have had to happen for me to. To. I’m not actually a villain type. I wouldn’t have. You don’t have to worry about—”

“No one is worried that you could actually become a villain,” Shouta said. “I’ll give you the bracelet right before the exercise begins.”

“Thank you!” Midoriya bowed, then hurried out of the classroom to the cafeteria.

Shouta was glad the Problem Child was still spending time with his friends. This exercise sometimes made relationships strained, so it was good to see that nothing of the sort had taken place yet. Of course, it was only Tuesday.

Only Tuesday, and Midoriya had already picked one of the most interesting villain personas Shouta had seen in all his years running the exercise and in his time as a student in the exercise. A quirkless villain?

Shouta wasn’t saying it was impossible, he was just saying he didn’t think it was likely the Problem Child’s would manage all of the idiosyncrasies unique to the quirkless population. Shouta had dealt with a lot more quirkless individuals than most heroes did. It was because of his capture weapon, how it allowed him rapid ascent and rooftop access. Most of the time, the quirkless people Shouta encountered were jumpers. Lots that he had talked down, some that he had caught, far too many that he had been too late to save. But he had learned about them, observant in the way only an underground hero was. Perhaps most heartbreaking was the fact that they all believed he wouldn’t care, that he would leave them to jump, once they told him they were quirkless.

It would be interesting to see how Midoriya would portray a quirkless villain. He was one of the best researchers in the class; he might even dig deep enough to find real information, first hand accounts from quirkless individuals hiding behind online anonymity. Shouta would have to ask him to share his research once the exercise was finished. It would do the class some good to see what Midoriya would find.

Shouta went to the teacher’s lounge. Hizashi would be waiting for him.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me about this, Nezu-sama,” Midoriya said. “I really appreciate you taking the time to listen to some of the questions I have about this exercise.”

Midoriya said listen to not answer the questions. Interesting.

“Well, Midoriya-kun,” Nezu said. “The unabridged rulebook is rather long and complicated. It makes sense for you to have some questions after reading it. Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Midoriya said. “You’re already taking time out of your day to—”

“What kind of tea would you enjoy, Midoriya-kun?” Nezu pressed.

“I don’t need—”

“I wonder when it was that Aizawa-kun managed to earn so much of your trust,” Nezu said, steepling his paws. “When he believed you when you said you encountered someone suspicious during the provisional licensing exam? When he fought to protect you all and gave you the chance to defend yourselves at the summer camp? When he checked in with you after your internship experience in Hosu? Perhaps it was his response to the events of the sports festival that won you over. Maybe when he risked his life for you at the USJ. Or maybe you began to trust him when he didn’t discard you on the first day, when he judged you to have a non-zero level of potential.”

“I’m sorry, Nezu-sama,” Midoriya said. “I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Of course, a much more fascinating question than when did Aizawa-kun earn your trust is When did Aizawa-kun begin to trust you?” Nezu said.

“I don’t—”

“Though neither question is particularly relevant to our meeting, I suppose,” Nezu continued. “Oh well. I suppose I shall have to content myself with another question.”

“Nezu-sama?” Midoriya asked. “What question?”

“Ah,” Nezu said. “What I shall have to do to earn your trust myself, of course.”

Midoriya paused for a moment at that.

“Naturally, I don’t expect a ready-made answer for that one,” Nezu said. “Shall we begin the meeting, then?”

Midoriya nodded. “Is it alright if I record this? I can go over the answers later on.”

“Oh, I would insist!” Nezu said. “My answers wouldn’t do you much good if you couldn’t keep them, now would they!”

Excellent. This was a fair indication that Midoriya intended to fully exploit any and all loopholes Nezu would let him. And Nezu wouldn’t stop him from anything.

“Alright.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Um, Nezu-sama?”

“Yes, Midoriya-kun?”

“I. I would take Jasmine tea,” he said. “If you had any.”

Nezu hummed. “Of course!”

This meeting was shaping up splendidly, and it had only just begun.

Nezu couldn’t wait for the answers, both the ones he would give Midoriya, and the ones he would discover for himself.

Chapter Text

“The villain team, please stay back for a minute. The rest of the class is dismissed for lunch early.”

Itsuka, as leader of the villain team, leaned back in her chair. Vlad-sensei had kept them back for a few minutes after class on Monday, just to give them the general assignment parameters and tell them they would be emailed the rulebook. Tuesday they hadn’t been held back. If she had to guess, Itsuka would say today would be Vlad-sensei checking on their development of their villain personas. It had taken her a bit, but last night she had finally identified what Vlad-sensei had called her ‘pivotal moment.’ She was just having a bit of difficulty imagining it turning out any other way, especially in a way that led her to villany.

Sure enough when the last of the hero team was out of the class for lunch, Vlad-sensei asked, “How are your villain personas coming?”

It was quiet for a moment before Awase offered, “Well, so far I’m embittered by industrializm.”

“Good,” Vlad-sensei said. “That’s a great start. Anyone else?”

“Vlad-sensei.” Ibara-chan raised her hand.

“Yes, Shiozaki.” He pointed at her.

“I have found my path to the darkness,” she said. “But I am loathe to tread upon it, even in jest for this exercise.”

Vlad-sensei nodded. “It’s going to be difficult. But it’s only until the exercise ends. Once the hero team catches you, you can stop acting.”

“I cause mischief for personal gain instead of helping people,” Reiko-chan said.

“Excellent persona, Yanagi,” Vlad-sensei said. “Anyone else?”

Quietly, Shishida said, “I cause senseless violence due to a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Okay!” Vlad-sensei said. “What about you, Tetsu?”

Tetsutetsu looked from his hands and said, “I’m going to be the least manly villain ever.”

“Kendo,” Vlad-sensei said.

“Um,” Itsuka said. “I’m. Not sure.”

Setsuna-kun said, “My motivation is that I cut people into pieces because people said my quirk was gross and unnatural!”

“You are...rather excited about this,” Vlad-sensei said.

“Catharsis,” Setsuna-kun said.

Itsuka chuckled. Her team was shaping up. They had their motives, their MO’s, their targets. All Itsuka had was...

“Kendo,” Vlad-sensei said. “You said you’re not sure?”

“Hai, sensei,” Itsuka said. “I know what moment I’ll be swapping out, but. I’m not sure how it would lead to becoming a villain.”

“You could share the moment,” Reiko-chan said. “We might be able to help you.”

“It’s. It’s stupid,” Itsuka said. “It’s really lame.”

“Mine is an invitation to a Halloween party,” Reiko-chan said.

“Mine is a field trip in middle school,” Awase said.

“Mine is bumping into a stranger on the street,” Setsuna-kun said. “You just have to take whatever happened and make the result opposite and way more extreme. Like, if that one kid had thought my quirk was gross I might not have become a hero, but I wouldn’t have become a villain, either. So instead I pretended he reacted really strongly and attacked me for it, and that the same thing happened a bunch of times.”

“I also exaggerated the degree to which the opposite event occurred,” Shishida said.

“Yeah,” Reiko-chan said. “None of us would’ve ever become villains, we just have to figure out what extreme lengths we would have to go to to change our pasts for it to happen.”

“So what’s your moment?” Tetsutetsu asked.

“Um. An online analyst took a look at my quirk and told me how great it could be for hero work?” Itsuka said. “I was thinking about becoming a lifeguard or maybe a teacher before then, because I thought heroics was out of reach, but the analyst gave me some really good ideas and the confidence I needed to apply to UA.”

“That’s so cool!” Awase said.

“So manly!” Tetsutetsu said.

“Wait, you hired a quirk analyst before you even applied to UA?” Vlad-sensei asked.

“No,” Itsuka said. “He’s a hobby analyst, not a professional. I followed him for a few years before, and he was having a give away and I entered and won, so. I didn’t pay anything for it, and it ended up being the tipping point I needed to get the courage to apply to UA, and here I am, so.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Reiko-chan said.

“Wait, is that the hero blog you showed us?” Ibara-chan asked.

Itsuka nodded.

“His artwork is so cool!” Reiko-chan said. “I didn’t know he did analysis!”

“Around the beginning of the year he posted that he was taking a break from hero analysis,” Shishida said. “Occasionally he’ll open his commissions, but they never stay open for long. He always fills his quota in a few hours.”

Itsuka hadn’t known Shishida followed the analyst. Lots of people did though, so maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Okay,” Tokage said. “I’m thinking we go the endless repetition route.”

Reiko nodded. “So Itsuka-chan. What did people usually say about your quirk? Before the analyst. Why did you think heroics was out of reach?”

“Um.” Did Itsuka really want to share this with her classmates? Her biggest insecurity? (Hadn’t they already shared theirs with her?)

“People used to say it was useless,” Itsukua said. “That making my hands bigger wasn’t helpful, was just a nuisance.”

“Okay,” Setsuna said. “So other than a list of names, we just need to imagine people telling you that every day no matter what and eventually you get tired of it and snap and decide to show the world just what your quirk can do.”

“Tokage-kun,” Tetsutetsu said. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little bit scary?”

Setsuna smiled and shrugged her arms right off of her shoulders.

“Okay,” Itsuka said. “My villain persona is showing the world what my quirk can do. Probably in the most revenge way possible.”

“Okay!” Vlad-sensei said. “You’ve all got villain personas, or good starts to your personas. That’s good. That’s the first half of this meeting.”

Oh? What else was Vlad-sensei going to say? Maybe there was an error in the rule book they’d been emailed? Some sort of stipulation based off of their personas?

“You’re all aware that as the villain team you’re going into this at a major disadvantage.”

“Yeah, there’s twice as many people on the hero team,” Tetsutetsu said.

“Yes,” Vlad-sensei agreed. “Which is why you’re being given this piece of information before the hero team.”

“Is it the location for the exercise?” Ibara asked.

“Class A is doing the same exercise as you are,” Vlad-sensei said. “They’ll be doing it in the same training grounds at the same time.”

“Meaning we’ll only have half of the space we would have otherwise?” Reiko asked.

“There will be no additional space limitations,” Vlad-sensei said.

“ Meaning ,” Itsuka said. Her team looked at her. “We can work together .”

“Yes,” Vlad-sensei said. “And that the hero teams can do the same. But Kamakiri won’t be told until Sunday morning. Do Not tell Monoma.”

“Is it the same for the A class?” Itsuka asked. “With their heroes not being told until Sunday?”

“Aizawa-san has decided not to tell his class,” Vlad-sensei said. “They won’t know unless you tell them.”

“We should definitely work with their villain team,” Shishida said.

“Shishida-kun,” Itsuka said. “You should come with me at lunch to approach them.”

“Hey!” Tetsutetsu said. “We should all go!”

“Sorry, Tetsutetsu,” Itsuka said. “That might let our classmates know what we’re up to. If it’s just the two of us it’s much less likely they’ll put it together. Especially since we don’t know who their villain team is.”

“Vlad-sensei, who is their villain leader?” Awase asked. “Who’s their hero leader?”

“Class A’s villain leader is Midoriya Izuku,” Vlad-sensei said. “Their hero team leader is Asui Tsuyu, the frog girl.”

“Midoriya,” Setsuna said. “Both of their leaders are green. I approve.”

“Wait, that’s the bone kid!” Reiko said.

“You mean we have to work with the feral child who destroys himself without hesitation?” Ibara asked.

“No,” Tetsutetsu said. “My bro Kirishima says Midoriya doesn’t break his bones anymore.”

“Is there anything else, Vlad-sensei?” Itsuka asked.

“No,” Vlad-sensei said. “Go to lunch.”

“Hai!” Tetsutetsu said. “Thank you sensei!” He led the charge.

Itsuka went with Shishida to the cafeteria. They could get their lunches and then find Midoriya.

Chapter Text

Ken didn’t mean to hear Vlad’s students plotting with one of Aizawa’s students. He was just on his way to the cafeteria to get some lunch before all the good food was gone. He needed some of LunchRush’s cooking to get him through the extra lesson he was teaching this week.

One of Aizawa’s students had requested some tutoring on structural integrity and building construction. There was a third year elective for the hero course that covered those topics. It normally took a full semester and allowed each student who took it to test their quirk on buildings to see what was and wasn’t safe, along with other scenarios. The students who took that course had overall lower collateral damage than their peers who didn’t. Another few years, and Ken would have enough data to petition the board to make the course mandatory for all UA heroics students.

Aizawa’s kid was in first year. So Ken had given Midoriya the end of course written test to see how much he knew, to make sure he knew enough to interact with the lessons meaningfully.

And Midoriya knew a lot, attributed to research done on his spare time for when he was analyzing a hero fight. What he really needed to know, in Ken’s opinion, was how his own quirk would impact a building. And Midoriya enjoyed the rest of that class, on Monday.

On Tuesday, Midoriya had asked if they could focus on the damage support equipment could cause. Which they could, but wouldn’t it be better to learn about his quirk first?

Apparently not, for reasons involving the upcoming exercise. Ken could understand that, and they could focus on how Midoriya’s quirk caused damage once the exercise was over. Provided he continued in the elective once the exercise was done. It would do him good, but Ken knew that not all heroes-in-training actually cared about structural integrity all that much, and it was a third year class. Ken would ask tonight during the session if Midoriya intended to keep it up after.

But right now it was lunch period, and the kid was talking to two of Vlad’s kids.

“Don’t worry, I told them I was talking with you about a club,” Midoriya said.

“They might express interest in joining a club their friend is in,” Kendo pointed out.

“I said it was a club for people whose quirks make them look different,” Midoriya said.

“Wouldn’t that exclude you, though?” Shishida asked. His quirk was a transformation type quirk, as was Kendo’s, but Midoriya’s was an emitter, so that club would exclude him, wouldn’t it?

“Oh, I recently unlocked part of my quirk that makes it look like I’m being possessed by an eldritch being,” Midoriya said. “So not only is it a valid club, but it would be appropriate for me to only be looking into joining it now.”

“Wow,” Shishida said. “It’s a good thing we already thought you were weird.”

“Shishida!” Kendo said. “You can’t say that!”

“It’s okay,” Midoriya said. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here to talk about the exercise, right?”

“Right,” Kendo said. “How do you know that?”

“Yeah, Vlad-sensei said Aizawa-san wasn’t going to tell you,” Shishida said.

“He didn’t,” Midoriya said. “But it’s pretty obvious if you stop to think about it.”

“It’s not,” Kendo said. “But that’s okay. I’m the villain team leader for our class. Vlad-sensei said you were the villain team leader for class A?”

“Uh, yeah,” Midoriya said. “You could say that.”

“What else could you say?” Kendo asked.

“I am the villain team,” Midoriya said. “Like. I’m the only one. It’s just me.”

“Wow,” Shishida said. “I guess you’d be all for working together, then.”

“Sure!” Midoriya said. “So, what are your villain personas?”

“Mine causes senseless violence because of a self fulfilling prophecy,” Shishida said.

“Mine wants to show the world what my quirk can do because everyone always said it was useless,” Kendo said. “Reiko-chan’s persona causes mischief for the fun of it, Ibara-chan’s is—”

“You have more than two villains?” Midoriya asked. “Sorry to interrupt, Kendo-chan. But. You have four villains?”
“We have seven,” Kendo, said.

“Okay, so thirteen heroes,” Midoriya said. “Who did you vote for? Who’s leading your hero team?”

“I. Huh. They’re the same person,” Kendo said. “Weird. Kamakiri is the leader of the hero team. You know him?”

“I know of him,” Midoriya said. “We’ve never been formally introduced. His quirk is Razor Sharp, right? He produces blades from his body?”

“That’s correct,” Shishida said.

“The leader of the hero team in my class is Tsu,” Midoriya said. “Asui Tsuyu. Her quirk is Frog, a mutant type quirk. She’s got a steady head and she’s a quick thinker. If Kamakiri offers to work together, Tsu will agree. Do you think he’ll offer?”

“Probably,” Kendo said. “Vlad-sensei told us he wasn’t going to tell Kamakiri until Sunday morning that both classes will be in the same training ground, though, so we’ve got some time.”

“Great!” Midoriya said. “It’s training ground Eta, by the way.”

“Your teacher told you that?” Kendo asked.

“No,” Midoriya said. “But that’s the only one that’s big enough to hold forty students at a time and hasn’t been used in the last week and has been checked over by Ishiyama-sensei and both electrical and plumbing teams in the last month.”

That. Was true. And an excellent deduction. Ken had checked that training ground recently, and been the one to show the plumbing and electrical teams through. Technically that was all publicly accessible information; if someone had the desire to know when a training facility was last checked, all they had to do was go the the facility and look it up using their UA ID. Anyone could have done it. But for Midoriya to have actually done it meant he’d gone around until he found the correct facility.

No. Midoriya had said (correctly) that training ground Eta was the only one. Meaning he’d checked each of them. The kid was dedicated, Ken would give him that.

“Huh,” Shishida said. “So you’re smart and strong.”

“Thanks!” Midoriya said.

“Here, give me your number,” Kendo said. “I’ll add you to our villain group chat so we can plan without any of the heroes finding out anything.”

“Hai!” Midoriya said. “I look forward to working with you for this exercise!”

“Same to you, Midoriya-kun,” Kendo said.

The three students returned to the cafeteria. Ken gave them a minute to get ahead of him before getting his own lunch.

Chapter Text

Higari was aware that he wasn’t the only teacher to have one student in particular that caused him no end of troubles but was also undeniably at the top of the class. Vlad’s student was a blonde called Monoma Neito, quirk Copy. Apparently he was brilliant and a skilled fighter, but also had an inferiority complex that caused him to challenge everyone, particularly the students of 1A. Snipe’s student was Amajiki Tamaki, quirk Manifest. He was very strong, and had a very good technique, but he was too shy to communicate with his allies half the time. Ectoplasm had a student called Tone Nariko, quirk Count. It was almost impossible to get her to hand in any homework, but all the work she did turn in was totally correct, if slightly illegible, and invariably late. Yamada’s student was Shinso Hitoshi, quirk Brainwashing. He was bright enough but seriously focused on transferring to the Hero Course at the cost of his social life.

Then there was Aizawa’s student (also claimed by Yagi, but he was too new to get his own student). Aizawa had called previous students Problem Makers, but the first student to regularly be designated as (and consistently respond to) Problem Child was one Midoriya Izuku, quirk Superpower. His quirk had broken his bones with every use at the beginning of the year, but some time between the sports festival and the end of summer he had fixed that problem. According to the adjustments to his costume that Higari had approved, the boy used primarily kicks while fighting, had learned to fly (?), and had some kind of growth coming from his hands and arms that required him to have self-healing fabric for his gloves and sleeves, as well as having holes in his gloves. And now he seemed to be taking up guns.

Higari knew all this because Aizawa’s problem child kept seeking out Higari’s problem child. Hatsume Mei, quirk Zoom. She was just. Too smart. She worked faster than any student Higari had ever seen before, and turned out more projects in a week than the second years were expected to produce in a semester. She also produced more explosions in a week than most support students produced ever . The rest of 1H had moved their work stations as far away from hers as possible, and tended to flinch when Hatsume forgot about boundaries like personal space. But she was fast and brilliant and very good at what she did, so Higari understood why Midoriya continued to seek her out.

That did not in any way mean that Higari was about to leave them together unsupervised. Higari was of the opinion that two problem students should never be left together unsupervised, lest the entire school burn down. Perhaps he was biased, seeing as his own problem student caused explosions, but his point stood. Also, Hatsume should never be left alone, period .

Most hero students met Hatsume once and decided that was enough, that they would rather keep their bodies and minds intact, that they would take any requests to Higari, as policy demanded. All changes had to go through him to be finalized, after all, since not even third years had their support licenses yet.

But not Midoriya. He was maybe Hatsume’s worst enabler. Not only was he enthusiastically impressed with all of her ‘babies,’ he had his own ideas that he shared. A few times Higari had even seen Midoriya working with Hatsume. No one did that. But Midoriya didn’t shy away from her volume, or her lack of personal boundaries, or her near maniac energy. Just yesterday, Higari had come back with his lunch to find Midoriya standing with his arms out, playing the part of a mannequin, while Hatsume attached things to him, making alterations with pins and needles and velcro and zippers and a soldering iron , all while they had a conversation . 

Higari had half a mind to ban Midoriya from the lab at that. Clearly he had no sense of self-preservation, hardly ducking when Hatsume’s wild gestures brought dangerous implements near his head. A willing hero student with no self preservation was about all Hatsume needed to be able to take over the world, and there was no telling how their friendship would turn out. But the number of people who could maintain a conversation with Hatsume for more than a couple minutes was already so low. Higari didn’t dare ban one of Hatsume’s only actual friends from the lab, even if world destruction was a possible result.

But that had been Wednesday, and today was Thursday. Higari had no idea what would await him when he stepped into the lab, but it couldn’t be good. Silence was never a good thing. He steeled himself and opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was his other students. They were sitting at their work stations quietly, looking forward, eyes wide. All of them. Higari sighed and turned to face the back of the room, Hatsume’s workspace.

Midoriya Izuku was sitting at Hatsume’s workbench. The bench was cleaner than Higari had seen it since the beginning of the year. The surface was actually organized with a coherent pattern and had been wiped down. Midoriya was sketching something in one of the notebooks on the desk’s surface. Whether it was his or Hatsume’s was anyone’s guess. Hatsume was nowhere to be seen.

Higari took a slow, deep breath, then said, “Midoriya.”

Midoriya looked up. “Oh! Maijima-sensei!”

“Midoriya, where is Hatsume,” Higari asked.

“Oh, she’s back there.” Midoriya pointed to the floor behind the work station.

Higari had to check on that. He walked to the back of the classroom.

