Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being told by his idol that he can be a hero was the greatest thing that had ever happened in Midoriya Izuku’s life. In fact, it was so incredible and amazing that it compelled him to do something that experience had taught him from an early age to never, ever do.

He asked his teacher a question.

“H-hey, All Might…”

“Yes, my boy?”

“C-can you please teach me about how One For All works? So when you g-give it to me, I’ll know what to expect? I… I want to be ready!”

That had been the start of it. A simple question, and the realization by Yagi Toshinori, known to the world as the pro hero All Might, that he didn’t really have an answer to give.

Don’t get things wrong: he had tried his best to give a good answer. But his words had sounded absurd even to him. Between the two of them, with Toshinori explaining and the boy trying to follow along, the best he had been able to come up with was to imagine you’re an egg in a microwave, being heated evenly from the inside out, and try not to explode.

An egg in a microwave? Really? He’s the Number 1 Hero, not just in Japan but in the whole world. He’s widely considered to be the world’s mightiest superhuman, perhaps even the strongest of all time. Was that the best metaphor he could manage?

Young Midoriya, bless his fanboy heart, had hung onto his words like they were some immense wisdom being handed down from on high. Toshinori had been in many embarrassing moments since he began his career as a pro hero, most of them unfortunately caught on camera, but he had never felt more embarrassed and stupid than he did at that moment.

The fact that the boy was so earnest and trusting somehow made it worse. He actually would have preferred if the child had been skeptical and sarcastic. He should have been laughed at for his half-baked attempts to explain how his transferable superpower, One For All, worked. Instead, the boy had pulled out a scrap of paper and written it down.

Maybe it was just his own nerves getting to him. Or that dull, creeping exhaustion, the tiredness that sleep couldn’t fix he’d been feeling ever since he had sustained his major injury six years ago fighting the quirk-stealing supervillain, All For One. But somehow, the realization that he didn’t have an answer hit him so much harder that he ever thought it would.

He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t. It was his quirk, his power, it had become his the moment Shimura Nana, his own mentor, had passed it on to him. One For All was the only superpower, or ‘quirk,’ in the world that could be passed on and given away, an inheritable strength that had kept the world safe for generations. A power that became stronger each time the torch was passed from master to student. He had carried it for 40 years, which was longer than any other previous user had ever held it. So he should be able to answer questions about how it worked. Shouldn’t he?

He had cherished One For All as the last gift from a woman who had been a second mother to him. He had cherished it the way that only an angry, broken, quirkless teenager could. In a world where over 80% of humanity was born with some sort of superhuman ability, Yagi Toshinori had been born quirkless. Born without power.

But even though he was powerless, he had become sick to death of the fear and terror that filled society in those days. Organized crime and villainy had seized the throat of the world, and the heroes and law enforcement of his childhood had struggled to form any real response or counter. Every night there were gunshots and screams. People huddled in the illusionary safety of their homes after dark, praying that they wouldn’t be next.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He wouldn’t stand for it. It was his resolution to become a living deterrent of crime, a so-called Symbol of Peace… or die trying. But until that moment where he had received One For All, a part of him had already accepted that he absolutely would die trying. That he wouldn’t make it. That his dreams would kill him. He was a plucky kid without a quirk picking a fight with gangsters and organized criminals that had superpowers at their disposal. He knew what was going to happen to him. A shallow, unmarked grave on the side of the road was his final destination. His headstone would be a missing person’s report on page 10 of the papers.

And Toshinori had made his peace with that. It was the hill he chose to die on, and he was willing to die for it. In a way, his career as a quirkless Symbol of Peace would be his own essay against a bitter and broken world. And it could probably uncharitably be called the longest and most elaborate suicide note in history. He knew that. He understood it. He accepted it.

Toshinori had been born powerless, and the only thing he had any control over was his own story and how it would end. He had control over what he would stand for, what he would put up with and tolerate... and what he wouldn’t. He had made his choices. He had made his peace with himself. He wasn’t afraid anymore.

And then Nana came. A pro hero. A person from that gilded, golden world of superpowers and superhumans that Toshinori had only ever been able to gaze longingly at through the window. And she told him that he didn’t have to die to make his dreams come true. And that wouldn’t have meant anything to an angry, depressed, borderline suicidal teenager, except she showed him a way to make it work.

She gave him the tools to build his impossible dream against all odds. And even though that changed nothing about his motives or his ideals, it changed everything. Because this story was no longer a tragedy, it didn’t have to be, and in his deepest heart of hearts, Toshinori had been crying, because he didn’t want it to end like that.

And suddenly, it didn’t have to.

That’s what One For All was to Toshinori. It was more than a sacred torch, or a gift from a dying mentor, or even a lifeline thrown to a drowning teenager. It was his entire life. He was a self-aware Don Quixote, a delusional knight chasing windmills looking to slay giants. He was fully aware of how stupid and suicidal it all was. But One For All had made slaying the giants that terrorized society possible. Toshinori had been prepared to die for his ideals. But Nana and One For All had shown him how to live for them instead.

And 40 years later, the world was a changed place. He was All Might, the most popular and famous hero in the world. He had done it. He had won. He was a living deterrent for crime worldwide. Don Quixote had won his war.

And yet, in spite of all of that, here he was, tripping over his own words on a polluted beach, realizing that even though he was entering the twilight of his own life and career as a hero, that he still didn’t really understand the power. This innocent, trusting child who would have to shoulder the weight of the world one day was asking him how to use One For All, and he simply did not have any answers to give.

Toshinori took a long breath before letting it out slowly, watching as his determined successor pushed dry-rotted tires up the beach towards the parking lot. This wasn’t working. He’d never taught anyone before in his life, children or adults, and his application to teach at UA, one of the most prestigious hero academies in the world, had been pushed through with the principal as a favor. It was to help find a suitable heir for One For All from among the student population. An heir he had already found. He wasn’t going there to teach because he was actually good at teaching. Quite frankly, he didn’t know what on earth he was doing when it came to teaching children and teens, and the conversation about how to use One For All was making his lack of talent in that area stark starkly obvious.

Toshinori could make a fitness schedule and diet plan just fine, he had a lifetime of experience at that. He’d even had recent refreshers, as he was forced to rebuild his own entire schedule and diet from scratch to recover enough from his crippling injury six years ago to still spend some time each day as All Might. He had the skills of a world class hero. He could be a gym coach, a personal trainer, and a fitness instructor. He could teach somebody how to handle the media, deal with hero paperwork, manage crisis situations, perform rescue heroism, and even use showmanship to their advantage in fights and on camera. He had spent 40 years being number one in an industry where most people retired after 20. He had a wealth of knowledge to share.

But it was the teaching part that was the problem. He simply had no real experience with it. And most of those skills were not things the boy needed right now. Right now, young Midoriya needed someone to teach him how to use One For All. And Toshinori didn’t have a clue how to pass that on. Using the strength and abilities of the quirk had just come naturally to him. From the moment he had received it, he was able to use it like it was second nature to him. As easy as breathing. But he knew that hadn’t been the case for Nana, she had told him it had taken her years to get a handle on it. And it probably wouldn’t be the case for young Izuku, either.

He wished it could be. He could tell himself that it’s because Nana had a quirk and he did not, he could argue with himself and say that Izuku also being quirkless meant he would also have no trouble using the power. But that excuse sounded weak and reckless even in his own head.

He had no idea how the quirk worked. Nobody really did. Not even All For One, and he had been the one responsible for it’s accidental creation centuries ago. Could Toshinori really gamble with the boy’s safety and future career on nothing more than a hunch?

And it got stronger with each generation. He knew that. At it’s heart, One For All was a strength stockpile, a collection of the physical strength and abilities of everyone who had ever held it. Even if someone only held it for a brief period of time before passing it on, it still doubled in strength at a bare minimum. If the quirk was actually used and the stockpile of strength got ‘exercise,’ then it would get even stronger, like a muscle that had no upper limit to it’s growth. Passing it on doubled it. Using it increased it’s strength. It only ever became more powerful, it never weakened or regressed.

Only two of the holders had ever been professional heroes, as far as he knew, and he was one of them. And between himself and Nana, he had used the quirk far more. In fact, he had probably exercised the quirk more during his 40 year tenure as a holder than any other previous user ever had. The next jump wasn’t going to be a doubling, a tripling, or even a quadrupling. It was going to be something much more dramatic. He could feel it.

His instincts told him that if young Midoriya could completely master even 10% of the true power he was going to inherit, that the boy would be a force that could match his own strength. And Toshinori had learned to trust his instincts.

But could he handle 10%? That was the question. And what were they going to do if he couldn’t?

The emaciated blonde knew what he needed to do. He just didn’t want to do it, is all.

But this wasn’t about him anymore, and he knew that. It stopped being about him the moment he made his choice. One For All stopped being Toshinori’s quirk the moment he made his choice earlier that week to train Izuku to inherit it, and this wasn’t about Toshinori’s wants or needs anymore. This was about Izuku, and what was best for him.

And when it came to teaching people how to use One For All, there was only one person alive who was really qualified. Shimura Nana’s best friend, and Toshinori’s own former home room teacher when he was a student at UA. The only man alive who had helped two different bearers of One For All adjust to their power. Third generation quirk expatriate from the Independent Republic of Texas, Sorahiko Torino, hero name Gran Torino.

In the background, Izuku was shoving a microwave into the back of the rental truck they were using to haul the trash. Toshinori did his very Plus Ultra best to try and stop his hand from shaking as he pulled out his phone and started dialing a number.

It rang five times before the other end picked up.

“H-hello?” the voice on the other end said, elderly and confused.

“Torino, it’s me, Toshinori.”

“Who? Who are you?”

“It’s Toshinori, Gran. You remember me.”

“I-I what? I’m sorry, I d-don’t know anybody by that name.” The voice was soft and sounded almost afraid. “Why are you calling me? Who is this?”

If anybody else had been putting on this kind of act, Toshinori might have rolled his eyes. Instead, he did his best to steady his nerves. Toshinori knew Torino and his often-vindictive pranks well enough to know that the other shoe was about to drop.

“It’s Toshinori, Gran. I’m calling you because I’ve found a successor. I need your help.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Then why the hell didn’t you lead with that from the start, you imbecile!”

Toshinori flinched at the volume of the voice coming through his phone, and reflexively glanced out over the beach to make sure no one could overhear it. Fortunately, Izuku was halfway down the shoreline grappling with a pile of garbage bags, and as far as he could see, the two of them were still alone.

“Gran, listen, I’m sorry, but-”

“Sorry my ass you ungrateful monkey! You never call! You never text! You never visit!”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been really busy with everything, and-”

“You leave everything I send you on read! I can understand ghosting that twit Mirai, after some of the fool things he’s said and done, but what the hell do you think you’re doing pulling that kind of stunt with me!”

Torino made it sound so easy. How was Toshinori supposed to explain to his old mentor that the man still terrified him?

“Listen, I can explain-”

“Can it, Toshi, if I wanted to listen to a gorilla stutter and make excuses I’d look up HeroTube videos of Endeavor's PR manager. Tell me one good thing and one bad thing about the kid you’ve picked.”

Something good and something bad about young Midoriya?

“W-well, he ran out into the street during a villain attack to save another student from being suffocated, even though he is quirkless. The heroes and police on the scene were ignoring the problem because none of them had a quirk that would allow them to easily solve the situation without getting their hands dirty. He has the spirit of a true hero!”

“Quirkless, huh? Interesting. And of course he has the spirit of a true hero, Toshi, if he didn’t you wouldn’t have picked him!” the voice on the other line replied, the sarcasm dripping through the phone. “You’re better than Mirai, I already know you’re choosing him for the right reasons. I’m asking you to tell me something about him I can’t just guess.”

Something Torino couldn’t guess that would be meaningful? Toshinori didn’t have to think very hard about that.

“He has Nana’s smile. And her compassion. I haven’t known him for very long, but from what little I’ve seen, the teenager he saved is some sort of childhood bully. After the incident was over, the bully confronted him. They both thought they were alone, but I was watching from a rooftop. The bully screamed at him, told him that he was a quirkless weakling and that they didn’t need any help, especially not from someone like him. And the kid smiled back. He ran out into the street to save somebody who hates him, and he did it with a smile. I’ve been faking it for my entire career, trying to imitate Nana as a homage. But his isn’t fake, he’s not imitating anybody. He has her smile.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “I see.” the voice said, oddly flat and emotionless.

And something bad about him? Well. Toshinori could pretend he didn’t see it, but pretending wouldn’t help young Midoriya. He needed to be honest if the kid was going to make any progress.

“But he has serious confidence issues. He doesn’t seem to have much self-value at all, and it’s not surprising, because like I said, he’s quirkless. I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s being bullied, the other kid outright said it. You and I are both on the same page about arrogant heroes, but he’s all the way on the very opposite end of that, he has no self-confidence at all. It’s going to be a problem that needs fixing.”

There was another long silence. Toshinori started to sweat. He had given the best and most honest answers he could, but years of training with the older hero had instilled a certain fear in him. A quiet Gran Torino was a dangerous Gran Torino.

“Text me the details of where you’re training the kid, and I’ll be there tomorrow. What’s his name?”

Toshinori let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Whatever test this was, it seems he and his boy had passed it.

“Izuku. His name is Midoriya Izuku.”

Izuku screamed bloody murder when he found the body.

Toshinori heaved a sigh when he heard the scream. Torino did this exact same stunt every single time he got new students. He vividly remembered his own first day at UA, when Torino had done this to his entire class. He had used a paper plate with sausage links covered in ketchup to fake being disemboweled, and allowed the class to find his ‘corpse.’ Torino called it situational awareness training.

Toshinori and the rest of his class had learned quickly that Torino’s sense of humor was an experience, and the best you could do was buckle up and endure it. ‘Situational awareness training’ was code for ‘being aggressively pranked and emotionally manipulated,’ and if you were lucky, fake dead bodies shoved into lockers and air vents, glitter bomb traps inside desks or under toilet seats, and surprise attacks during other normal classes (‘situational combat training’) were as bad as it would get.

Lord help you if you managed to do something the former teacher considered to warrant a real punishment. Toshinori had once seen a particularly arrogant and disruptive student in a year below him get ‘punished’ by Torino arranging for over a dozen students in other classes that had lagging grades to gang stalk him for extra credit. He called it “stealth and reconnaissance training.” Three weeks later, the kid was a nervous wreck, and he never bullied somebody for having a weak or villainous quirk ever again.

Some parents and a few of the more privileged students had complained about Torino’s methods. But when, out of conditioned reflex from all the ‘situational combat training,’ a female UA student put six would-be molesters in traction during a weekend outing without even using her quirk in five seconds flat, it was hard to argue with the results. Torino had complimented her for her “sub-one second takedown speed,” and told her to keep up the good work. She had.

A muffled “I’m alive!” was shouted from behind a pile of washing machines and discarded car parts, followed by several thumps and a muffled yelp. A few moments later, two figures emerged. Young Midoriya was pale and sweating, still shaking slightly from the shock, a long line of sand clinging to the side of his shirt from where he’d been knocked off his feet.

Toshinori sympathized. Immensely.

The other figure was slightly shorter than the teen. Torino had never been very tall, and he’d shrunk some in his old age. Today, the white-haired 80-year-old retired pro was wearing flip-flops with exercise socks, a bright tropical pair of swim trunks, and a palm-tree patterned Hawaiian shirt. A large red stain of what appeared to be a cherry ice cone with extra syrup had been smashed into the man’s chest, giving a passable imitation of a stab wound. A maniacal grin and sharp, glittering eyes that had lost none of their edge to the passing of time completed the ensemble.

“I found your little hero embryo!” the old man crowed, wiping down the front of his polyester tropical shirt with some folded napkins. Naturally, the retired pro favored clothes and fabrics that didn’t stain or get ruined when anything he might use to fake being dead got on them. “I know you said he had no experience, but you really meant none, didn’t you Toshi? He didn’t even try and dodge my leg sweep!”

Izuku let out a whine like a small, frightened dog.

Toshinori sighed. It was going to be a rough ten months.

It didn’t take long for Torino to realize something very important about Midoriya Izuku. He was a massive quirk fanboy. They hadn’t been talking for five minutes before the kid wanted to know what his own quirk was, and after a brief explanation of “there are air holes in my feet that let me jet around,” it was off to the races with one question after another. Where did the air come from, could he fly, how high, what kind of air pressure could he output, what’s the fastest he’s ever traveled, were his feet tougher than normal or more fragile.

Some people might find such a barrage of questions to be aggravating, creepy, or even somewhat invasive of their privacy. After all, for better or worse, this was an age of superhumans. Most people these days saw their quirk as a fundamental part of their identity.

Sorahiko Torino was not most people. When he looked at Izuku’s boundless curiosity and aggressive, analytical intelligence, he saw an unsharpened knife lying on the floor, just waiting for somebody to realize what it was and hone an edge onto it.

Toshinori, by contrast, was starting to realize just how much he stood to learn about teaching from watching his former teacher and co-mentor work with young Midoriya. Most people would have been overwhelmed by the questions Izuku was asking. They would have told him to slow down, or to stop entirely and focus on his assigned fitness training instead. Even he himself had done such a thing on the day they first met, telling young Midoriya to “quit nerding out” when Toshinori was trying to explain something to him and the boy kept asking more questions.

Instead, Torino forced structure onto the teenager. He used the boy’s own inquisitive nature as bait, happily answering every question he could think up, for a price. One sit up per question. To Toshinori’s shock, the boy did it. They were still new to the program he had put together, he knew the kid had not done any conditioning or core training yet. He hadn’t scheduled anything like this until two weeks into moving trash around. And yet there the young man was, happily doing exercises ahead of schedule just to sate his curiosity.

Toshinori had the sudden impression that he should perhaps be taking notes for his future career at UA. This was an excellent practical example of spurring a student on using their personal interests as leverage. He had seen young Midoriya’s notebook on heroes and their quirks during the Sludge Villain incident when he gave the boy an autograph. Perhaps he needed a notebook of his own?

Torino was leading the boy along, buying time. It was easy to fall back into old teaching habits, telling the kid to drop and give him a push-up or a sit-up for every question. He was stalling because he was re-evaluating what he was dealing with. Toshinori had called him to help teach the kid about One For All, to help him understand it. And to hopefully give him tips on how to use it without killing himself or everyone around him once he inherited it.

And Torino was going to do that. However. Some things had changed.

This boy was clearly intelligent. Much more so than Toshinori or even Torino himself had been at that age. Standing here and seeing it first-hand, the retired pro was a lot less surprised that Toshinori had swallowed his poorly disguised fear and called him in for help. It was, shockingly, the right move to make. Maybe you could teach an old dog new tricks after all.

In Torino’s opinion, Toshinori should have figured out how to ask for help when he was in over his head about forty years ago. But better late than never.

Torino had come expecting to have to train a young gorilla, another muscleheaded punch hero. Plant claymore with front facing the enemy. Pure of heart and clenched of ass. The sort of person that twit Mirai keeps statuettes of in his office. Instead, he got this. The kid was smart, clearly. But how smart? That was the question.

After a few moments of answering questions about his own quirk, Torino thought he’d put together a good enough plan of attack. The kid was a fanboy who clearly knew a great deal about quirks. He could use that. He’d lead the kid into a discussion about quirks and quirk history, ask the kid some questions, and see how well he did. He’d start with questions the kid wouldn’t know, and work his way down to the kid’s level, wherever that was. It would be a measuring stick of where the kid stood, and he could also use it to help explain the history of One For All and what the kid should be expecting from it. Two birds with one stone.

“Tell me kid, what do you know about the Quirk Singularity?”

Izuku smiled so brightly that the old man regretted not bringing a pair of sunglasses to the beach. “You mean Dr. Garaki’s theory on the Quirk Singularity, right? Or the Quirk Apocalypse Theory, as some people have called it? It was called the Paranormal Singularity Theory first, but then people started attacking his reputation and some people began calling it the Quirk Apocalypse Theory, which is really just an unfair misrepresentation of-”

Okay then. Scratch that. Torino had been expecting curiosity and confusion. Instead, the kid apparently knew Garaki Kyudai by name. So much for that plan. And the Quirk Apocalypse Theory? The only people who had ever used that name were Humarise, an obscure anti-superhuman cult that had been eradicated before Toshinori had even been born, and some of the last few remaining followers of Destro and the Meta Liberation army that had been mopped up in the last century. How did he know the term Quirk Apocalypse Theory? Where the hell did Toshinori find this kid?

Focus. Pivot. Adapt. He can work with this.

“Alright, kid” Torino said, interrupting the breathless rant of the teenager in front of him. “Let’s try this. I want you to explain quirks and the Quirk Singularity Theory to me like I know nothing. I just stepped out of a time machine from the pre-quirk era or something, and it’s your job to bring me up to speed. Start from the beginning, and try not to go off on any tangents. I’ll let you know if you do. We’ll do a light jog while you talk.”

The teenager scrambled to his feet, all gangly arms and curly hair, and the two of them moved up the beach, off of the sand and away from the trash. Torino guided the boy up to the long sidewalk that ran parallel down the entire beachfront. Toshinori fell in step next to them as they started jogging and matched their pace, a look of curiosity on his face.

“It started about 200 years ago,” Izuku said as he settled into his stride. “A child was born in Quing Quing, China. They had the power to emit light from their body. People called it the luminescent baby. Soon, children were being born all over the world that had strange powers. Today, we call these quirks, but back then, they were known as meta abilities or mutations.

"The sudden appearance of meta abilities caused chaos. Governments collapsed. Revolutions were staged. Several wars were fought. Some people started worshiping meta abilities, while others saw them as dangerous or even a kind of disease that needed to be cured. Some countries feared meta abilities so much they tried to hunt down the people who had them. The disruption of international supply lines and infrastructure caused famines all across the world, especially in developing nations or in heavily industrialized nations that relied on importing food.

"This period of time was called the Dawn of Quirks, and the chaos it brought lasted for over a century. Before the Dawn of Quirks, the human population was nearly nine billion. After a century, the population had dropped to slightly less than one billion. It was the largest die-off of humans in known history. China, India, and Africa bore the brunt of the damage, but every nation felt the effects to some extent.”

Torino nodded as they rounded a corner of the beach and started jogging down a new stretch of the waterfront, just as polluted and trashed as the first area. So far, this was all correct, but barring a few details, it was also very basic. He’d expect any ten year old to be able to tell him this, or at least he hoped they could. Who knows what they were teaching kids in the schools these days.

Time to poke with some questions and see what kind of answers he got.

“When did meta abilities become quirks?”

“Destro,” Izuku replied immediately. “Full name Yotsubashi Chikara, villain name Destro. Born in Japan around two decades prior to the end of the Dawn of Quirks. The quirk he possessed is unknown, I’m sorry, I tried to find out what it was once but everywhere I looked I couldn’t find anything. I tried asking around, but-”

“Young Midoriya, you could not find it because it is classified information,” Toshinori supplied gently, cutting off the teen’s spiraling tangent.

“Yeah kiddo, don’t worry about it. The fact that you couldn’t find out what his quirk was means our tax dollars are working. For now, anyway. Tell me what Destro has to do with quirks.”

“Um, sorry. Yotsubashi Chikara, nicknamed Destro. The Dawn of Quirks was chaotic, but the various governments of developed nations reasserting law and order is what ended it. One of the new laws put in place in Japan to maintain order was the Meta Ability Public Use Act, which restricted and regulated the usage of meta abilities. If you were caught using your superpower without a license or without government approval, you could be fined or even put in prison.

"Yotsubashi was opposed to this, claiming that using your own quirk was an inherent human right, and that as long as you weren’t breaking the law with it, there was no reason you could not use your quirk as you pleased. He received a lot of support from mutant-type quirks, whose quirk is a permanent fixture of their body, as well as from people who have quirks that are always on and cannot be turned off. There were concerns about how a law forbidding public quirk usage would affect people whose quirk is something like bird wings or their hair being made of fire. As the law was written, it would effectively ban people like that from being in public at all.”

“And that law hasn’t been changed, either, just amended to allow ‘reasonable’ exceptions,” Torino grunted.

“That’s true,” Toshinori added. “They pushed the responsibility off of the law and onto judges and police officers to decide what was or was not reasonable. It was a poor compromise that is open to being abused. But please, keep going young Midoriya.”

Izuku nodded, collecting his thoughts before continuing.

“Yotsubashi lobbied to have the Public Use Act overturned, and nearly got enough support to achieve it, but then the newly reformed Japanese provisional government shut him down and labeled his political group domestic terrorists. Over two-thirds of his supporters were arrested or killed, and Yotsubashi and his remaining allies fled. While in exile, he took the name ‘Destro,” and his supporters named themselves the Meta Liberation Army. They declared their intention to overthrow the provisional government of Japan by any means necessary.

"After twelve years of terrorist attacks and guerrilla warfare, the Meta Liberation Army was eventually dismantled and Destro was arrested. There were calls to have him publicly executed, but the provisional government of Japan was afraid that it would incite copycats, since Destro still had some popular support in spite of his terrorism. So instead they imprisoned him for life, hoping that he would rot away and be forgotten.”

Torino glanced sidways at Toshinori as they jogged, gesturing at the teen jogging between them with his chin and raising a questioning eyebrow. Toshinori shrugged helplessly. The taller blonde looked just as confused and surprised at the teen knowing all of this as Torino felt.

“While in jail, Destro wrote a book called Meta Liberation War that was both his autobiography and his manifesto. In the book, he credits his mother as having coined the word ‘quirk’ in reference to meta abilities. Apparently, he had been persecuted as a child because his own quirk was dangerous and difficult to control, and his mother defended him by saying that his powers were “just another quirk of his.” This is the first known usage of the word quirk to refer to superpowers. His mother was later lynched by a mob for defending him, and Destro credits her life and death as his inspiration for the revolution. As a result, Destro’s mother became known as ‘The Mother of Quirks.’ So the word ‘quirk’ was first used by Destro and the Meta Liberation Army as part of what could be considered the creation myth of their political cult.

“However, in spite of how clean-cut Destro makes the events sound in Meta Liberation War, it was never that simple. I’ve done independent research on the topic by going through historical archives. His group was accused of domestic terrorism and shut down because numerous people affiliated with him were behaving like terrorists. Buildings were bombed, people were assassinated. Destro was winning a popularity contest against the Japanese government with a certain segment of society, but he was still committing crimes and murdering people. Destro tried to point the finger at the government for jumping the gun in his book, but that was a lie. He never cared that his own people were behaving like terrorists when it benefited him.”

And now they were starting to get into the meat of things. The luminescent baby was known worldwide, and the general events of the Dawn of Quirks were common knowledge. When almost 90% of humanity dies off, people don’t forget about it, and it’s only natural that the information would make it into general education. That was typical.

But Yotsubashi Chikara’s life story? That was another matter. This was not information your typical teenager, or even your average adult, would know. It was rough and unpolished, but the kid had just given the outline of what could probably be a graduate level paper on Destro, the Mother of Quirks, and the Meta Liberation Army.

And he was… how old was this Midoriya kid again? Middle school these days overran into what used to be high school, and most 'high schools' these days were what used to be university level in Torino’s day, UA included. But even so, this kid couldn’t be a day over sixteen. Seventeen at the very outside. Unbelievable.

The kid had read Meta Liberation Army. There was no way he hadn’t, he’d practically admitted he had. Torino wondered where he got a copy. The kid had probably grabbed it off the internet somewhere. And then he had done independent historical research? On his own? Just to sate his own curiosity? Torino knew about those records, they were a dumpster fire. Good recordkeeping stopped sometime around twenty years into the Dawn of Quirks, and didn’t start back up until decades after it ended.

Saying ‘I looked up some things’ about Yotsubashi Chikara is like saying he took a short hike up Mt. Everest. The kid would have needed to spend months sifting through library archives to find the court transcripts and public arrest warrants to refute Destro’s story. He doubted any of it was online or digital, either, it would have been all analogue, actual paperwork that was stored and filed away.

Torino knew professional analysts and researchers who would balk at having to do that kind of legwork for a salary. And this kid did it for free. To sate his curiosity. Because he read a banned, taboo book about criminals with quirks, smelled something fishy, and needed answers.

Torino knew his contacts in the police department would kill him for poaching this kid for heroics. Those old foagies with badges and coffee mugs dreamed about police cadets like this.

Too bad. Finders keepers. Maybe Torino would throw his old drinking buddies a bone and get the kid a consulting license. It never hurt for a career hero to start helping the police early, and there was no age limit on those as long as you had a sponsor and could pass the tests. In an age of superhumans, a teenage PI would hardly turn heads.

“Alright then,” Torino said as the three of them turned the last corner of the sidewalk lining the beach, and began jogging towards a distant cul-de-sac where they would have to turn around and go back. “So we get the word quirk from Destro’s mother. So what’s the singularity theory?”

Izuku’s eye’s sparkled, and his smile was blindingly bright.

“It’s so fascinating! Dr. Garaki was born at the beginning of the Dawn of Quirks, and his quirk was a simple longevity power that slowed the rate at which he would age. It was a simple quirk, but it was so cool, because its simplicity made it strong! There were no drawbacks or anything! Dr. Garaki went into medicine, but because quirks were appearing all over the world, he also studied them. He survived through the entire Dawn of Quirks, and around eighty years ago he published a series of papers that contained all of his observations and findings on the phenomena of superhumans!”

The trio rounded the cul-de-sac at the end of the beach and started jogging back, seagulls crying from the rocks of the breakwall in the distance. “I assume that you’ve read those papers, then?” Torino asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Oh gosh, absolutely! You can find copies of all of his work online if you know where to look. I’ve got all of his published papers saved on my PC! Dr. Garaki is credited for identifying the two general trends of quirks, which is that they grow more powerful and more complex with each passing generation, not weaker or simpler! He’s also the one who originally realized that quirks were hereditary, and that a child’s quirk could be predicted by looking at the quirks of the parents! They aren’t always the same, sometimes new functions or traits appear, or the powers of the parents combine in strange and unexpected ways, but the trend is still there!”

“So what exactly is the singularity then, kid?” Torino prodded, trying to keep the excitable teen on track. Clearly, the closer the topic got to quirks and how they work, the more energetic the kid became. A true quirk nerd indeed.

“Well, that’s in Dr. Garaki’s last paper. The papers before that were about his observations of quirks so far. His last paper was what he believed would happen with quirks in the future. In it, he claimed that since the trend of quirks is that they’re getting stronger and more complicated, that eventually a generation of people would come about whose quirks are too powerful and too complex to be controlled. He used data from past generations of quirks to hypothesize that this would occur in the ninth consecutive generation of quirks intermarrying.

"He predicted that the seventh generation would be peak in terms of controllable power. That the eighth generation would be unstable and have a lot of random mutations and throwbacks to ancestral quirks whose powers hadn’t manifested in generations. And that the ninth generation would be the tipping point, and over 90% of quirks on the planet would become uncontrollable threats to their users and everyone around them.

"Dr. Garaki didn’t propose any particular solutions to these predicted problems, but did warn in his last paper that if solutions were not found and agreed upon ahead of time, that the human species as a whole could be in danger of extinction from out-of-control quirks. However, his papers were not well-received. It’s so unfair! Everything in his last paper is simply a logical deduction drawn from things he already proved in his previous papers, nobody disputes that. But because the last paper warned that the singularity would be dangerous, people attacked his findings and slandered him!”

Izuku was gesticulating wildly at this point, waving his hand in consternation as he jogged. It would be obvious even to a blind man that he was appalled and offended on Garaki’s behalf. “I’ve read the supposed rebuttals, none of them actually explain why his conclusions are wrong! They just beg the question, or attack his character! Some of them even accuse him of proposing mass eugenics to ‘solve’ an ‘imaginary’ problem! There’s so many things wrong with that claim I don’t even know where to start! For one, he never made any proposal on how to avoid the singularity, he just warned it was coming. For another, eugenics probably would fix it, but there are obviously other ways! It’s just groundless accusations and slander made by people who don’t want to face the facts!”

Izuku’s shoulder’s slumped slightly, the wind of righteous indignation seeming to stall and fall out of him. “Those papers were Dr. Garaki’s life work, and publishing them ruined him. He withdrew from the public eye a few years after the fallout from his findings. I don’t know enough about his longevity quirk to guess if he’s still alive, but I imagine he would be. I’ve tried to look him up, to find more of his work or to even see if he’s still involved in medicine and quirk analysis, but it’s like he fell off the face of the earth. I don’t really blame him, if something like that happened to me, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Torino turned to glance across to the other side of the jogging teen that had talked himself into a funk. Staring straight into Toshinori’s eyes, he mouthed ‘where did you find this kid?’

For the second time that day, Toshinori shrugged helplessly at his mentor. The shorter, older man rolled his eyes. Leave it to Toshi to pick one random reckless teen out of millions and somehow find the genius savant that reads medical papers and banned political literature for fun.

At least Torino had his answer to how smart the kid was.

“Alright, kiddo, good job. I’m pretty well informed on most of the topics you discussed,” and the fact that the kid seemed to know details Torino didn’t was a kettle of fish for later, not now, “and I think you did a pretty good job. So now it’s time for a pop quiz.”

The scrawny teen looked at the older man in curiosity as they started in on the final stretch of their jog leading back to their starting point.

“Given everything you’ve just told me and what you know about Garaki and his theories, why don’t you use those fanboy powers of yours and guess how many people have held One For All before Toshi here got it?”

Izuku hummed, his eyes brightening at the challenge. “Well, I mean, my immediate guess would be that All Might is the seventh, right? Assuming that each hand off of One For All counts as a generation, which is the only reason you’d ask about the singularity in the first place. All Might said it gets stronger each time it’s passed on, so obviously it must work the same as quirks naturally becoming stronger and more complex with each generation.

"But that’s so interesting, it means that One For All is actually evolving faster than other quirks, according to Dr. Garaki’s theories! Because you don’t have to wait for children, you can just hand it off. So it would logically be seven, with how powerful All Might is. Dr. Garaki theorized that would be the pinnacle of controllable power. But… “

Izuku trailed off, a far-away look appearing in his eyes. Toshinori had seen that look before on both of his past sidekicks: his support technician David Shield and Sasaki Mirai, also known as pro hero Nighteye. Both David and Nighteye were geniuses in their own right, and that was the look both of them got when they had realized something important.

“You’re the top hero in the whole world, but nobody actually knows what your quirk really is.” Izuku mumbled under his breath. “It’s widely considered to be the strongest quirk in existence, but nobody knows exactly what it does. I mean obviously I know now, because you told me: it’s a strength stockpile that’s become incredibly strong. But I’ve seen the arguments and debates about it on the internet. I’ve even participated in some of them! Everybody always guesses super strength or invincibility first, but that gets shot down because of all the weird things that have happened during your career. Any real All Might fan that’s been paying attention knows about it!”

Toshinori smiled. “Yes, young Midoriya, a lot of very weird things did happen during my career, that’s true.”

Izuku nodded absently in agreement as they continued to jog back towards the truck and their starting point on the beach. “And that’s why it’s always been a huge debate about what the quirk really is. The obvious answer is super strength, but that’s not it. When you fought Shockvolt, you slapped his lightning bolts away. You physically manipulated his lightning with your bare hands. During the fight with Toxic Chainsaw, you stopped falling, you actually floated for a moment to catch a civilian that was thrown out a window. I’ve seen so many internet arguments about that, it’s why one of the most popular fan theories about your power is that you’re a super-telekinetic. And there’s that time during one of your hero tours in America where you managed to set your fist on fire with friction, which super strength might explain, but definitely not how you didn’t burn yourself with it. Then there was that time you fought Buster Brute, and he actually managed to break your arm, but you just flexed and the injury went away!

"To say nothing of the fact that you can transform! You got crippled, you shouldn’t be able to even be a hero anymore, but you can literally turn back into a healthy version of yourself in a puff of smoke! That’s crazy! It also explains why nobody’s ever seen you when you’re off the clock, you’re literally in a different form, but that’s beside the point. That’s like a completely different classification of quirk, just for that! There’s so many little strange things that don’t add up about the fights and rescues in your career, it’s almost like…”

A lightbulb went on behind the teenager’s eyes.

“… it’s almost like you have a bunch of different random quirk effects manifesting at convenient times,” Izuku said breathlessly, slowing down and turning to stare at his hero idol. “You’re not the strongest seventh. You’re the unstable eighth. You’re the eighth user of One For All.”

The gaunt civilian form of Yagi Toshinori smiled at the young man like he’d just won the lottery and was planning to buy his boy everything he’d ever wanted. Torino couldn’t blame him, he was grinning too. The ascendant nerd. This kid could give Nighteye a run for his money. If they could teach the kid to weaponize analysis like that, he’d be unstoppable whether he had a quirk or not.

“Ten out of ten, kid,” Torino said. “If you were a student of mine at UA, I’d give you full marks.” The old pro grinned mischievously. “Now that you’ve figured that out, tell me, what do you think is going to happen when he gives this thing to you?”

For the first time since they had started, Izuku stopped jogging. His breath caught in his throat. He was staring off into the distance, seeing nothing, because he was blinded by all of the thoughts flickering past his eyes. No. Surely not.

“That’s right, kiddo. Welcome to the future. You’re going to be the first human in history to wield a singularity quirk, five generations ahead of schedule. That’s why this gorilla called me in. I’m here to help you learn what you’re going to need to have a chance of handling it.”

Izuku’s eyes were out of focus. His hands twitched, fingers flexing. Torino and Toshinori both watched him as he seemed to involuntarily reach for a notebook he didn’t have before jerking slightly. A half second later, he reached up and tapped the side of his ear, like he was looking for a pencil that was usually perched there. His breathing slowed down, evening out. His eyes came back into focus, and he stared straight into Torino’s own.

“I have so many questions,” he said.

The geriatric pro grinned ferally. “I hope for your sake the first one is ‘what do I need to do to get my body in good enough shape to inherit the quirk and pass the UA entrance exam.’ Break time is over, zygote. This beach won’t clean itself.”

The teenager jerked slightly as he came back to reality. Glancing rapidly back and forth between the two men and the trash covered beach, he started stammering apologies as he ran back to where he had been cleaning before being surprise pranked by Torino’s little dead body joke.

Sorahiko Torino sighed, watching the kid run off until he was outside of hearing range.

“Toshinori, what the hell have you gotten me involved with this time?”

The hero known to the world as All Might didn’t have an answer for him. Truth be told, Torino wasn’t expecting one. He didn’t think either of them had quite been prepared for this.

Torino was on a mission. After meeting the teen Toshinori had chosen to be his successor earlier that morning, he had volunteered to walk the kid to school to make sure he made it there safely. Once the young man was tucked away in his classes, the retired pro had discreetly paid a visit to Aldera Junior High instead of leaving. His pro hero license may have expired, but his Private Investigator’s license had not, and he had used it to speak briefly with several teachers and gain access to the school’s academic records. It wasn’t an unusual request, as high schools and finishing schools were often approached like this when students were leaving those institutions to apply for various hero academies.

Everyone there had assumed he was there to check up on some student named Bakugo. Torino was canny enough to allow them believe it. What he had found there made him angrier than he could remember being in a long time. The last time he had felt like this… had Nana still been alive?

She had been. The last time he had felt like this was when the two of them busted that human trafficking ring. The one that was kidnapping children.

Torino had questions that needed answers. He also had some ideas about Izuku’s academic future that would need parental consent to work. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, he looked up a home address and decided to loop the boy’s parents into things as soon as possible. Since the kid was still at school and would be for several hours, now was the perfect time for a home visit.

Double checking his phone to make sure he had the right place, the retired pro knocked on the door and waited. He had considered wearing his hero uniform for this, but opted for civilian clothes instead, since he didn’t think dressing like a pro would help with first impressions. He had ditched the swim trunks and Hawaiian shirt from earlier that morning for something he typically wore on a more normal day. Work jeans, a plaid collared shirt, and cowboy boots with a leather belt completed his outfit.

Like all his shoes, the boots were custom made with vented holes on the bottom to accommodate his quirk. Sorahiko ‘Gran’ Torino had lived to be an old man with no seriously debilitating injuries in a field where good people died young and the talented often found themselves getting carried away from scenes on stretchers. He credited his health and old age to what he called ‘rightfully justified paranoia.’ He was a relic from a time when there was no distinction between the so called “daylight” and “underground” heroes, and he was always prepared to turn on the jets at a moment’s notice, no matter where he was or what he was wearing.

It had saved his life more than once.

Torino smiled at the plump, middle aged woman who opened the door. “Hello! Would you happen to be Midoriya Inko? I’m here to talk to you about your son, Izuku.”

“Oh no. Where is he!? Is he hurt!?”

The old man waved his hands, trying to calm the green haired woman down as she began to panic and tear up. “No, no, nothing’s wrong! He’s actually doing great! I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Are you aware that your son has applied for UA?”

Several minutes later, the two adults were sitting down in the kitchen with a fresh cup of tea in front of each of them. It had taken several minutes to calm Inko down and get her to accept that nothing was wrong and that her son was safe. ‘At least now I know where the kid’s anxiety comes from,’ Torino thought to himself. ‘We’ll have to work on that.’