“She’s okay, but I warned her that if she didn’t sleep I would sit on her until she fell asleep, and she didn’t sleep, so really she left me with no choice.”

At the back of the classroom, on top of a pile of blankets and pillows that Higari knew he had never seen before, was a body. A body because all defining features were covered by Midoriya’s uniform jacket. It could be Hatsume, but Higari would have expected her to snore, and this body was silent.

“He just.”

Higari looked at his students. Nagata Okimi was one of his braver first years. He nodded for them to continue.

“He just came in and dropped all that stuff in the back. Then he asked Hatsume when the last time she slept was, and when she said she didn’t know, he. He picked her up? I don’t know how he picked her up, Hatsume is a brick wall. I know he’s a hero student, but.” Nagata shook their head.

“I also am a brick wall.” Midoriya didn’t look up from the notebook. He was sketching... 

Nope. Higari would deal with that problem once Hatsume submitted the blueprint for approval and not before.

“Objection,” Shinamura said. “That is a green bean, not a brick wall.”

Midoriya looked up at Shinamura, raised an eyebrow, and reached down to where the hem of his shirt was tucked into his pants. He didn’t bother to tuck it back in once he let go.

Shinamura wasn’t the only student to suddenly be red-faced.

But Midoriya, of course, didn’t even notice. He had gone straight back to the notebook and the plans Higari was not looking forward to finding on his desk. “Don’t feel bad,” Midoriya said. “I’m trying to get people to underestimate me on purpose.”

“ Why ?” Shinamura demanded. His face hadn’t faded from scarlet. “ Why would you want people to underestimate you?”

“Well it’s going to make things way easier when I have to fight them all next week,” Midoriya said. “But mostly it’s a habit.”

“What the f***,” Shinamura said.

“Maijima-sensei,” Midoriya said. “I know I’m not a support student, but do you have some kind of test or something I could take so that I can use some of the equipment? Like a lab safety test or something? Or is there like beginner equipment I can use that isn’t dangerous or something? I’d like to get part of this assembled before I’m locked in ground Eta, and I don’t really want to give Mei this kind of power.”

“That.” Higari pointed at the notebook Midoriya was working in. “You want to build that .”

“Yeah,” Midoriya said. “Just for the exercise, though. It would probably be possible to build the whole thing after the exercise starts, but it’ll save me time if I can get some of it put together before then. And if I can do that with real tools in a lab, it’ll be a lot safer to transport than if I cobble it together in my dorm room.”

“What is it?” Nagata asked.

“It’s a device to take over all transmissions in a given area and replace them with whatever’s being broadcast from the paired device,” Midoriya said. “I’ll probably pair it to my phone for ease of use. Maybe if I agree to do the photoshoot Iwai-chan keeps bugging me about, she’ll agree to help me make some of the videos ahead of time.” 

Midoriya pulled out his phone with his left hand and sent a message, presumably to Iwai (Iwai Sakamae, the first year management student? The one all the business teachers complained about taking huge risks that often as not paid off?).

All of Higari’s students were looking at him. Midoriya was looking at his notebook. The phone by his left hand buzzed.

“Yes,” Higari said. “I can give you a lab knowledge and safety evaluation. Just let me check with my students first.”

“Thanks!”

Higari checked with each of his students individually, bar Hatsume. It took an hour, much longer than the usual fifteen minutes. That was in part because Higari had to console some of his more nervous students, and partly because he stopped by Nagata’s desk to get the rest of the story.

“He just picked her up and set her on the bedding, Maijima-sensei. And he actually sat on her until she gave up trying to get away? I think he ate his lunch while he was sitting on her. Then he completely reorganized her work station and wiped down all the surfaces? I don’t think any of us were going to address it. He’s just. He’s got a baby face but he got Hatsume to stop working like it wasn’t even an effort for him, and I’ve never seen her workbench so clean or organized. And he was so quiet . I pity any villain that tries to fight him.”

Well. That was a story wild enough to believe.

Higari left strict instructions to not disturb Hatsume and to come and get him the moment she seemed to be waking up (Midoriya assured them that she shouldn’t stir until the jacket was taken off of her head), and took Midoriya to the third year lab to test him on lab safety and knowledge. He wasn’t expecting too much from him; Midoriya was a hero student after all. The third years were experienced (and calm) enough to respond favourably in an accident, so he thought it would be safest to test Midoriya in their lab.

After the test was complete, Higari led Midoriya back to the first year lab and gave him free reign of the lab, provided he didn’t interrupt any of the students and Higari himself was there to supervise.

Midoriya’s face lit up at the permission, even while Higari’s students blanched. Higari could tell they were waiting for the second coming of Hatsume to sweep through and take them all by storm.

As an afterthought, Higari tacked on the rule that Midoriya couldn’t be skipping his own classes for lab time.

Midoriya’s cheery response of “Don’t worry, I don’t have any afternoon classes this week!” did nothing to abate the students’ fears.

Higari wasn’t expecting the second coming of Hatsume. There was only one Hatsume Mei, he was sure of that. Midoriya was his own type of Problem Child.

Chapter Text

Nemuri did a double take when a student asked her for the keys to the studio. Not because it was surprising for a student to ask for those keys, the studio was booked for this hour, after all. Rather, the student asking was a surprise.

“Midoriya,” Nemuri said. “Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” The first year hero students might have had their afternoons free to prepare for the upcoming exercise, but they still had their academic classes in the mornings.

“Oh, Aizawa-sensei wrote me a pass.” 

Midoriya produced a juice pouch with the words ‘He’s not in class’ scrawled in sharpie followed by Shouta’s signature.

“Kind of.” He put the ‘pass’ away. “He knows I’m skipping. I have permission to skip class today for the photoshoot Iwai-chan set up. I think she bribed one of your third year art students to take the pictures.”

“I did not bribe them,” Iwai said, approaching the desk. “I offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse!”

“She offered them a picture of Kacchan smiling so they can win a bet,” Midoriya said. “A picture I’m going to have to take.”

“You can get it easy enough!” Iwai said.

“Yeah, but I don’t enjoy crashing their dates!” Midoriya said. “If I ever went on a date I don’t think I would appreciate my classmate following me around with a camera.”

Iwai shrugged. “Did you or did you not come to me for my connections?”

Midoriya sighed. “I did. I didn’t know that getting someone to take some videos for me would involve me taking a picture of Kacchan.”

“Is that the name of the explosive first year?” The art student in question leaned against Nemuri’s desk.

“Maemi-chan!” Nemuri said. “So you’re the student they bribed into helping them.”

“Not a bribe!” Iwai insisted.

Maemi rolled his eyes. “It’s totally a bribe. Can we get the keys, Kayama-sensei? I’ll make sure these knuckleheads don’t leave the studio a disaster.”

Iwai made sounds of protest.

“I wouldn’t!” Midoriya protested.

Nemuri laughed and handed over the keys. “Here you go kids. Break a leg.”

“I will not,” Midoriya said.

The other students looked at him.

“It’s an expression, hon,” Nemuri said.

“Oh.” Midoriya shrank back and turned a bit red.

“You brought your hero costume, right?” Iwai turned toward the studio.

“Yes!” Midoriya held up the case in his left hand.

“So what’s in the second case?” Maemi put the key in the lock.

“Um,” Midoriya said. “That’s for the secret part.”

Oh? Secret part? Of a photoshoot? Multiple people had tried to get Midoriya in for a photoshoot, but none had been successful so far. What ‘secret’ pictures did Midoriya need that he was willing to do it now? 

Nemuri left a note on her desk saying she was in the studio booth, and followed them.

“Gotcha,” Maemi said. “You know, if I don’t get that picture in time to win the bet, you’ll both owe me a favour.”

“ Both of us?” Iwai said. “That’s unreasonable. It would be better if—”

“I’ll text it to you tonight by eight pm,” Midoriya said.

“How can you be so sure?” Maemi said.

“They’re going grocery shopping tonight,” Midoriya said. “I already submitted a form to leave campus to get supplies. And Aizawa-sensei is probably the best teacher at being discreet, so there’s no way Kacchan will notice he’s there.”

“Why does that matter?” Iwai asked.

“Because when my chaperone is Yamada-sensei, he walks right beside me and talks to me and he draws a lot of attention, even when he’s not in his hero costume,” Midoriya said.

“What about their chaperone?” Maemi said.

Midoriya shook his head. “They’re going together and neither of them have any off-campus incidents that can’t be blamed on me. I’m the only one who needs a chaperone to leave campus. But it’s not my fault I get involved in an incident every time I leave campus. I think.”

“ Every time you leave?” Iwai asked.

“Yes,” Midoriya said. “Last time I tried to go home for a long weekend, mom and I got attacked in the grocery store and I was arrested for vigilantism because f*** Death Arms.”

“Oh, you swore,” Iwai said. “So, what do you have against Death Arms?”

“f*** him, that’s what,” Midoriya said.

And oh, Midoriya swore again. Whatever he had against Death Arms was a big deal, if it was making him swear. Nemuri didn’t think she’d ever heard him swear before. Even when he broke his own fingers and arms during the sports festival.

“Fair enough,” Iwai said. “He is known for being rather brash.”

“And here’s the studio!” Maemi said. “Welcome to the place I have spent eight percent of my life since joining UA.”

“Seventy three days,” Midoriya said.

“What?” Iwai said.

“That sounds about right, yeah,” Maemi said.

Wow. Nemuri knew Midoriya did well in his academic classes, but for him to just pull that number out of nowhere?

“So what’s your quirk then? Something with math? Intelligence?”

Iwai gave a (mostly) fake gasp. “You don’t know Midoriya? The Can-Do Hero Dek—”

“Dekiru,” Midoriya said.

“What?” Iwai said. “But your name is…”

“I know,” Midoriya said. “Um. But. I was thinking of changing my name? And I thought maybe this photo shoot could help with the, um. Rebranding?”

“So,” Maemi said. “Dekiru, huh? A little on the nose, but I don’t hate it.”

“If you pick something so close to your old name, you’ll have a hard time rebranding,” Iwai said. “Better to pick something out there and have the change be a real change, you know?”

“It’s not for sure,” Midoriya said. “I’m open to suggestions. I just. Want to change it.”

“Okay,” Iwai said. “So, what kind of vibes are you going for?”

“Um. I want to be—”

“Not to break up the party,” Maemi said. “But you can talk while we do make up. For now, You.” They pointed at Midoriya. “Change into your hero suit. Changeroom’s over there.”

“Hai!” Midoriya scurried off to the changeroom with both of his cases.

“Wow, Sakamae-chan,” Maemi said. “You said he was going to be big, you didn’t say he had terminal baby-face and anxiety.”

“I’m telling you,” Iwai said. “He’s going places. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, your quirk is about graphs, not predicting hero careers,” Maemi said. “Pardon me if I don't take your word for it.”

“Come on,” Iwai said. “He’s already proved he’s gonna be a big name.”

“What, at the sports festival?” Maemi asked.

“Terrible example,” Iwai said. “He was part of the Hosu deal. He defeated S-rank villain Muscular during their summer camp mess. He was at Kamino and helped rescue the explosion kid. He fought and defeated a yakuza boss during his first work study internship. He’s basically All Might’s personal student”

Way to not be obvious about your favourites, Yagi.

“And he trained with the man who trained All Might. He did a work study with Sir Nighteye, All Might’s only sidekick ever, and I heard he’s thinking about accepting Miruko’s offer next!”

Nemuri hadn't heard of Miruko giving any internship offers, though she could say it would make sense. Midoriya had used a lot of kicks last time Nemuri sat in on Shouta’s class. Then again, management students were known for starting rumours that didn’t have any backing whatsoever.

“Um.”

Nemuri hadn’t noticed Midoriya coming out of the changeroom, and it didn’t look like the two students had either from the way they both jumped.

“Aizawa-sensei said he wouldn’t tell anyone until after the exercise was done,” Midoriya said quietly. “I believed him.”

“Oh f*** that’s legit?” Iwai asked. “You actually got an offer from Miruko?”

“But you just said—”

“I’m your manager, I say a lot of things!” Iwai said. “The goal was to start the rumour, have it grow big, get Miruko’s attention, and make it come true. Or else just to get you positive publicity. Like, Endeavour’s got an in with the school and Hawks has dozens of sidekicks and took a few interns previously and Best Jeanist takes interns all the time, but Miruko doesn’t even have any sidekicks. She’s never taken any interns. Getting her interested in you would be a huge deal, and you’re telling me she already is?”

“No!” Midoriya said. “I’m not telling you! I thought you already knew!”

“I was trying to start the rumour!” Iwai said.

“I don’t want a rumour!” Midoriya said. “I just want to change my hero name and make it through this exercise without hurting my friends! I was going to tell you about the offer, honest, but I only just found out yesterday and I’m just really busy with the exercise and trying to think of a new name right now!”

“Okay,” Iwai said. “Okay, calm down. I won’t spread the rumour. Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll just help you think about a new hero name that we can slap on these pictures and boom, suddenly you’re the latest teen heart throb. Okay? No more rumours, no more Miruko. Just you.”

“I—”

“Oh wow, your eyes get big,” Maemi said. (Nemuri knew an attempt to redirect a conversation when she saw one, especially one as blatant as that.) “We’re accentuating that for sure. Come on now, makeup time.” He slapped the back of the chair, indicating where Midoriya was meant to sit.

“Right.” Midoriya sat in the chair.

And Maemi got started.

“Normally there would be a whole team doing this sort of thing, but luckily enough for you, your manager contacted me , and I’m just so good I can do all the parts myself. Takes longer though, which is why you had to step out of all your morning classes. We might go into lunch time, too. You don’t have anything scheduled after lunch, do you?”

“No,” Midoriya said. “I planned to head to the support labs, but honestly Maijima-sensei will be glad I’m not there when he arrives, and Mei won’t even notice I’m not there yet probably. Or at least she won’t mind.”

“Mei, huh?” Maemi said. “Girlfriend?”

“No,” Midoriya said. “She’s just a genius and claims not to have time for formalities, so as soon as we were friends, she told me to use her name.”

“I see,” Maemi said. “Well, support kids can be like that. They’re an eccentric bunch.”

“I set foot in a lab once,” Iwai contributed. “It took a month for my eyebrows to grow back.”

Maemi laughed. “So, Midoriya. How much do you know about makeup?”

“Not a lot,” he said. “I know the basics of concealer, and I got roped into, um. I think she called it an eyeliner party? She got two thirds of the dorm involved before Kacchan, um. Intervened.”

“Oh yeah?” Maemi asked. “How did you feel about the eyeliner, then?”

“It felt weird going on,” Midoriya said. “If I had to do it myself I’d probably poke my eye out.”

“No hard feelings if I do it for you then?” Maemi joked.

“Please,” Midoriya said.

“Good!” Maemi said. “Now. Before we get too far along here, what’s your quirk? Is it going to mess with my paint job?”

“Oh, it shouldn’t,” Midoriya said. “It’s called Superpower? Basically it’s a big pool of energy I can, um. Do things with.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What kind of things?” He moved around the chair, working on Midoriya’s face.

“Well, physical enhancement is the most basic,” Midoriya said. “That comes with green lightning. Then I—”

“Show me?” They asked.

“What?”

“Show me the lightning?” they said. “If you’re comfortable.”

“Oh, yeah.” Midoriya’s body became covered in green lightning for a moment. “It makes me faster and stronger.” He dropped the lightning. “I can also use it to fly.”

“Okay,” Maemi said. “Does the green lightning come back when you fly?”

“Only if I’m using the enhancement at the same time,” Midoriya said. “Otherwise, no. The lightning is just when I use it to enhance my body.”

“Okay,” Maemi said. “So that won’t get in the way at all, since we won’t have you speeding around the studio or anything, so—”

“I.”

“Yeah?” They asked.

“There’s more!” Iwai said. “Tell them, tell them.”

Now Midoriya blushed. “I also have these?” He brought a hand up and a black stand shot out of the hole on the palm of his glove and waved around a bit. “They can get way longer and way thicker. My gloves are self-healing fabric because of it. Um. I can use them to grab things, and pick people up, and to climb, and. A lot of different things.”

“Cool, cool,” Maemi said. “And those come from your hands? Close your eyes.”

Midoriya closed his eyes. “My hands and my arms and my back, mostly, but if I try hard enough I can make them come from any part of my body.”

“Show me.”

“What, now?” Midoriya asked.

“Yes, now,” Maemi said. They took a step back. “Make them come from your cheek or something. I want to see what effect they have on the makeup.”

“Oh.” Midoriya’s eyes squinched shut for a moment, then a black strand sprouted from his cheek. It slid across his nose and poked at his eye. “Ow. Stop it, don’t. Ugh.”

The tendril retracted.

“Sorry.” Midoriya opened his eyes. “I haven’t got the best control of ones from, um. My face, yet. I hadn’t thought of practicing that. Um, but from my arms I can have gentle control of up to five at a time, and non-gentle control of like twenty?”

“Impressive,” Maemi said. “Shut your eyes again.”

Midoriya closed his eyes.

Maemi stepped forward again and put their hand on Midoriya’s face. “Well, it looks like the tentacle thing didn’t mess up the makeup at all, which is great. You said they come from your arms and your back?”

“Most easily,” Midoriya said.

“Have you thought about changing your hero suit?” Maemi asked.

“I change it all the time,” Midoriya said. “I’m thinking about adding a gun next.”

“Right, but I meant like ditching your sleeves,” Maemi said.

“Um. I have bracers for my arms?” Midoriya said. “I can’t. I don’t want to go without those, because I don’t want to mess my arms up? And I end up blocking with my arms a bunch too, so I don’t want to get rid of the armour in the sleeves?”

Maemi shrugged (not that Midoriya could see that). “Then keep the bracers and the armor but ditch the fabric. It’s not contributing anything anyways. Less to damage if there’s less there. Easier access for your tentacles, less hard feelings with the costume department. Use your self-healing fabric allotment on your back instead. Or just go shirtless.”

“I’m not going to go shirtless!” Midoriya said.

“You end half your fights with your shirt in tatters anyway,” Iwai pointed out.

“Not anymore!” Midoriya said. “Besides, my uniform is fire-resistant.”

“Okay,” Maemi said. “What about those pants, then?”

“What?” Midoriya said. “I’m not—”

“Those are some heavy-duty shoes,” they continued. “I’m guessing you use a bunch of kicks. If you used to end fights with your shirt missing, won’t your pant legs suffer the same consequence once you really get into it?”

“No,” Midoriya said. “My quirk control has improved a lot.”

“Okay, sure,” Maemi said. “But if you end up taking that internship with Miruko, your legs—”

“We’re not talking about Miruko!”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Maemi said. “No Miruko. But . As you build up leg muscle, however that happens, you’ll probably want less fabric in your way. Shorts may be your friend.”

“I’m not—”

“Close your mouth,” Maemi said.

Midoriya shut his mouth.

“I’m not saying you have to, understand. It’s just an option. Oh, you can open your eyes now.”

Midoriya opened his eyes.

“My advice, which you can totally ignore by the way, is to ditch the sleeves, upgrade to boots, make the swap to shorts, and maybe look into getting a crop top,” they said. “That’s all just image, of course. Open your mouth.”

Midoriya opened his mouth.

“I don’t have practical experience with your quirk, I wouldn’t know what kind of support you need,” Maemi said. “And everyone always has their own personal reasons for what they do and do not feel comfortable wearing. Like that second year in class B. You would not believe how hard it was for him to get his skirt approved by the costume department. Support signed off on it easy enough once it finally got through to them. I heard they actually made the suggestion themselves a couple times. But costume? In this day and age, you would think people would just. Accept things. It’s not even like he wasn’t wearing shorts underneath the skirt. It’s not like the company doesn’t churn out an unending line of sexist costumes that offer no support just to create sex appeal, which is not something a fifteen year old girl should have to be worried about handling. I love Kayama-sensei as much as the next kid, but. Close your mouth hon.”

Midoriya shut his mouth.

“But sex appeal isn’t for everyone. It makes her feel powerful, good for her!” Maemi was finishing up with Midoriya’s face, from what Nemuri could see. “I’ve refrained from commenting on her costume because personally I don’t want to see what my quirk would show me. And it’s not like she wears that stuff all the time you know. Close your eyes and mouth, hold your breath. I’m gonna spray your face now.”

Midoriya’s eyes closed, harder than they needed to, and his chest stopped moving, indicating he was holding his breath.

“Don’t squish your eyelids,” Maemi said. “Just keep them shut normally. I’ll shield them once they’re set.”

Midoriya’s face loosened.

Maemi grabbed the setting spray and gave Midoriya’s face and neck a quick over, then got his hand in there to block the spray from Midoriya’s eyes.

Then they set the bottle down. “Okay! Your face is done, you’re good to breathe and open your eyes and mouth however. Just don’t touch your face.”

“I won’t.” Midoriya opened his eyes. “Your quirk is something to do with appearance, then? You can identify things about a person’s appearance that they should change?”

“Whoa, calm down there buddy,” Maemi said. He stepped over to a sink to wash their hands. “You didn’t tell me he was a quirk nerd, Sakamae-chan.”

Iwai shrugged. “I’m surprised he held out for this long. You were always going to find out.”

“Sorry,” Midoriya said. “Quirks are just really interesting to think about.”

“It’s okay,” Maemi said, drying their hands. “To answer your questions, my quirk is called Perfect Picture. By looking at and touching a person, I can tell how their image will be perceived and how they can improve or worsen it.”

“Really?” Midoriya sounded a little too happy about that, Gleeful, even.

“Yes...”

“So. Um. This would be a huge favour, but—”

“Never use that word, Midoriya,” Iwai said.

“What?” Midoriya asked.