Torino pulled out his expired Hero License and slid it across the table for the housewife. “As you can see, I’m a retired pro. I’m a friend of another hero by the name of Yagi Toshinori. You’ve probably never heard of him, but that’s fine. He prefers things that way. Toshinori was injured quite severely during a villain attack a few years ago, and since then he’s been on the lookout for kids with talent to mentor. He stumbled across your son, and he saw some potential in him. UA is Toshinori’s Alma Mater, and I used to be a teacher there a long time ago before I got out of the hero business. So when we found out that it was your son’s dream to attend and become a hero, we decided to help him out.”

Torino took a long breath, and then let it out. Here was the hard part.

“Ma’am, we understand that your son was diagnosed as quirkless? We actually have reason to believe that your son does have a quirk. Or at least, that he will have a quirk very soon.”

What remained of the teary-eyed and worried Midoriya Inko disappeared. The flinty-eyed glare that was left in it’s place took Torino by surprise.

“Explain,” she said, in a tone that brooked absolutely zero nonsense. Torino swallowed.

“Toshinori was also diagnosed as quirkless for his entire life, he has the third toe joint and everything, just like your son. But in his late teens he managed to spontaneously develop a quirk factor that had not been seen in him during the testing. It was a strength stockpiling quirk. The reason he was able to manifest it is because he was able to bulk up and become more physically fit. The professionals who examined him after it manifested believe that the reason it didn’t show earlier is because his body couldn’t handle the stress of the quirk coming in until he had improved his physical fitness. Most quirks these days come with secondary mutations that help them function. But not all do, and some experts believe the loss of the toe joint has something to do with that.

“Basically, if your body doesn’t have the proper modifications for a quirk to function correctly, it might not function at all. So if Toshinori had never bothered to get in top physical shape, then his quirk might have never appeared, because being in shape is what was required for his quirk to function. His body didn’t come with that feature, he had to create it himself.”

“That’s very interesting,” the green haired mother said, in a tone of voice that made it clear she did not mean what she said at all. “What exactly does this have to do with my son?”

Torino took a sip of his tea, collecting his thoughts. This was a very well-rehearsed lie, and the evidence to support it had already been created and inserted into the system decades ago to help Toshinori become All Might. He had to make sure he kept his details straight.

“Toshinori was originally going to encourage your son to become a hero anyway, but after getting to know him a little better, he realized that your son was exactly like him. He had all the same signs and symptoms that Toshinori originally had. That’s why Toshinori has taken a focused interest in training him personally. The workout routine, the meal plan that your son brought home the other day, that was all Toshinori’s doing. It’s not just about getting the kid into UA, though that’s definitely our goal. It’s also about helping your son get a quirk that he might never have accessed otherwise. We believe that your son will manifest a strength or energy stockpiling quirk of some kind in about ten months time, assuming he sticks to the schedule we’ve put together for him.”

The green haired woman continued to stare at the old man for a long moment. Torino was deeply impressed with her ability to look intimidating while wearing sweatpants and a pullover sweater with kittens on it. “Do you what my day job is, Mr. Sorahiko?” Inko asked.

The grey haired ex-hero shook his head, curiosity in his eyes.

“I’m a lawyer,” she said, sliding a card of her own across the table for Toshinori to look at. “And I’d like to know why I should think this is anything besides some kind of scam.”

Toshinori glanced at the card, and he felt his blood run cold. She wasn’t joking. Even as far removed from the hero game as he was, he had heard of her firm. They specialized in prosecuting cases against corrupt heroes, and they had gained a reputation as career killers. Just last year, her firm had taken out one of the top thirty Japanese pros, Wild Bolt. He had been embezzling agency funds and exploiting legal loopholes in the system designed to fund repairs for collateral damage caused during villain attacks and natural disasters to to get away with tax evasion. The profile for the case had been sky-high, and it had turned into a media circus when all of Wild Bolt’s skeletons came falling out of the closet. It had been all the news had talked about for months.

When he had gotten up this morning, Sorahiko Torino had not been expecting to be sitting in the kitchen of one of the most notorious shark lawyers in the Japanese hero industry.

Fortunately, Torino was a professional, and like all professional, he could improvise with the best of them. He may not have come today expecting to face down one of the scariest ‘Hero Buster’ lawyers in the business, but he had come prepared to have his legitimacy questioned. And he had a trump card.

“I understand your concerns, ma’am, and I’m honestly happy you’re suspicious of me. This certainly does seem too good to be true from a certain perspective. But I can assure you, it’s not a scam.” He reached into the hip pocket of his jeans and pulled out some paperwork before handing the papers across the table. Inko took them and began reading what he had given her. As the seconds ticked by, her eyes became wider and wider.

“As you can see, Yagi Toshinori is employed by Might Tower, All Might’s pro agency. He may seem like an unassuming lunkhead, but he has a lot of connections in the business, and his reputation is clean. That paperwork also has the contact information for the Might Tower’s front desk, just in case you’d like to call them and verify that he is actually an employee of the Might Agency.

“And I may be formally retired by virtue of not bothering to renew my hero license, but I should also still be listed under the Might Agency as a consultant with the credentials of a personal trainer, a quirk counselor, and a private investigator. So if you’d like to ask about me as well, feel free. You can also contact UA if you’d like, they will confirm that I taught there and that Toshinori is a former student and graduate in good standing.”

Inko stood up from the table and pulled a cellphone out of her pocket. Glancing at the paperwork to make sure she had the numbers right, she quickly dialed before holding the phone up to her ear and stepping out into the hall. Torino sipped his tea and let his eyes wander around the kitchen while Midoriya’s mother asked all of the questions Torino had expected a worried parent to ask, as well as quite a few questions that only a particularly good lawyer would think of.

His hearing wasn’t good enough to eavesdrop on the answers, but he didn’t need to. He already knew everything the front desk was telling her. Yagi Toshinori was an established alternate identity with an entire career’s worth of credentials totally separate from the pro hero All Might. Even the deepest and most invasive background checks would show him as a modest hero with a strength stockpiling quirk that had a long but largely uninteresting history of minor street heroism and desk work at the Might Agency before being crippled by a villain attack several years ago, resulting in his pivot away from street work and into a part-time secretary position for the agency. His record wasn’t made to be completely clean, because that would be suspicious, but besides a few parking tickets and a fabricated incident of getting thrown in the drunk tank of a Musutafu police office once twenty years ago, Toshinori’s personal history was spotless.

This fabrication was also completely legal, as many underground heroes needed to keep their hero identities secret and separate from their public ones to protect them from the enemies they made on the job. This perk was also offered to any daylight heroes who had families or were worried about their own personal safety when off the clock, though not all of them accepted it, as it generally meant less fame and recognition. As Toshinori held an Underground Hero’s License, his alternate identity was not only completely legal, but actively protected by law.

On top of that, All Might’s own legitimate paperwork contained even further layers of deception that had all been expertly put together and backdated into the system to hide the existence of One For All. According to his official sealed and classified records, Yagi Toshinori had been misdiagnosed as quirkless when a child, and in his late teens he accidentally achieved quirk factor activation in a gym while lifting weights.

The incident of him throwing a three hundred pound barbell through the roof and several hundred yards into the air never happened, but it was well documented nonetheless.

From there, his documentation showed that he transferred into the hero course track at UA, graduated with honors, and became the pro hero known as All Might. The separate identity existed at his request as a top pro to give him some privacy in his personal life, and he held an Underground License to further insulate his civilian identity from media scrutiny and the public eye. Most people would never see this extra, equally false paperwork, but even if Mrs. Midoriya could somehow use her contacts as a hero lawyer to obtain the classified information hidden behind Toshinori’s underground license, all it would accomplish is identifying Yagi Toshinori as the civilian identity of All Might. Which was something they were eventually going to have to tell her about anyway.

The number of still living people who knew that Toshinori was actually quirkless and that One For All was a transferrable quirk that could be passed on numbered less than a dozen. The real secret was safe, and would remain safe.

While he was waiting, Torino began cataloging as much information about the Midoriyas as he could see. The apartment was reasonably sized, but everything in it was top of the line, with a large black refrigerator, marble countertops, and an oversized flat-screen television visible through the hallway in the living area. They didn’t want for money. Did her salary cover that? There were family pictures showing a husband, but the kid was tiny in all of them.

“Divorce?” Torino thought to himself. “Alimony or child support plus her salary would explain the apartment, but not the pictures. There’s no such thing as a no hard feelings divorce. Dead or working overseas, then. Presumably overseas, two salaries would explain the furnishings, and international cooperation in the private sector is big these days. An absent father figure. We’ll have to work some more fun and confidence building activities into his training schedule.”

Torino had helped himself to two more cups of tea from the pot sitting on the table by the time Inko returned. She had made several other phone calls after the first one, and what little he could catch of the conversations had him guessing that she had called UA as well as a few people at her law firm. Which was perfectly fine by him. Toshinori’s identity was falsified by the Hero Commission and the Japanese government itself, there was nothing incriminating to find. If a deep dive into the paperwork was what was needed to make this work out in Midoriya Izuku’s favor, then Torino was more than willing to let that happen.

“You’re telling the truth, at least as far as I can tell,” Inko admitted, pouring herself another cup of tea. “But I will be doing a background check on both of you.”

“That’s perfectly fine!” Torino said cheerfully, “I’m glad you care about your son this much. There’s a lot of folks out there these days who would probably just be happy to get their kids out of their hair for a few more hours a day.” Inko’s expression softened.

Torino finished off his cup of tea before setting the cup down into it’s dish and pushing it off to the side. “Now then, let’s talk about the actual reason I’m here. Since you’re a hero lawyer, you’re probably already aware that if all Toshinori and I cared about is just helping your son pass his exams or find his quirk, that we don’t really need to communicate with you to do it. There’s no law against helping local kids out of the kindness of your heart, and if there was, we’d be arresting small time heroes and youth counselors in droves. So if that’s all we actually cared about, we wouldn’t even be talking with you.”

“The thought had crossed my mind, yes.” Inko said dryly. Torino grinned.

“I figured as much. That’s why you were suspicious. So here’s the thing. Toshinori is a fantastic guy, and I love him to pieces. He’s got a heart of gold, he really does. But he’s also kind of a gorilla, and if I left everything up to him, he’d have the kid hauling tires up and down a beach for ten months before giving him a pat on the head and saying good luck with the entrance exams. And while your boy definitely needs to get in shape, I think you and I both know that there’s more to getting into a good school than just muscles.”

“I’m aware,” Inko said somewhat coolly, sipping her own tea while Torino continued to speak.

“So when Toshinori tapped me for help, I did a bit of legwork and looked up some of your son’s school records. My hero’s license is expired, but my PI license has not, so I have the authority to request that information. They show an average student who has a long record of delinquency and being a troublemaker, and I’m going to be honest with you, that’s pure horseshit. I spent yesterday afternoon talking to your son while he was doing his workout routine, and he’s one of the brightest kids I’ve ever met. And unless I’ve grossly misread his disposition, he’s more likely to cry over swatting a fly than loiter in parking lots after hours picking fights with other kids. That’s the real reason I’m here. I want to help the kid study for the exam and foster his mental growth, but to do that, I need know what level he’s actually on academically. And five minutes of speaking with your son was enough for me to realize that the school was lying.”

The frustrated look on Midoriya Inko’s face marked the beginning of an hour long conversation that Torino wished he could say shocked and surprised him. But truthfully, it was about what he had suspected. Yes, she knows her son is being bullied and held back. No, she can’t actually prove it, because there’s no physical evidence of sabotage or tampering. If she had anything to work with at all, she could sue the Aldera Board of Education into the ground, but proving bias is an uphill legal battle, especially against the quirkless, and without real evidence that her son’s grades are being tampered with, there’s no case to be made.

As far as bullying goes, without literally catching the kids in the act, there’s no proof of one-sided bullying and discrimination, nor is there proof of inappropriate quirk usage. Because everyone involved is a minor, the rules are different. Scratches, bruises, and scuffed clothes is just “kids being kids.” Under modern Japanese laws about underage delinquency and inappropriate quirk usage, accusations of anything worse than mutual roughhousing become Izuku’s word against the word of his bullies and teachers. She had gone that route before, and it lead to parent-teacher meetings where she had to sit and listen to teachers blame Izuku for the problems he was experiencing.

Eventually, Izuku stopped complaining about what was happening, even though what he was experiencing was clearly still going on. Kids are not smarter than their parents, even if none of the kids understand that, and it broke her heart that he was trying to keep this from her because some part of him had given up and just wanted to hide it all. As though the person who kept buying his school supplies and had to sign all of his report cards wouldn’t notice how often things were destroyed and how his grades never improved past mediocre when all he ever did was study.

She had tried to get him to talk to her about it on several occasions, but he always lied and made excuses for the people doing this to him, and it always ended in tears for both of them. In the end, Inko had stopped asking, just like how Izuku had stopped telling. And she hated it.

Yes, she had considered different schools, but private schools can accept and reject applicants entirely at their discretion, and all of the ones she had applied for had rejected Izuku. Nobody said it was because he was quirkless, but they didn’t have to. When Izuku aced their mock placement exams but still got passed over in favor of other applicants with worse results, it was obvious why.

Yes, she had considered transferring him to a different public school, but every school she had researched had track records of similar problems, so transferring him would just be putting him in the exact same situation he’s already in, but with total strangers and a longer commute.

None of this surprised Torino. But even if it wasn’t surprising, he was still allowed to be disappointed and upset on the kid’s behalf. The anger and sadness coming from Inko was palpable, and Torino was old enough to understand that she probably didn’t have many people she could confide in about her frustrations. Raising a quirkless child had never been easy, not in Torino’s lifetime. But it seems as though with every passing year, the discrimination got worse and worse.

At the rate things are going, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a resurgence of the old anti-quirk ‘purity’ cults and crime organizations that the heroes of his generation had fought so hard to snuff out. Historically speaking, only 10% of the population needed to actively rebel to topple a government or stage a successful revolution, and even with the population of quirkless rapidly dropping, they were still far more than 10%. And the population of mutant quirks, which often experienced similar discrimination, was significantly higher than the population of quirkless. Their society was creating the very outcasts and rejects that would go on to become tomorrow’s villains and criminals. It was a broken system, and anybody with any sense could see that the status quo couldn’t last. Torino wished he had the answers Izuku’s mother was looking for.

But even though he may not be able to save the system, he didn’t believe it was too late to save Midoriya Izuku. And that’s exactly what he was here to do. He let Inko vent, and as the visit went on, he steered her in the direction of Izuku’s personal achievements and hobbies. Torino knew the kid was smart, he had already proven himself to be leaps and bounds beyond all of his peers and even most adults on the beach. But Torino was fishing for something specific. He wanted something he could use, a measuring stick to try and understand just what he was working with. Hobbies that could be exploited and become part of the boy’s training.

Adults may try and keep their business separate from their pleasure, but children were different. You have to keep them engaged in their education, or else you would lose them. Torino understood that. And it didn’t take long before Inko introduced him to what rapidly became the highlight of his evening.

Midoriya Izuku’s quirk analysis notebooks.

Sorahiko Torino had been in the hero business for a long time. And he had seen just about every type of genius there was. He had seen kids who were almost as strong as some pros without having any formal training. He had seen heroes and villains whose birth-given fighting instincts were so good that they made people with years of training look like idiots in comparison. He had seen people who could learn new skills in weeks and months when it would take normal people years to accomplish the same. He had seen inventors and support heroes who could make just about any gadget you could imagine out of trash and spare parts. He had seen pro heroes with quirks so odd and downright weird that nobody in their right minds would have bothered to try and do anything with them, but through creative thinking and determination, they had managed to turn what most people would consider joke quirks into highly refined and intimidating weapons.

Hell, truth be told, he was one of those last kind. Plenty of people had told him that being able to shoot air out of your feet was useless, especially since it wasn’t strong enough for sustained flight and never could be. He had come back a few years later and roundhouse kicked most of those people in the head.

And for all the criticism he leveled at Toshinori, even Torino had to admit that he was a genius of his own, though not in the traditional sense. When Nana had inherited One For All, it had screwed up her own quirk, Float, so badly that she couldn’t use it properly for nearly a year afterwards, and it took her almost as long to acclimate herself to the point where she could throw a punch with One For All without breaking an arm. Toshinori, ascended gorilla that he was, could use the quirk at full power from the moment he got it, even though his version was over twice as strong as Nana’s. And he was so damn good at fighting that he never needed to learn anything beyond some intermediate boxing and akido. A small amount of professional training to point him in the right direction was all it took. All Might was a physical genius who had gone almost directly from zero to hero with no real intermediary step between.

Torino had seen just about every kind of genius out there. And he knew what kind of genius Izuku was. Izuku was the kind of genius who inspired disbelief in people who saw his work. Like a musician who had no formal training or understanding of how to write and structure music, but could still compose beautiful songs purely by ear. Or a cook who could sit down with no real designs or ideas in mind, but simply go with the flow and create incredible dishes purely by taste without any apparent effort. That was the kind of genius Izuku was. He was a true natural, a virtuoso, living his life at the intersection between talent and intuition. He was the kind of genius who didn’t even realize how brilliant they were because to them, that sort of brilliance was simply normal.

Torino could tell just by skimming his notebooks that the boy had no formal training in any kind of professional shorthand or abbreviated note taking. His writing wasn’t encoded or written in cipher, and he didn’t use any of the formatting or notation systems that professionals in the analytics and analysis industry made use of. But even as rough and visibly untrained as it was, his work was already at what Torino would judge to be a professional level.

Izuku’s notes included quirk analysis, costume critique, breakdowns of various support items and utility gear, as well as sketches and blueprints of entirely new original gear. He had extensive notes on possible training avenues to explore to shore up weaknesses and refine a hero’s approach to various situations and common problems. He brainstormed alternate costume designs as well as revisions for support items. He even included statistical observations of what equipment a given hero used most often in their fights. Izuku had literally counted every single bullet the pro hero Snipe had ever publicly fired and included a bullets-expended-over-time and average-ammunition-spent-per-fight breakdown as part of his analysis of the man. Why? So he could make what his notes called an informed suggestion on a better version of Snipe’s standard utility belt.

Many of the boy’s peers would probably consider that level of detail creepy, and many contemporary heroes would think it unnecessary or redundant. But Gran Torino knew it for what it was. That kind of observational power and obsession with detail was a dangerous weapon, more powerful than any quirk. Any hero with a lick of common sense would want that sort of tool in their arsenal, and he would be damned if he allowed such a talent to rust away and be unused.

And the kid had a ruthless streak that the retired hero found himself approving of. After all, you had to understand how to disable or take down someone before you could make suggestions on how they could improve themselves, and the kid was brutally honest and efficient with his observations. The old hero was impressed with the boy’s ability to contrive ways to disable or work around the quirks of famous heroes and villains with nothing more than what could be found in your average hardware store. The old man laughed when he saw that. He couldn’t help himself. How many of Japan’s top 100 knew that they could theoretically be beaten by a couple of kids willing to spend their allowance on some slingshots, metal piping, and zip ties? Not enough, in his opinion.

All of this, and Izuku was still just a teenager. He would be starting into what was effectively his real education in a year, what would have been very late high school or early college in the old days. Put in the context of his age and how much this was clearly just a hobby of his, and Izuku’s notebooks were more than just impressive. They were shocking. Professional hero agencies and private hero legacy families paid small fortunes for the kind of in-depth analysis that this kid was doing for fun in his spare time.

The kid wasn’t half bad at drawing, either, at least in Torino’s humble opinion. Izuku had included hand-drawn pictures with all of his notes, and while his style was a little sketch-heavy, all the major and minor details were present, and Torino could recognize the people he had drawn at a glance. Their costumes, postures, equipment, and even their faces were all accurate to life. As somebody who couldn’t draw a circle to save his soul, the old hero was honestly impressed.

Outwardly, Torino was more than willing to compliment the kid’s work and tell his mother what an asset he was going to be to the hero industry with a bit of education under his belt. He told her all the things a worried mother wanted to hear, and used the notebooks as an example of how the kid could still live his dream and work with heroes even if he decided later that becoming one himself just wasn’t in the cards.

Internally, however, the old man was doing backflips. As far as Torino was concerned, the world of heroics had too many flying magical gorillas as it is. All Might in Japan, Crusader Gold in Europe, Captain Celebrity and Star and Stripe in North America. The list goes on and on. He didn’t know how Toshinori managed it, but he somehow chose a random kid out of millions and ended up with a successor with an actual brain between their ears. ‘Presumably through sheer dumb luck,’ Torino thought to himself. And Torino wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.