“Favour,” Iwai said. “That word is a good way to get yourself into debts you don’t want to pay.”

“Well my interest is piqued,” Maemi said. “What favour could I do for you, Midoriya? With my quirk? Whose image are you looking to ruin?”

“Mine,” Midoriya said, still excited.

“Midoriya!” Iwai exclaimed.

“What.” Maemi clearly didn’t understand. To be fair, neither did Nemuri.

“Yeah, I’m playing the villain for an exercise the first year heroics classes are starting on Monday, and it’s a role-playing type deal, and it’s worth thirty percent of my final grade, and I’m the only one on my team, so I have to do really well because Aizawa-sensei told me I had to put in an appropriate level of effort and I don’t think he would expel me for losing, but I really don’t want to risk it, and I while I want to believe it’s too late in the year for me to be expelled, Mineta is still here so I have to hope that expulsion is still on the table, so I have to do really well. That’s what the secret part is. I was hoping to make some of the videos ahead of time so they’re all ready when I go to send them to the hero team, which is the entire rest of my class and thirteen people from class B. And a really big part of being a villain is being scary, so the second case is the suit I got Mei to make for me and I helped too and maybe I could ask you to use your quirk on me then and tell me what I can do to improve the reception I’ll get. Or make it worse, I guess, since I’ll be trying to be scary and that’s generally interpreted as a bad thing. Unless your quirk is once-a-day or has drawbacks or something. Then I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Um. But if it’s not, then maybe I could agree to getting you pictures for the next bet you get into about my class.”

“That,” Maemi said. “Was something else.”

“How are you always so awkward but still so smooth?” Iwai asked. “Is it a quirk? It has to be a quirk.”

“What?” Midoriya asked. “No, I. What?”

“I think it's the sincerity,” Maemi said. “He means what he says so it carries extra weight. Along with those great big eyes. I’ll help you be more scary. And I’ll be saving your number when you send me the picture tonight.”

“Great!” Midoriya said. “Thank you very much!”

“And I want to be contacted when you’ve picked your hero name and adjusted your suit,” Maemi continued. “And when you’re in your next internship, whoever it ends up being with.”

“My dear Maemi-chan,” Iwai said. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“What’s he saying?” Midoriya asked. (His peers ignored him.)

“That you actually want to be involved in Midoriya’s future?” Iwai continued. “That, or do my ears deceive me, you are offering to take up a partnership with Midoriya’s future agency?”

“My what?” Midoriya asked.

“Not exclusive,” Maemi said. “And nothing official until his third year. I’m not signing my life away just because some kid’s got big eyes.”

“But you’re saving his number,” Iwai pointed out. “And you’re demanding to be included in the decision making. As Midoriya’s agent, I really think this implies something rather serious, don’t you, Midoriya?”

“I don’t know what’s happening, actually.” His response, though requested, was ignored.

Maemi and Iwai continued their stare down with Midoriya wringing his hands in the background. Nemuri watched, enthralled, as a moment of what might one day be history was written before her. Was Iwai right, was Midoriya the next All Might? (She hadn’t said as much, but others had, and Nemuri had heard the rumors.) Would Maemi agree to something long-term, as tentative as the agreement might be? Was this truly the beginning of Midoriya’s support team?

“Um.” Midoriya’s interruption broke the tension and both glarer-s looked at him. “If. If you want to have real input or control of my hero suit, you have to be able to work with Mei. Hatsume Mei. Some. Some people think she’s a lot. Um. And Aizawa-sensei. He. He has to sign off on all costume changes ever since he found out what the designers did to Hagakure originally. And. And to the other girls in class. And our enbies. And. And we just really. Really didn’t get a good batch of hero suits.”

“Wow, that sucks,” Maemi said. “I can handle your teacher and your girlfriend though.”

“Mei isn’t my girlfriend,” Midoriya said.

“Aizawa is the hobo teacher,” Iwai contributed.

Nemuri held back her laugh. She was so going to bug Shou about that later. And she would tell ‘Zashi.

“Oh.” Maemi paled a bit. “That. That’s okay. I’m a third year art student. I can work with anyone . Even the homeless expulsion man.”

No one could blame Nemuri for not being able to hold back her snort at that.

Midoriya was suddenly on high alert, head turning to look around the room, pausing for fractions of a second at every entrance and exit.

Iwai looked at Midoriya, one eyebrow up. “What’s the matter, Midoriya?”

“I. I thought I heard something,” Midoriya said.

“Oh, yeah,” Maemi said. “Sounded like Kayama-sensei in the booth. She hangs out there to watch the more interesting or controversial shoots. And since this will be your first, especially since you’ll be having a new name, it’s probably the most interesting shoot this month, possibly this semester. I’ve heard a few of my classmates wishing they could get you into the studio. Me, I don’t go scouting for subjects. You’re lucky to have landed me.”

“You mean you're lucky to have landed him ,” Iwai said.

“You mean she’s been there and listening and heard all of. Of.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Maemi said. “Kayama-sensei is totally trustworthy, though. She won’t tell anyone about Miruko if you don’t want her to.”

“I. I—”

“Midoriya.” Nemuri pushed the window open a crack. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about your offer, or your secret videos. In fact, I’ll leave so I don’t spoil the surprise during the exercise. I will be mentioning the homeless expulsion man comment in the teacher’s lounge though.”

“Yeah, figures,” Maemi said. “Drop a good word for me?”

“For you? Of course.” Nemuri stood. “Enjoy your photoshoot kiddos.”

She pulled the window shut and left the students in the studio. Maemi was quite capable of running the shoot himself. And a good word for them wasn’t the only thing Nemuri would be dropping with the test of the teachers. Sure, Midoriya’s thrilling internship offer was off the table, but his comment about expulsions wasn’t. Why was Mineta still here? Once he was gone, hopefully Midoriya would feel more secure in his place at UA. Nemuri would be getting to the bottom of this.

And if she happened to call Shouta a hobo teacher while forbidding him from expelling a certain green bean, well. It was really his own fault, wasn’t it.

Chapter Text

The Gun-Enthusiast Club met in Snipe’s classroom fifteen minutes after the school day ended and all regular classes were dismissed. To maintain club membership, a student had to attend at least twice a week or have a full firearms license. However, since the point of the club was to earn their license, most active members attended twice a week.

The most dedicated club members were generally the support students, any year, who needed a license to be able to test the weapons they were designing. Of course, as soon as they got their licenses, they were done with the club. That was fine. Even if support students tended to complete the course work and fill the hours and pass the test in a much shorter time than the average student did. There was something to be said for their intense drive and concentration.

After the support students, the next most dedicated club members were generally those who would be most likely to interact with some form of firearm in their chosen profession. Those included students from business or gen ed who planned to go into law enforcement, sometimes future law students, and the rare hero student dedicated enough to go through all the red tape to actually carry a gun, almost always third year by the time they waded through all the bureaucracy.

Then came the students who had a genuine interest in firearms and firearm safety. Those students were a delight, asking meaningful questions and paying attention, yet without the fervor the more interactive support students brought with them.

After them were the third year hero students in the mandatory firearm safety class. The class itself didn’t result in the students obtaining a license, and most of the students who joined the club weren’t there to get their license, either. They came to better understand a challenging topic. They weren’t particularly dedicated, often not attending enough to maintain membership. It meant that they were bumped to the back as far as assistance priority went, and that they weren’t allowed to actually fire any weapons, but most of them didn’t care about that, only about passing the class. The club was a good way to better understand the class material, after all, and there weren’t a lot of people qualified to tutor the subject, so Snipe tried not to judge them for their obvious lack of dedication.

The least dedicated by far were those who actually had no idea what they were signing up for. Sometimes they joined just for the sake of joining a club. Sometimes they thought the name was cool. Sometimes they had parents or guardians who pushed for them to join the club. Sometimes they joined with their friends who were actually interested. Often as not, it was some young hero-hopeful who figured they would just join the club and clip a gun to the belt of their hero costume. Those ones really had no understanding, and no business joining the club. Snipe gave those ones the boot.

Midoriya Izuku fell into none of those categories. Snipe had been aware of that from the start, technically. He was aware that Midoriya was Aizawa’s Problem Child, and that he was Yagi’s favourite student, and that he was at the top of his class academically and physically, and that he was the designated villain for the upcoming exercise the first year hero course was taking part in.

Snipe had been aware, when Midoriya arrived Monday afternoon right after classes and asked if Snipe could possibly help him with a gun-safety speed-run during this week, in preparation for the exercise. Previous students had asked the same in the past, had the same idea to use guns for the exercise, but none of them had committed the way Midoriya had. Three hours a day after school every day of the week since Monday. The kid would have a real leg-up advantage when it came time for his class to do the actual gun safety course in their third year. Snipe knew Midoriya wasn’t like the other club members.

But it wasn’t until Midoriya showed up on Friday afternoon, twenty one minutes after classes had ended, carrying a big silver case labeled with warning signs and a “Hatsume Industries” logo, that Snipe realized just how much Midoriya did not fit into any of the categories.

“Midoriya,” Snipe said. “What. Is that?”

“Snipe-sensei!” Midoriya said. “Sorry I’m late!”

Midoriya wasn’t even technically a member of the club, no one was expecting him to show up at all, much less on time.

“Maijima-sensei approved the guns, though. He just said I had to ask you to approve them before I would be allowed to remove them from the case or load them or fire them.” Midoriya set the large silver case on one of the empty tables in the back of the room. “He also said I had to pass the gun safety test and the written part of the firearm licensing exam. Is it possible for me to take those tests today? Or tomorrow. Or any time this weekend, really.”

Snipe took a deep breath. “Well now, you’ve already passed the gun safety test.” On Tuesday, after only four hours in the classroom. “So I’ll go print out a copy of the licensing exam, and while you’re writing it, I’ll check on those guns.”

“Thanks!” And there was that smile of his.

“Jissoji, I’m stepping out,” Snipe said.

Jissoji’s head snapped up from where he was studying a diagram Snipe knew wasn’t assigned reading. “Sir?” he asked.

“You’re in charge,” Snipe continued. “The cabinets stay locked, there isn’t anyone at the range, and there’s no live ammo out. Just keep an eye on things.”

“Yes sir!” Jizzoji gave a quick salute, not matching any kind of regulations, and looked back down at the diagram.

“Midoriya,” Snipe said, much quieter. “Do not open that case while I’m gone.”

“Hai!” Midoriya said. “I won’t touch anything, I’ll just wait.”

“Good.” Snipe headed for the door. He would have to print the test from the teacher’s lounge. It was a restricted access item to prevent tampering or cheating.

Midoriya had a total of twelve hours in the class, only three and a half of them spent actually shooting. He’d done alright, rapidly improving with each round he fired, but that was nowhere near long enough for licensing. No club member had ever written the test before they’d filled the hours they needed. Snipe didn’t really have any idea about if Midoriya could pass or not. He knew the boy hadn’t spent any of his time in the class reading the study material, but he knew the questions Midoriya had asked had been well thought out, informed questions. Snipe didn’t know what it would mean either way, if Midoriya passed, or if he didn’t.

“Snipe.” Kayama fell into step beside him as he rounded a corner. “Where’s my favourite cowboy off to in such a hurry?”

“Teacher’s Lounge,” Snipe said. “I have to print a licensing exam for Midoriya.”

“Really?” Kayama asked. “I heard him mention a gun, but I had no idea he’d already put in the hours to get his license.”

“He hasn’t,” Snipe said. “But Higari said Midoriya had to pass the written portion of the licensing exam and the whole gun safety test in order to use the weapons that support whipped up for him.”

“Hatsume?” Kayama asked. (Why was that name familiar?) “Well, I hope Midoriya is ready.”

“You’re cheering for him in the exercise next week?” Snipe went to his own desk when they entered the teachers lounge.

Kayama went for the coffee machine. “How could I not?” she asked. “He’s quite the underdog, alone against his whole class.”

“He’ll probably work with Vlad’s kids.” Snipe opened the correct file and hit print (copies: 1). “He won’t be totally alone.”

“Maybe so,” Kayama said. “But that’s still just eight of them against thirty two heroes. That’s four heroes a piece.”

“Heroes sometimes fight four villains at a go,” Snipe said.

“Usually with uncredited sidekick backup, though,” Kayama said. “Or to hold them off until help arrives. Or villains on a way lower level. These kids are all first years.”

“Yeah, but Midoriya’s quirk is op,” Snipe argued, knowing he didn’t even fully support the side he was fighting for here. “And thirteen of those villains are from class B. They’re not used to him at all, and they don’t have as much experience as class A. He might wipe them out first to lower his numbers.”

“You think he could wipe out all thirteen of them at a go?” Kayama asked.

“Well...” Snipe said. “I’m not saying he will ...”

“Is this about the first year heroics exercise?” Thirteen asked. V raised a coffee mug. “Ready to place your bets?”

“I say Midoriya takes out at least... At least eight of the heroes,” Snipe said.

“Is that all?” Kayama asked.

“Then what’s your bet?” Thirteen goaded.

“I bet...” Kayama paused a moment to think. “I bet three of the heroes pee their pants because of something Midoriya does.”

“What? Why?” Snipe asked.

“Call it a hunch,” Kayama said. “I get the feeling Midoriya is going to be very scary for the duration of the exercise.”

“It’s Midoriya ,” Snipe said. “How scary could he be ?”

“What other bets have been made?” Kayama asked.

Thirteen held up v’s phone (the empty coffee mug prop now abandoned). “Maijima bet Midoriya causes at least one explosion no one else sees coming, and that he shoots at least ten heroes, lethal shots or otherwise. Yamada bet Midoriya either directly or through assists eliminates half the heroes, and bet on the exercise lasting over three days. Ectoplasm bet Kamakiri and Bakugo have a massive falling out sometime by the end of the second day, and that it takes Asui, Kaibara, Kirishima, and Kodai working together to calm them down and rekindle positive relations. Vlad bet Kendo issues a challenge to the heroes before they get settled in their agency building, and that Tokage is more violent than necessary. Shuzenji bet that All Might coughs blood no fewer than eleven times during Midoriya’s first confrontation with the heroes, and that at least nine of the heroes will need medical attention when they are eliminated. Ishiyama bet wontless destruction on a mass scale, and that Shoda and Honenuki will be responsible for less than half. Yagi bet that ‘Midoriya Shounen will do marvelous,’ which isn’t really a bet, and that the heroes will have to work hard for their win, which is also not really a bet. He still hasn’t really got a hang of betting yet.”

“Well,” Kayama said. “Those are some...interesting bets. A lot of them have to do with Midoriya, I notice.”

“Oh!” Thirteen said. “That’s not even the best one yet.”

“ Do tell,” Kayama said.

“Aizawa’s bet,” Thirteen said. “He placed a double bet that Midoriya will have the most interesting villain persona ever involved in this exercise, and that the villains will win.”

“What,” Kayama said. “Shouta actually bet on Midoriya winning?”

“Well, technically he said the villain team, not Midoriya specifically. It could be Kendo’s team that wins, and it would still count,” Thirteen said. “But yes, I think he’s betting on Midoriya. Everyone is, almost, but not as much as Aizawa is.”

“But the villains have never won,” Snipe said. “Not as long as the exercise has been in use.”

“But Aizawa placed a double bet,” Thirteen said. “No one’s done that since Yamada double-bet on Aizawa expelling most of his class last year and they were all gone before the third day!”

“Didn’t Vlad double-bet his kids would dominate the sports festival this year?” Snipe asked.

“Yeah, but Vlad makes a lot of bets that aren’t likely,” v said. “His bets for the exercise look pretty good, though. High odds. Most people are making bets with high odds this time. Except for Aizawa.”

“And Hizashi,” Kayama added.

“And him,” Thirteen said. “Still. Nothing’s as out there as Aizawa’s bet.”

“He is more attached to his class than most,” Snipe said.

“Than most teachers are, or than he is to most of his classes?” Kayama asked.

“ Yes ,” Snipe said. “Oh, my print job’s done.”

“See you, cowboy,” Kayama said.

“Howdy.”

Thirteen didn’t have a face, but he could hear v’s grin. He rolled his eyes at them as he left, trusting that they would understand the unseen gesture the same way he’d understood Thirteen’s teasing smile.

When he returned to the range, things were quiet, calm, ordinary. Students were reading the material, and disassembling and reassembling the firearms he had out for them to practice with. Jizzoji was leaning over a technical diagram spread out on someone else’s desk. Midoriya was sitting on a table in the back, next to the silver case (warning, Hatsume Industries), spinning a pen between his fingers. He kept messing up and dropping the pen, but he would catch it with his quirk (the tentacles part) before it could fall.

Snipe called Midoriya to the Test Room, the classroom-like area attached to the study and work space. “Here’s the test,” Snipe said. “You have two hours to write it, and you have to stay in here for at least an hour and a half after you begin the test, or it will be an invalid attempt. If you fail, it will be a minimum of six months before you can rewrite the test, or thirty additional hours spent shooting, whichever takes longer. You need at least ninety five percent to pass. And since you haven’t actually filled the hours required yet, you won’t be getting your firearms license after this test no matter how you do on it.”

“Thanks!” And Midoriya was genuinely thankful to be given a test there was no way he was actually ready for. Of course he was.

While Midoriya was writing the test, Snipe quickly checked with all of the students in the room, then opened the silver case (warning, Hatsume Industries) to see what kind of weapons support had whipped up for Midoriya’s exercise.

Oh, that’s why the name Hatsume was familiar. That was the name of the first year support student Higari had brought to the range after school on the fourth day of classes. The one who already had her license. The one who had brought the most dangerous proto-firearms to test, and it hadn’t even been a month since school started. The one Snipe had banished from the range after her third day there.

And that was the student who had designed the weapons in this case.

It was clear that she was a genius. Brilliant, even. Snipe wouldn’t mind having a few Hatsume weapons, if this is what they were like once they’d been refined enough for Higari to approve them (even if pre-approval weapons were to be feared and avoided). Snipe approved the weapons, and he couldn’t wait to see Midoriya use them in the exercise. Provided he passed the test.

An hour and a half after Snipe left Midoriya with the test, he returned to the Test Room to check on his progress.

Midoriya was floating upside down in the middle of the room, spinning a pen between his fingers. He was messing up less now than he had been earlier.

Snipe cleared his throat.

“Oh, Snipe-sensei!” Midoriya turned right way up and lowered to be standing on the floor. “I finished the test. But I realized I wasn’t sure what time it was when I started and I didn’t want to leave early and mess it up and make it not valid, so I just kinda hung out here.”

“That’s fine,” Snipe said. “If you’re sure you’re done with the test, I’ll take it and grade it.”

“Okay!” Midoriya said. “Thank you!”

“Why don’t you go pester Jizzoji about those schematics he was looking over earlier,” Snipe suggested. “Don’t open the case.”

“Okay!” Midoriya basically bounded out of the Test Room to find Jizzoji and ask about the schematics (that Snipe knew Midoriya had been wondering about since Jizzoji brought them to the club meeting two days ago. Snipe was similarly curious).

And Snipe settled in to grade Midoriya’s test.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find that Midoriya passed the test with flying colours (99.95%). Not when it was Midoriya .

Chapter Text

Shouta had approved Midoriya’s somewhat vague request to go off campus to get ‘supplies,’ knowing full well he would be surprised by some of the things Midoriya chose to buy. 

He was not expecting the first forty minutes of the shopping trip to be spent stalking Kirishima and Bakugo through the grocery store. Nor was he expecting the stalking portion of the trip to end so suddenly after Midoriya took a picture of Bakugo holding a carton of milk.

“That’s all I need at this store, Aizawa-sensei,” Midoriya said.

“All you got was a picture of Bakugo,” Shouta said. “How does that help you prepare for the exercise?”

“Oh,” Midoriya said. “My agent bribed an art student to do a photoshoot with the conditions that they also help me with some videos for the exercise and I get him a picture of Kacchan smiling before the end of the night.”

“Your agent ?” Shouta asked.

Heroics students didn’t have agents, especially not first years. So what was Midoriya talking about.

“Oh,” Midoriya said. “Iwai Sakamae. She’s in the management program. She told me to call her my agent whenever I have to mention her, or my manager, but that technically it couldn’t be official until the end of third year.”

“And you agreed to this,” Shouta said. “How did you even meet her?”

“She approached me after the sports festival,” Midoriya said as they left the store. “She said her class was given the assignment to pick a hero student from the first year festival and analyze their performance, say where they did well and where they could’ve done better. Mostly she told me I shouldn’t have broken so many bones.”

“She gave you the results of her assignment?” Shouta asked.

“Um, kinda.” Midoriya made a turn at the corner. “She sat down with me and we went over what I did and why, and she based her report off of our conversation? Apparently she got bonus points for actually talking to me, though. Most students didn’t do that. Which I guess makes sense; the assignment didn’t say they had to talk to the student they picked.”

“And she still talks to you?”

“Yeah,” Midoriya said. “And apparently she starts rumors about me, too.”

“What does that mean,” Shouta said.

“Well, you know how you said you weren’t going to tell anyone that Miruko, um. Sent. Uh.”

“Yes.” Shouta remembered promising Midoriya that he wouldn’t tell anyone Miruko had sent him an internship offer. “What about it?”

“Well, apparently , Iwai had been telling people I was considering going with her next,” Midoriya said. “Even though she didn’t know about the offer! But I asked her to stop. She said she wouldn’t spread that rumor any more, and that she’d try to help me come up with names.”

“Names for what?” Shouta asked.

“Oh, I’m going to change my hero name,” Midoriya said.

“ Why ?”

“I just. Um. I just decided I don’t like that name anymore, so I want to change it.”

Midoriya was obviously lying. There was clearly a reason he was changing his hero name, something about the name ‘Deku’ that he didn’t like, something that had happened to make him not like it. But Shouta wasn’t going to press it.

“Why did Iwai decide to keep working with you?” Shouta asked. “That assignment happens every year in the management course. It usually doesn’t end in students calling other students their agents.”

“Oh,” Midoriya said. “She said it was good practice, and that it’s good to build connections from early on, and that since she knew the most about me from that assignment, it only made sense to keep working with me rather than trying to establish a new connection with a different student.”

“And you agreed?”

“Well, I figured she was right,” Midoriya said. “Building connections is important, and I already know Iwai. Besides, I don’t think any of the other management students are quite as...dedicated as Iwai is. Her grades are incredible, actually. I mean, they would have to be, right? She’s going so far as to build connections and pull strings for a student she’s not even technically officially connected to. I mean, if she wants to do it officially when we graduate then she can, but I’m not going to hold her to it or anything. She could probably get in at any agency she wanted, working with some well known sidekicks. She did part of an apprenticeship at Best Jeanist’s agency. They would probably hire her outright as soon as she graduates.”

So. The Problem Child had a manager/agent all lined up for when he graduated. Shouta tried not to be surprised. It was Midoriya, after all. The kid made friends easier than Hizashi did.

Midoriya turned down an alley, and Shouta grabbed his shoulder before he could get off of the street. “Midoriya,” Shouta said. “Where are you going?”

Midoriya pointed down the alley. “To the twenty four seven shop on—”

“ Why are you going down an alley?” Shouta asked.

“Because that’s the quickest way there?” Midoriya said.

“You are fifty percent more likely to be attacked on backroads and alleys,” Shouta said. “Do you habitually take alleys when you’re off campus?”

“Yeah,” Midoriya said. “Why?”

“Have you considered that the reason you get attacked so often might be because you have no regard for your personal safety?” Shouta asked.

“No?” Midoriya said.

Shouta sighed. “Stick to main roads, Problem Child. No alleys. If they normally save you that much time, we’ll just stay out later.”

“Okay.” Midoriya stepped back onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t even five minutes later that Midoriya started walking slower, dropping back, almost hiding behind Shouta.

Shouta stopped walking to ask Midoriya what was going on.

Midoriya ran into Shouta’s back. “Sorry, I—”

“Oh look!” A shout from someone all together too close to be shouting. A trio of high school students walking the opposite way on the sidewalk was approaching. “It’s little Deku.”

Midoriya stiffened where he stood, but he didn’t step away from Shouta.

“Aw, is the little Deku scared?” the tallest of the students asked. “Is he hiding?”

Shouta had had just about enough of this.

The third student stepped closer and raised his hand (Shouta prepared to interfere). “He’s so scared he’s hiding behind a hobo, like some random guy off the street’s going to protect a quirkless dek—”

Midoriya caught the kid’s hand before Shouta could. “Aizawa-sensei is the best ,” he said. “The three of you weren’t even brave enough to apply to UA. Everyone there is incredible.”

Shouta didn’t like that the three kids looked surprised Midoriya was standing up to them. (He didn’t like that Midoriya jumped in to defend Shouta but not himself.)

“Ha!” The boy pulled his arm away. “The quirkless freak is still playing make believe. ‘UA this,’ ‘UA that.’ As if a deku like you could make it into UA.”

Shouta was beginning to understand why Midoriya was looking into changing his hero name. It wasn’t a name when these kids said it. It was a label, yes, but when they said it, it meant what the word ‘deku’ usually meant. They weren’t calling him a hero, they were calling him a worthless person. (It didn’t even sound this bad when Bakugo said it. How did these kids know Midoriya?)

“I’m not—”

“Shut up!” The lead student pointed at Midoriya, interrupting him. “A deku like you doesn’t deserve to speak.”

That was quite enough.

Shouta used his capture weapon to catch and restrain all three of the students. “You are all under arrest for suspicion of collusion with the League of Villains.”

“What?”

“Let go of us you freak!”

“Who the h*ll do you think you are?!”

Shouta adjusted his scarf to cover their mouths as well.

“Aizawa-Sensei!” Midoriya said. “They’re not with the League of Villains! I grew up with them, they’re not villains.”

“Toga is nicer to you than these three were,” Shouta said. “And Toga stabs you.”

“But she’s mentally unstable because she’s an obligate hemovore who doesn’t have access to regular blood supplies,” Midoriya said. “She’s not a good standard for, well, anything.”

“ Bakugo is nicer to you, and he’s your rival,” Shouta said.

“Kacchan isn’t my rival,” Midoriya said. “He’s my childhood friend!”

“Like these guys?”

“Exactly!” Midoryia didn’t even seem to notice it had been a trick question. “So you can let these guys go! They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Attempted assault, slander, defamation, attack on character, threats of physical violence, plus what sounded irrationally like quirkism,” Shouta said.

“What?” Midoriya asked. “But—”

“Unless you can give me an incredibly good reason to let them go, I’ll be turning them over to Detective Tsukauchi,” Shouta said. “And good explanation or not, this incident is going on their record.”

“Oh,” Midoriya said. “Um.”

“Yes?” Shouta was waiting for whatever ridiculous reason Midoriya would come up with.

“There’s, um. There’s an art shop by the police station I’ve been meaning to visit?”

Shouta smirked. “Good for you, Problem Child.”

And if Shouta’d had any lingering doubts about arresting three of Midoriya’s middle school ‘acquaintances,’ they melted away under the beaming smile the Problem Child gave him.

Chapter Text

Katsuki opened his door to find the nerd standing there. “What the f*** do you want?” he asked.

“Hey Kacchan,” the nerd said. “Um. Do you want to play Battleships?”

“What the f***,” Katsuki said. The nerd in front of him didn’t disappear or say he was joking. “What the f***.”

They had made that code up when they were kids. It was a dumb code, really simple. Asking to play battleships meant they needed to talk where no one was listening.

They hadn’t used the code in years. Partly because it was a dumb kiddie code and was way too simple to be useful in actual situations, but mostly because Katsuki had been an a****** for a decade. Katsuki had ignored it on the rare occasion the nerd had used it, even going so far as to make fun of him for using such a dumb code.

And now the nerd was asking to play Battleship. He was asking to speak with him in private.

No matter how long Katsuki stood there, staring at the nerd, the nerd stayed, unflinching, not retracting his request to play Battleship.

Finally Katsuki sighed and closed his door. “We’re playing in your room,” he said.

The nerd’s face lit up. “Great!”

The nerd’s room looked less like an All Might shrine than Katsuki was expecting. He hoped (and doubted) that it was because the nerd had realized it was dumb to practically worship a hero he saw literally every day. Especially one who was retired due to injuries. Not that All Might wasn’t still the best hero. It would be a cold day in hell before Katsuki acknowledged Endeavour as anything other than an example of what not to be.

Katsuki sat on the nerd’s bed. “So what the f*** do we need to talk about.”

The nerd closed his bedroom door and sat on the opposite side of his bed. He brought his hands up and signed, “The exercise.”

“And we can’t do that out loud?” Katsuki asked.

The nerd shook his head.

Katsuki groaned, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling (oh, there was that poster. It had been on the nerd’s wall in their apartment). “Fine,” he said, then brought his hands up to sign. “What the f*** do we need to discuss about the exercise?”

The nerd signed, “So you know how I’m the villain for our class.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki signed. “And?”

“I have information you don’t,” the nerd signed. “I’m sharing some of it with you, but you can’t tell the others before an appropriate time. I’m sure you’ll know when.”

“You’re weaponizing information against me before we even start the exercise?” Katsuki signed.

The nerd shook his head. “Not weaponizing. Some of this is me warning you. Some is an apology for what happens in the exercise. Mostly this is thanks for your apology.”

“What the f*** does that mean?” Katsuki signed.

“Which part?” the nerd asked.

“You don’t say thank you for an apology!” Katsuki signed. “An apology is something you deserve , not something someone just decided to give you.”

The nerd rolled his eyes. “Then just consider it a warning and thank me later,” he signed. “But first the apology part.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me,” Katsuki signed.

“Just f***ing listen,” the nerd signed. “Class B is doing the same exercise at the same time as us in the same grounds.”

“So we’re supposed to work with them?” Katsuki asked. “And Sensei isn’t telling us. Did he tell you?”

The nerd shook his head. “Class B’s teacher told them,” he signed. “Or will tell them. He told the villains, will tell the hero team. Tsu will probably agree to work with Kamakiri. He’s got something of a temper. People are betting that the two of you will butt heads on several issues.”

“Like I would even have a chance to interface with the leader of the other hero agency,” Katsuki signed. If he could throw the nerd off, good. “Frog-face is your friend, not mine.”

The nerd rolled his eyes. “Tsu is smart. She’ll have three or four commanders, or lieutenants, or whatever you’re called. It’ll be you, Yaomomo, Shoji, and Uraraka if it’s four. It’s probably four. You’ll interact with him. He’s like like a hundred ninety centimeters. Uraraka’s only a hundred fifty six, and he doesn’t know to respect her so he’ll blow right past her. Actually, maybe watch out for them fighting. Shoji isn’t big on talking over people. Yaomomo is still building her confidence, even if she has improved since Kamino. He’ll listen to Tsu because she’s bada** enough to make him, but the other three won’t. Not that they couldn’t , just they won’t . Tsu will see that, so she’ll take you along to back her up. You might have to deal with Monoma, too, though Tsu could probably find a way to shut him up if she really tried.”

“That’s the blonde copy b****,” Katsuki signed.

The nerd nodded. “Any questions?”

“You could tell me who the B villain is,” Katsuki signed.

The nerd smiled and shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” Katsuki signed. “So what kind of warning are you giving?”

The nerd nodded and took a deep breath. “What do you actually think about the quirkless?” he signed.

“What the f*** does that have to do with anything?” Katsuki signed. Because what the f***, they were supposed to be discussing the exercise. Not. Not this , whatever this was.

“Me,” the nerd signed. “It has to do with me.”

“No it doesn’t,” Katsuki signed. “You have—”

The nerd smacked Katsuki’s hands down. “I have All Might’s quirk but it’s not mine, it’s not me. I’m still me, I’m still the same. I am quirkless. One for All doesn’t change that, not actually.” He paused, but he didn’t lower his hands. “So yes, I want to know what you actually think of the quirkless, what you actually think of me.”

Katsuki sat a minute, to think. What did he actually think? 

Quirkless people were weak. The nerd was stronger than anyone rightly needed to be. (Couldn’t he lift more without his quirk than Katsuki could with?) 

A deku was worthless. Deku was a hero. (Could Katsuki even picture him doing anything else?) 

The quirkless were stupid, had no place in UA. Midoriya beat Katsuki out for the top of the class, and he deserved it. (Hadn’t the nerd always scored high?) 

Quirkless were loners, losers, rejects and outcasts. Izuku (Izuku?) had friends, real friends. (Didn’t even Katsuki’s friends secretly prefer Izuku?)

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Katsuki signed.

The nerd nodded. “You can start there.”

“I know that everything I believed growing up is wrong.” Katsuki bit his lip, but he continued to sign. “I know I was an a****** for years. I know it’s wrong to bully anyone. I know being quirkist is an Endeavour move. I know I need to do better. I know you deserve more than the lame a** apology I gave you. I know you were doing the homework for four different people in our class in middle school, and they all got given better grades than you did. I know you’re at the top of the class academically now, and you’re not even f***ing trying.”

“So?” the nerd signed. “Conclusion. What do you think of quirkless people?”

“I don’t have an answer for you,” Katsuki signed. “What I think is wrong.”

“I’ll expect an answer by the end of the exercise then,” the nerd signed.

“You expect me to spend the exercise thinking about that?” Katsuki demanded. “I’ll be busy kicking your a**.”

The nerd reached under his pillow and pulled out a flare gun. He set it on the bed between them.

“What the f*** is that,” Katsuki signed.

“It’s the apology,” the nerd signed. “If you fire this, I’ll know it was too much.”

“It what?” Katsuki signed.

“You’ll know if you need it,” the nerd signed. “Now I’ll make you promises about it.”

“The f*** does that mean?” Katsuki asked.

“I cannot trace the location of the flare gun,” the nerd signed. “I can’t remotely trigger it. It has no surveillance capabilities. Anything else?”

“What colour does it shoot?” Katsuki signed.

“Red,” the nerd signed. “It’s for the exercise. If you don’t use it, it won’t impact you. If you do need it, I’ll understand and respond accordingly.”

“And I won’t understand what it’s for until I need it,” Katsuki signed.

“Correct,” the nerd signed. “Thank you for discussing this with me.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Whatever, nerd. I f***ing hate battleships.”

The nerd gave a small smile. “I know.”

“Whatever.” Katsuki left the nerd’s room, and took the flare gun with him. If the nerd thought he’d need it, then who f***ing knew.

Chapter Text

Takuma wasn’t well known. Not as a hero (xe did a lot of volunteer work), and not as a teacher (xe mostly led clubs after school and did so in civilian clothes). Xir students called xem Ohashi-sensei, and xe worked behind the scenes when xe did hero work. No one knew xem, no one recognized xem, xe didn’t have fans or merch. That was fine, that was how xe liked it. Xe wasn’t an underground hero, but xe wasn’t a spotlight hero either, and xe didn’t do what a support hero did. Xe was a hero though, and xe helped people.

That was all that had really mattered to xir, all xe had ever wanted to do. Xe didn’t need fans, xe didn’t need fame. Xe just needed to see that xir actions were making a difference, that xe was helping people. And xe was. Xir food made people happy, whether they ate it in relief tents after a natural disaster, in shelters seeking safety from the streets, in their own homes after learning how to cook, or in xir cafeteria. Xe got to see people smile, and that was all the payment xe really needed. (Of course, Nezu made sure xe had more than enough money to support xirself and xir hobbies. And if xir hobbies involved donating to and volunteering at various shelters across the city, that was between xem and the shelter treasurers.)

Which wasn’t to say Takuma wasn’t thrilled when one of the first years actually recognized xem by name on the first day of school. And who could blame xem? The student had fan-boyed over plain white rice because it had been prepared by The Cooking Hero: LunchRush! And then Takuma had been asked for xir autograph. 

Suffice it to say, Takuma had a favourite student. And when xir favourite student needed help, Takuma was more than happy to give it to him. Sometimes that help was access to a photocopier to make copies of his notes or assignments for other students (which was rather selfless of him). And sometimes it was a recommendation about food that would fill the kid’s nutritional requirements without taking up a horrible amount of space in his luggage as he packed for the hero versus villains team exercise.

Takuma had enjoyed making the compact meals for Midoriya to take with him. Midoriya hadn't asked xir to, of course. Takuma had insisted. Xe would be the one preparing the food for the hero teams, afterall. And Midoriya was xir favourite. So Takuma had insisted that the boy could pick the food up on Sunday afternoon.

And if Takuma had included a batch of three-fourth strength Recovery Gummies, it was more than worth it to see the way Midoriya’s face lit up when he noticed them.

“LunchRush-sensei, you didn’t have to, really,” Midoriya said.

“I wanted to,” xe said. “I’m sure you’ll put them to good use.”

“I will, LunchRush-sensei! I promise!” Midoriya said. “Thank you very much!”

“You’re welcome, Midoriya-kun,” Takuma said. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know!”

“Um.”

“Yes?”

“It’s not a request, but. You’re going to be making the food for the Hero agencies, right?”

“I am,” xe said. “I can’t put anything in their food, though.”

“Will you be there in person to make the food?” Midoriya asked.

“No, it will be sent in on drones.”

“Okay, good,” Midoriya said. “I’d hate to damage anything important to you when I destroy their cafeterias.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Midoriya-kun,” Takuma said. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Of course!” Midoriya said. “I’ve already discussed with my class what important items each of them will have with them that I’ll know to look out for. I’m planning to talk to Kendo’s team first thing tomorrow morning. That way I can find out what things they have, and I’m sure she’ll have a list of items to look out for for the class B villain team. Afterall, it’s only an exercise. There’s no good reason to hurt each other in a way that lasts just to get a good grade.”

“You think class B will go along with that?” Takmua had never heard of opposing teams working together like this, to preserve important items.

“Sure!” Midoriya said. “I got permission from Tsu to share the list of items for class A with Kendo’s team. And I’m sure Tsu will share the list with Kamakiri’s team when they first meet up.”

“Cool!” Takmua approved. “That’s very cool of you all. Cooperation is wonderful.”

“Thanks!” And there was the murder smile.

(Not that Midoriya would murder anyone, ever. But Takmua was sure that over half the staff would agree to commit murder for Midoriya if he asked them with that smile.)

Then Midoriya left, carrying all the food Takuma had prepared for him. It was quite a lot, but Midoriya was a strong kid, and Takuma wasn’t going to be the one to reprimand the kid for using his quirk outside of training.

Not that Midoriya appeared to be using his quirk to carry the food. 

What?

Takuma shook xir head and went back to xir food prep. Xe would be making food for the exercise, yes, but that didn’t mean xe could ignore Monday’s regular cafeteria crowd. The food-bots could only do so much without xem.

Chapter Text

Thirteen didn’t tend to make bets and as such was the designated bet-keeper for the UA teaching staff. V liked it that way. V liked knowing what everyone thought was going to happen, liked hearing all sides of the matter, liked being the one that everyone confided in. V loved being privy to the gossip in an official manner, in a way that not even Aizawa could judge. Everyone took part in the bets. Everyone . Even Aizawa. Even All Might. Even Nezu (though that time had been one of the most terrifying experiences of v’s life).

Anyways, Thirteen knew a lot. And knowing everything about everyone at UA (and in the extended hero scene) was the only way Thirteen got to experience anything close to v’s lifelong dream of being a reporter. V was thankful to Nezu for saving v from the commission (v had seen what they’d done to Keigo). That thankfulness didn’t mean v stopped having dreams.)

So Thirteen knew basically everything there was to be known about everyone in the hero world at all times. That didn’t mean v could do anything with that information (Endeavour had bought and was abusive toward his wife), or that it was anything anyone really needed to know (Yagi Toshinori was not dating either David Shield or Tsukauchi Naomasa, but he had talked about it with both of them), or that it was in any way relevant to anything in the world (Aizawa’s hair was longer than Yamada’s by one centimetre). 

Not all the information was like that, of course. Some of it v could act on (Lunch Rush’s birthday was next month, and xe would love nothing more than home-cooked udon made by anyone but xirself), some of it v already had (Shinso Hitoshi’s old group home was being investigated and bun was no longer living in it), some of it was good for everyone to know (Vlad needed to be reminded daily to take his iron supplements or he would forget).

Then there was the information actually relevant to the current exercise. And Thirteen had it all .

Kendo Itsuka had struggled to come up with her villain persona but had ended up putting in more effort than students had in the past (most had this year). Tokage Setsuna planned on Violence(tm) and would cite catharsis. Shiozaki Ibara might be one of the most terrifying villains this exercise had seen but she wouldn’t mean any of it. Kamakiri Togaru was nervous about his position as leader of the hero team, he didn’t think he deserved it. 

Everyone in class A had voted for the same person as their most heroic classmate, except for the classmate in question. Asui Tsuyu (Tsu) was confident she could lead her team and work with Kamakiri’s team, but wasn’t expecting a full victory (and wasn’t it a shame a first year was able to be so realistic). Yaoyorozu Momo (Yaomomo)’s confidence would take a hit when they dealt with Kamakiri, but by the end of the second day (because it would last that long), it would recover and even begin to grow. Sir Nighteye had sent one of his sidekicks (Bubble Girl, Awata Kaoruko) to watch the exercise and Nezu had agreed. Koda Koji had been voted Most Valuable Teammate by Class A (minus Midoriya) during a movie night where it was revealed Koda had been the one to determine which training ground would be used for the exercise (Aizawa hadn’t seen fit to tell his students where to show up).

All of that information was excellent and all, but really, Thirteen knew who v would be paying the most attention to. Midoriya was the one to watch. 

Midoriya Izuku, subject of over half the bets placed on this year’s exercise, only student from his class assigned villain, and an overachiever by far. Thirteen didn’t know what to expect specifically, but v knew enough to have some ideas. V had seen Maijima’s blueprint binder detailing the gear Midoriya was taking in with him, and the costume he would be wearing. V knew that since Maijima had approved everything, Midoriya had been seen in the art department with Maemi, a third year art student whose quirk let them know how to change someone’s appearance/presentation to alter how they would be perceived (and if Thirteen was a little bit jealous that Maemi would never be able to use his quirk on v because v didn’t have a physical body for them to touch, that was totally understandable). Thirteen knew that the special flare gun Midoriya had requested wasn’t the kind of thing given to an ally. V knew that Aizawa had requested a quirk-suppression bracelet four and a half days before the exercise began for ‘school related reasons.’ V knew Midoriya was planning on being scary during the exercise, likely in a feral kind of way that would surprise them all (and please several of them. Nezu and Aizawa were feral and appreciated the trait in others, and Thirteen had never really been one for the rules). V knew Midoriya was set up to work with the class B villain team, but was also set up to work solo. And V knew that Lunch Rush had given Midoriya enough food for eight people for two days, or enough for seven people for one day and one person for nine days, or five days if you took into consideration how much more Midoriya ate than his peers routinely did.