The world didn’t need another All Might. It needed somebody who was better than All Might. It needed someone who could surpass him. And that’s exactly what Sorahiko Torino was going to make sure Midoriya Izuku did. And they would start by cultivating his mind and making sure he didn’t fall into a rut of solving all of his problems by punching them harder. Because that’s the kind of hero All Might was, and God bless her soul, it was the kind of hero Nana had been as well. But the kid could do better. He would be better.

With Inko’s happily given permission, Torino used his phone to take pictures of all the notes and hero sketches in the few notebooks they had looked through. He was already coming up with a list of people he wanted to show them to, as well as hobbies and activities he was going to suggest to Izuku to help him cultivate his talents. Inko was practically gushing about how proud she was of her son’s studiousness, and the old hero didn’t blame her. He wasn’t an academic genius and neither was she, but they could both still recognize what her boy was.

As the conversation started winding down and Torino began helping her clean up the table and put away the notebooks, he seized the opportunity to ask her a very important question that he had been considering ever since he first spoke with the boy on the beach. It was one of the real reasons he had come today, and it was something he needed parental consent for.

“Mrs. Midoriya, have you considered pulling your son out of Aldera and finishing his education with homeschooling?”

The green haired woman sighed. “Yes. Homeschooling was one of my last resorts, but my husband’s salary alone wouldn’t be enough to support us both. I thought about that a long time ago, but I can’t afford to stay home and teach him. We would lose the apartment if I did, and this place is already a compromise.”

The older man nodded. “That’s understandable. However, these days there are a lot of other alternative options for homeschooling, even ones that are geared towards the idea of busy hero parents who have kids that are hero hopefuls themselves. There are some very reputable online courses that let students progress at their own pace. Many legacy hero families opt to use them if their situations make their children attending physical schools awkward.”

The retired pro handed the housewife their dishes before continuing. “You aren’t a pro hero, and your son doesn’t have to worry about paparazzi or being harassed by the media. But he clearly has issues with bullies and negligent teachers, and like most hero parents, you have a time intensive job you can’t just walk away from. Why have him spend ten more months at Aldera if he doesn’t have to?”

Inko finished putting their plates in the sink before turning around. She had a good poker face, but after talking with her for so long about her son’s problems, Torino could see a glimmer of hope shining through the cracks.

“Tell me more about these online courses.”

The old hero smiled.

The next day of training happened to be on a Sunday, and without school getting in the way, all three of them met up after lunch. Torino was privately hoping that the kid wouldn’t be going back to school on Monday at all, but that entirely depended on how fast the paperwork could be pushed through.

As Izuku got started on cleaning the beach, Torino cleared his throat and held out his hand. Toshinori looked at him, confused.

“The plan, Toshi,” Torino said impatiently. “Show me the schedule you’ve put together.”

The blonde’s eyes widened before he scrambled slightly, patting himself down until he found his copy of the American Dream fitness schedule. He handed it over, and Torino hummed as he flipped through it.

“Not bad. The diet’s correct. You’re teaching him the right attitude with the cleaning up the beach thing, I like that. Too many glory hounds these days. Though we should probably get the kid a pair of work gloves and a good set of boots, this place is filthy. The muscle training is on-par, if he keeps to your bulking and conditioning schedule he’ll be pretty close to peak strength for a young man his age in ten months.”

The grey-haired hero considered the paper for several long moments, deep in thought, before looking up at Toshinori. “Pretty good. I like it. I’d give this a 70 out of 100 for quality.”

“Only 70?” the taller man said somewhat incredulously. “That’s a barely passing grade! What did I lose points on?”

The shorter, older man shrugged. “You lost ten points for each of your mistakes, and you made three of them. Your first issue is that this is all bulking and endurance training. This is basically a schedule for a 17 year old you, Toshi, and while I’m sure the kid would be over the moon at the comparison, he’s not you. He needs some flexibility and agility training as well.”

“That focus on bulking is necessary, though!” the blonde protests. “It’s a minimal doubling at every transfer, and I’ve exercised the stockpile so much more than anyone else has because of my career! I’ve been a pro for 40 years, Torino! Muscle size and muscle density aren’t the same thing, but he needs both to make this work. If he’s not at or near peak size and density for his age when I do the transfer, the first time it activates might kill him!”

“I agree, which is why I’m not editing the strength training or his diet. You’re on the money with all of that. But you’ve just got him jogging during his cardio days, and that’s honestly a waste of time. Core is important and so is endurance, but there’s other ways to exercise that besides running.”

“I know your feelings on that, Gran, but we don’t have time to do anything else. Signing him up for ballet or martial arts won’t see the biggest benefits, not in ten months. And parkour is too dangerous when he’s starting from nothing, you know that as well as I do. He can’t afford to suffer serious injuries while he’s building his body up like this.”

“Very true. Ballet, fencing, kendo, and other martial arts all give big long term benefits, but ten months won’t be enough to make them worthwhile for the time investment they demand. But there are other ways to build agility, core, and endurance besides running, and I’ve got some thoughts on ways to get that done and also make it more fun for him. You have to remember that he’s a kid, Toshi, not some thirty year old trying to reinvent his life. Sprinkling in some fun activities that still count as exercise is important for motivation and morale.”

Toshinori sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Fine, so I lose 10 points because of ‘just jogging’ for cardio. What happened to the other 20?”

The older man rolled his eyes. “You lost 20 points because you forgot that he’s taking the damn entrance exam for UA, you gorilla. Your schedule is great if you were just planning on making him your apprentice or sidekick or something, but UA has a written exam portion that the kid has to pass, and then depending on whether or not he gets in by recommendation from one of us, he’s either got to place decently well in a giant obstacle course racing other kids with quirks, or he has to fistfight robots for points in whatever test environment the rat has decided to cook up this year.”

“Yes, that’s true, but One For All will help him with both practicals, no matter which way he-”

The shorter man interrupted him by reaching up and slapping the sheaf of papers against the side of his head. “Not if you give him one of your hairs the day of, you idiot! You know better than to expect him to be able to use it like you could, I know you’re not that irresponsible. But what does that leave him with if you take One For All out of the equation? You’re throwing him into the exam with no skills, nothing to rely upon, no real training or anything! Just a bunch of brand new muscles with no clue how to use them! And that’s assuming he doesn’t use One For All at all! What happens if he uses it in the exam and cripples himself? Do you really think they’ll pass some kid who puts himself in traction trying to get through an obstacle course?”

Toshinori’s face paled as he realized the implications. He sucked in a sharp breath. Oh. Oh no. He really hadn’t considered that, had he?

Gran Torino sighed. “You have to think these things through, Toshi. It’s not just you out there anymore, throwing punches and taking on all the risks yourself. He’s a kid. He’s your kid. Well, our kid now, after all this. We can’t risk him like that, and we can’t gamble with his exam either. That’s part of what being a teacher means. You have to think about the welfare of the kids you’re teaching. You can’t just take their safety for granted, your actions on their behalf have consequences.”

Toshinori clenched his fist and looked at it, contemplating the difference between his skinny arms and frail hands and what they used to be. What they were like before the injury. Before he was forced onto a mostly liquid diet. Before he had to scramble to put together a meal plan that could be digested with no stomach and only half his intestines, but would still let him do hero work for at least a few hours a day. Gran was right. He couldn’t let anything like what happened to him happen to Izuku. He was a boy. That was his boy out there, dragging radiators and tires up and down the beach. If he couldn’t get this right with even one teenager, how could he possibly take on an entire class of them?

This wasn’t just training for Izuku, he realized. It was training for him. He was going to be a teacher at the most prestigious school for heroics in the eastern hemisphere in just ten months. He was going back to his alma mater, and he was expected to have something worthwhile to share with the next generation. Even if the only thing he could teach them was how to not make the same mistakes he had. He had to be ready. Izuku was his entrance exam, and he had to pass it with Plus Ultra flying colors.

He unclenched his fist slowly and looked down at the older man. “Should I wait, then? The day after the exam?”

Torino rubbed his chin, thinking. “Maybe? It depends. If we can push him a little bit harder on the strength end, we might be able to get him to finish the beach and his bulking a few days earlier. But it’s going to be close. Ten months really doesn’t give a whole lot of wiggle room. As wild as it may sound to admit this, having his quirk manifest during the exams may not be the worst thing that could happen. Recovery Girl will be there, and she can heal almost anything as long as the patient has the stamina to fuel the healing. And UA has the resources to call in other healing quirk doctors and nurses if need be. Ripping off that bandage during an official UA exercise on school grounds is definitely safer than if we did it here or in some abandoned warehouse somewhere. Though that still begs the question, could he activate it for the first time in the exam practical and still impress the faculty enough to make it in?”

Torino crossed his arms and sighed. “The bottom line is this, Toshi. Do you think the kid can pass the UA entrance exams without a quirk?”

The older man held up his hands to cut off the blonde as he started to protest. “This isn’t about him being a hero, Toshi! Of course the kid can be a hero. Even back in my day, there probably could have been a quirkless hero if somebody had tried hard enough. There’s so many newfangled support gadgets these days that I’m pretty sure we could get a trained orangutan to qualify for a hero license. But I’m not asking if he can be a pro, I’m asking if he can pass the exam. What do you think?”

The lion-maned blonde watched as his protégé ran up and down the beach, carrying pipes and bits of scrap metal to the parked truck. He thought about it.

“The… the obstacle course, maybe. But the general exam? I’m not sure.”

“I docked you 10 points for each mistake you made.” Torino held up one finger. “You lost 10 for missing opportunities with his cardio and endurance. We could have him do airsoft, rope swinging, rock climbing, or half a dozen other things that would build cardio and endurance the same way but also teach him useful skills and would count as fun activities for him to help him unwind.”

“Wait, airsoft? You want him to learn how to use firearms?” Toshinori said incredulously.

The older man rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. The only reason I don’t use them is because I’d need some kind of vision or auto-aiming quirk to hit anything moving at the speeds I do. I honestly don’t know why all you new wave heroes hate them so much, back in the day practically every hero had some kind of gun on them. And even if he doesn’t choose to use one, he still needs to know how they work, because if he goes pro somebody is going to shoot at him at some point.

“Besides,” the old man said, jabbing a finger at the taller hero, “aren’t you supposed to be the big American export around here? Since when do you hate guns?”

The blonde huffed indignantly. “I’d use support gear and weapons if anybody could make some that don’t break as soon as I touch them. It was hard enough getting suits and shoes that don’t explode every time I move!”

Torino privately felt that was more Toshinori’s fault than the fault of any equipment the support companies came up with, but he knew better than to argue the point. Toshinori had been bareknuckle boxing evil into submission for almost fifty years, he wasn’t likely to change his ways now.

The older hero held up a second finger. “Moving on, you lost another 10 because there’s almost no time in this schedule for him to study ahead for the written exam. The kid is smart, I know he’s smart. I talked to him about Garaki’s theory yesterday, and he knew the man’s scientific papers better than I did. And you need to see his notebooks, I’ll show you some pictures I took after we drop the kid off tonight. But even if he’s a genius, he still needs to study. He can’t just guess the answers.”

The last finger came up. “And you lost the last 10 because you haven’t accounted for building up any kind of skillset that would actually help him pass the practical. Were you banking on him pulling the quirk out like some sort of miracle solution, or something? Maybe he activates the quirk in the middle of the exam, and maybe it works out in his favor. Maybe he can use it perfectly just like you. But that’s a lot of ‘maybes,’ and it would be foolish to count on that happening. He needs at least some beginner level sidekick skills if he wants to run the course or do some sort of robot battle free-for-all. And that has to be incorporated into his training. We can’t just throw him raw into a melee and expect him to magic his way out of it with a passing score, quirk or no quirk.”

The older man turned to face Toshinori. “Like I said, this is a great plan if you’re making him your apprentice or sidekick. Getting him into UA? A 70 is the best I can give you.”

The taller man sighed before nodding in acceptance, his unruly lion’s mane of golden hair bobbing in the cool breeze coming off of the sea. “That’s fair. Will you help me do this right?”

“Of course I will,” the retired pro huffed indignantly. “That’s why I’m here.”

Torino was impressed with Izuku. And while the young man did not know it yet, actually impressing the old pro was notoriously difficult. Back when he was a teacher at UA, Sorahiko Torino had possessed a similar reputation to Aizawa “Eraserhead” Shota. Both men had similar reputations as teachers among their students, and equally high standards to which they conducted their classes.

The primary difference between the two? Aizawa considered expulsion from UA a mercy. As a modern underground hero, he had seen many friends and youths be crippled or outright killed due to inadequate training or having the wrong attitudes about fighting crime and conducting hero work. Any time he judged a student to be likely to get themselves killed, he would expel them to “save” them. The man had, rather infamously, expelled an entire class of heroics students just last year, because none of them had taken his warnings and instructions on how to behave seriously. Anyone who was judged to not be taking the heroics course seriously was someone who had “no potential.” And anyone with a potential of zero would be expelled. That was Aizawa’s method. He instilled discipline and motivated his students to improve through fear.

Sorahiko “Gran” Torino, by contrast, had never expelled a single student from UA during his tenure as a teacher there, nor had he ever threatened to expel anyone, either.

This was not an act of mercy.

Rather, Torino had a reputation for being a slavedriver, and he had earned it. Anyone who he deemed to be lacking in areas he considered important for their development and education as a hero would be rehabilitated personally by him.

Not enough discipline? He made them stand for their classes while holding full water buckets at arm’s length. Slacking off on physical training? He’d make them run a fighting gauntlet against their own classmates, one at a time, with no breaks. If the offender actually managed to finish it, they’d run a gauntlet against the teachers next. Arrogant students were forced to dress up like clowns or mascots while attending all of their classes. And anyone caught bullying others or lording their quirks over other students would be forbidden from using their own quirk in any exercises or training until further notice, taking them from the top of the pecking order straight down to the bottom.

In Sorahiko Torino’s mind, there was no such thing as cruel or unusual punishments. A true pragmatist, he believed in doing whatever it took to get the job done. Stupid people had to be motivated to educate themselves. The weak had to be pressed to obtain the drive to overcome their limits. The arrogant and haughty had to be broken, and the meek and cowardly needed to be pushed and provoked until they snapped and bit back. In his mind, normal people could afford to have these flaws. But not heroes, and not anyone aspiring to be a hero, either. Heroes had to be better. They didn’t have the luxury of choosing, not when people’s lives were on the line.

Torino had never expelled a single soul as a teacher at UA. But he held an unbroken record for the highest number of voluntary transfers out of the heroics course that he oversaw. Transfers out of UA were practically unheard of, and voluntary transfers out of UA’s heroics course into other education tracks were almost equally unheard of. Anyone who made it into the top rated school in Japan wanted to stay. UA was one of the best heroics schools in the world, easily ranking in the top three. And anyone who made it into one of the two Hero Course classes also would have to be crazy to want to leave. There were only 40 seats maximum on the Hero Course per year, 18-20 per class, with slight flexibility for unusual situations. Being educated there was a privilege among privileges. Being kicked out of Heroics and sent to General Studies or some other course was considered a punishment and a serious internal threat to misbehaving students. Likewise, the scramble for UA students to prove themselves and earn their spot in the Heroics Course was a very real internal contest.

Torino had never expelled anyone. Not a single student. But every other Heroics teacher in the history of UA combined could not match the number of students who voluntarily transferred out of his Hero Class. Far from Aizawa’s aloof and detached methods, his logical ruses and mercy expulsions, Sorahiko Torino made his education methods personal. He took pride in figuring out exactly where the lines were for all of his students and turning up the heat until they voluntarily jumped over them. Anyone who didn’t like being pushed was free to leave. And many did.

The ones who remained went on to become pillars of the hero community, not just in Japan, but worldwide.

Most heroes retire in their mid-thirties after between ten or twenty years of being a pro. So Torino had fallen into obscurity in recent years as the vast majority of people he personally taught retired and got out of heroing. But not too long ago, the name ‘Gran Torino’ would send shivers down the spines of most of the top pros in the nation, because many of those people were former graduates of UA who had been taught personally by the man.

Some trauma stays with you.

All Might and Endeavor, the number one and number two heroes of Japan, were both old enough to have been a part of that generation. They were actually quite old by the standards of active pros. And Gran Torino still scared the both of them, though Todoroki “Endeavor” Enji would rather die than admit it.

Often, Torino’s students didn’t know if it was better to disappoint the Jet Hero or to please him. Displeasing him would mean remedial classes and rehabilitation training, which no one wanted. But pleasing him would mean he would have even higher expectations for you going forwards. It meant surprise tests, pop quizzes, extra lessons, and more.

The challenges that come with impressing Gran Torino were something Izuku would learn first-hand in the coming year. And he would get his first taste of it there, on that beach. Because it isn’t normal for a teenager to know enough about quirk theory and the history of quirks to know who Garaki Kyudai even was. Let alone be able to hold an intelligent discussion about his papers or the life story of Destro.

Most teenagers would have become confused if you tried to explain the singularity to them. Not only did Izuku already know about it, but when he found out that One For All would be a singularity quirk, his first instinct was to look for paper and something to write on so he could start taking notes.

Torino was convinced that the kid would have pulled on a lab coat and started doing experiments with Toshinori on the spot, if he’d had a lab to use. Or a coat to wear.

And there was nothing normal to begin with about his hero analysis. That kind of talent with detail and observation was more dangerous than any conventional weapon.

Torino knew he couldn’t push the boy physically, at least not any farther than he was already being pushed. He knew Toshinori well enough to know that the kid’s exercise regime would be air tight even before he demanded to see it. There is a limit to exercise and how fast you can build your body, and exceeding it doesn’t help more, it just hurts you and ruins your progress.

But even if he couldn’t push Izuku physically, he certainly could push him intellectually. And he was already planning to. Homeschooling, a customized curriculum with accelerated courses in the areas he showed talent in. They would have to give him some tests to figure out his exact placement as a starting line, he’d need parental permission for most of what he was considering. Once the boy had a solid foundation, he might even rope Nezu into this.

An intelligent successor for One For All. Would wonders never cease?

Gran Torino was not the only one in the hero business with a fierce reputation. Nezu was also a feared name, and rightfully so. He was one of the extremely rare animals to be born with a quirk. His quirk, High Spec, just so happened to make him one of the most intelligent beings on the planet. He was born in captivity in an Australian biomedical testing facility, and had to sabotage his way out when the researchers realized he was a quirked animal and did not want to let him leave. Over the next ten years, every researcher who experimented on him while he was confined there turned up dead in scrupulously clean accidents that Nezu was far away from and had solid alibis for.

Afraid of what a quirked genius animal with a grudge against humans might do if left alone, the Hero Public Safety Commission and the Japanese and Australian governments decided to chain him, not with physical bonds, but with obligations and legal responsibilities. They pushed a hero license onto him and put him in charge of UA as it’s principle. The hero license created legal avenues to severely punish him for misusing his intelligence quirk, and they assumed that granting him custodianship over a massive international hero school would serve as a distraction for him while also keeping him in clear view and limiting his ability to cause trouble.

It was a good plan, in theory.

In practice, it did almost nothing, except give Nezu a seat at the table of politics and power, which both the safety commission and the governments involved have regretted doing ever since.

Sorahiko Torino was not afraid of Nezu. They had a cordial relationship of mutual respect and understanding. But Torino was fairly unique in that regard. People who had a friendly relationship with Nezu were few and far between. People who were not afraid of him were almost impossible to find. Nezu was a radical, uncontrollable element in international hero society. He was a creature widely considered to be a serious, legitimate threat-risk for taking over the world one day out of sheer boredom.

Today, Gran Torino was an obscure name in the circles of active pros. But most his former students were still alive, they were just retired, or still working but in a limited or reduced capacity as advisors or consultants. If any of them were to find out that the old man was teaching again, they would have become concerned.

If they knew that he had effectively agreed to take on a personal student, they would have become worried.

If they knew that the kid had impressed their former teacher the very first day they met, they would have become afraid.

And if they knew that Torino was planning on involving Nezu in the boy’s education?

If they had known, most of Torino’s former students would have abandoned their retirement gigs and fled Japan for a safer and more stable area of the world. Like an active warzone, for instance.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, none of them knew any of that. So Sorahiko Torino was left to ponder and plan the future of Midoriya Izuku’s hero education in peace. And like a deep water tsunami that was still far out at sea, the tiny ripple that would herald the coming chaos went unnoticed.

Torino was pleased. The paperwork had gone through without a hitch. The kid wouldn’t be going back to that hellhole of a school on Monday. For the next ten months, he would be pursuing his education at his own pace. A pace that the retired pro was quite sure would turn out to be much faster than any of his previous teachers had ever expected or would be willing to give him credit for.