Thirteen knew Midoriya had a weapons designer whose guns Snipe was interested in and who Maijima considered a prodigious threat to his sanity and physical well being. V knew Midoriya had 80% accuracy when using firearms on stationary or slowly moving targets and 60% on moderately fast moving targets, according to an unnamed third year support student working on earning their firearms license (probably Jissoji). V knew LunchRush knew the recipe for Recovery Girl’s energy gummies and considered Midoriya xir favourite student ever . V knew Iwai Sakamae, a first year management student with inordinately good luck considered herself Midoriya’s official agent and manager and behaved accordingly when working to pull strings on his behalf. V knew Miruko the Rabbit Hero had somehow found out about Midoriya’s new fighting style using kicks and had sent him an unprecedented internship offer.

More than all that, Thirteen knew that Aizawa had made a bet. He had made two bets. He had made two double-stakes bets.

Aizawa didn’t make double-stakes bets. He said it was “illogical,” something about making a show out of something already meant as a performance, something about the frivolity of using student actions to place your responsibilities on one’s coworkers instead of taking them on oneself. Aizawa wasn’t wrong when he placed bets. He just wasn’t . Maybe because he understood how bets worked, how gambling was meant to work, but probably because he only placed bets when he was sure. He didn’t place double bets because that was risking resources. Because even if you were sure, nothing was ever sure, so there was no way for anything to be certain enough ahead of time to bother with double-stakes bets.

And yet Aizawa had placed two double-stakes bets: that Midoriya would have the most interesting villain persona this exercise had ever seen, including Aizawa’s own from when he had been a student, and that the villain team was going to win. The villain team never won. Not even Aizawa’s year on the villain team had they won. They had come close, Kami, they had come close, but Yamada had kissed Aizawa (for the first time) and completely distracted him and the hero team had won.

If someone could kiss Midoriya and it flustered him enough to distract him from the exercise, Thirteen would be very surprised. V just wasn’t expecting it to happen. And with that option out, v just didn’t see any way of stopping the kid once he got started.

So. Recap of things Thirteen was aware of/knew as it pertained to the exercise:

I. The villain team was going to win the exercise.

     A. This had never been done before, though it had been close once, when Aizawa had been on the villain team.

          1. Aizawa blamed Yamada for this loss, and Yamada smugly accepted full responsibility.

          2. Nemuri teased them about it every time the exercise took place.

               a. It was the only time Thirteen had ever seen Aizawa blush.

II. There were a total of eight villains, seven from Class B and Midorya from Class A

     A. Aizawa was unlikely to bet on Class B, and Class A did have something of an advantage when it came to combat experience, as much as Vlad tried to deny it.

     B. Midoriya had brought in enough food for all the villains for two days, the average length the exercise lasted.

          1. Midoriya was the type to plan for success and (perceived) failure, so it was unlikely he only packed for two days.

     C. Midoriya was going to use the Class B villain team to further his own agenda, and then betray them, leaving Midoriya as the only remaining (victorious) villain.

          1. Midoriya was going to defeat all of his classmates and all of Class B as well, minus whoever took eachother out before he got involved.

          2. He was going to win the exercise on his own and for the very first time the villains had ever won

               a. That had to be some kind of record.

III. Midoriya had the most interesting villain persona ever developed for this exercise.

     A. The quirk suppression bracelet Aizawa had acquired was most definitely related.

     B. Ergo, Midoriya would be playing a quirkless villain for this exercise.

IV. Conclusion

     A. Midoriya was going to win the exercise

          1. By himself

          2. Quirkless

          3. As the first time the villain team had ever won.

So yeah, Thirteen was watching Midoriya. Who would anyone else possibly choose to watch? Knowing what v did, it was the only logical choice.

Chapter Text

Sekijiro arrived at the gate to ground Eta at quarter to twelve, expecting to have several hours before the first students showed up to enter the fake city. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Aizawa, leaning against the wall of the training ground ( not in his sleeping bag), talking to Midoriya, who was carrying altogether too many things.

“What time did you tell your students to show up?” Sekijiro asked.

Midoriya looked up at Sekijiro. “Why would he have to tell us what time to show up?”

“What?” Sekijiro wasn’t even going to pretend to understand class A’s problem child.

“I told them when I explained the exercise that it would begin Monday,” Aizawa said.

“So. Most of them will arrive at eight o’clock?” Sekijiro said. 

“Oh, for sure not,” Midoriya said. “I’d be surprised if they weren’t all here by four. I came early so I wouldn’t miss anyone. The gates open in thirteen minutes, so Tsu will be here in probably eight. I’m not sure who all she’ll drag with her though. Most everyone will be here before two. And Kendo-chan said she would text me when they were leaving their dorm, so I’ll know when to meet them.”

“What time did you tell your students to arrive?” Aizawa asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Six for the villain team, eight for the heroes, and that the gate closes at noon,” Sekijiro said. “Like anyone would tell them.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes.

“I’m glad you got here before Tsu’s team.” Midoriya walked over and set all of his things down against the wall beside Sekijiro. “That makes it so much easier to not lie to my friends.” He went back to his spot by Aizawa.

“What?”

“Aizawa-sensei, you have the bracelet, right?” Midoriya asked.

“Yes,” Aizawa said. “I’ll give it to you at midnight.”

“Awesome, thanks!”

Sekijiro wasn’t going to deal with that. He wouldn’t let whatever madness Aizawa was plotting get to him. Even if he had dragged his students into it.

That being said, Midoriya was right. In eight minutes, five minutes before midnight, a small group of 1A students arrived, led by the frog girl, Asui Tsuyu, 1A Hero Team Leader. Midoriya’s enemy.

“Midori-chan, kero. I’m sorry we had a movie night without you.” The frog girl put a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder.

“Ah, Tsu!” Midoriya said. “It’s okay! That’s just how team exercises are. I finished my Friday work during that time anyhow. I hope when this is done we can all be friends still.”

Maybe not an enemy then, but his opponent. Surely this friendly behaviour wouldn’t last as midnight approached. And they would be enemies once the gate opened.

“Of course!” Uraraka said. “You’re our friend no matter what! Just because you have to pretend to be evil for a couple days doesn’t mean anything bad about you!”

“Ah, thanks, Uraraka-chan,” Midoriya said. “I’m pretending to be a villain, though, not pretending to be evil.”

Sekijiro didn’t feel like there was a difference.

“Right!” Uraraka said. “Sorry, Mido-kun! I didn’t mean to erase the difference.”

“It’s okay!” Midoriya said. “I know you know the difference since we had that class on it. I’m just emphasizing it because I’m not a super great actor, so I’m going to be focused on behaving like a villain rather than on behaving differently from my normal self. So it’s going to be me in there, but a villain. But I’m not actually a villain! No matter what it seems like, I promise it’s just the exercise.”

“Midoriya.” Sekijiro didn’t know the name of the boy with six arms—he hadn’t made it to the third round of the sports festival, and Sekijiro had been focused on his own students until then. “You’re a good person. No one in class is going to start doubting that because of something from an assignment.”

“You’re at the top of the class, Midoriya-kun,” Yaoyorozu said. “We know you go all out for projects like this. We’re all expecting to be surprised and challenged.”

“f***ing better,” Bakugo said. “Better not make this a waste of time, d*mn nerd. I can fight boring basic-a** villains on internships.”

“It’ll be a challenge for everyone!” Uraraka said. “And we can all hang out and talk about it afterward.”

“There have been discussions of a pizza party,” the six-armed kid added. “Obviously we’ll have to schedule so it lines up with one of your cheat days.”

“Yeah! Not much of a pizza party if Mido-kun can’t participate!” Uraraka said.

“Thanks guys.” Midoriya’s eyes were tearing up.

“Midoriya-kun,” Yaoyorozu said. “We made you something to say how much you mean to us and how little the exercise means. All nineteen of us worked on it.”

“Nineteen?” Midoriya asked. “You mean!”

“Shinso will be moving into the dorm during the exercise,” Aizawa said.

“Yes!” Midoriya did a fist pump.

Sekijiro recognized that name. Shinso was the name of the kid with the brainwashing quirk. The one responsible for Shoda dropping out of the third round. Sekijiro didn’t like the gen ed kid who had taken one of his kids’ spots. He couldn’t imagine that Aizawa was a fan of him either, since one of Aizawa’s kids had dropped out too, and another (Midoriya) had nearly lost to him. But Midoriya was excited?

“We have to celebrate,” Midoriya said. 

“After the exercise,” the six-armed boy said.

“So how did it happen?” Midoriya asked. “When? I can’t believe I missed it!”

“Why, kero?” the frog girl asked.

“I was planning to punt him into the sun,” Midoriya said.

“It was during the movie night,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugo exploded him before the rest of us could have a proper response.”

“I got f***ing detention,” Bakugo said.

“Only because Mineta was in critical condition,” Aizawa said. “I have no other complaints.”

“f***er deserved it,” Bakugo said.

“Yes, but now he has to stay on campus until Wednesday to recover,” Aizawa said. “Instead of kicking him out right away.”

“Yaomomo-chan!” Uraraka said, elbowing Yaoyorozu. “Give him the present!”

“Right!” Yaoyorozu pulled an item out of her pocket and held it out to Midoriya.

Midoriya gasped.

Aizawa leaned forward and said, “May I remind you that the exercise doesn’t begin until you enter the training ground and that you may not place trackers on your opponents until then.”

“I’m not going to track this!” Yaoyorozu said.

“But she’s already got three other trackers on me that I know she’s not going to use for the exercise!” Midoriya said.

The two students who had spoken at the same time looked at each other.

“I didn’t know you knew about—”

“I understand the concern about—”

Once again they spoke at the same time.

Aizawa sighed. “Yaomomo,” (Was her name not Yaoyorozu?) “you have three trackers already on Midoriya?”

She hung her head. “Yes.”

“ Why .”

“Sensei,” the frog girl said. “After we moved into the dorms, we agreed as a class to let Momo-chan give us all trackers.”

“You what?” the creation girl asked (since no one was going to confirm her name).

“We all agreed that we wouldn’t mention it when you gave us trackers,” Uraraka said.

Creation girl hid her face in her hands. “No one was supposed to notice.”

“We all appreciate it,” Midoriya said. “Your tracker is the reason they found Kacchan and Ragdoll. We all know it just means you care about us.”

“Most of us don’t even have long enough hair for a ponytail, but everyone took one of the elastics.” The six-armed boy held up one of his hands. A ponytail holder was on his wrist.

Three of the other students likewise raised a hand to show the bands around their wrists.

“Kacchan had one too,” Midoriya said. “But it got soaked in sweat and exploded.”

“Shut the f*** up,” Bakugo said.

“Yaomomo,” Aizawa said. “Is there a chance your classmates saw fit to share these somewhat distinctive hair elastics to some of your teachers.”

“Yes, sensei,” creation girl said. “I’m sure no one meant anything by it, I just—”

“And you have a receiver for these trackers?” Aizawa asked.

“I.” She looked down, then reached and pulled one from under her shirt. “Here you are, Sensei.”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa took the receiver. “How long are you planning on standing here?”

“Um. Until the whole class arrives?” Midoriya said. “I don’t have to wait for Kendo’s team because we developed a code this past week, and we’ve been—”

“Here’s the bracelet, and here’s the list of things you need to tell everybody before they go through the gate.” Aizawa handed Midoriya an envelope. “Kan can handle his own hero team. Yaoyorozu,” (So that was her name), “show me how to select which feed to focus on.”

“Hai, Sensei,” Yaoyorozu said. “On this page it will cycle through each feed it’s receiving and you can choose to lock or delete. It requires confirmation to delete or to unlock a signal.”

“Right. Proceed with the exercise as before.” Aizawa ran away from them, toward the teacher dorms.

“Huh.” Midoriya broke the stunned silence after Aizawa had disappeared. “Wonder what that was about.”

“What bracelet, kero?” the frog girl asked.

“Oh, I’ll be wearing a specific bracelet while I’m acting as a villain for the exercise. And this way no one can take any videos or pictures out of context to ruin my image!”

“My class isn’t using those,” Sekijiro said.

“Yes, but I’m anticipating being very scary,” Midoriya said. “It was deemed necessary for my villain persona.”

Terrifying. What kind of motivation had he come up with?

And speaking of which. “I can’t believe Aizawa would leave the villain in charge of his class entering the city.”

“Mido-kun is very responsible,” Uraraka said.

“Plus he’s not playing a villain until he’s inside the city,” the six armed kid added. 

“And none of you are concerned that he’ll take advantage of the opportunity to mess with the hero team before he gets in there?” Like, it was only common sense. The villains in this exercise were already at such a disadvantage. Any and all chances to hinder the Hero team should be taken full advantage of.

“No,” Yaoyorozu said.

“No,” Uraraka said.

“Yeah f***ing right,” Bakugo said.

“It’s Midoriya, kero,” the frog girl said.

“Have you met Midoriya?” the six armed kid asked.

Sekijiro put his hands up and backed out of the conversation. He sat down with his back against the wall, next to Midoriya’s pile of Things.

“I was meaning to ask what that pile of things is,” the frog girl said. “Aizawa-sensei didn’t have a pile of things.”

“Oh, he gave me the bracelet, though,” Midoriya said, holding up the envelope. “And since we’re working with class B, I’ll be sharing with them. Those bags are things for the villain team. Right, Kan-sensei?”

“What?” Sekijiro looked up. His students all called him Vlad-sensei. “Yes.” He wasn’t going to argue with Midoriya. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Right!” Midoriya said. “Because the hero agencies have cafeterias, but villains are just people. They have to find their own food. I’m so glad Kendo-chan thought of it. This exercise would go a lot differently if we had to break into the hero agencies to steal food or else do hostage exchanges or something to get food.”

Oh. Midoriya was bringing bags of food. Odd, though. Why hadn’t Kendo asked Sekijiro about that if she’d thought of it? It was supposed to be one of the challenges the villain team had to face. If they thought of it ahead of time and brought food with them, good for them. But why would she have Midoriya bring it all? And why was there so much ? How long was she planning on the exercise lasting?

“That makes sense,” the frog girl said.

“Oh!” Midoriya said. “I just remembered!” He bowed to the group. “On Wednesday I lied to you. I said Kendo-chan and Shishida-kun were approaching me to discuss a club. We were actually talking about the exercise. Please forgive me!”

“It’s okay Mido-kun!” Uraraka said. “We forgive you.”

“Ah, thank you!” Midoriya stood up.

The frog girl put a finger to her chin. “You already have so many disadvantages. It makes sense to want to preserve the few advantages you do have.”

“Oh! Speaking of which, it wasn’t too hard to figure out which training ground, right?” Midoriya asked. “You seemed unsure yesterday. If no one had shown up by one, I was going to text the chat, but you showed up.”

“Koda found the location, kero,” the frog girl said. “Koda wouldn’t take credit at first though. Once the anonymous tip wasn’t anonymous, I could be confident about it.”

Midoriya nodded. “If I could pick a second person to basically start on my team instead of having to convert them, I would pick Koda-kun. Koda is very reliable.”

“Koda is,” Uraraka said.

“The f*** you mean convert?!” Bakugo demanded.

“Oh!” Midoriya said. “It was in the unabridged rule book. Don’t worry, though. It won’t matter for the exercise this time.”

“Are you sure?” Uraraka asked. “Because it sounds like maybe we have a chance to turn you to our side instead of fighting you.”

“Nope!” Midoriya said.

“You f***ing think the nerd built a villain persona that’s not f***ing air tight? You think you’re gonna stroll right up to villain Deku and—”

“Hey!” the six-armed kid said.

“Bakugo!” Yaoyorozu said.

“Baku-chan, please,” the frog girl said.

Uraraka threw a punch toward Bakugo’s face.

Midoriya caught her fist in one hand. “It’s okay!” he said.

“No it’s not!” Uraraka took her fist back. “You’re the one who told us the therapist said it wasn’t healthy for people to keep calling you that! If it’s a big enough deal that Midnight-sensei is letting you change your hero name, it's a big enough deal that Baku-b**** should be able to—”

“I’m using it for my villain name for the exercise,” Midoriya said. “I told Kacchan already.”

“You’ve told him several things,” the frog girl said. “That will be fun kero.”

Midoriya shrugged.

“Ooh!” Uraraka said. “I can’t wait to figure out what all you told him, Mido-kun!”

“Hah?” Bakugo demanded. “What’s it matter to you?!”

“Because there are only two relationships in the whole school that are more mysterious or confusing than yours and Mido’s,” Uraraka said.

“Two?” Midoriya asked. “Who’s the other one?”

“Toru-chan and Ojiro-kun,” the frog girl said.

“What’s the other relationship? I already knew theirs was considered more confusing. But what’s the other one?”

“Kero. There are nine different betting pools on what relationship Aizawa-sensei and Yamada-sensei have,” the frog girl said.

Sekijiro snorted.

“They’re married,” Midoriya said.

“What,” Yaoyorozu said.

“I mean, I don’t see how their relationship is considered confusing,” Midoriya said.

“I don’t think very many people bet on that one, kero,” the frog girl said.

“Because it’s totally unexpected!” Uraraka said. “When did they get married? How long have they been together?”

“You bet on one-sided friendship, didn’t you,” Midoriya said.

“Yes!” Uraraka said. “Not that I don’t think Aizawa-sensei appreciates Yamada-sensei’s friendship, but it’s totally a case of an extrovert adopting an introvert against their will! And he just looks so put-upon any time Yamada-sensei shows up.”

Midoriya nodded. “They’ve been married for eight years, I think.”

“You don’t know?” Yaoyorozu asked.  

“It’s not like I’ve asked them about it,” Midoriya said. “That would be kind of invasive, right? And it’s obvious they’re together. I mean, I was pretty sure Eraserhead and Present Mic were married way before I ever applied to UA. The real time. But it was basically a confirmation when I saw their matching rings.”

“The real time?” Sekijiro muttered.

“Who f***ing cares,” Bakugo said. “They’re f***ing grown ups, they’re allowed to be married if they f***ing want to.”

“Easy for you to say,” Uraraka said. “ You bet on them being romantically involved.”

“Of course I did,” Bakugo said. “Why would I bother being wrong ?”

“Midori-chan told you, kero.”

“Shut the f*** up!”

“That’s cheating!” Uraraka said.

“And also irrelevant,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bets are off for the exercise, remember?”

Uraraka sighed. “Yeah. Still though, it’s weird.”

“It is midnight,” the frog girl said. “We should get going, kero.”

“Hai!” Yaoyorozu said.

“I’ll let you read Sensei’s note for yourselves.” Midoriya handed the envelope to the frog girl.

“Thank you, Midori-chan.” The frog girl handed the note to Yaoyorozu. “Will you please read this for us, Momo-chan.”

“Of course!” Yaoyorozu opened the envelope and pulled out the note. It was handwritten in Aizawa’s writing. Clearly he had anticipated leaving, for whatever reason, and had left this so they would still hear whatever he’d meant to tell them.

Yaoyorozu cleared her throat and began to read the note.

Chapter Text

When Shouta grabbed Hizashi from the teachers’ dorm common room (where they were all mostly sleeping, waiting), Nemuri assumed that meant that all of Shouta’s kids had figured out the gate opened at midnight and had already arrived and entered the training ground. It would be just like that class to figure it out based off of the scarce hints Shouta had given them. They really were a bright bunch.

So Nemuri took herself and her bag to the observation deck where she and the other teachers would be on and off spending their lives until the exercise was complete. She’d join her favourite married couple for a nap on a couch, or maybe challenge them to one of the multiplayer games she was bringing with her this year. Scrabble, maybe. Ectoplasm would arrive at five am, Cementoss at five thirty, and then Vlad’s kids would start showing up at quarter to six until about ten o’clock. It was a regular pattern. Of course, most years Shouta’s class was much smaller and worked much more closely with class B and so wasn’t present in its entirety before six.

However, when she entered the room, Hizashi and Shouta were not present. Nezu was watching the screens, and Lunch Rush appeared to be staking a claim to one of the chairs in the corner. 

Audio for the relevant camera was on.

“You really expect everyone in your class to be here by two?” Kan asked.

“Yeah,” Midoriya said. “Approximately.”

“Approximately everyone or approximately two?” Kan asked.

“Yes!” And there was Midoriya’s smile.

Nemuri didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t kill someone for that smile. (Except maybe Kan, if his current face was anything to go by.)

“So when did the green bean arrive?” Nemuri dropped into an armchair beside the couch she knew Shouta and Yamada would take (that they always took). She set her bag at her feet.

“Eleven!” Nezu said. “He and Aizawa-kun walked over together from the dorms!”

“No way,” Nemuri said. “Really?”

“I didn’t know anyone other than Aizawa could nap standing up,” Lunch Rush said. “I still haven’t figured out how he does it. But apparently Midoriya learned.”

“At least they’re learning something from him,” Nemuri said. “Rather than just being terrified of him.”

“True,” Lunch Rush said. “This 1A class is the first group of students to mention him without fear while in the lunch lines.”

“Makes you wonder about what kind of kids they are,” Nemuri said.

“You’re not suggesting...”

“Nothing bad!” Nemuri said. “I teach those kids and they are all delights. But something doesn’t have to be normal to be good. They’ve seen too much already to be any sort of normal.”

“True,” Lunch Rush said.

“Have you both placed your bets for the exercise?” Nezu asked.

“You know we have,” Midnight said.

“Would either of you object to witnessing the Sealing of the Envelope?”

Nemuri put her hand over her heart. “I would be honoured.” (She always waited to arrive until Hizashi and Shouta were there, she was never one of the two witnesses when Nezu sealed Thirteen’s prediction envelope.)

“No objections from me,” Lunch Rush said.

“Then without further ado!” Nezu slid several sheets of paper into a brown legal envelope and sealed it. He passed it over for Lunch Rush to sign across the flap, and Lunch Rush handed it to Nemuri. She took a moment to savour the experience of witnessing the Envelope Sealing (it wasn’t likely to happen again, she didn’t plan to deviate from her pattern of following the others over, no reason to get here so early).