Doing his education more efficiently and at his own pace freed up more hours in the day. Hours to relax. Hours to build up the boy’s confidence and repair the damage that a broken and negligent system had done to him. Hours to teach him important skills that would help him in the future, both in the UA entrance exam and beyond.

Hours where Torino could unapologetically use the boy’s freakish talent for analysis and quirk theory to terrorize people in the hero industry for sport. In his humble opinion, most of those glamor-obsessed idiots had it coming.

His contacts in the police really were going to skin him when they found out what kind of talent they had missed out on. But he was already planning on an olive branch. He could get the kid involved in cases as a consultant, teach him the ropes of how crime was actually handled by the professionals. And, naturally, he wouldn’t be telling the kid that these were real cases or actual crimes until later. Why spoil the fun early? It would help give the kid a much-needed ego boost to do a classic magician’s reveal and tell him that actually, he’s been helping the police catch criminals for months, so he needs to have confidence in his skills.

Torino gave the paperwork a final once-over before nodding to himself, satisfied. Everything was in order, and Midoriya Inko had signed off on it. From here on out, they could start working on building the kid into a real hero.

This was the starting line.

Chapter Text

Torino was used to his hunches being right, and the data he had just shared with Midoriya Inko an hour earlier had vindicated his instincts. It had been a little less than a week since Izuku had learned that he didn’t have to go back to Aldera, and after he and his mother had finished crying over it and hugging each other and everyone else, he had taken to the online courses like a duck to water.

On the surface, they were completely voluntary and anonymous digital classes that he could approach at his own pace. He could log in and out of classes at any time, and get up and walk away from any of his assignments if he need a break. However, like most online schools, there were a number of tools for the parents and guardians to see exactly how much and what kind of work the student was doing, so kids that slacked off would get caught. And Torino had been right. The moment the shackles of hostile classrooms and biased, apathetic teachers were removed, the kid managed over a month and a half of schoolwork in less than a week, and his grades were flawless. Without anyone holding him back and with no pressure to succeed or fear of failure, Midoriya Izuku was a straight A student.

This was exactly what the retired pro had been hoping for. At the rate Izuku was going, he would finish out the last ten months of general education schoolwork in just over a month. That left a huge amount of time in his schedule free for other activities. They couldn’t push him any harder physically; as Torino had expected, Toshinori’s workout schedule was functionally airtight. But there were other pursuits that could fill that time. Things that could help build up the kid’s confidence, socialize him, and further refine his obvious mental talents. It also left much more time to rest and recover between exercise sessions, and meant the kid wouldn’t be pressured for trying to get enough hours of sleep.

All they needed to do was get over that initial hump, and his schedule would open up tremendously. They could begin putting him into more advanced online modules that focused on the subjects he excelled at, like analysis and quirk science, and still have time to get him all the certifications and training he needed to become what Torino considered to be a well-rounded hero.

There was, funnily enough, no age requirement for getting the private investigator’s license needed to act as a police consultant. Perhaps because the bureaucrats in charge of that decision felt it was unnecessary. But there was an educational requirement. Izuku would need to finish the education that Aldera had started before Torino could get him the credentials needed to start working with actual crime cases. So unfortunately, that would have to wait. The first responder license that allowed someone to administer first aid legally to strangers during emergencies and disasters would also have to wait, as it needed a diploma as well.

What didn’t need to wait was the driver’s license. That was age-based, and the kid was already old enough to earn it. Torino understood that every hero had their own particular way of doing things, but he would be damned if he trained somebody who couldn’t even drive if they needed to. Who ever heard of a hero that had to walk everywhere? They also didn’t need to wait on knife or small arms training either, which was good. Getting the kid range certified ahead of time would make getting his PI license easier.

You didn’t need to be proficient in using a sidearm to become an official police consultant, but Japanese and American law did require all full-time PIs to be able to legally serve as police in a time of crisis if necessary. You didn’t need to know how to use a gun to be a PI, but you did need to know that to get into law enforcement. Which meant, roundabout, you needed it to be a fully licensed PI.

That clunky reasoning existed because there needed to be exceptions to the rule, mostly for civilian attachés who had useful skills or valuable quirks. One good example was Tsukauchi Naomasa’s sister, Tsukauchi Makoto. Her quirk, Polygraph, allowed her to determine the truthfulness of the statements of anyone she was physically touching, though it didn’t work against people who believed they were telling the truth or who had enough self-control to completely relax their bodies and tell a stone cold lie. Makoto was not a police officer, but she was a provisional PI and had a provisional PI license solely so that she could be brought on cases to use her quirk for law enforcement purposes. She was a good example of why such partial licensing systems were in place.

But even though exceptions existed, Torino had no interest in exploiting them. In his mind, every idiot who has the laminated piece of plastic proclaiming them to be a licensed pro hero should be able to competently do every single thing a police officer, criminal investigator, and emergency responder could do, and do it at least as well as they could. He was no fan of half measures, and never had been. The entire hero system existed as a supplement to law enforcement because the advent of quirks had made traditional measures of keeping the peace impossible. That’s what heroes were, at their most fundamental level: keepers of the peace. If heroes were being called in, it already meant that the standard police and emergency response services had failed. Heroes were the next step up in escalation. So as far as Torino was concerned, any hero should be able to do anything the emergency responders could do. That wasn’t overachieving, it was the absolute bare minimum. Anything less was a disgrace.

Midoriya Izuku would not be getting a provisional license for anything. Not if Sorahiko Torino had anything to say about it. He would be fully certified and fully qualified to do anything a professional hero should need to do, whether that was giving out emergency medical aid, securing and investigating a crime scene, filing paperwork correctly, interrogating witnesses and suspects, or disassembling and reassembling a criminal’s firearm while blindfolded.

Not for the first time in his life, Torino was quietly thankful that most of the world had just copied the legal system of America when the Dawn of Quirks ended. In an age of superhumanity, nobody cared if a kid had a gun or a knife when purse snatchers were running around on stilt legs and throwing cars at the police trying to catch them. Back when he was a teacher at UA, it had made his job of trying to turn delinquents and hellions into functional heroes much easier, and it was helping again now.

It didn’t hurt that since modern society was so wrapped up in quirk worship, most people genuinely didn’t see knives or guns as much of a threat anymore. Idiots. A trained chimpanzee with a knife and a flashbang grenade could kill half of the top 100 heroes in Japan, Torino was sure of it. The kid was sure of it too, if his notebooks were anything to go by.

Torino was still giddy about that. He couldn’t wait to see Mirai’s face, the weasel. Torino knew he would never approve of a kid like this following after the legacy of All Might. A kid who was, quite frankly, very much like Mirai himself, minus the bitter attitude and cold disposition. Mirai had never gotten along well with David Shield, and Torino doubted Mirai would get along well with another version of himself, either. Which would make it all the sweeter when the boy surpassed every expectation and limitation put on him and became the hero that neither Toshinori nor Mirai ever could.

So he loved a good underdog story. Sue him.

He estimated they had about a month and some change before Izuku received his general education diploma. Back in the day, that would have been approximately the equivalent of a high school diploma plus a two year degree at a university, but these days that was the new average. Once the kid had that signed bit of paper in his hand, all bets were off, and he could really start beefing up the kid’s skillset.

Until then, he had a list of things he wanted to get done. Knife basics. Gun basics. A driver’s license. Some basic training in the formalities of the quirk analytics industry. A hero identity needed to be built so the kid could start doing real analysis for real heroes and creating a reputation for himself, which was something that could start immediately and didn’t need any sort of license. They didn’t have time to teach him formal martial arts, but he could be given basic training in how to throw punches and take hits. Learning that was a vital first step for anyone, to get them out of the passive bystander mentality and teach them that it’s okay to hit back, it’s okay to run in and get involved. Train the hesitation out of them. Get them over the fear of being struck.

And most importantly, Torino needed to shake the stars out of the kid’s eyes. The way things were going, he would probably spend half of his career trying to directly imitate All Might, and that couldn’t be allowed. Toshinori had been an incredible hero, and he still was, but you can’t surpass somebody if you spend all your time trying to be just like them. The only reason Torino never tried to stop Toshinori from imitating Nana was because smiling at everybody didn’t hurt anything. And because, quite frankly, Toshinori and Nana had been two peas in the same idiot pod from the start. Torino loved Nana to bits and always would, but her idea of a clever strategy had been to fly at somebody and punch them instead of just punching them.

But Izuku was a whole different breed, and it wouldn’t surprise Torino if he ultimately ended up fending off offers to recruit him for his intellectual prowess in the private and government sectors while also trying to deal with being top pro on the world stage. Allowing the kid to get away with trying to ape Toshinori, Torino himself, or anybody else would be doing him a disservice. The kid could admire Toshinori if he wanted, but the worshipfulness needed to stop.

Fortunately, Torino had been a hell teacher for over a decade. He knew exactly how to get an intelligent person to confront their flaws.

Pit something they are passionate about directly against the thing that needs to be changed.

Izuku sat down at a ramshackle picnic table high up on the Dagobah beach shoreline, panting. It had been almost two weeks since he had started on his American Dream Plan, and he was beginning to feel the effects. He was tired and his muscles burned, but he also felt like he had more energy. He found himself doing small things he had never done before, like tapping his foot whenever he had to sit still. It was like his body was learning that it needed to produce more energy, and he could feel a desire to work it off when he had too much.

The short elderly pro that had become a fixture of his training and cleaning sessions since the second and third day walked up and put an ice cold bottle of water down on the table next to Izuku. He accepted it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and drinking it quickly but carefully.

“Alright kiddo, listen up. I’ve got three pieces of homework to assign you, and we’re going to have a discussion about some of what your training is going to entail going forwards from here. You ready?”

“Yes- yes sir,” Izuku gasped, finishing the water bottle. He sat the empty bottle back down on the table, only for the skeletal form of Toshinori’s civilian identity to walk over and pick it up. Toshinori put the empty bottle in a cloth bag he was carrying, which also held spare gloves, bandages, and other supplies. Izuku smiled gratefully at the tall, gaunt man, who winked at him.

“Good,” Torino said, hopping up on the bench across the table from Izuku. “Now pay attention. I can teach people how to do something without them understanding the how and the why. I have done so in the past. But I do not like doing it. I don’t feel students can ever be properly motivated unless they understand the reasoning behind the lessons they are being taught. I could just ask you to trust me, and I would probably get some of your trust just by demanding it. But that’s inefficient, and ultimately the end result isn’t as good. I don’t want you to give me 90% of your effort. I want 100%. I want 100% of your effort 100% of the time. And for that, you need to understand why we’re doing the things that we are. We need to be on the same page. You with me, kid?”

Izuku nodded eagerly.

“Fantastic,” Torino continued. “Let’s start with a pop quiz. What’s the most dangerous quirk in history?”

“Define ‘most dangerous,’” Izuku shot back without hesitation. “What parameters? Highest potential destructive power? Most property damage? Hardest to defend against or stop?”

Torino grinned approvingly at the immediate comeback. “Deaths. I’m talking confirmed lethality. What quirk is responsible for the most deaths overall?”

Izuku hummed. “That would have to be Swan Song. I can’t think of another quirk that killed more people.”

“Describe it,” Torino said curtly. Izuku nodded.

“It manifested at the very beginning of the Dawn of Quirks, it was a first generation quirk. It’s power was simple but effective. If the user sang a full song from beginning to end, and put their best effort into singing it, then everyone who heard the entire song, including the user themselves, would die. The best effort thing is a guess on the part of quirk historians, but it’s an educated one, since the quirk didn’t activate prior to it’s first and final appearance. It featured on what would become the last episode of Britian’s Got Talent, a pre-quirk era gameshow where random people who think they have talent get on a stage and try to impress judges and the audience.

"A guy came up and wanted to try his hand at singing a popular song that was some kind of meme on the internet. A single by somebody named Rick Astley called Never Gonna Give You Up. He sang the whole thing from beginning to end, and then he, the judges, the entire studio audience, and everyone who watched him sing it live from start to finish died. Exact numbers are impossible to determine, but it’s estimated that Swan Song killed slightly over twenty five million people worldwide. The show was ruined, and the studio and it’s parent company died overnight due to lawsuits. I’m pretty sure that song is also banned in Australia now because of that.”

Torino nodded, not surprised at the kid’s choice of reply. Toshinori, by contrast, looked lost and slightly afraid of the answer that had been given, but Izuku didn’t notice.

“Good answer. I would agree, Swan Song killed the most people by far, even though the exact numbers are difficult to determine. And yes, Never Gonna Give You Up is illegal in Australia. It was banned because people were afraid that recordings of the Swan Song could kill, but that turned out to just be a hoax. After the Dawn of Quirks ended, the Australian government never bothered to unban it. Now, by most parameters, people would claim that Swan Song is incredibly powerful, yes? And yet it was a first generation quirk. Supposedly the weakest and simplest of quirks. Can you explain why that might be?”

Izuku frowned and began tapping his finger against his knee. “I mean, I could say there are exceptions to every rule, and that’s especially true with quirks? But that’s not a good answer. The truth is, what constitutes ‘strength’ is kind of relative, isn’t it? Endeavor’s Hellfire is the strongest fire quirk in the Eastern hemisphere-”

“That we know of,” Torino interrupted. Izuku hummed and made a gesture indicating that was a given.

“Yes, that we know of. Quirks get stronger every generation, so there’s probably already somebody who has him beat out there somewhere, of course. But that’s not the point. The point is, somebody with only a fraction of Endeavor’s strength could make a much bigger fire if they used their quirk in an oil field or something. Proper use of the right kind of circumstances or environment could make them ‘stronger’ than him.

"There are plenty of quirks that can affect things like the central nervous system or alter brain functions, which is most likely how Swan Song achieved it’s affect. Most of the quirks that do that today are pretty easy to use, they only require physical contact. Some of the stronger ones are call-response or a memetic virus, they can be activated by asking a question to provoke an answer, or stating a phrase with intent. Like giving a command to someone. Swan Song was not easy to use, you have to stand there and sing a whole song to trigger it. If we consider it a memetic virus class quirk, then it’s extremely clunky and unwieldy.”

Toshinori looked like he wanted to interject and say something, but Torino cut him off with a look, shaking his head very slightly. Izuku continued on, oblivious.

“The only reason Swan Song caused the damage that it did was because it was the right quirk in the right place and time. It went off in a television studio broadcasting live to millions of people. So whether it was actually strong is kind of debatable. In a more realistic use case, it would definitely have range and distance limits. It is likely that only hearing the song dimly from a distance would prevent the effect. Someone speaking loudly over part of the song might disrupt it as well. I think there’s a pretty plausible argument that Swan Song only did what it did because it was able to coincidentally take advantage of international broadcasting infrastructure as support equipment, and it had an audience that was willing to sit quietly and listen to it.”

“Good,” Torino said, nodding. “And would you say it was simple or complex?”

“Simple, definitely. There was no nuance on how it functioned, no subtlety. It wasn’t complex. At least as far as we can infer, since exactly how it worked will forever be a mystery. But given the way other similar quirks today function, it likely either stopped the heart of everyone who heard it, or simply overloaded their nervous system, resulting in instantaneous brain death. It’s a very basic effect with no nuance at all. Modern mental quirks can affect people’s moods, modify memories, create false emotions, flip personalities on their head, or even compel specific behaviors and actions from the target. Comparing the complex mechanics of those quirks to Swan Song is like comparing a Swiss watch to a wooden club. It also lacked any kind of safety feature whatsoever. Most quirks can be dangerous to their user, but Swan Song affected the man who used it exactly the same as everyone else. It had no secondary mutations or alpha factors to protect him from his own power. That in and of itself is a sign of a first gen quirk. Not a dead give-away, though, as some first gen quirks still had safeties.”

Torino clapped his hands once. “An excellent explanation, with justification for your position. Well done. Now, what do you think Swan Song would look like if it hit singularity?”

Izuku exhaled slowly. Toshinori leaned closer, disturbed but also fascinated by the somewhat morbid discussion of high level quirk theory.

“I mean, this is just pure conjecture, right? You’re asking me to guess? Because that’s really all I can do here, nobody has ever seen a singularity quirk before.”

Torino nodded. “Yes, I know. I’m asking for your best guess, given your own intuition and what you’ve read from Garaki’s theories. What would Swan Song look like if it hit singularity?”

Izuku’s eyes became distant as he fell deep into thought. “Well, first we’d have to set some ground rules, right? Part of what makes the singularity the singularity is that it’s all the quirk factors and traits of past generations coming back, scrambling and mutating together into a single super quirk of sorts. That’s the origin of the instability of the eighth generation, it’s a precursor to what’s going to happen next. So asking what any particular quirk would look like ‘as a singularity’ is a loaded question, because a bunch of other strange and complicated effects would be happening, and most of it would seem very unrelated to Swan Song.”

Izuku stood up from the picnic table and began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Setting that aside and just addressing Swan Song, part of the hallmark of the singularity, the big threat that Dr. Garaki warned about, centers around activation. Swan Song was actually a very safe quirk for what it was. You could easily go your whole life and never activate it. Just don’t sing a full song and mean it. Part of what makes the singularity the singularity is instability and quirks becoming nearly impossible to control, so logically a singularity Swan Song activation would be the exact opposite of the historical Swan Song. It would trigger very easily. Perhaps any time the user spoke aloud, or if there were other activation mutations in the family tree, perhaps from something else tangibly related, like breathing or even sleeping.

"We’d have to make an educated guess as to exactly how Swan Song worked, but given other similar quirks, I think it was a nervous system override, not a cardiovascular brake. A brainkiller, not a heartstopper. More complex neural affectors today do very different things, and if the complexity of Swan Song increased each generation, then it’s effect could easily evolve from simply flooding the nervous system with a lethal amount of signals to something like turning a person into a mind-controlled puppet, or even swapping around the personalities, memories, or sensations of everyone in range of it. And since a singularity quirk is chaotic by nature, the medium it works through could change dramatically. Like if it became mixed with a fire quirk, thereby causing anyone who heard the sound or saw the light of the fire the user creates to be affected.”

Izuku stopped and turned to face Torino. Behind Izuku’s shoulder, Toshinori was staring at the young man like he’d never seen him before.

“Here’s my answer. A singularity Swan Song could become a memetic virus where anyone who sees the user or some physical remnant of them, like a footprint or photograph, has their motor functions completely overwritten and is turned into a puppet of the user’s will for a potentially indefinite period of time. The user has no control over this effect whatsoever, and the effect would likely not have a time-out feature either, meaning that a photograph or video footage of them would be a persistent threat. This would classify the singularity Swan Song as a full-blown cognitohazard under current quirk definitions.

"Alternately, a singularity Swan Song could become a scrambler field virus where every time the user goes to sleep or enters an altered state of conscious, everyone in a massive radius around them has their memories and personalities swapped with other people in the field at random. The effect would likely reactivate anytime the user enters the trigger state, meaning the scramble would be exponential. The field would expand with every target, embedding itself in their nervous system and turning all the victims of it into additional mobile scrambler fields that are an extension of the original. Like a radio antenna having it’s signal boosted. It would spread like a virus, each cycle of activation moving the shockwave of effect outwards from the origin point like a disease. This means the quirk effect of the singularity Swan Song could theoretically spread to infect the entire planet. I could go on, but I think those two examples are pretty solid.”

Torino clapped his hands slowly. “Well done. If this was a classroom, I’d give you full marks for the day. You hit on one of the points I wanted to talk about, which is activation, and you mentioned another in passing. Strength. It’s true that quirks get stronger with each generation, but what strength actually is can be relative. Some people would argue that Swan Song was tremendously powerful. Others would say that if some fool starts singing in the middle of a fight, you mollywhop him in the back of the head and stuff him in a dumpster. You were also right to point out that Swan Song had a cooperative audience: nobody would be taken seriously if they wanted to argue that a combat oriented quirk should be judged by how many people the user could beat down if they all sat still in a line and just took it. Garaki’s doomsday prediction wasn’t just about powerful quirks, but powerful quirks that couldn’t be controlled.”

Torino stepped down from standing on top of the bench opposite of Izuku and stood next to the table, leaning on it with one hand.

“We aren’t sure what’s going to happen when you get One For All. Maybe it works just like how it has for everyone else. Maybe it turns into something that nobody can ever hope to control or use, and there’s simply no helping it. Until you get it and we see how it manifests, I can’t give you much more than basic advice for quirk control. I’m telling you this so you understand why we’ll be teaching you certain skills in the coming months. I’m going to be preparing you to use One For All, but I’m also going to teach you everything you need to know to become a hero without it. Do you understand?”

Izuku nodded.

“Good. And do you understand why?”

Izuku nodded again, but slightly slower this time. “You’re preparing me to become a hero even if One For All isn’t as useful to me as it’s been to people in the past. You’re basically training me to become a quirkless hero. We’re hoping for the best but expecting the worst.”

“I’m glad you get it. Full marks. Now, another pop quiz: what is a quirk to a police officer or a hero?”

Izuku blinked. “What is a quirk? How do you mean? We still don’t know exactly why quirks happened or even what they really are.”

“Not literally,” Torino clarified. “I’m not asking you a question that can’t be answered. What is a quirk, in practical terms, to the people who use them? Specifically heroes and the police.”

Izuku frowned, thinking. “It’s… you can’t just want me to say a superpower. That’s too obvious. They’re… a weapon?”

Torino rocked back and forth on his heels. “You asking me or telling me, kid?”

Izuku’s frown deepened. “I’m… I’m telling you. Quirks are a weapon to heroes and the police.”

Torino nodded. “True, they can be, but not entirely what I’m going for. You’re being too specific. What’s a weapon?”

“What’s a weapon? I mean, it’s a tool of war. It’s something we-” and then Izuku understood. “It’s a tool,” he said. “Quirks are a tool.”

The old pro grinned. “Got you there eventually. Yes, quirks are just a tool, nothing more. Even the most powerful and renowned quirks are just gold plated wrenches or silver embossed hammers. One For All is no different. Quirks are just tools, and a singularity quirk is a tool that’s so complex and overtuned that it might no longer be the labor-saving device that it’s supposed to be. Now, what do you do if you’ve got some problem that needs fixing, but the tool you would normally use is broken or doesn’t work?”

“You... get another tool?” Izuku ventured.

Torino cut eyes at Toshinori and jerked his head towards the table in a gesture. The tall, skeletal blonde stepped forwards, reached behind his back, and produced a handgun from somewhere inside the baggy folds of his All Might-sized clothes. He sat the gun down on the table. While Izuku gawked at the firearm that his idol had just produced from seemingly nowhere, Torino reached into Toshinori’s cloth bag and pulled out a medium sized, single edge utility knife, complete with a sheathe. Torino placed the sheathed knife neatly on the table alongside the gun.

Izuku stared at the two weapons in shock, having not expected anything like this. Had All Might really been carrying a gun?

“Do you know how many times I’ve been tied up in my career?” Torino asked.

Izuku shook his head numbly.

“Good, because I don’t either. I lost track. I’ve been tied up with ropes, zip ties, quirks, quirks that make ropes and zip ties. But do you know how many times it worked? Zero. Know why?” In a single fluid motion, Torino produced a thin, double-edged knife with a needle point from seemingly nowhere. He held it gently, pinching it with practiced ease between his thumb and forefinger in a grip that allowed his other three fingers to precisely curl around and control the handle.

“Because I always have a knife on me.” The double-edged knife vanished as easily as it had appeared. “It wasn’t my quirk that saved me in those situations, it was my knife, my wits, and my ability to stay calm and think under pressure, all three of which are tools that are just as valuable and important as any quirk. That is why I always have a knife on me.”

Torino pushed the utility knife across the picnic table towards the teen. “And starting today, you also will always have a knife on you.”

Izuku’s eye’s brightened as he reached out to take the knife, but as soon as he touched it, Torino’s hand came down on top of his, holding it down on top of the sheathed blade.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear,” the retired pro said. “Starting today, you will always have a knife on you. This is not a suggestion. I expect you to have this, and I will ask you to show it to me without warning to check. The only times you are excused from having it are when we are at places where a person is not allowed to carry a tool for personal defense.”

Izuku blinked at him, confused. “But there is no place like that? When the Meta Ability Public Use Act was passed, part of it included blanket permission for citizens to carry anything up to a class three weapon anywhere they please for personal defense. Which basically means anything besides chemical explosives and military vehicles. It was the only way they could put the Public Use Act in and not have people riot over safety issues. Even in government buildings, class one and two weapons are still permitted as a general rule. There is nowhere I wouldn’t be allowed to have a knife.”

Torino slowly grinned, showing an uncomfortable number of teeth. “Good. I’m glad you’re aware. And what does that mean?”

Izuku blinked rapidly. “T-that I’m not excused from having the knife?”

The toothy grin got wider. “You’re paying attention. Excellent.”

Izuku swallowed heavily. “A-and the gun?”

“Comes later. Don’t worry about that just yet,” Torino said. Toshinori reached out and took the handgun back, disappearing it into one of the baggy folds of his civilian attire.

“I told you that there was going to be an explanation and three pieces of homework. Here they are. We don’t know what the singularity is going to do to you. We don’t know what form One For All will take, how useful it will be to you, or if you will even be able to use it. It will almost certainly give you super speed and super strength, because it's done that for everyone else, but anything beyond that is a guess. We both believe it will be safe enough to activate, or else we wouldn’t be giving it to you. We know what quirks the past users had, and I’ll be discussing that information with you later. I can’t give you much beyond basic exercises to help with a quirk you don’t even have yet.

"As such, your training will focus on giving you other tools you’re going to need in your hero arsenal if you want to succeed. No hero is a one trick pony. At least, no hero that’s worth a damn. Even if One For All turns out to be a dud quirk that you can’t do anything with, you are still going to be a hero. There are thousands of heroes out there with weird quirks or quirks that are highly situational, and they get along just fine. This is not an experiment, a guess, or a gamble; the training I will be putting you through is time-tested. These methods produce results.”

Torino reached back into Toshinori’s carry bag and pulled out a piece of paper before handing it across the table to Izuku. The teen took it numbly and glanced at it.

“Here are your three homework assignments from me. Your normal schoolwork takes priority over this, so I’m giving you a deadline of one week to turn these back in.”

Izuku stared at the paper with a mixture of consternation and horror.

1. Explain in detail the errors made in All Might’s pro hero career, 15 page minimum.

2. Explain in detail what you would have done differently throughout his career to achieve better results if you were All Might, 15 page minimum.

3. Select a hero name.

“But- but why?” Izuku stuttered. He had thought about what his hero name could be in the past, of course, he’s pretty sure most kids did. But all of his choices were honestly embarrassing! Most of them were just some sort of riff or play off of All Might! And write two essays on what All Might has done wrong? What?

Torino stared at the mumbling teenager with a carefully neutral expression on his face. “We’ll talk about why these assignments are important when you turn them in, assuming you haven’t figured it out by then yourself. However, for the last one at least, I can tell you this: you need to choose a hero name, or at least a name that can work as one for now, because you need an alias if you’re going to start learning how to do professional quirk analysis.”

“But every hero name I’ve ever thought of sucks! Or they’re just embarrassing! I don’t even know what One For All will look like yet!”

Torino shrugged, appearing deeply unmoved. “You’ve gotta rip that bandage off eventually. You can guess what One For All will do from what you know about quirks and All Might’s career. At a bare minimum, it will give you some kind of super strength and super speed, because that’s what it did for everyone else. And besides, not every hero names themselves after their quirk. I didn’t.”

Izuku sighed and nodded, dreading what he knew would be an agonizing process later. He folded up the paper of homework assignments and put it in his pocket, pulled his working gloves on, and walked back down the beach, slowly disappearing into the piles of trash.

After he left, Torino pulled out a small plastic stick with several buttons on the side. Pressing one began to play back a recording.

“Comparing the complex mechanics of those quirks to Swan Song is like comparing a Swiss watch to a wooden club. It also lacked any kind of safety feature whatsoever. Most quirks can be dangerous-”

Toshinori frowned at the small device. “What are you planning to do with that?”

Torino grinned. “I’m going to edit out the bits about One For All, and then use it and some of the pictures of his notebooks that I sent you to get the kid access to some of the more exclusive quirk analysis circles. There’s no such thing as an analysis license. In theory, anyone can pay whoever they like for their opinions on quirks. So professional quirk consultants operate on their reputation for quality and the results they produce, nothing more. In a lot of ways that’s a good thing, but it does create a situation where you need to be taken seriously before you can get taken seriously. So how do you break into the industry?”

Torino wiggled the recording stick before slipping into one of his pockets. “This little thing is the kid’s golden ticket into the big leagues. You and I can use this to open doors for him, and from there, it will be up to him to make the best of it.”

Toshinori stood by the picnic table, watching his protegee moving trash up the beach into larger and more organized piles. He frowned. “Is this secrecy really necessary? Why not just have him sit a test for this, or introduce him to some people in person? Surely there must be something like that in place, right?”

Torino hummed. “There are things like that, especially for established analysis firms and hero support companies, but I’m working a different angle here. The three biggest problems we have right now are the kid’s age, the amount of time we have to work with, and his own self-confidence. If he was younger, we could sign him up for some ballet or karate and use that to condition him, and if he was older we could just transfer the quirk to him and not have to worry about his bones exploding. Until you picked him, you were the youngest person to wield it by a wide margin. The rest of that storied gaggle of of mythical idiots were all adults. And ten months… honestly it’s just not enough time. If we wanted to do a proper job of this, we would need at least twice that.”

Torino pocketed the recording stick. “I can’t do anything about two of those problems. But I can help his self-confidence.”

“By tricking him?” Toshinori asked skeptically.

“By having him build a reputation for himself and then using the fruits of that to show him that his casual genius isn’t just common sense or what everyone else is already doing in the privacy of their own minds,” Torino corrected, crossing his arms. “People like him can go their whole lives without ever realizing the talent they have, because they have no context to frame it with. I am providing that context in a way that he won’t be able to brush off or ignore with self-depreciation.”

“You’ve done this before with other people,” Toshinori said, phrasing it as a statement and not a question.

“I have,” the older hero confirmed. “I could be more honest about it and work slower, but we have ten months, not two or three years. It needs to be a shock. Something that shakes him and his view of himself, that breaks his mold of self-perception and allows it to resettle into a better shape. It’s also necessary because his tactical insight and analysis is honestly at the point where it could be considered a weapon in it’s own right. There’s nothing more dangerous than someone who has a weapon but doesn’t respect the kind of damage they can do with it.”

“I’m still not entirely sold on the tricking him part, but I suppose I can see the logic, even if I don’t particularly care for it.”

“You know the standards I train people to, Toshi. You were trained to my standards. We have ten months to get him licensed and established as a PI, to get him trained and licensed as an emergency medical responder, to get him first aid training. To teach him how to put out fires and drag people out of collapsing buildings. To teach him how to interrogate suspects and convince people that are only in the chair because they’ve made a mistake that they should cooperate for leniency. We don’t have the time to teach him any kind of martial art, but we will have to teach him how to correctly throw a punch and how to take one, too. So fighting basics as well. And that’s on top of his education, plus the fitness schedule you’ve put together.”

Torino spread his hands apart in a beseeching gesture. “Do we have the time to draw him out of his shell slowly? You tell me. Is this beach going to be clean before the entrance exams next year or not? You can’t be a hero if you believe you’re a zero.”

Toshinori sighed. “Please tell me you’re not going to start repeating all the slogans from the motivational posters in the foundational heroics department. It was bad enough having to listen to it all the first time.”

Torino grinned impishly. “So you do remember what we tried to teach you in school. Good to know your advanced age hasn’t caught up with you. Do you recall that proper practice prevents piss poor performance? I’ll make you start running laps with the kid and doing fireman carry drills too if I think you need them.”

“It was Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance,” Toshinori corrected, sounding tired. “You added the piss. Don’t pretend like UA ever had profane motivational posters, Gran, or someone more gullible might actually believe you.”

Torino snorted. “Maybe not where the students could see. I recall the Focus Forestalls Fucked Foundations and Synergy Stops Shitty Situations posters from the teacher’s lounge quite fondly.”

Toshinori sighed. There really was no controlling his old mentor. “You might have to cut back on those sorts of shenanigans if you’re going to be hanging around UA and young Midoriya. I’ve heard on the grapevine that Nezu’s cut back on smoking for the sake of the students. Word around the police department is that he’s even implemented a swear jar for the faculty and staff.”

Torino let out a short, barking laugh. “Certain allowances are always made to create an optimal teaching environment at UA. That’s why the school motto is Plus Ultra: Go Beyond.” Torino shot the taller, scrawny hero a fierce grin. “Nezu and I have an… understanding.”

Toshinori barely suppressed the shiver of ice that slid down his back at that statement.

The two men stood in silence for several minutes and watched as Izuku began carrying rusted pipes from a larger pile of scrap up the beach and dropping them off in the bed of the truck.

“Why the homework assignments?” Toshinori asked after several long moments, breaking the silence.

Torino grunted. “Do you actually not understand why I want the kid to stop worshiping your career?”

Toshinori shook his head. “No, of course not, I understand why you’re doing that. You don’t want him copying me. And I agree, I don’t think it’s a good idea either. I’m not talking about today specifically, I mean all of it in general. The whole quirk analysis thing. Why go to all the trouble?”

Gran frowned. “What’s wrong with quirk analysis?”

“Nothing,” Toshinori replied, watching as Izuku began using a larger pipe with a T intersection like a rake to help him drag piles of smaller pipes easier. “What I don’t understand is why you’re focusing on it so much. You yourself admit that his understanding of tactics and his talent with quirk analysis is already at the point where it’s a weapon. So does he really need more? Most pro heroes don’t have any higher education beyond their high school diploma. I’m one of the only pros in Japan that has a college degree, and I might be the only one who has a bachelors in both business administration and criminal justice. And young Midoriya is still talking about topics that I’ve never even heard of. It’s obvious that this is his passion, so it’s not like he’ll need to be pushed to keep up with the latest information. He’ll be doing it anyway just for fun. So why go through all of this trouble? If he’s going to be using his analysis to help himself and his friends, then isn’t what he already has enough?”

“From a certain perspective, I suppose you could argue that, yes. But there’s two reasons I disagree. Care to guess what they are?”

Toshinori sighed, his shoulders slumping. “No, not really. Can’t we just have a normal conversation without you making everything a pop quiz?”

“The day you stop learning is the day they lower whatever the hell is left of you down into your pine box, Toshi. It’s not enough to seize the day, you also have to beat the day into submission, force it’s face down onto the pavement, and read the day it’s rights.”

Toshinori stared at his old mentor with a deadpan expression, clearly not convinced. “So is that a no on us ever having a normal conversation?”

Torino grinned approvingly. “You’ve gotten sassier in your old age. I wish you’d had this kind of spunk fifty years ago, I might have thrown fewer pieces of chalk at your head. Fine, I’ll just tell you. One, the biggest flaw with your career is that you were too much of a solo act. If you died tomorrow not just Japan, but the whole world would be thrown into chaos. That’s not acceptable. The kid needs friends, and his talent not only allows him to make friends and allies, but also empowers them and makes them the best that they can be. It would be absurd to not hone that as much as possible. Hopefully, the kid recognizes that flaw in your career on his own, I’m looking forward to seeing it in his homework assignment this weekend.”

Toshinori frowned. “I tried to aim for quality over quantity, with David and Sir Nighteye, but I’ll admit I could have had more help. Cathleen wanted to become my full-time sidekick, but I turned her down and encouraged her to go her own way as Star and Stripe. If I had accepted, she would have been there during the final fight with All For One.” Toshinori rested his left hand gently on his injury through his shirt. “I still sometimes wonder what could have been.”

Torino snorted. “If you were going for quality, I don’t know why you picked Mirai.”

“Gran, it’s impolite to speak ill of people who are not here to defend themselves.”

“It’s also impolite to build a flow chart of teenagers that look like you and have good quirks, like some sort of creepy quirk marriage interview to decide who has good enough breeding and the right color eyes to get to marry One For All next. I can’t help but notice he’s ‘Sir Nighteye,’ now, but David and Cathleen are still David and Cathleen.”

Toshinori closed his eyes and let out a painful sigh. “Gran, please.”

“Fine, I’ll play stupid for a little while longer. Not my former friends, not my current problems. The second reason I disagree is because it gives the kid a career if the worst case scenario happens and he ends up like you. Yes, you continued your education even after you got the little plastic card that made you official. You even kept up your studies while you were abroad in America and Europe. Smart move, you can color me impressed. But you never sat the bar exam, so you couldn’t have shifted into being a lawyer, and anything that crippled you badly enough to stop you from being a hero would obviously preclude you from being a cop in any position besides a coffee runner or meter maid. Your only choice as a fallback career if you had to give up being a hero would have been to leverage your business degree. And I know you well enough to know that you’d rather chew nails than become some corporation’s CFO, even if you would have been damn good at it.”

The light went on behind the tired, worn-out darkness of Toshinori’s eyes. “You’re pushing him hard on quirk science and analytics so that if something happens, he’ll still be able to make a difference. He’ll still be able to lead the next generation of heroes, even if it’s from behind a desk or confined to a wheelchair. You’re treating his education the same way you’re treating his hero training. Hope for the best and expect the worst. Hope he can fight with his quirk, but equip him to conduct himself quirkless if he has to. Hope he can protect the world as a hero, but prepare him to lead the next generation by other means if it comes to that.”

Torino nodded approvingly. “Essentially, yes. All of your potential fallbacks would have spelled the end of the Symbol of Peace. You couldn’t have maintained that with any of the routes you took. You structured your higher education with success alone in mind, you picked all the routes that would help you build an uncontested top hero. You weren’t prepared for failure. I’m preparing the boy to succeed and fail.”

The old man hopped up on the rusted hulk of a wrecked car and surveyed the beach, his dark glittering eyes following the progress of the teenager down the shoreline. “Worst case scenario, he has to hang up his cape and becomes the most dangerous and feared chief of police in Japanese history, one that knows every top pro by their first name and has them all on speed dial. He’ll lead the heroes of this nation with a silver badge instead of a plastic card. To say nothing of what will happen once the brains-in-jars at I-Island find out about him. I’ll eat my boots if they’re not begging him to quit being a hero and go full R&D at their little science fair theme park within five years of his debut. David influences heroes all over the world from his office on I-Island. That kid could one-up him if given the chance, I’m sure of it. If he gets a spine injury or something two years from now, they’d stick him in a wheelchair with robot arms and give him a mountain of money to work for them. I’d be shocked if he wasn’t running the place inside of a decade. From there, he could reach hundreds of heroes. Thousands.”

Toshinori shook his head, once again astonished at how stupid his former mentor could make him feel. “I should have thought of that myself. It seems like the obvious thing to do in retrospect.”

Torino shrugged. “It’s hardly your fault. The system hasn’t worked that way in decades, since before your time. And it’s not like we ever advertised that we were giving young heroes educations that assumed they would get crippled in the line of duty. The media would have eaten us alive if we had. It was just something that was quietly done. This was how we educated all heroes back in the day, back when the people in charge gave half a shit. These days, the public doesn’t care about what happens to heroes that get carried off to the emergency room on a stretcher, and the HPSC cares even less. It’s one big popularity contest, and if you lose you’re a loser. You know that.”

“I do,” Toshinori said, sighing. He took out his own notebook and began scribbling notes in it. That made Torino grin.

“At least you’re learning.”

Toshinori shivered. Even after fifty years, that toothy, monkey-like grin still haunted his dreams.

The next day, Izuku, Torino, and Toshinori were walking down a distant boardwalk that was barely within sight of the ruined Dagobah beach park across the flat horizon of the bay. It was a little too far to jog, at least for where Izuku was in his current training. Torino, ever the opportunistic teacher, seized the chance to start teaching Izuku how to drive using Toshinori’s imported American truck. It was, naturally, a stick shift.

Toshinori may be an introvert by nature, and he may care little for wealth or material things, but he would probably own every Harley Davidson and Ford vehicle ever made if he could get away with it. As much as Izuku was a shameless quirk romantic, Toshinori was utterly unapologetic about his classic Americana obsession.

For once, Torino wasn’t complaining about Toshinori’s tastes. The number 1 pro’s truck was probably the only vehicle in Japan besides buses and construction equipment that had a stick shift, and he wasn’t going to be responsible for training a hero that could be thwarted by manual transmission.

As they were coming up on the concession stands that were going to be Izuku’s break for the day, Torino suddenly barked out “Knife!” without breaking his stride.

Izuku jumped slightly, looking around. “Wait, what? Where, sir?”

The tall, skeletal form of Toshinori leaned over and stage whispered “He wants you to show him that you have your knife, young Midoriya.”

Izuku’s eyes widened and he fumbled through his pockets before producing his utility knife, still in it’s sheathe.

Torino barely glanced at it before nodding once and continuing forwards towards the concession stands. “What flavor do you want for your smoothie, kid?”

“Um, s-strawberry? Please?”

Toshinori smiled apologetically. “I suggest you get used to it, young Midoriya. That’s going to happen a lot. Peach mango for me please, Gran.”