Nemuri signed her name with a flourish, lengthwise across the opposite side of the flap as Lunch Ruch had. And with that, the envelope containing Thirteen’s immaculate-and-often-entirely-correct-like-to-a-scary-degree predictions was sealed until the exercise was complete.

Chapter Text

Midoriya was waiting by the gate of training ground Eta when Itsuka and her team arrived at ten to six. The open gate. And Midoriya was waiting just inside.

“Oh, hey!” Midoriya waved to them. “You made it! That’s good.”

“Did the gate open early?” Shishida asked.

“Hm? No,” Midoriya said. “It opened at midnight, right on time.”

“We were told to be here at six,” Itsuka said.

“Yeah, but the gate opened at midnight.” Midoriya shrugged. “Most of my class was here within forty minutes of it opening. So we don’t have to worry about running into any of them in any official capacity until noon, and apparently Kan-sensei didn’t tell your hero team to show up until eight, so there’s two hours we can move in without worrying about encountering them at all!”

“What do you mean in an official capacity?” Ibara asked.

“Wait, what time did your teacher tell you to be here?” Awase asked.

Vlad-sensei sighed from his place leaning against the wall.

“He didn’t!” Midoriya said. “He just told us that the exercise would start on Monday, so of course we all assumed that the gates would open at midnight. It’s understandable if your teacher told you something different.”

“What...” Setsuna said.

“And as for official capacity,” Midoriya said. “Civilians are still a possibility. If we run into any of the hero team before they officially come into power in this cityscape at noon, they can still use their licenses, especially if we do something sketchy, and even if we don’t they can still see us and follow us and figure out where your hideout is.”

Huh. Itsuka hadn’t thought of that. An off-duty hero was still a hero, after all.

“Your teacher didn’t tell you to show up at a certain time?!” Tetsutetsu asked.

“He didn’t even tell us where to show up,” Midoriya said. “That’s why I made sure I told you guys first thing when we agreed to work together. The longer you had to spend figuring it out when I had already pieced it together, the more time you would have wasted. Though it turns out that Koda-kun figured it out and told Tsu, so they’ve known for a while. How long ago did your hero team figure it out?”

“Vlad-sensei told us,” Ibara said.

“Yeah, on Saturday night,” Reiko said.

“You mean your teacher didn’t even tell you where the exercise was going to take place and you still all knew?!” Tetsutetsu asked. “That’s so manly!”

“Thanks!” Midoriya said. “I guess we’ve just gotten used to Aizawa-sensei’s logical ruses.”

“I hope you know that’s terrifying, Midoriya-kun,” Itsuka said.

“But it wasn’t even difficult,” Midoriya said. “It was just a matter of determining which training grounds were possible choices—based off of terrain, size, occupancy stan—”

“The logical ruses, Midoriya-kun,” Itsuka said. “It’s your teacher and his ruses that are incomprehensibly terrifying. And the fact that you’ve all gotten used to them.”

“Well, they are logical, though, so it’s not that surprising, really,” Midoriya said.

Quiet for a bit. No one said anything to further refute Midoriya—though he was still obviously incorrect: his teacher was terrifying and class A didn’t make sense—and Midoriya said nothing more to argue his point. He also didn’t make eye contact with or even look at any of them.

“So did you pick a hideout?” Tetsutetsu asked.

“Oh!” Midoriya’s face brightened. “I had a look around the city, but I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to choose your base’s location. After all, Kendo-san is the leader.”

“You’re the class A leader,” Itsuka said.

“Yes, but there’s no class A villains to lead, just me. And I wouldn’t presume to take charge of your operation.”

That was very nice of Midoriya. It was also very stubborn of him. They’d been working together for just shy of a week now, and Itsuka had repeatedly invited him to co-lead the joint villain team with her. Either he had continuously missed the invitations (unlikely, Itsuka had been very blunt and direct after the first few), or he was actually refusing to lead. It made her wonder about Midoriya’s skills and especially confidence as a leader.

Itsuka had heard from her fellow class rep (Yaomomo) that originally class A had selected Midoriya, who had taken the first possible opportunity to pass the buck to her and nominate Iida as her vice. Plus at the sports festival, he had taken the teammates who had come to him, allowing that support course student to completely domineer his team. The team had been under his name, but Itsuka hadn’t even seen him use his quirk once that round. And now, he was refusing to co-lead when he had been selected by the teachers for a leadership role. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for it?

That was fine. Itsuka had the experience. She would just take charge and make sure everything went according to plan. As much as possible, at least.

“You got your food, Mido-bro?” Tetsutetsu asked.

“Hai!” Midoriya spun to show off the backpack he wore. “I’ve got this with me. Oh! Speaking of which.” He turned back to Itsuka. “Kendo-san, Tsu okayed me to share the list of important personal items they have with you and your team. I assume you have a list for your class’s hero team as well?”

“What?” Itsuka asked.

“You know. Things that we’ve brought with us to the exercise that the other team will know better than to target,” Midoriya said. “It’s just an exercise, afterall. No need to cause long term damage, right?” He gave a small smile.

Itsuka took a deep breath. “Our class didn’t do something like that, Midoriya-kun.”

“Oh.” He seemed actually confused. “Then how will anyone know what items not to destroy?”

“We don’t bring anything important with us,” Itsuka explained slowly. “Because then it might get damaged.”

“No comfort items or anything?” Midoriya asked. “What happens if one of you has an episode? Or a flashback?”

Itsuka pasted on a smile. (She didn’t buy into Monoma’s Class B Supremacy fixation, and she never would, but that didn’t keep Itsuka from acknowledging that there was something off about class A. Not something wrong , per say, but something fundamentally different for sure.)

“Our class hasn’t fought villains like that, Midoriya-kun.”

Midoriya paused in place a moment. “Oh.” He tilted his head. “But at the training camp. You and Tetsutetsu took down the gas guy. And Awase-san, you’re the one who welded the tracker to the Nomu. And—”

“None of us brought any items of importance with us, Midoriya-kun,” Itsuka said. “And none of our class is in danger of experiencing flashbacks or. Or episodes ” whatever that meant “during the exercise.”

“Okay,” Midoriya said. “So…what kind of building were you thinking of for your base?”

Itsuka sighed fondly. Midoriya was always just so earnest and he always meant well.

“Okay, so first off,” Itsuka said. “Obviously we want something we can defend.”

Chapter Text

“Got your first one, Ryo.”

“Already?” Ryo sat up in his chair. He was present for the duration of the exercise, yes, but generally speaking by this point most classes were experienced enough to not be out by the first evening. The hero team always won, but they didn’t eliminate their opponents, only capture them and let them sit in a cell in the fake agency building. For the villains to have eliminated one of their opponents already... 

Well, it could have just been a lucky shot. A surprise, before anything really got started. Or possibly a heroic sacrifice during a villain blitz play by one of the villain teams. The student who was now ‘dead’ would certainly tell him how it had happened.

He was tired, it was dark, and there was no backup. The manga f***er from class B had been eliminated, probably, and Vines would have taken all of Tsykoyomi’s attention to defeat, so Katsuki, KEM, was on his own and down an arm. The guns the nerd had didn’t shoot bullets, but his arm was sore enough from the compressed paint.

And it was dark. It shouldn’t have been dark. There should have been street lights on, lights in buildings, light coming from windows, from the headlights of cars that passed by.

There were none. That was good for Tsukuyomi (maybe they’d finish Vines off after all) but bad for Katsuki because he couldn’t see.

And the f***er was here, Katsuki knew he was. Where else would Midoriya be?

But he couldn’t find him.

“Hello, Bakugo.” Ryo entered the decompression-recovery room Ectoplasm had brought Bakugo to. “I’m here to talk you through your experience in the exercise.”

Bakugo made no move to respond. He didn’t even look in Ryo’s direction when the counselor sat on the couch opposite him. Dissociation?

Explosions going off. Not his explosions. Flash grenades on trip wires, trip wires Katsuki couldn’t help but trip in the dark and with the blinding light around him. It wasn’t safe to keep moving; he would only blind himself further.

But was it any safer to stop? If he stopped, he played right into the nerd’s hands. (Unless that’s what he wanted. Midoriya had always been a genius.)

Katsuki kept going. He would find a defensible position and try his radio again—maybe there was something he could do to fix it. Maybe he could call for backup, support. Maybe he wouldn’t be left alone against whatever the nerd had planned for him.

Bakugo was covered, head to toe, in red paint.

Had he come from one of Midnight’s more out-there art classes, it could have been a sign of success, or at least progress.

Ryo waved his hand in front of the boy’s face.

No response. Bakugo didn’t even blink.

Bakugo had not come from the art studio. Bakugo had come from the battlefield, where red paint was used in the training weapons. To be covered so completely meant he had either been shot to pieces—unlikely, what weapon could possibly carry that much ammo and who could have shot him enough to actually cover him—or he had been blown up in a way where his body would have been destroyed, had the blast been real.

Bakugo’s quirk was Explosion. To have them turned against him had to hurt, but was that the sole cause of his dissociation right now?

Ectoplasm had provided Bakugo with a change of clothes—a standard PE uniform—but Bakugo had forgone that, and a shower, in favour of sitting on the couch. Waiting.

There was no fixing his radio. Whatever the nerd had done to it had completely wrecked it. It didn’t even give static, just dead silence. Spooky. (It wasn’t spooky, it wasn’t scary, Katsuki’s wasn’t afraid, wasn’t nervous.)

There was nothing unnerving about Midoriya. Nothing except for that f***ing quirk of his, and he wasn’t even using it. It wasn’t discrete, and Katsuki had yet to see even a hint of the distinctive green lightning. 

Why? Where was he?

Ryo slowly reached out, clearly telegraphing his movements, and placed a hand on Bakugo’s arm. Bakugo tensed at the contact but otherwise had no reaction. Ryo took his hand away, deeming it more likely to do harm than to help.

 “Bakugo,” Ryo tried instead. “You are safe. You are at UA, in a debriefing room outside training ground Eta. We are alone. There are only the two of us in this room, and no one else can enter. You are safe.”

Ryo kept speaking softly, trying to get through to him, to get the boy to express something, to acknowledge Ryo’s presence, to talk about what happened, to anything.  

Bakugo kept staring at his paint-covered hands. 

“Kacchan...”

“D.Deku.” Katsuki’s voice didn’t stutter. He wasn’t afraid, he just wasn’t sure he would call the nerd by his villain name until he did it.

“Kacchan, where are all your friends?”

“Dealing with yours,” Katsuki said.

Laughter. “Silly Kacchan. A deku doesn’t have friends.”

A deku, not Deku. A minor difference, slip of the tongue, not worth the distinction. If this wasn’t Midoriya, if this wasn’t the one other person at this school who knew the real meaning behind the name (the insult, the threat).

There wouldn’t be any green lightning warning of Midoriya’s approach.

“But Kacchan” the nerd’s voice could have been coming from anywhere “What happened to all your friends?”

Bakugo (finally, after a good forty minutes) looked up from his hands. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. There were no tear tracks on his face.

“Are you present, Bakugo-kun?” Ryo asked.

Bakugo nodded his head. His hands were shaking.

“Do you know where you are?” Ryo asked.

Another nod.

“That’s good.” Ryo had been expecting a lot of things from the exercise. He had not, however, been expecting Bakugo to be more initially traumatized by whatever had happened to him here than he had been by being kidnapped by the League of Villains. Though that had expressed itself later on (and continued to. They were fighting his guilt at All Might’s retirement, but it was a process). Perhaps this was simply a different kind of trauma.

What happened to them? Nothing, they just weren’t. Here.

Happened to them. What had Midoriya done to them? Hopefully nothing. Hopefully they were just separated, but.

“I guess it doesn’t matter though, does it Kacchan?”

Was the voice getting closer? It wasn’t getting louder.

“After all, you always were the best. You don’t need friends, you don’t need followers. You can do everything by yourself, everyone else is just an extra getting in your way.”

Katsuki had thought like that before. Not anymore. Now he had friends, real friends. 

“Especially a deku, always in your way.”

“Quit it,” Katsuki said. “That’s in the past.”

“Is it?”

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Ryo asked.

Bakugo shook his head. No, he was not ready to talk about it, or possibly even to talk.

“There is a shower adjacent to this room,” Ryo said. “There is a change of clothes available for you as well, if you’d like to take the time now to deal with that.”

Bakugo looked down at his hands again then nodded.

“The shower is over there,” Ryo said, “through that door.”

Bakugo slowly rose to his feet and went.

“How in the past could it be if there’s still a deku right here, getting in your way again, after all this time?”

“You are under arrest for the assault of a pro hero,” Katsuki said. (He wasn’t supposed to say anything that might scare the villain off.) “As well as suspected collusion with known villains.” But if he could scare Midoriya off, he would have a chance to leave, fall back and regroup, escape. 

“Am I?”

There. The voice, coming from a clear direction. Bakugo turned to face the alley the voice was coming from.

“How could I have assaulted you, Kacchan?” 

That wasn’t his hero costume. Whatever he was wearing was worse than that. Darker, harsher, more intimidating.

“I haven’t even touched you.”

“I know you’re the one who lit the park on fire.” Not to mention having shot him.

Deku tipped his head.

Bakugo returned to the couch after forty seven minutes. He was clean, wearing the change of clothes. All the paint was scrubbed from his skin and his hair.

“Would you prefer tea or hot chocolate?” Ryo asked.

Bakugo squeezed his hands together. “Tea.” It was quiet, but Ryo’s hearing was more than good enough to make it out. He poured from the correct pot into a mug and slid it across the coffee table to Bakugo.

A moment before Bakugo moved to pick it up. He held it carefully at first, then grasped it with both hands and pulled it close to himself. “I’m keeping this,” he said.

Even in this state, Bakugo’s habit of constantly monitoring himself to avoid giving anyone nitroglycerin positioning was still intact. That was promising for his response to this situation, or else indicated other trauma in his past. Either way it had allowed the student to speak. Ryo would count it a success for now.

Deku didn’t respond. He also didn’t leave and didn’t approach.

“So come peacefully, or I’ll have to use force to take you in.”

Katsuki should have known better than to think any kind of threat would have had the nerd leaving. Midoriya wouldn’t be scared off by threat of bodily harm or death: Deku wouldn’t leave because Katsuki bluffed.

“Did you know,” the nerd said, “that the strategy Divide and Conquer works best if only one side divides?”

“Of course I do,” Katsuki said. “But here you are anyway.”

“And here you are,” Midoriya said. “We’ve both divided. That means neither of us can conquer.”

“You think I can’t beat you?”

Deku smiled.

“I’m dead,” Bakugo said.

It had been half an hour of silence, Ryo waiting and Bakugo holding his tea.

He set the mug on the table.

“You have been eliminated from the exercise.” Ryo nodded. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Oftentimes a team will begin by eliminating those they deem to be the biggest threat.”

It wouldn’t do for Bakugo to think he’d lost because he was weak, afterall. Ryo didn’t know how Bakugo had been eliminated, but he was sure it hadn’t been because of any weakness on Bakugo’s part.

“I’m not going to beat you, Kacchan,” Deku said.

“You mean you can’t.” If Midoriya wasn’t going to, then who else was here? Divide and conquer , the nerd was smarter than to come alone, to risk losing, especially so close to the start of the exercise when he didn’t have a team to fall back on.

“However you’d like to say it,” Deku said. “What chance does a deku have against the number one hero, after all. If I was smart, I’d leave you alone. Avoid people more powerful than me.”

Katsuki didn’t like where this was going.

He hated himself for knowing where that was.

“If I try to do something, someone will have to put me in my place.”

f***.

“So no, Kacchan. I’m not going to fight you.”

“I eliminated myself,” Bakugo said.

Ryo left silence for Bakugo to fill.

“And he knew it was going to happen,” Bakugo said. “He let me take myself out. He didn’t even have to do anything.”

Longer silence, one Bakugo made no move to fill.

“Can you explain what happened, Bakugo-kun?” Ryo asked.

“I’m just going to let you watch a quirkless Deku eliminate everything you care about.”

Long silence. Empty silence. Deku was gone, and Katsuki was alone in the dark in the middle of the street. 

His com crackled to life and he heard screaming, shouts of pain and terror. But he had just left, he had just left, and already he was. He was.

Letting him watch. Letting him. He.

Katsuki fumbled with the flare gun he’d attached to his belt. What had the nerd said about it? f***ing Battleships. If it was too much, he could fire this, and it would stop. He could fire the flare gun and it would stop. The nerd had promised: it would stop.

Katsuki pointed the barrel of the gun to the sky, his arm shaking, sore where the bullet (paintball, it was paint, it was paint, there was no blood, it was paint) had hit.

He pulled the trigger.

Red.

“I need to call Auntie,” Bakugo said. “Tell her I’m sorry. Sorry doesn’t mean s***. f***.”

“Why do you need to call your aunt?” Ryo asked.

“Because Deku is my fault,” Bakugo said. “f***. We’re actually all so lucky he’s a hero.”

Chapter Text

“That was great!” Yanagi said. “We got all of them!”

“Did you see how scared Kaibara was?” Setsuna asked. “When the whole room came down on him?”

“And how—”

*click*

“Ah!”

Everyone turned to look at Awase, who was gripping his arm, red coming out from under his hand.

“Hm,” Deku hummed. He didn’t lower the gun.

“What are you doing?!” Kendo screeched.

“No offense, Itsuka-chan,” Deku said. “But you’ve served your purpose. You told me the weaknesses of the class B heroes, and we eliminated them.”

“Together,” Kendo said. “We eliminated them together , just like how we’re going to eliminate the Class A heroes. Together, as a team.”

“Ah ah.” Deku spun and fired his gun, nailing Tetsutetsu’s shoulder. The metal boy stopped in place where he’d been inching towards Deku’s place on the opposite side of the room. “That won’t take you out, but hopefully the pain is reminder enough that you shouldn’t be trying anything.”

“You agreed to work with us!” Kendo said.

“I did, didn’t I,” Deku said. “Did I?”

“You did!” Kendo said, fists clenching.

Deku shrugged. “Agree to disagree.” He pulled the trigger.

Red covered Kendo’s chest.

Tetsutetsu closed the space between them and fell to an electrical shock strong enough to paralyze him. He had to drop his metal coating to escape the electricity, and Deku fired on Tetsutetsu. 

Yanagi threw the whole room at Deku. Through the barrage no one else could get close. “Get out!” Yanagi shouted to her remaining teammates, Tokage, Awase, and Shishida.

Deku ducked under the barrage and charged.Yanagi changed the direction of the projectiles, but Deku tackled her before she hit him with it.

Shishida moved in to assist, and electricity coursed through him, more than had affected Tetsutetsu.

Awase moved away from Shishida, not looking to get in his way or be shocked. A wise decision, as Shishida grew.

Items stopped flying around the room. Yanagi lay behind Deku on the floor, red smeared across her face and neck. Shishida charged.

Deku open-fired, then flipped over Shishida, who rapidly shrank to avoid going out the window. While in the air, Deku fired again. Not all of the paintballs hit Shishida, but enough did. Shishida fell and didn’t get up again.

Awase glanced around the room; he couldn’t make out where exactly Setsuna was. He knew he had to get out.

“Now,” Deku said.

“No,” Awase said. “Midoriya. We’re your team. What are you doing ?”

“It was an accident,” Deku said.

“What?”

“The first paintball,” Deku said. “It was a mistake. Then you all assumed, and, well.”

“So you’re not actually turning on us? But you.”

“Oh no, that part was real,” Deku said. “I was aiming for your heart, is all. I won’t miss again.”

“What?!”

“And one more thing,” Deku said, gun held level, in both hands. “Midoriya isn’t here.” He fired.

Ectoplasm’s clones came in to escort those eliminated out of the room.

“Ah, Ectoplasm-sensei,” Deku said. “I’m sorry. You’re early.”

“What?” the clone asked.

Deku jumped out the window, hanging onto the ledge with just one hand.

The room exploded in red. Setsuna shouted in pain, and reformed, every piece of her red. The Ectoplasm clones in the room were destroyed.

Deku pulled himself back into the room, the red, red room.

Quiet.

“Is.”

No one turned to look at Snipe, everyone kept their eyes fixed on the screen.

“Is that allowed?” Snipe managed.

There’s nothing in the rules saying it isn’t,” Shouta said.

“You keep saying that.” Vlad took his eyes off of the screen, turned to look at Shouta. “The rules don’t say it’s not allowed, so it must be fine. But just because the rules omit it doesn’t mean that it’s okay.”

“Generally speaking, the acts that get someone labeled as a villain aren’t okay,” Shouta said. “Midoriya is meant to be portraying a villain.”

“For a school exercise!” Vlad said. “Even Setsuna wasn’t taking it as far as he is.”

“Setsuna had a team to rely on,” Shouta said.

“So did Midoriya!” Vlad said. “They were working together!”

“Were they?”

“What? What does. How. What does that even mean , Aizawa?” Vlad asked. “They agreed to work together for the exercise. It’s one team, not two.”

“It was one team,” Shouta agreed.

Vlad narrowed his eyes. “You never agree with me.”

“It was one team,” Shouta repeated. “And now that the team’s usefulness has been exploited, Deku disposed of them.”

“Disposed of. Those were his teammates , Aizawa.”

“Deku doesn’t have a team,” Shouta said. “He’s the only villain from class A.”

“But he agreed to work together with the class B villains,” Vlad said, explaining it as though Shouta were particularly slow to understand. “Meaning that they are his teammates.”

“Who did Kendo broker the agreement with?” Shouta asked.

“Babe?” Hizashi asked. Shouta gave his hand a squeeze; Hizashi squeezed back.

“What?” Vlad asked.

“You said they agreed to work together,” Shouta said. “Who did?”

“Kendo and Shishida were the ones who approached him,” Vlad said. “Why does—”

“Approached who ?” Shouta pressed.

Nezu turned his head to them for a moment, eyes gleaming. (Nezu was scary. Nezu was on their side.)

“Who... Midoriya, of course!” Vlad said.

Shouta nodded, then motioned to the screen. “That is not Midoriya.”

Vlad’s face blanched. “You think Toga could have—”

“I have it on good authority that Toga is otherwise involved this week,” Shouta said. He didn’t reveal the fact that his source was Midoriya, that his Problem Child had somehow brokered a deal with her, intent on rescuing and reforming her despite her several attempts on his life. “No, not Toga. That is Deku.”

“It’s just a different name,” Vlad said. “It’s still Midoriya.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is!” Vlad said. “Just because they’re playing the part of villains doesn’t mean that they’re actually different people!”

“Personas are a thing,” Nemuri contributed from her lounged posture in her arm chair.

Shouta nodded.

“Not enough of a thing to make someone into an entirely different person!” Vlad insisted.

“You’re fighting me on this point?” Nemuri asked. She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Vlad said. “Aspects of your persona belong to your civilian self too, and vice vera. Besides, these are children, students . They haven’t had time to develop personas, particularly not ones so distinct from themselves that it allows them to disregard contracts they’ve made, especially not for a single exercise.”

“It is worth thirty percent of their grade,” Snipe said. “Though they don’t have a grading rubric or anything.”

“The personas themselves aren’t worth that though!” Vlad said.

“Do you know the difference between the villains from class B and Deku?” Shouta offered.

“If this is about the class rivalry, or your students’ experience with villains,” Vlad said. “I—”

“Your students’ villain personas are based off of something bad having happened to them in place of something good.” Shouta said. (He hadn’t had confirmation from Midoriya yet, and wouldn’t until after the exercise, but he wasn’t an underground hero for nothing, he had a fair idea of at least the type of motivation his Problem Child was working from.)

“Those were the instructions,” Vlad said. “That’s what they were supposed to do.”

“The instructions weren’t to come up with something bad that happened,” Shouta said. “Were they?”

“Find the moment that inspired you to be a hero.” Vlad’s head snapped to look at Lunch Rush. The other teachers looked as well. “Find that moment, and imagine that the opposite had happened.”

“So?” Vlad asked. “The opposite of something good happening is something bad happening.”

“Or the absence.”

Yagi coughed blood into his handkerchief.

“What?” Vlad asked.

“Vlad, what is the opposite of being saved by a hero?” Nezu asked.

“Um.” He turned to Nezu, whose eyes were yet on the screens. “Be.Being attacked by a villain?” Vlad said.

“And what is the opposite of a hero saving a civilian?” Nezu asked.

“A villain attacking the civilian,” Vlad said, more sure of his second answer.

“And the opposite of a hero?”

“A villain.” Vlad crossed his arms. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Yagi,” Nezu said. “What is the opposite of being saved by a hero?”

Yagi coughed again,then cleared his throat. “Um. All. All respect to my colleague, but. The. The opposite of being saved by a hero is not being saved by a hero.”

“The opposite of a hero saving a civilian?” Nezu asked.

“A hero failing to save a civilian.”

“And what, would you say, is the opposite of a hero?” Nezu turned to face Yagi.

Yagi met Nezu’s beady eyes with his own sunken gaze. “A bystander. Someone who sees and does not act.”

“And what, in this case, following from your previous definitions, is the opposite of a villain?” Nezu folded his paws in front of him.

Yagi didn’t even blink, didn’t hesitate. “Someone who does not see and so does not act.”

“You’re equating villains and heroes!” Vlad said.

“No.” Yagi’s voice was firm, surer than he usually was since Kamino. Vlad visibly stiffened. “I am saying that they are not opposites, and that they share more characteristics than you might think.”

“But what does that have to do with anything?” Vlad asked.

“When I first met Midoriya, I made the mistake of pushing him away from heroics,” Yagi said, All Might said. “A mistake I am grateful every day that I had a chance to correct. Midoriya-shounen is going to be a marvelous hero, he is .”

“Does that look like a future hero to you?” Vlad gestured to the screen still showing the red splashed over the room Midoriya was now the sole occupant of, looking for all the world like the blood of the teammates he’d killed, eliminated from the exercise. “He looks more like a villain now!”

“Midoriya is going to be a hero,” Yagi said. “Not a villain. But he was always going to be the best of one or the other. This is a preview of what we could have seen had the one good thing not happened. It wouldn’t take a bad thing, as Aizawa said, but the absence of the good. I count myself lucky that my boy was allowed the opportunity to choose to become a hero.”

A pause. Then Shouta spoke up.

“The difference, Vlad, is that Midoriya took the assignment seriously.”

“And my students didn’t?” Vlad asked.

“Not in the same way,” Shouta said. “His isn’t what Midoriya could have been had his life gone differently. This is what would have been had that one moment been otherwise.”

Vlad turned his ashen face back to the screens in time to see Ectoplasm’s clones dropping the class B villains off in the recovery room, then looked back to where Midoriya Deku was continuing despite the supposed betrayal he had just enacted, business as usual.

Chapter Text

Technically, Ochako knew exactly how she’d come to be in this situation. She wasn’t fond of her position, but she couldn’t regret any of the individual decisions that had led her here. She didn’t regret deciding to become a hero, or befriending Midoriya, or working with him to improve her quirk. She didn’t regret being the one to find Midoriya when Shigaraki had him at the mall, or fighting to defend herself and Tsu from Toga at the training camp, or confiding in her friends when she discovered her triggers with the help of the UA therapist.

She wouldn’t change any of her past decisions, but that did not mean Ochako was okay with death via strangulation. (She wouldn’t actually die, this was an exercise, her opponent was her friend.)

There was nothing she could do to escape her situation.

There were many things she thought of doing, and many things she had tried. But if there was one person who knew her quirk and her capabilities as well as she did (better than she did), that was Midoriya, her opponent, Deku.

She couldn’t break free herself, and she knew no one would be able to rescue her. All that was left now was strangulation, suffocation, choking, and pain. The world grew darker as she thrashed, not strong enough to fight the urge to fight, struggling though she knew to resist was only to make it worse. Deku was too strong; she didn’t have a chance. All she had was fear.

Fear, as her finger tips began to tingle. Fear, as she felt her chest tighten, as she tried to gasp but was unable. Fear, as her body grew cold. Fear, as the world grew dark.

Fear, fear, fear.

But still, no regret.

Even as the world faded around her, as her body stopped moving, stopped responding, Ochako fought her panic. Midoriya was her friend, her best friend; she didn’t want to be afraid of him. Even though he’d had no difficulty exploiting her weaknesses to catch her, Even though her current state felt like torture, (Even if he killed her), Ochako would not grow to fear her friend.

The human brain could, on average, survive without oxygen for about ten minutes before dying, and only half of that before brain damage set in. That was, of course, not taking into account that human bodies were different shapes and sizes, with different lungs and different abilities to hold their breaths.

That didn’t matter when the blockage was internal, holding back blood flow to the brain.

The strangulation that the hero student Uravity had suffered was akin to a triangle hold, the carotid arteries were pressed and prevented from delivering the oxygen the blood carried. Her panic had been obvious through the screens, as one of Ectoplasm’s clones monitored her vital statistics on a tablet, ready to step in before she had a chance to be seriously hurt.

It was less than two and a half minutes between when the pressure had been applied to her carotids and when Deku had released the cord. He gently lowered her to the ground, to the crash pad he’d set up below her. He hadn’t taken off the harness he’d put her in while she’d been distracted by the cord around her neck. (Distracted enough to not realize that it hadn’t been the pressure on her neck holding her in the air.) He had only checked her pulse and her breathing, hand on her neck and a hand in front of her face. 

Deku had slumped in relief before shifting her to recovery position on the crash pad and throwing a blanket over her.

He’d stood there, watching over her, until Ectoplasm realized Deku was waiting and revealed himself. 

Sir Nighteye wanted a report about Midoriya. A list of lines he would cross. What he would do to people he was supposed to care about in order to win . What corners would he cut, what would he sacrifice, who would he hurt and how.

Kaoruko Awata had been watching since she arrived this morning. Apparently she had missed the first big raid the villain team had done last night, and she’d missed the elimination of the entire Class B (the whole class?), but she didn’t need to see that to know what her report would be. 

Midoriya Izuku was kind. Kaoruko Awata would report on his compassion and care, the respect he treated his opponents with, the caution he exercised to keep everyone safe. 

She wouldn’t leave out the brutality of his attacks: cornering Ingenium’s little brother in an alley with a sword, the setting in which Ingenium had been crippled; setting fire to a teammate’s hair (during their big raid) in order to place an enemy at a disadvantage in their fight; blowing up the cafeteria of the hero agencies so they wouldn’t have food for the duration of the exercise. Midoriya was intense, severe. His actions were carefully calculated to cause the most harm at the least risk to himself. He was cold when he faced his classmates; he didn’t smile, he didn’t show anything on his face.

And he spent at least half an hour in the apartment he used as a base after every time he had to interact with the hero team, curled up and crying. He would rock back and forth and mutter apologies no one could hear (Nezu had honoured Midoriya’s request: a sign sitting in the middle of the camera’s view asking if Nezu would please turn off the sound from the cameras while he was crying). He clearly felt horrible everytime he hurt his friends. 

Midoriya went so far out of his way to make sure he didn’t cause any long term damage. He could have let Uravity hang by her throat and left. Ectoplasm was standing by. Instead, Midoriya had used a harness so Uravity wouldn’t suffer any damage to her neck other than bruising. He’d timed the strangulation, ensuring it didn’t go long enough to cause harm. He’d manipulated the environment to make it seem Uravity was passing out before she truly would have been, and used a tiny dose of sleeping gas to make her think she was actually dying of air loss. He’d had a crash pad waiting that he put under her as soon as she was strung up. He’d lowered her to the ground once the sleeping gas kicked in, and he’d made sure her vitals were all okay. Then he’d stood there watching over her until Ectoplasm came to carry her out. 

So. Midoriya was kind. He could perform cruelty for a short period of time. He was smart. He felt bad any time he hurt someone. But most of all, Midoriya was extra. Kaoruko Awata would tell Sir Nighteye as much, that he was extra, did things he didn’t need to to make a point, that he would be a great fit at their agency if Sir was thinking of giving him a work study offer.

Kaoruko Awata settled in to watch the rest of the exercise, looking forward to whatever extravagant plans Midoriya had for the rest of his classmates.

Chapter Text

Hanta hadn’t ever expected to last very long against Midoriya. He was terrifying at the best of times. In a good way, obviously. Hanta had genuinely meant it when he voted for Midoriya as the most heroic of all of them. And he would do it again, even after…that.

“Why didn’t you expect to last long against him?” the UA therapist asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Hanta asked. “It’s Midoriya. He’s a genius. He’s at the top of the class physically and academically.”

“And this led you to doubt yourself?”

“No.” 

Of course not. Doubting yourself because you knew Midoriya was stronger than you was like being embarrassed you had an accent when you spoke your third language. Sure, some people could learn to drop their own accents to learn new ones, but most people just couldn’t do that. And yeah, some people in their class were freakishly smart and strong and people Hanta was extremely glad to usually have on hir side, but not everyone could be a titan or heavy hitter. Hanta was practical enough to know he didn’t fall into those kinds of categories.

“Then why allow yourself to take up a negative view of the confrontation before it even began?”

“Not negative.” 

Hanta wouldn’t let hirself get negative about this.

“Just. Realistic. I’ve got enough experience to know when I’m hopelessly outclassed.”

Kids on the train calling out “Don’t worry about it” weeks after the Sports Festival was over, being buried in a glacier, constant tiny explosions reminding hir and everyone else of the demolitive power that could be released from those hands with only a moment’s notice, green sparks and a feral grin covering broken bones that were never enough to keep their owner down. Hanta lived with the will-be titans of the industry.

“What did it feel like?” the therapist asked. “Coming face to face with someone you believed capable of rendering you helpless?”

“Capable?” Hanta asked.

~

Hanta couldn’t move. He struggled but couldn’t free hirself. There were solid ropes beneath hir own tape, straps and metal cord that would support hir weight without damaging hir, but that he also couldn’t rip, couldn’t snap, couldn’t cut, couldn’t break free from.

He couldn’t move.

Dangling above a pit of spikes as he was, this was a bad thing. And a fire was set to burn through the rope supporting hir above it. It was a thick rope, but not so thick it wouldn’t burn through eventually. He would be missed when he didn’t check in at the half hour, but not so soon that hir teammates would have time to save hir. Not with all the traps Midoriya had laid about the area. No one who was left would be able to reach hir fast enough. The only one who could have, the only one able who’d been left standing when Celophane had gone out for night time patrol, was Koda, Anima, and there weren’t any animals in the city big enough to lift a person’s weight. Not that it mattered, as Anima had been hir patrol partner and even the odd owl who had taken up roost in the fake city hadn't been able to give them warning of Midoriya’s approach.

Hanta was stuck. He couldn’t move. Hir patrol partner had been shot. And there was no way back up was coming in time to save hir.

Hanta had no further options. He looked down and stared hir death in the face.

~

“Midoriya wasn’t just capable of rendering me helpless,” Hanta said. “He did . I couldn’t move, couldn’t use my quirk, couldn’t call for help, nothing. I was completely helpless.”

“Sero-kun, I’m here to help you work past that victim mentality.”

Hanta understood why he couldn’t see Hound Dog. Koda had gotten out just before he had (okay, it had been like half an hour), and right now the therapists were operating on a first-come-first-served basis. Hanta didn’t begrudge Koda getting to talk to Hound Dog, the therapist most of their class had picked after he handled their mandatory therapy sessions after the USJ. He was actually quite glad that hir quiet classmate would get to see the therapist Koda was comfortable with, who could for sure understand Koda, who could relate to Koda’s sometimes-mutism. (Selective-mutism? Something like that.)

“I am not experiencing victim mentality.” Hanta knew he wasn’t. Somehow he never did, even being put up against all these will-be titans he was learning alongside. Maybe because he had yet to be severely injured, or maybe because he hadn’t been the target of real bad guys yet. USJ had been scary, but he’d won and survived. Hanta wasn’t a victim, he was a survivor.

“Can you help me understand what you’re experiencing?” the therapist asked.

“Mm. Mostly I’m tired?” Hanta said. “I’d like to sleep for a day, but I also really don’t want to miss watching the rest of the exercise. And I’d like to know what happened to get Bakugo out.”

“I’m hearing you’ll feel better once you see that someone you consider a friend lost the same way you did,” she said.

“No,” Hanta said. “Bakugo got separated from his patrol partner the first night and never came back. None of the heroes who aren’t out yet know what happened. Even Koda couldn’t find any animals who were able to tell Koda what happened. And Mido somehow took out the cameras, so we can’t look it up either. So I’m curious.”

“Sero-kun,” the therapist said. “I can’t help you if you won’t be honest with yourself.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Hanta said. “I lost. Tada. It’s an exercise. I wasn’t hurt or harmed.”

“You were strung up above a pit of spikes and left to fall,” the therapist said.

“Well. Technically , yeah.”

“Technically?”

~

“This won’t hurt you. It will just look like it for the people coming after you. You’ll be fully safe the whole time. And Ectoplasm-Sensei is monitoring from that window. He’ll intervene if he thinks I’ve gone too far, or if you start having a panic attack or other trouble breathing.”

~

“I was actually safe the whole time,” Hanta said. “There wasn’t any real danger. It was an exercise.”

“It’s important to deal with the impact of exercises so you have the ability to handle real events later on.”

“I don’t think any real villains are going to reassure me while they string me up,” Hanta said.

“Can you expand on that?” she asked. “What do you mean by ‘reassure’?”

~

“The only adhesive attached to your skin is your own tape. Everything else is attached to your costume or isn’t adhesive. It’s too strong for you to pull out of, and it won’t drop you. It won’t let you fall. No matter what the set up looks like. You won’t fall.”

~

“Midoriya told me what he was doing,” Hanta said. “He made sure I knew I was safe, that it was just an exercise, that he wasn’t going to actually hurt me.”

“He hurt your classmates,” the therapist said. “You couldn’t have known he intended to leave you unharmed. And even the ones he didn’t physically harm had to deal with any emotional consequences of the events once they were out.”

“I don’t have specific exploitable triggers like that,” Sero said. “I’ve been lucky. I’ve been out of the line of fire for most of the big things our class has dealt with.”

“I’m hearing you say you’re experiencing survivor’s guilt left over from other situations you’ve been in, and that’s keeping you from expressing your true feelings about this event.”

Hanta sighed.

“If I’m wrong, feel free to correct me,” the therapist said.

“You’re wrong,” Hanta said.

“Can you explain what you do mean?”

“Midoriya made sure I would be okay and told me everything he’d done to make sure,” Hanta said. 

~

“It’s not real spikes below you. If all three back up mechanisms fail and Ectoplasm-Sensei doesn’t catch you, you’ll land in the foam pit. It’s two meters deep below the spikes for safety, and you’re nowhere near high enough for terminal velocity. I haven’t given you enough slack to swing yourself, but just incase four separate systems give out and Ectoplasm-Sensei misses you and whoever finds you sets you to swinging first, the very worst that could happen if you somehow hit the ground-ground is landing really really weird and breaking your arm, something Recovery Girl can fix no problem.”

~

“And you believed him?” the therapist asked.

“Of course I did,” Hanta said. “It’s Midoriya.”

“Midoriya is the villain of the exercise,” the therapist said. “I hope I don’t have to be the one to tell you that villains lie.”

Hanta rolled hir eyes. “Of course villains lie. So do heroes and civilians. But this is Midoriya we’re talking about.”

The therapist sighed, and Hanta reminded hirself that he was glad Koda got to talk to Hound Dog. Even if this was the most useless conversation he’d had since before Denki figured out how to avoid overloading their brain.

“Why does this change the role he was given to play in the exercise?”

“Because if Midoriya was a villain, he would be an honest villain,” Hanta said. “We discussed it as a class minus Midoriya and Shinso.” 

The therapist didn’t respond.

“After Jiro heard the class B villains discussing how much they were struggling with their villain personas.”

Still no answer.

“And Jiro said how she’d never realized that Midoriya had the hardest part of the exercise on top of having the hardest part of the exercise. Which…makes more sense as an explanation if you heard the conversation. So at the movie night we worked together to figure out villain personas for the whole class. Just basic ones, right.”

She still wasn’t saying anything. 

“Like Yaomomo would be a villain who crashed an economy by creating a bunch of things and selling them cheap or giving them away. Or she could make money to do it to the whole economy at once. Or Koda could run a massive information and spying network.”

That was probably enough examples, even if the therapist didn’t have anything to say about it.

“And we all agreed that Midoriya would be an honest villain if he was a villain,” Hanta said.

They’d actually decided that Villain Midoriya would wield truth like a weapon and cause the collapse of society. And honestly, Hero Midoriya was probably going to do the same thing, only slower. Possibly with less violence, maybe.

“So you think he didn’t lie during the exercise,” the therapist said.

“He didn’t.”

“When he took out the class B students, he—”

“He didn’t lie to me,” Hanta said.

Midoriya probably also hadn’t lied to anyone, only twisted the truth a bit, performed a logical ruse the students from class B wouldn’t be used to or expecting. Hanta didn’t say that, though.

“How can you be certain that—”

“If you can think of something he said to me that was a lie, then please,” Hanta said. “I’m listening. But since you can’t, can we be done?”

“Sero-kun, you haven’t yet expressed any reaction to the exercise,” she said.

“Reaction?” Hanta asked. “What kind of reaction? I mean, I screamed when I thought I was falling.”

~

He knew it was foam. He knew there were three failsafes and Ectoplasm-sensei was watching.

When the candle flame (that no one could put out, that no one could get to with all the traps in place) burnt through the rope holding hir up, Hanta dropped. He screamed. The systems had failed, he was falling, he was—

The drop was half a meter at most before it stopped. He felt foolish now. Of course it had dropped hir some . There had to be some kind of consequence when the time was up and the rope burnt through. There had to be some kind of marker telling the heroes they’d failed.

“It’s okay, Celophane,” Pinky said. “The system failed. We’re getting closer. We’ll get you down from there.”

Hanta opened hir mouth to explain that Midoriya had put safety measures in place to keep hir from actually falling, so that probably counted as a death and he was probably out now.

Before he got more than two words out, he was gasping for breath, winded. Red paint was splattered across hir chest. He’d been shot in the diaphragm. Midoriya had shot hir (with the compressed paint, with the paint gun). He was dead (according to the exercise).

Now dead for sure, Hanta stopped trying to talk (kept trying to breathe). Dead people weren’t allowed to talk to tell their classmates about the exercise they were in. Not even to give warning.

Three more heroes were shot.

An Ectoplasm-sensei clone led each of them out of the exercise.

~

“What is your emotional response to the exercise?” she asked.

“I do not have one,” Hanta said, trying to be very clear. “It was an exercise. It was not real. I hope I passed.”

“Are you worried you won’t pass because of how you got out?”

“No, Aizawa-Sensei is a fair grader. Everyone’s grades will take into account that we were up against Midoriya.”

“It sounds like you’re placing your classmate on a bit of a pedestal,” the therapist said.

That one actually gave Hanta pause. Midoriya was an unattainable ideal, like All Might. Everyone in the class looked up to him, except maybe Bakugo (who was probably incapable of looking up to anyone but All Might). Even Todoroki—who was probably the next closest to being on Midoriya’s level—seemed to revere or maybe venerate Midoriya.