Gran Torino stood in the middle of a large empty warehouse, his legs spread apart in a wide stance. His arms were crossed. Izuku stood in front of him in his casual workout clothes, looking slightly nervous, while All Might in his civilian attire stood behind Torino and slightly out of the way. Once again, they were using scheduled down-time from the All American plan for personal training. And once again, Gran Torino had a specific plan in mind. It was time to start the kid in on the basics of the tools he would be using and encountering as a hero. But more importantly, it was time to begin impressing on the young man the truth of their profession and the history behind it.

Had Midoriya Izuku been what the old pro was expecting to find when he had first gotten the phone call, some fresh-faced knucklehead that managed to remind Toshinori of himself, Torino probably wouldn’t have bothered with that second part. But Izuku was no damn gorilla. The kid was smart, no, the kid was a genius. And that made it vitally important that he be given a rock solid foundation of intention and purpose to build his identity and career on.

In Torino’s personal experience, stupidity and stubbornness almost always went hand-in-hand. It was more difficult for people like that to learn or understand, but it was also much harder to talk them out of their own morals or subvert them. A virtue and a vice, inexorably intertwined. The child calling the emperor naked. Likewise, truly intelligent people could be a tremendous asset, but their active minds also made them vulnerable to subversion, trickery, and being talked out of their tree by frauds and fork-tongued liars. Their tendency to overthink everything was also a virtue and a vice wrapped up together. Intelligent people were paradoxically the easiest to fool, they could rationalize something away a less intelligent person couldn't and get caught in a loop of lying to themselves.

In Gran Torino's opinion, there was no better example of that than Sasaki Mirai, aka Sir Nighteye.

That wouldn’t be happening to Midoriya Izuku. Not on Torino’s watch. He knew how to teach stupid people, and he knew how to teach the intelligent as well. Intelligence was natural born, but cunning had to be learned. Wisdom was earned through mistakes. This kid needed the truth, the full truth, with nothing held back, so the lies and partial truths of halfassed reactionaries and wannabe revolutionaries wouldn’t sway him. One intelligent person with a firm foundation in moral principles could exert influence over an entire generation of other people, pulling the crowd into their gravity and influencing them to be better just by existing nearby. Torino had seen it before. One day, fifty years from now, this kid might be standing in the same place Torino and Toshinori were standing today, teaching a new generation. And Torino would be damned if he let those kids down by messing up with this one.

Torino cleared his throat and began to speak. “Heroes are keepers of the peace. We are not, as some have tried to insinuate, soldiers, nor are hero students child soldiers. The modern day hero industry has it’s roots in the vigilantes who stepped up to the plate during the Dawn of Quirks. When the power grids collapsed and the running water stopped, most governments lost all semblance of control over their countries. During those days, people fought to the death over fresh water and canned goods, and anyone caught out on the streets after dark was assumed dead until seen alive again. But a brave few dared to dream of peace and order, and they stood up to keep their neighborhoods and families safe. Chaos reigned, but street by street and block by block, an unsung war was fought. Retired military veterans, off-duty police officers, and concerned citizens joined forces to slow the rising tide of anarchy that threatened to drown human civilization and plunge us back into the stone age.”

Izuku stared at Torino with stars in his eyes, fascinated. The retired pro began to pace. “Those brave few fought for over one hundred and twenty years, a desperate struggle spanning over six generations. They were not always victorious; some cities fell, lost to darkness and savagery. Some nations collapsed and dissolved, no longer having any sort of racial, cultural, or historical identity that could hold them together. They became lawless wastelands ruled by bandits and warlords, bereft of any former identity. But even though they were not always victorious, those brave men and women held the line. They drew that line in the sand and they held it for over a century, in a war nobody ever asked them to fight and which nobody ever thanked them for fighting. It was a brutal and bloody conflict, where countless people died for nothing, and even more died from famine and disease. In the end, law and order triumphed over anarchy and chaos. The foundations set down by those righteous few became the bedrock of everything modern heroism is today.”

Torino stopped pacing and turned sharply to face Izuku. Toshinori started slightly at the intensity of the older man’s gaze, but Izuku met the stare with one of his own. He had pulled a notebook from somewhere and was rapidly scrawling out notes without even looking at his writing. The teen was staring at the older pro intently, like he was afraid the man would disappear if he blinked. This was new information, this was fascinating, and Izuku wasn’t going to miss a word of it.

“What happened next was political. The governments that remained were desperate for legitimacy. Multiple consecutive generations had passed where they had held little or no sway over anything that happened inside their own borders, where they had failed to enforce any kind of law or peace. They were dealing with populations that adored vigilantes and were, at best, indifferent to their own government officials very existence. At worst, they were outright hostile and seditious. So the governments of the world latched onto the folk heroes the people worshiped, and created programs to support and validate them. The plan was simple: if governments couldn’t keep the peace in an age of superhumans, then they should hire the people who could. The American state of Rhode Island was the first to implement the reforms, it was experimental then. But it worked. One night, vigilantes and outlaws fighting for what was right went to sleep. The next day, they woke up to find themselves with support and backing from their local government officials. They had funding, weapons, supplies, police support, vehicles. Whatever they needed, they were offered. This was the end of the Dawn of Quirks and the beginning of the Age of Heroes. We still live in that heroic age to this day.”

Izuku’s fingers flexed compulsively, appearing to scribble notes even faster than before. “They were using the reputations of vigilantes to give themselves legitimacy again?” he asked, breathlessly.

Torino nodded. “Yes, they were. And it worked. It took time. Not everyone trusted the system. There was a period of transition, where some heroes were still technically vigilantes but were pros in every other way. One of the past users of One For All that we have actually have some real information on, Banjo Daigoro, is one such example: a pseudo-vigilante that was a fully fledged pro hero but never went completely legitimate. He was a pro in every way that mattered, he was even paid for his work, but he never accepted a license. Turned them down flat every time they offered. But that era was phased out by the time I was born. In modern times, the Age of Heroes is in full swing. And the knucklehead standing behind me is one of the foundational pillars of our current age.”

Torino hooked his thumb over his shoulder, and Izuku’s eyes widened as he went to Toshinori’s gaunt form. In his excitement at learning all this new information, he had almost forgotten that All Might was here.

The tall, woefully thin blonde man shot him a broad, warm grin before promptly flexing, bursting into his full sized hero form in a puff of steam. He flexed both of his arms downwards before raising one up in a salute like he was posing for a contest at a beach, the bulging muscles of his restored and healthy form straining the seams of his civilian attire that had been comically baggy an instant before.

The world-renowned hero relaxed his pose, deflating back into his true form with another hiss of steam. Torino rolled his eyes at the younger man’s antics before continuing.

“You’re going to encounter a lot of villains who have some bone or another to pick with the system. People who have gripes and grievances with how things are done or what happened historically. That’s why it’s important for you to understand the full truth of how we got here, and for you to see why things work the way they do. I’ve never met a villain in my life that didn’t love to run their mouths when given the right prompting. Most of them are just full of hot air, but some of them have real charisma. The charmers, swindlers, and professional con men. Sometimes the lies they tell are so convincing that they’ve even successfully lied to themselves. I’m not here to tell you that the system is perfect, or that everything is working as intended. I’m too old to talk about that kind of crap with a straight face, and you’re too smart to believe me even if I did. There are parts of the system that are broken, and all three of us know it. No point in pretending. How the system handles mutants and people with fringe quirks. How the system handles quirks in general has been a sticking point for generations, as Destro’s ideals enduring for so long proves. All other issues aside, the rallying cry that the freedom to use quirks as we please is a fundamental right is a compelling one. To say nothing of how society treats youth delinquency, underage quirk use, and the quirkless.”

Izuku flinched slightly at that. The action was not missed by Torino or Toshinori. The grey-haired pro kept talking.

“You knew pretty much all of Destro’s life story, so I’m sure you’re already aware of most of this. But I’m restating it and reinforcing it, so there’s no confusion for you on this topic. This system is broken, but it still works. Could it be reformed? Yes. And it’s up to young people like yourself to manage it. You can improve on this design. But there will always be people who want to rip everything apart and go back to the chaos. Who can profit from the mayhem, or who want to remake the world in their own image. And some of them are very good at convincing others to their way of thinking. There are still people to this day who are conned by Destro’s manifesto. Sure, you saw the inconsistencies and looked up the truth for yourself. But I’m sure you understand how rare that actually is, right?”

Izuku nodded hesitantly, still scribbling notes down while not looking at his book. Toshinori was honestly starting to wonder if he needed to take notes on how to properly take notes. It wasn’t a topic he’d ever thought merited research, but then, he’d never seen anyone do what young Midoriya was doing either.

“Good,” Torino continued, replying to Izuku’s nod. “I want you to understand that generally speaking, the people you’ll be dealing with as a hero need help themselves. Many of them have just made mistakes, or were dealt a bad hand. You are not a soldier, you’re a peacekeeper, no different from a police officer or a fireman, and villains are people, not enemy combatants. Choosing to see the world as a war of heroics versus villainy is a common pitfall of people who get involved in the more serious side of the hero industry, but interpreting the world that way sets a dangerous precedent. You are not a warrior, or a soldier, or a trained killer, though you may borrow aspects of those things to be better at your job. You are a keeper of the peace. You are a protector. You solve crimes. You save lives. Heroes pull people out of burning buildings, we don’t run around in the dark of night assassinating everybody who disagrees with the government. There are absolutely people who believe otherwise, and they are all dangerously deluded. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Izuku said, his scribbling finally starting to slow down. “I’m training to be a peacekeeper. To help people.”

“To save people with a smile!” boomed Toshinori cheerfully in his hero voice, flexing back into All Might for an instant before returning to normal. This caused Izuku to shoot the blonde a watery smile of his own.

“Good,” Torino said. “And what are you not?”

“A soldier,” Izuku replied. “I’m not a soldier, I’m not a warrior, and I’m not an assassin or a trained killer. Though I may learn about those things and even borrow those skills to be better at my job.”

Torino clapped his hands. “Excellent. Now then, let’s talk statistics. Across the joint economic and political sphere that is America, Japan, and Australia, slightly less than 120 million victimization crimes were committed over the last ten years in which the perpetrator was classified as an armed offender. By which we mean, they used some weapon besides their quirk to commit a crime. This means armed offender victimization is approximately 39% of all violent victimization.”

Izuku flipped over to a new section of his notebook and began writing anew. Toshinori resolved that he definitely needed to look into better ways to take notes himself.

“Pop quiz, what is a villain, kid?”

“Someone who uses their quirk to commit a crime,” Izuku responded instantly, still writing in his book.

“Good. So would you agree that all villains are criminals?”

Izuku blinked, slowing slightly before resuming his former note writing pace. “Um, legally yes? If you don’t commit a crime with your quirk, you cannot be legally called a villain in the court of law. Though that can become a bit blurry, since excessive public quirk use is itself considered a crime.”

Torino nodded. “Good, you’re following along. So all villains are criminals by definition. Or at least they’re supposed to be. Given the numbers I just gave you, then, how statistically likely would you be as a pro-hero to run into a situation where there was a crime in progress and somebody had a weapon of some sort? Don’t overthink the scenario, just look at it like a basic math problem.”

Izuku quickly flipped back one page in his notebook to check something before returning to the page he was on. “You said 39% of all violent victimization involved armed offenders. Since the villain laws are separate from that and a quirk isn’t legally considered a weapon, then that would mean 2 out of every 5 encounters a pro hero would have would involve a weapon.”

“Correct,” Torino praised. “Every time a situation happens, as a hero you have a 40% chance of confronting somebody who has some kind of weapon. Essentially a coin flip. And out of all the kinds of weapons you can face, knives and guns are the most common by a wide margin. Which brings me to what I wanted to show you today. Knife!” the man barked suddenly.

Izuku stopped writing, blinking owlishly for a moment, before suddenly realizing what he was being asked. He closed his notebook in a minor panic and fumbled through his pockets before producing his own knife.

Torino nodded in approval. “Good. You can put that away, today we will be using this instead.” A prop knife appeared in his hand, again seemingly from nowhere. The blade was bright lime green and visibly made of rubber, while the handle appeared to be made of some kind of foam.

Torino gestured for Toshinori, and the younger blonde hero stepped forwards.

“Today, I’m going to show you the right way and the wrong way to use a knife. Don’t worry about memorizing everything I’m about to show you, because we’ll be going over all of this again later. But this is a primer to help you get your head in the game. Toshinori will be helping today with the demonstrations. First, we’re going to talk about one of the many wrong ways to use a knife.”

Torino deftly flipped the prop knife around so that he was holding it in a reverse grip. He then raised his arm dramatically, so the tip of the rubber blade was pointing down and forwards, in the classic slasher movie pose.

“If you ever see someone coming at you like this with a knife, then congratulations, because you’ve already won your fight with them,” Torino said. “Also, never let me catch you using a knife like this, or I’ll make you run laps up and down a mountain until you puke. Today, I’m going to show you why.”

Torino held the knife out to Izuku, handle first. The young man hesitated a moment before stepping forwards and taking it. Although the knife looked like a toy, it was noticeably heavy, and felt like it had been correctly balanced like a real knife. Izuku assumed there were weights inside of it.

“I want you to walk towards Toshinori and attempt to stab him using that pose. Both of you will do it in slow motion. When I say stop, both of you will freeze, and when I say go, you will both continue moving in slow motion. Now go.”

Izuku began walking slowly towards the deflated, civilian form of All Might. In slow motion, he lifted his arm up high with the knife held in his fist, pointing forward and down. As he got closer, Toshinori slowly began to raise his right forearm in front himself, matching Izuku’s speed.

“Stop,” Torino called, and both other men froze. “You see what Toshi is doing?” he asked, pointing at Toshinori’s rising arm. Izuku nodded. “Good, because that’s part one of what you do if somebody comes at you with a knife like this. You don’t hold your arm out like you’re going to block the blade with your hand, that doesn’t work. You raise your forearm up like a bar in front of you. Both of you go forwards and complete the motion.”

Izuku and Toshinori continued their motions slightly faster, Izuku bringing the rubber knife down to stab Toshinori even as Toshinori raised his forearm up and pushed it into Izuku’s descending wrist.

“Stop,” Torino called. “This is the first reason using a knife like this doesn’t work. All close quarters combat is a matter of fulcrums and levers, and right now you are at a mechanical disadvantage compared to him. You are trying to bring this knife down and into Toshi, but all he has to do to stop you is just push his arm forwards. Since he’s blocking with his dominant hand in a superior position, you can’t get to him with that knife anymore. If he pushes you back, your arm will naturally slide up his as his forearm goes towards your elbow, sending the knife up and away from him. You’re at an impasse. Try pushing against him and see what I mean.”

Izuku did try, and even though he wasn’t expecting to win since Toshinori was stronger and taller than him, he was surprised at how poor of a position he was actually in. If he tried to power through, it would either force his own arm up and away as his elbow bent, or it would put him off-balance with his feet, and the blonde hero would be in a prime position to just push him over. To win from this position, he would have to hold his stabbing arm half crooked and provide the necessary force to push down and through. In effect, a small number of the muscles in his forearm would have to overcome the strength of Toshinori’s entire upper body and dominant arm to win. It simply wasn’t possible without a strength quirk.

“Correct,” Torino said, and Izuku flushed as he realized he must have been mumbling his thoughts aloud. “The basic principle of all CQC is to pit the strongest muscles and parts of your body against your opponent’s weakest. You’ve got just your triceps working for you right now, which are the muscles used to straighten your arm out, and they’ve got to beat a little less than half the muscles Toshi has in his body, including his legs if he chooses to push forwards against you. Your triceps aren’t that strong. Nobody’s are. It’s not a fight you can win without a quirk. Even a cripple in a wheelchair could punish somebody for attacking them like this. Now, Toshi, show him the other reason someone attacking you with a knife like this is a free win.”

The emaciated blonde nodded before slowly reaching up from below with his left arm and grabbing the wrist of Izuku’s knife hand that was protruding past his blocking forearm, making sure the teen could see exactly what he was doing.

“Congratulations kid, you are now officially screwed. What we just mentioned was bad enough, but this is the real reason you never stab with a knife like that. By reaching up behind his own guard and grabbing your wrist, he’s now got you locked into this position. Before, you still had one option, which was to move backwards and disengage. Now you can’t do that anymore, which means this is technically a grapple. Now follow through Toshi, but do it slowly. Fight it if you can, kid, that’s why it’s a practical demonstration. I want you to feel this with your body.”

The taller blonde man slowly began to pull his left arm, with the hand that was grabbing Izuku’s wrist, down and to the side. Izuku felt himself being losing his balance almost immediately, but as he moved his feet to try and get a better angle, he felt a dull pain start in his arm. His blonde mentor stopped immediately.

“That,” Torino said, jabbing a finger directly at the position the two of them were locked in, “is the reason you don’t stab someone with a knife like that. If he pulled down all the way, he’d snap your arm like a twig and you’d end up flat on the ground on your back. That move flips you and breaks your arm. It puts the power of both of his arms and his entire upper body against just the triceps of your attacking arm, and then he just has to use his hips to follow through on the throw and your own body weight gets added to the force on top of everything else. Your arm is gone, woof, just like that. And unless you’ve got a quirk to cheat your way out of it, there’s no counter. Once you put yourself in a position where they can block your wrist with their forearm, you’re disadvantaged, and if they grab your wrist with their other hand, you’ve just lost your arm. Now pass Toshi the knife and switch sides, I want to see you do what you’ve just been shown. Go slow.”

Izuku handed the knife over to Toshinori, and they went through the motions again. Izuku was astonished at the difference it made. He knew that All Might was stronger than him even in his wasted civilian form, he had height and weight on Izuku. But once he blocked the man’s wrist correctly with his forearm, it became frighteningly easy to lock the taller pro’s stabbing arm in place. Just like before, he slowly reached up and grabbed Toshinori’s wrist like he’d been shown, and as he slowly began to pull down, he saw the consequences of the shifting weight. Like Toshinori, he didn’t go all the way, but it was a shocking realization to see first-hand that he could have thrown the taller, stronger man to the ground if he’d wanted to.

Torino clapped his hands once. “Good. Excellent. Well done. What did you learn?”

“That Archimedes wasn’t joking when he said give him a long enough lever and he could move the world,” Izuku said somewhat dryly, before blushing slightly at his own sass.

Torino grinned. “Good. You’re right. It’s all fulcrums and levers, nothing more. Keep thinking of it that way, and you won’t be lead astray by flashy hand movements and unnecessary flourishing nonsense. Leave that kind of crap to the stage magicians.”

The retired pro’s demeanor changed suddenly, his voice becoming flat and cold. “And if anybody ever comes at you with a real knife like that, I want you to put them on the ground and break their arm. No exceptions.”

Izuku nodded shakily, and Toshinori barely suppressed the violent twitch on his face at his former mentor’s sudden 180. Torino smiled again, the coldness gone.

“Good, good. Now that you’ve seen a wrong way to stab someone, let me show you some correct ways. Hand me the knife, Toshi.”

The taller pro passed the rubber knife off, but even he couldn’t hide the slight shake of his hand or the moment’s hesitation before he did. The geriatric rolled his eyes and muttered something about a big baby under his breath.

Once again holding the rubber knife deftly between his thumb and forefinger, Torino walked up to Toshinori.

“The worst position to be in for somebody that’s being attacked by a knife is to not see it coming at all. If a villain or competent criminal is trying to silently kill a guard or somebody else that is in their way, there’s two ways they’ll likely go about it. Both are lethal, and more importantly, both are quiet. Watch closely.”

Torino positioned himself behind Toshinori, at an angle where Izuku could still see him, and took a slightly low stance.

“This is the first way to do a quiet sentry job. You come in low and slow, but in a position where you can rush if you’re spotted. The target is the lower back, you’re going for a kidney shot because it will kill quickly. I’m going to rush in, and as I stab with my attacking arm, I’m also going to reach up around with my free hand and use it to cover my target’s mouth. The impact of me slamming into them knife-first will drive most of the air out of them, they’ll exhale in surprise. This will stop them from shouting or screaming. My free hand over their mouth will impede them breathing in, as will the pain from the knife, and also muffle any sounds they do make. Between the breathlessness, the shock, and my hand covering their mouth, they won’t be able to make much noise. A proper kidney stab is extremely lethal, so you won’t have to hold this position for more than a few seconds. If the target is larger or taller than you, this still works as long as your free arm can reach high enough to cover their mouth. The impact of the rush also makes it easy to bulldog them face-first into the ground, you can just ride them right down and push their face flat into the dirt, making it even harder for them to breathe in. No breath, no voice. No voice, no sound. Now watch.”

Izuku did, a small amount of ice forming in his stomach, as the smaller grey-haired hero followed through on exactly what he described, rushing in and jabbing Toshinori in the lower back with the knife before riding him into the ground from behind, his left hand firmly over the man’s mouth.