But they’d also seen him bloody and battered. They’d seen him with broken bones and high-out-of-his-mind on pain meds. Plus he was so kind and friendly. He was very much approachable, on the same level as the rest of them. He was always ready to help, and he cried super easy, and he often got embarrassed and turned bright red or tripped over his words. Sometimes he would get lost in thought and go back to muttering (a habit he’d apparently been working on breaking for years now) during class. He was compassionate and powerful and brilliant. Midoriya was a person, just like the rest of them. Midoriya was the unattainable ideal they all strove to reach. And he strove alongside them.

“Midoriya is confusing,” Hanta finally said as a response. 

“How so?”

Hanta grinned. “How long do you have?”

Chapter Text

Tsu didn’t plan to be a villain apprehension hero. Not because she couldn’t fight, she could, but because water-based heroes were often primarily involved in rescues. That did not mean that Tsu couldn’t fight, or that she wouldn’t when she needed to. But her patrols would be more about rescuing people than reducing villain activities. She knew from her internship with Selkie that water-based teams needed a lot of trust and teamwork and communication. The ocean was a force of nature, and no one could fight it. It was unpredictable. You did your best to be prepared for the unthinkable and you hoped it never happened. And when it did, you did your best to save anything you could and get to safety. 

Midoriya was like a force of nature: powerful, unpredictable, uncontrollable. Like the sea. His calm held hidden depths and his storms were insurmountable. Facing him alone was foolish, asking to drown. Even together a team could never conquer the ocean, only survive.

So yeah. Midoriya was terrifying. Coming face to face with him while she was alone—Tsukoyomi was lying on the ground watching but they were out so they couldn’t help—was scary. The calm on Midoriya’s face as he spun the paint gun he’d used to shoot Tsukoyomi was unnerving. 

The “agency” they worked from for the exercise came with information on the villains they were facing. Files on Midoriya and on the class B team. The files had information like:

Alias: Battle Fist

Quirk: Hand Growth

Modus Operandi: Inflicts damage on civilians and property. No clear goal established.

Allies: Thought to be collaborating with other local villains.

Appearance: Orange hair, teal eyes.

Additional information: Possibly the leader of a group of local villains.

Kendo’s file had also included two pictures under physical description, one in her “villain” outfit—her hero costume—and one in civilian clothes. The class B files had all been similar. 

Midoriya’s file had been different. 

Alias: Deku

Quirk: unknown

Modus operandi: unknown

Allies: unknown

Appearance: unknown

Additional information: Ranged attacks, often lethal. No one assumed to have seen Deku has lived long enough to give a description.

There was no accompanying image.

That was the information they’d been given to start with. 

Since then, the only thing they’d been able to add to the file on Deku was his kills. If Tsu survived she would add a description. But he was right there in front of her. She wouldn’t survive.

“Hello, Froppy,” Deku said.

“You’re Deku,” she stated. Her com was picking up sound, broadcasting to HQ. Any information she could get from him would still be helpful for her team.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It would be rude not to introduce myself to the leader of the team of so-called heroes that moved into my area.”

“You’ve been killing us, kero.”

“And you’ve all been making it much easier than I anticipated,” Deku said.

“Why are you killing us?” Tsu asked.

“What better way to make my point?”

“What is your point?” Tsu asked.

Midoriya’s smile was usually reassuring. This grin was not .

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

Tsu didn’t let herself freeze. Every moment she kept him talking was more information, was another moment closer to rescue.

“You haven’t left anyone alive,” she pointed out. “No one has been able to bring word back. Anything you’ve told them was lost with them.”

“I suppose so,” Deku said. “I’ll have to remedy that. It wouldn’t be fair if the opposition doesn’t know why I’m playing.”

“Just a few more minutes, Froppy.” Creati’s voice over the radio. “We’re closing on your position.”

“You’re treating it like a game, kero,” Tsu said. She put a finger to her mouth. “But people don’t come back once you kill them, so it’s really not a game.”

“Of course it is,” Deku said. “And that’s why I’m playing, after all.”

“Because you think it’s a game?” Tsu asked. 

“No.” The laugh was not a nice laugh. “Because I want to win .”

He’d raised his gun then, and Tsu had flinched. There had been two clicks against the pavement, and when Tsu had opened her eyes Deku had been gone.

When the back up found her, Tsu was still standing there, staring at the ground where Deku had been. She didn’t touch the memory stick he left behind. She just stared until Mezo snapped her out of it. 

Tsu updated the file on Deku when they got back to the agency. 

Alias: Deku

Quirk: unknown. Possibly a form of invisibility or mobility as he vanished in a few seconds.

Modus Operandi: to kill heroes

Allies: unknown

Appearance: Green hair and eyes. Freckles. Estimated 165 cm height. Wearing black clothing, see attached sketch.

Additional information: Uses a gun. See attached audio file. He wants to win.

Chapter Text

“Shouto-kun,” Hound Dog said. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Before we get started, is there anything you’d like to start with?”

“No.”

“Alright, Shouto-kun. What emotional response do you think would be anticipated after your experiences in the exercise?”

Shouto had known that was going to be the first question. He’d thought it through while Ectoplasm-sensei escorted him here. 

“Stress, fear, exhaustion, and confusion.”

“Excellent,” Hound Dog said. “Those are four possible emotional responses. Can you walk me through how you reached those answers?”

“The exercise is worth thirty percent of our final grade in Foundational Heroics,” Shouto said. “The high stakes add to the stress generated by the nature of group projects.”

“Alright.”

“Fear of failure, either of failing the exercise or of punishments for failing and the pain the punishments cause.”

“Insightful.”

“When our numbers were reduced we were required to have longer shifts,” Shouto continued. “Long periods of time with survival mode active drains you, hence the exhaustion.”

Hound Dog nodded.

“And confusion could come from having to fight Midoriya.”

“Why would fighting Midoriya be confusing?” Hound Dog asked.

“Because Midoriya is always correct.”

“Always?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Hound Dog said. “Do you feel that those possible emotional responses match with your actual emotional response?”

“No.”

“Do you currently have words to describe your emotional response?”

“No,” Shouto said.

“How do you think we would best be able to find those words in this situation?” Hound Dog asked.

What could Shouto do to find the words to describe his emotional response to the exercise. What had worked before for finding words?

“Talking it through slowly,” Shouto said. “If we find possible responses for each event, some of them might work to describe my response.”

Like after Kamino. Shoto had worked through everything that happened and found several emotional responses that correlated with what he was experiencing. It worked before, it could work again.

“In that case, Shouto-kun, please take me through your experiences in the exercise.”

Shoto nodded and began to recount his experiences, beginning on the first night, after they’d moved in, arranged schedules and patrol routes, and gone through available information on local villains.

The attack came after dark. Shouto had been partnered with Sugar Rush and Cellophane for night patrol. There was a Class B patrol group in the area as well, two heroes to a patrol in their case. When the call came, patrol was abandoned in favour of providing backup. Shouto had been going to request more specific directions than ‘the park by the agency,’ but they saw the fire. Cellophane and Sugar Rush had told him to go ahead; he would be the most helpful in putting the fire out.

The park near the agency was, in fact, in flames. Tsukuyomi was battling the fire-strands whipping out of the blaze and managing, despite their weakness to light, to keep the fire from spreading beyond the park.

Shouto iced the whole park over.

“Frost Fire.” 

Tentacole and Froppy were running patrols for the night shift. Shouto didn’t know where Froppy was, but as her lieutenant Tentacole spoke for her.

“Melt the ice. There were people in the fire.”

Shouto nodded and began to melt the ice. Ectoplasm-sensei arrived before Shouto found the first person: one of the Class B heroes, Comicman.

“Comicman was paired with Tsukoyomi and KEM,” Tentacole said. “Tsukoyomi is accounted for. At least one villain is in the ice. Three possible casualties.”

“KEM can blast himself out of my ice,” Shouto contributed. “He won’t be in the park.”

KEM wasn’t there, but Comicman was hospitalized for burns, frostbite, and hypothermia, and a villain was declared dead on scene. Ectoplasm-Sensei carried both of them out of the exercise and to Recovery Girl.

KEM was not found. In the morning the agency received a police report that his body had been found. Shouto volunteered to be the one to go to the scene and ID the body as well as review any evidence the police bots had gathered.

“I acted carelessly,” Shouto said. “I put the fire out but I caused two casualties, one of them a fatality. I didn’t check in with the team on the ground before getting involved.”

Hound Dog nodded. “A common rookie mistake. Though one might also argue that by putting out the fire and keeping it from spreading you saved more lives than you endangered.”

Shouto thought about that. “Fire is dangerous,” he concluded.

“That is not the point,” Hound Dog said. “The point is that one danger had the potential to spread if left unchecked and the other was in a defined and controlled space.”

“Oh,” Shouto said. “Because there might have been more people in the building next to the park.”

“Yes,” Hound Dog said. “That’s the sort of thing you’ll go over in your ethics class with Aizawa-San at the beginning of next semester.”

“Okay.” Shouto would make a note of it. 

“What emotions might be attached to the event you just described?”

“Anger,” Shouto said.

“Why?”

“I failed to check in with—”

“Your own emotions, Shouto-kun. Not the ones you think might be held by others.”

“Oh.” He had to pause to think about that then. How to identify his own emotions…

“Remember that how our bodies respond can help us determine how our minds feel,” Hound Dog said after Shouto had failed to reply for seven minutes. “What was your physical experience during the event and afterward?”

“When we got the call my heart sped up,” Shouto said. “But we also began running.”

“Okay.”

“When Tentacole told me there were people in the ice, my face got warm and I got a headache, but that could have been because I began to use my fire side to melt the ice.”

“Alright.” Hound Dog nodded.

“When Ectoplasm-sensei said both individuals I’d frozen were eliminated,” Shouto said, “it felt as though my body got lighter. My ears and eyes stopped working very well. As well, when Tentacole shook me to get my attention, he asked if I was alright.”

“That sounds like dissociation,” Hound Dog said.

“Dissociation,” Shouto repeated. “That’s what Midoriya uses when he goes to the hospital or nurse’s office.”

It wasn’t quite a sigh, but Hound Dog took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “Dissociation,” he said, “is when you remove your consciousness from your immediate surroundings. You lose awareness of what’s happening around you. That’s why Tentacole had to shake you to get your attention.”

Shouto frowned. “That seems unproductive and dangerous for hero work.”

“It can be,” Hound Dog agreed. “Dissociation often starts as a defense mechanism, a means of escaping from something you can’t escape from physically.”

“Oh.” Yeah. Shouto knew where that came from. Thanks a lot dad. “I dissociated when I found out I’d caused two casualties.”

“Yes.”

“Is dissociation an emotion?” Shouto asked.

“No,” Hound Dog said. “It is a defense mechanism that is often used as a maladaptive coping mechanism.”

Shouto nodded. “I dissociate frequently. This will be a risk in the field and make me a liability. How do I keep it from happening again?”

Chapter Text

They didn’t get back to discussing the exercise during that session, and Hound Dog had a rule (maybe it was UA’s rule) about sessions not going more than two hours. Shouto went to the cafeteria (escorted by Ectoplasm-sensei) and ate cold soba. He went on a brief walk outdoors (“Fresh air and sunlight are so good for you, Shouto! They help your brain make the chemicals you need to be happy”). An hour after he’d left Hound Dog’s office, he entered it again and sat down on his preferred couch.

“Hello, Shouto-kun,” Hound Dog said. “Welcome back. Did you have a chance to destress during our break?”

Shouto shrugged. He’d completed the recommended activities but he didn’t know that he felt any different.

“Earlier you were telling me that you volunteered to ID KEM’s body on the second morning of the exercise.”

“Yes.” Shouto had been going through events from the exercise and using physical clues to pick out emotions he may have experienced. “Froppy sent me with Red Riot. The police bots gave us the evidence and showed us the fabricated remains representing what KEM would have left behind if he had actually died rather than just being eliminated. Red Riot threw up in a trash can. There was no helpful evidence and no recording available because the cameras that would have been on scene played static while KEM was eliminated. We returned to the agency and reported to Froppy.”

Hound Dog nodded. “Why might Red Riot have thrown up?”

Shouto recalled the scene to the forefront of his mind. “The remains were very authentic-looking. UA does not shrink from providing realism.”

“Can you describe how your body reacted when you were shown the supposed remains?”

Shouto nodded. “I felt similar to when Natsou beat me in a watermelon eating contest.”

“Okay,” Hound Dog said. “Nauseous, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Shouto allowed.

“Nausea can be a response to things our bodies find disgusting or potentially dangerous.”

Shouto considered. “The remains could be considered disgusting. I may have been nauseous.”

“Okay. Was there anything else noteworthy about your time at the police station?”

“No.”

“Alright. What about when you returned to the agency building?”

“We gave our report and entered the information into the database,” Shouto said. “After that we were relieved of duty until the cafeteria blew up.”

“Okay,” Hound Dog said. “Tell me about the cafeteria explosion.”

“I was asleep. I woke when the first explosion went off. The first explosion took place across the street from the agency building. All heroes active in the area or agency went out to look at it while those active further out maintained their patrols and those on stand-by moved forward to active positions within the agency. As I am able to handle fires and have limited resistance to fire, I put on my costume and crossed the street to assist with the fire. Seven civilian-bots were rescued from the fire and taken to the hospital by paramedic-bots. Twelve other civilian-bots left the building without major injury. Once EarJack confirmed that there were no civilian-bots remaining in the building, I iced it over and began to melt the ice. 

“This is when the second, third, and fourth explosions took place. The second was in the same building and sent ice flying in the blast. I was able to put up walls to block the majority of the pieces from hitting or crushing anyone, as melting the ice would have produced hot water or steam which could have caused more dangerous injuries than crushing. The third explosion took place down the street in a business that was closed that day. EarJack confirmed it was empty and I iced it over. The fourth explosion occurred farther away. At this time, the reserve members of the agency moved to outward positions and the heroes who had been off duty moved to active duty within the agency. 

“Six individuals remained in the building four minutes later when the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth explosions occurred. The fifth through eighth were small explosions placed in such a way as to cause the most structural damage possible to the agency cafeteria. The ninth explosion took place moments after the eighth and was a larger blast, likely intended to cause fire and to bring down the unstabilized areas around it. I iced the agency portion of the explosions and left them before continuing to melt the ice at the first two explosion sites as per my previous instructions. All heroes previously in patrol were diverted to various explosions throughout the arena. One individual remained in the damaged agency to access and distribute useful information such as hero status and explosion locations. 

“After the twelfth explosion, I was instructed to rendezvous with Uravity and Ingenium who would facilitate my transport between fire locations. We were tasked as the fire extinguishing team. All other heroes were assigned to evacuation and suppression. My instructions were to use my fire as necessary to maintain my own equilibrium but to otherwise not concern myself with melting the ice. I met my team nearly at the site of the nearest explosion and they grabbed me.”

“Can you expand on that?” Hound Dog asked.

“It’s a new team move we have been practicing,” Shouto said. “Midoriya calls it Light-Speed Transport.”

“I see. I believe I can guess approximately what the move is based on that information. Thank you, Shouto. Please continue.”

Shouto nodded. “When we received confirmation from the heroes on the ground at each scene that the affected areas were free of civilians, we froze the fires and went to the next scene. There were a total of eighteen explosions at thirteen different places across the cityscape. We put eleven of the thirteen resulting fires out. One the civilian evacuation team was able to put out after extracting all civilian bots. The last was put out by the civilian firefighter bots in conjunction with civilian extraction heroes before the fire suppression team could arrive.”

“Did any part of this series of events stand out to you in particular?”

“Series of events?”

“Multiple explosions, multiple teams.”

“Thirteen concurrent fire disasters caused by eighteen sequential explosions is not coincidental,” Shouto said. “It may have appeared to be multiple explosions, but there was only one instigator.”

“Alright then,” Hound Dog said. “Then did any part of the event stand out to you more than other parts?”

Shouto thought. “I was not expecting the first explosion. Or the second one.”

“You expected the other sixteen?”

“They were at that point obvious possibilities,” Shouto said. “Why stop with two explosions if you didn’t stop at one.”

“A bomber might only have so many explosives,” Hound Dog pointed out.

“True.” Shouto conceded that. But… “But it was Midoriya.”

“Oh? How did you discover that?”

Shouto shook his head. “It was obvious after the fifth explosion. No one else would lure the majority of us out of the agency building before attacking the building itself. The villain’s most logical goal for the exam, as far as the hero teams guessed, is to eliminate the heroes. But Midoriya took care to draw us out before destroying a large portion of our agency building. None of the heroes from our class were hurt or injured during this event. No one from our class was lost.”

“Why do you believe this was?”

“Midoriya needed us out of the way,” Shouto said. “Occupied, not eliminated. He set off eighteen explosions, one for each of us. He needed us occupied and stretched thin when he made his move on the Class B agency.”

“Would you consider his move on the Class B agency to be part of the same event as the explosions?” Hound Dog asked.

“No,” Shouto said. “It happened at the same time but we didn’t learn about it until after.”

“How did you learn of it?” Hound Dog asked.

“Froppy radioed the Class B agency to request support in de-icing the buildings. Potentially from Spiral, Rule, Mudman, and Phantom Thief. There was no response so she sent a team to check on them. They returned shortly after I went off shift.

“Can’t Stop Twinkling and Uravity did not speak and were escorted to what remained of our medical wing. Prism and Anima gave report, more Anima than Prism. Anima reported that the other heroes who had been sent to check on the Class B Agency were likely in shock. Prism described the scene as horrible and breathtaking in a recognizable and terrible way. Anima said he hadn’t looked at it. He had been distracted by a bird who had questions about the ice and had stopped to answer so that the local bird community as a whole would have answers available. He reported that he had pulled the others back and commandeered a police car when Can’t Stop Twinkling and Uravity couldn’t walk and Prism wouldn’t speak. Pinky and Tail Man were brought in to provide emotional support for Can’t Stop Twinkling and Prism respectively. I was paired with Uravity.”

“Would you mind my asking about how you provided emotional support for Uravity?”

“No.”

Hound Dog nodded. “How did you provide emotional support for Uravity?”

“The three pairs formed a cuddle group, which is different from a cuddle pile.”

“How are they different?” Hound Dog asked.

“A cuddle group is designed to benefit specifically half of the participants,” Shouto said. “There are assigned pairs in a cuddle group, though the pairings may shift as the group proceeds. A cuddle pile can be formed of an odd or even number of participants, can involve initially unwilling participants, and they may be to aid any number of the participants, including all or none.”

“I see,” Hound Dog said. “Why do you think cuddle groups help people?”

“Proximity to those you trust to defend you in the event you are unable to defend yourself,” Shouto said.

“Why were you selected to be paired with Uravity?”

“Habitual proximity,” Shouto said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I am frequently in the same spaces as Uravity and often assist with cuddle piles she initiates, primarily those targeted at Midoriya or Iida, though Shinso has also become one of her targets.”

“I see. You are a part of their support networks.”

Shouto looked at his hands. He looked out the window. He looked at Hound Dog. “What.”

“Cuddle groups and cuddle piles work to provide emotional support, right?”

“Yes.”

“You have a connection with these people where you assist with cuddle groups or piles to support them and they would assist with a cuddle group or pile to support you,” Hound Dog said. “You are not made uncomfortable by these people when they provide you with emotional support, correct?”

Shouto thought a moment. “That’s not correct.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Shinso has very pointy elbows, and Midoriya kicks in his sleep, and one time Uraraka floated us up to the roof and when she woke up we fell and I landed on Iida’s engines.”

Hound Dog coughed with a hand in front of his face. He turned his head to the side. “Yes, well. I suppose such incidents are unavoidable.”

Shouto nodded.

“What emotions do you think Uravity was experiencing when you were her assigned partner in the cuddle group?” Hound Dog asked.

“Surprise.”

“Why?”

“Because she didn’t expect Midoriya to eliminate the Class B Heroes so quickly and ruthlessly.”

“Alright,” Hound Dog said. “What about her actions or behaviour let you guess that she was surprised or shocked?”

“Her eyebrows make a particular shape when she frowns because she is surprised by something Midoriya does.”

“That is an excellent observation,” Hound Dog said. “Facial expressions are very good indicators of emotions, and eyebrows in particular can have a lot of nuance.”

Shouto nodded. “For example, when Aizawa-sensei is about to throw Yamada-Sensei out a door or window, his left eyebrow twitches.”

Hound Dog nodded. “Yes. Twitches can be useful tells or hints. Can you think of any other physical hints that might suggest any emotions you had connected to the cuddle group?”

“The specific one or in general?” Shouto asked.

“Let’s say the specific one for now, but we can discuss in general next week if you’d like.”

Shouto nodded and tried to think. “Is physical contact an emotion?”

“It is strongly related to several emotions,” Hound Dog said. “In this instance, do you think the physical contact is connected to a positive emotion or a negative emotion?”

“Positive.”

“Excellent,” Hound Dog said. “You’re saying you believe you had positive emotions attached to the physical contact from the cuddle group.”

“Yes,” Shouto said.

“Positive feelings commonly associated with physical contact can include safety, warmth, inclusion, reassurance, community, stability, affection, love, care, comfort, belonging, pra—”

“Belonging.”

Hound Dog nodded.

Shouto understood that he didn’t have all of the words needed to be able to explain emotions or feelings. When Hound Dog began a list such as this, he was meant to interrupt whenever he heard a word that meant something similar to what he might have felt.

“Being selected to be Uraraka’s partner for the cuddle group gave you a sense of belonging.”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”