Torino sat on top of the emaciated blonde, and stared straight at Izuku while counting. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. And he’s dead. That’s how long it takes.”

Torino released the hold and backed off, allowing Toshinori to shakily get back up. “The kidneys filter your blood, that’s their job, so they’re full of it. Superficial kidney injuries are treatable, but a proper stab that rips all the way through will cause massive internal bleeding almost instantly. Without enough blood supplying oxygen to the brain, your opponent will black out quickly. This is the basic principle behind a sleeper hold. We don’t choke out their oxygen, but their blood flow, because that’s much faster. But here, we can see how that sleeper hold principle can be applied lethally. With the air forced out of their lungs on impact, massive internal hemorrhaging draining blood out of their system, and unable to draw more breath, they will black out at between 5 and 10 seconds. They’re not waking back up, they will bleed out internally while unconscious. That’s death.”

Torino stepped away from Toshinori and dusted himself off. “The same general principle of that trick can also be used nonlethally, if you use a proper sleeper hold on their neck to cut their circulation. Slamming into somebody from behind to knock the breath out of them and then choking them out can be a good way for a hero to deal with a villain or criminal from stealth, so remember that. It’s how we can reverse the quiet sentry job back on them without having to take a life.”

The old man began walking towards Izuku. “Unfortunately, Toshi is a giraffe, and I can’t use him to show you the second trick. It has to be done on somebody closer to your own height. So it’s your turn now, kid.”

Izuku swallowed, and Toshinori shot the teen a sympathetic look of sorrow and regret.

“The second way a criminal might use a knife to try and quietly take someone down is by going for the throat. Again, the movies get it wrong, and we should all be thankful that most people are stupid enough to try and imitate them. You do not slit somebody’s throat like this.”

As he said those words, Torino lifted his own chin up with his thumb, tilting his head back, and then drew a curved line like a smiley face across his neck with the rubber knife.

“Yes, that technically does work, but believe it or not, nature is well aware of how vulnerable your neck can be, and the odds are pretty good that something like that would cut too shallow. Additionally, there are many things in the neck that will get in the way of the cut, not all of which is lethal: a killer would want to cut the arteries, but puncturing the throat isn’t actually lethal, or even irreversible damage. That’s actually how you save someone whose throat is swollen shut. It’s also very hard to try and slice someone’s neck like that from behind, so there’s no stealth, and it’s even harder to do if the person is struggling or fighting back. That’s how a butcher would cut the throat of an animal. It is not how a trained killer would cut the throat of another man.”

Torino circled around Izuku, and the young man did is best to calm his nerves. He did not flinch when the tip of the rubber knife poked him in the side of the neck, but it was a near thing.

“From behind and with a knife, the quiet and lethal trick is this. You take a needle nosed knife like mine, and hold it in your hand like a hammer or a wrench. Grip it with your fist. Then you push it through into the side of their neck right here. Like before, you use your other hand to cover their mouth and muffle any sound they make.”

Torino reached up and put his left hand on Izuku’s head. To the teen’s immense relief, the retired pro did not cover his mouth. He almost seemed gentle. Izuku appreciated the gesture and how it was probably supposed to make him feel better, but given everything else that was happening, it wasn’t really helping much.

“Then you push the knife through into the side of their neck, and while gripping it in your fist, you punch it forwards.” Torino moved the rubber prop knife slightly forwards so it wasn’t actually poking into the side of Izuku’s neck, and as he said the words ‘push it through,’ he pushed it sideways into what would have been Izuku’s neck, before ‘punching it forwards’ to match his own words. The old man’s arm shot forwards just like he was throwing a punch, the knife gripped sideways in his fist.

The small bit of ice in Izuku’s stomach became a frozen stone as he realized the implications of what he had just seen.

Torino released Izuku and stepped back around to the front where the teen could see him. Izuku started slightly when he felt something grab his shoulder, but when he turned he saw it was just Toshinori, giving him a steadying pat with a sympathetic, reassuring look on his face.

“There are six major arteries in the neck, and they come in three pairs” Torino explained. “The internal carotid arteries, the external carotid arteries, and the vertebral arteries. The two vertebral arteries are right next to the spine, as the name implies, and the internal carotids are deep inside the throat. Any kind of cut or attack that could target them would probably result in decapitation anyway, so the idea of precision becomes a bit moot. The external carotid arteries, though, are on the front side of the throat. They are also, coincidentally, the arteries that are most responsible for conveying oxygenated blood directly to the brain. When we do a sleeper hold, it’s those two arteries that we’re constricting. Guess what arteries get cut with that little maneuver?”

Izuku swallowed heavily. Toshinori couldn’t blame him.

“Done properly, you’ll rip out their entire throat. The external carotids both being severed means death will happen at the same speed a sleeper hold would knock somebody unconscious, which again, is between 5 and 10 seconds. You also rip out their trachea and esophagus, which means they can’t make any noise, so this is a silent takedown. It’s brutal, but there it is.”

Torino took in Izuku’s pale face with a grave expression on his own. “This is disturbing information, I know. You’ve handled being shown it well. Learning how to apply lethal force with a knife may seem distasteful, but it serves an important purpose. Prevention. Understanding how to fight properly with a knife will teach you what to do, and more importantly what not to do, when you inevitably find someone drawing a knife on you at a crime scene. I’ve used this information to save lives before, not just my own, and you will too. When that day comes, you’ll be glad I showed you all this, and I’ll buy the round of drinks for the both of us when you tell me about it. It’s what my instructor did.”

Torino walked back towards Toshinori. “One more tiny thing, and then we will continue. This isn’t really a technique, more like general advice. But while you can always stab somebody by thrusting a knife at them, a better way is to pull them onto your knife.” Torino demonstrated this by holding the rubber knife at his side, facing outward, before grabbing Toshinori’s baggy shirt and tugging the tall blonde sideways onto the rubber blade.

“Doing it like this, you turn their own weight against them. You stab them with their own weight, similar to the CQC principles we demonstrated earlier. You can apply this to things other than knives, too. It works great with tasers and police batons. It also lets you begin the process of grappling them for a takedown or putting them in handcuffs while also striking them, so it’s a two-for-one trick.”

Torino walked a fair distance away from Izuku and Toshinori, and then cleared his throat before raising his voice to make sure he could still be clearly heard.

“Now that we’ve gone over the points I wanted, there’s one last thing I’d like to show you, and then I’ve got to get out of here and take care of some errands. Remember how the first thing we demonstrated was the wrong way to approach somebody with a knife? Now I’m going to show you the right way to approach somebody with a knife. Watch carefully.”

Torino began slowly walking towards Izuku, holding the faux knife in the same thumb and forefinger grip he had used every time he had drawn his own. As he walked, he slowly passed the knife from one hand to the other, carefully and meticulously switching which hand he was using back and forth.

Izuku felt a chill run down his spine as he watched it, a primal flight-or-fight response filling him.

“Several things are happening here,” Torino explained conversationally as he walked. “My steps are slow and deliberate; if you lunge at me, I won’t be caught off balance. I’m switching hands back and forth, so you don’t know what my dominant hand is or which side the attack will come from. My posture is distracting you. The act of passing the knife is also distracting you, because what you should be paying the most attention to is my feet and the distance between us.”

Torino froze, standing several yards away. “I’m already inside the range I need. If I were a murderer, I’ve already won 90% of this fight. You’ve let me in too close.”

Suddenly, without warning, he lunged. Izuku flinched back, throwing up his arm to defend himself, but Torino was on him in an instant, the semisoft blade of the foam and rubber knife pushing against Izuku’s stomach.

“I didn’t use my quirk,” the old man said, stepping back and handing the prop weapon over to Izuku, who took it with trembling hands. “I didn’t need to. You’ve heard the old saying, I’m sure, never bring a knife to a gunfight?”

Izuku shakily said “Y-yes,” in affirmation.

Torino nodded once and continued. “It’s a cute turn of phrase, but it’s a load of trash repeated by idiots and fools who have never been in a real fight and don’t know what they’re talking about. A cop or a hero with a gun has to recognize the threat, realize they need to use lethal force to defend themselves, reach for their firearm, draw it, and then accurately aim it before pulling the trigger. As you’ve just witnessed, someone with a knife and an intent to kill can cover a large amount of distance very quickly with a dead sprint. Gun beats knife in an open firefight in the street. But at any sort of indoors or close quarters range, a knife will beat a gun almost every single time, especially from ambush or a neutral position. You won’t have time to draw a weapon and react, not even a knife of your own. We have hundreds of thousands of hours of law enforcement footage from both the pre-quirk era and modern day, and they all point to the same conclusion. Bringing a knife to a gunfight is a fantastic idea, provided you know what you’re doing.”

Torino walked a number of measured paces away from Izuku, stopping a fair distance away. “Six meters, or eighteen feet, is a guaranteed death zone for a knife attack,” he said, gesturing to the distance between the two of them.

“Inside that range, you cannot react in time with a weapon of your own unless you have already drawn it and are prepared to use it. Outside of that range, success is possible, but the odds are still in the favor of the attacker. That means, realistically, any situation where you have to defend yourself against a knife attack will be with your bare hands against the knife. I’m going to repeat that, just to make sure there’s no misunderstanding on this point. Drawing a weapon to counter a knife attack will not work at most realistic knife attack ranges. You will have to defend yourself with your bare hands.”

Torino walked back over and pointed to the rubber knife in Izuku’s hands. “This is why understanding how to use a knife lethally yourself is an invaluable skill. Once you understand all the right and wrong ways to apply a knife, you will be prepared to defend both yourself and others from knife attacks even when barehanded.”

The young man stared at the prop as though he were seeing a knife for the first time in his life, a spark of comprehension dawning in his eyes.

“As much as I’d like to stay here and show you more,” Torino continued, “I have to go in and deal with a mountain of paperwork about renewing my hero license. So I’ll be stopping things here for today. We’ll review what I’ve shown you next time I see you, and we’ll practice some basic blocks and counters that a barehanded defender can use against an attacker with a knife. And don’t forget that homework assignment I gave you.”

The old man began walking towards the side exit of the warehouse. “Toshinori, the kid’s all yours. Take him to the range and break him in. And try not to cause an international incident or get involved in tomorrow’s headlines while I’m gone.”

“We’ll stay out of trouble,” the emaciated blonde hero said, sounding somewhat offended.

The derisive snort from the number one pro’s former mentor showed how much faith he had in that. But just as the older man reached the door, Izuku spoke up.

“S-Sir!” he said, not able to completely suppress the stutter.

Torino stopped and turned around, raising an eyebrow.

Izuku seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before blurting out “Is your quirk why you know all of these things about knives? You said that six meters was the death zone, but your own reaction time must be much faster with your air jets! Not only could you cover more ground than that, but you would also be able to react faster to someone attacking you! Is that… is that why you know?”

Torino slowly grinned, showing an uncomfortable amount of teeth. Toshinori suppressed a shiver. “Good eye, kid,” the older hero complimented. “Your instinct is correct. I saw a lot of people get stabbed in my day, and I realized that my quirk gave me the ability to save people that other heroes couldn’t. So I learned everything I could about how to counter knives. And the first step to knowing how to save someone from a knife is understanding how someone can be killed with a knife. I hardly ever use a knife with my quirk, but I could if I needed to, and that knowledge by itself is a useful tool. And a weapon, if needed.”

He opened the door and stepped through it, waving over his shoulder. “Stay out of trouble, kiddo.”

The door slammed shut, echoing loudly through the warehouse. Toshinori and Izuku both let out a long, shaky breath.

“H-he’s a little intense, isn’t he?” Izuku said, composing himself.

“That he is, young Midoriya. I’d like to say you get used to it eventually, but I’m still not used to him, and I’ve known him for fifty years.”

Izuku frowned. “What did he mean by taking me to the range?”

Toshinori smiled.

Chapter Text

Izuku stepped out of All Might’s truck onto a large gravel parking lot. They had driven from the empty warehouse to the far outskirts of the city. It was here where small forests and large fields began to intrude on the concrete and glass of what some had jokingly referred to as ‘Neo-Tokyo’ after the city was rebuilt when the Dawn of Quirks ended. There was a long, low building made out of concrete and white painted cinderblocks nearby. A large sign outside made of stainless steel and rough-cut wood proudly displayed the words “Musutafu Targeting Range” in English on letters made of lacquered wooden blocks.

The sign, and parts of the front of the building, had a clear naval theme, with the sign being supported on two clusters of what looked like wooden pier pylons with rope wrapped around their bases. Rope netting mixed with string lights hung from the front of the building, and a full-sized anchor from a Japanese warship had been placed outside on an elevated cement circle at the base of the sign. The building itself butted up directly against a small forest, and there were paths and trails spreading out from the building and parking lot, cutting across a vast wooded area around the range and going deeper into the hills and forests beyond it.

Toshinori pulled a metal case with a handle on the side out from underneath the driver’s seat and locked the truck before walking over to a nearby cluster of picnic tables and benches. Izuku followed him dutifully, and they both sat down at one of the tables. Toshinori placed the metal case on the table between them.

“Before we go inside and get started, there’s a few things we need to go over. You might want to write this down, because it’s important information and you’ll need to have it memorized.”

Izuku pulled out the same new, unnamed notebook he had been using in the warehouse and flipped through it until he reached empty pages. As he did, Toshinori reached over and spun the wheels on a small combination lock embedded on the top of the case with his thumb, unlocking it.

The case opened with a soft click, revealing two handguns. They had dark gray nylon-polymer bodies with a rough texture for gripping, which contrasted sharply with the bright, polished steel slides on top. They were embedded in heavy, soft foam that filled the case, nested in slots cut just for them. Beneath the two guns were eight matching magazines, all empty, arranged in two groups of four.

“There are no hard official rules for gun safety, just a list of general advice, but when I first started out, I was taught five rules that I should always follow, and I have. I’ve never shot myself or anybody else accidentally, so they seem to be working pretty well. I’ll share the five rules with you. I’m, uh, not Gran, so I’m not going to aggressively quiz you on these, but you should have them memorized anyway if you can. I’m sure Gran will probably surprise test you on guns and some point, he’ll probably do it to both of us, actually, and he’s not the kind of teacher you want to disappoint.”

Izuku nodded, agreeing completely with the sentiment. Torino had been pretty intense even when he seemed to be pleased. Izuku wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the old pro was like when he was disappointed or angry.

Toshinori cleared his throat, looking slightly nervous at having to teach. “Good. So, uh, to start with, the first rule of firearm safety is to treat all guns as though they were loaded until you check them yourself. Even if you are very certain that a gun isn’t loaded, it could be. It’s possible that you’ve forgotten or misremembered, or that the person who claims to have checked them has made a mistake.”

Toshinori gently lifted one of the handguns out of the case before pulling back the polished steel slide and looking into it. He then turned the gun around, keeping the slide pulled back, and showed Izuku. The teen could see clearly all the way through the firearm and out the bottom, where the magazine would go if one was loaded in.

“Most guns can have a single bullet resting in the chamber, so even if there’s no magazine in it, it could still potentially shoot once. And since many guns will feed the next bullet automatically, this means taking the magazine out doesn’t make a gun safe either. This is something you don’t ever want to be wrong about, it could be a matter of life and death, so always verify it yourself. Trust but verify, okay?”

Izuku nodded, scribbling notes into his book. Toshinori continued, “The second rule of firearm safety is to always keep your firearm pointed in a safe direction. Can I, ah, borrow one of your spare pencils, young Midoriya?”

Izuku blinked at the sudden request before nodding, fumbling through his pockets momentarily before handing one over. Toshinori smiled.

“Thank you. I’ll give it back in just a moment.” Toshinori took the pencil and stuck it part-way down the barrel of the unloaded gun, letting the sharpened end of the pencil stick out the front. “Imagine there’s a long, solid line coming out the barrel of your gun, like this pencil is, okay? Never let that line touch something that you aren’t prepared to shoot. One of the most basic mistakes you can make with a gun is if you flash it across someone, which is what it’s called when you point your gun at them by accident.”

The lanky blonde pro demonstrated by mimicking the action of pulling the pistol out of a shoulder holster and turning with it, in the process drawing the face of the gun across Izuku and briefly pointing the pencil at him. He then took the pencil out and handed it back to the teen.

“Don’t do what I just showed you. That’s a serious safety mistake, okay? The safest place to point your gun is at the ground, so if you have to move around with a gun in your hand, you should be pointing it directly at the ground. You can also point it up in the air, but that’s less safe, because a bullet fired straight up still comes down somewhere. If pointing your gun in a safe direction isn’t convenient or possible, just re-holster it and draw it again when you need it. Don’t flash it across anyone or anything you aren’t prepared to shoot.”

Izuku nodded, rapidly sketching out more notes. Toshinori continued, seeming to gain a bit of confidence in his teaching persona.

“The third rule is to keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.” Toshinori held the gun in his right hand, and turned it to the side so Izuku could see what he was doing. Instead of keeping his index finger inside the trigger guard, he was resting it on the side of the gun above the trigger.

“This is called trigger discipline, and you should always follow it. If you get bumped, jostled, or stumble, or if you are surprised by something, you could pull the trigger accidentally and discharge your gun when you don’t mean to. By keeping your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot, you make that impossible. Trigger discipline means not touching the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

“Trigger… means… not touching… until you’re ready to fire,” Izuku mumbled as he wrote out his notes, his speed allowing him to keep up with his mentor’s lecture. Toshinori smiled at the young man before continuing.

“The fourth rule of gun safety is to always be sure of your target and what’s behind it. We do this for two reasons. The first is that, obviously, if you miss, you will hit whatever is behind what you were shooting at. This is why shooting ranges have the firing line aiming into a dirt hill or some kind of breakwall. The second reason is that even if you don’t miss, your bullet could still go through your target and hit what’s behind it anyway. To give a practical example of this, it would be very irresponsible of the police to shoot at a villain if there are civilians standing across from them on the other side of the street. In that situation, it would be better to allow the villain to run and follow after them. We don’t want to let villains escape, but given the choice, it’s better to risk letting a criminal get away compared to risking civilian casualties or deaths.”

Izuku nodding along with the lecture, agreeing even as he diligently wrote down everything Toshinori said. The skeletal blonde straightened up a bit. He knew teaching a class wasn’t the same as one-on-one instruction, but still, this wasn’t as bad as he had feared. He could really do this. He could teach. He just had to apply himself.

“And the fifth and final rule of gun safety is to always wear ear and eye protection when using your firearm, if possible. Guns are loud, and there’s always a possibility of ricochets or hot debris being expelled from the ejection port of the gun. In a real situation where you have to use your gun, you probably won’t have that luxury; you’ll note that the police don’t walk around with earmuffs and protective glasses on all the time. And if somebody was in a home invasion situation, they wouldn’t really have time to put on safety gear before defending themselves or their family, either. But anyone who intends to fire a lot of bullets and knows about it ahead of time should bring something to protect against hearing loss and things flying into your eyes."

Toshinori shot a half-smile at the teen. "Given your hero notes, I’m sure you already know the pros who regularly use guns. All of them have worked some kind of eye and ear protection into their costumes, and this is why.”

Izuku nodded rapidly as he sketched out the last few bits of his notes on firearm safety rules. He did, in fact, know most of the pro heroes who used guns; in his opinion it was rather hard not to, since it was such a short list. It became more expansive if you went international, but even then, most pros focused on their quirks, not secondary tools or weapons that would help them fight crime. The only people who really heavily used guns were the people with quirks that directly synergized with them, like Snipe’s Homing, or people whose quirk ‘is’ a kind of gun, such as Lady Nagant’s Rifle or Gunhead’s Gatling.

Izuku had been aware, on an intellectual level, that the costumes of those heroes always had some sort of visor or helmet, something that covered the ears and eyes. But he felt a welcome rush of understanding as he finally connected the dots and realized exactly why. Of course, it was so obvious.

Toshinori gently placed the pistol back into the metal case and closed the latch with a decisive ‘click.’ Spinning one of the combination lock’s wheels with his thumb to relock the case, he stood up from the picnic table and grabbed the case.

“Now that we’ve gone over some basic rules, it’s time to take you to the range and let you get a feel for live ammo. We also need to get you some ear and eye protection. They’ll sell those here, so before we start we’ll go around the store and you can pick some things out. I’ll pay for them.”

Izuku stammered out his thanks as the two of them began walking across the parking lot to enter the store.

“Are you going to be buying ear and eye protection too, Al-sir?” Izuku may be a starstruck fanboy, but he was aware enough to know that All Might needed to be either ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Yagi’ in public. All Might while deflated didn’t look like All Might when he was actively bulked up and using his superpowers, but his appearance was close enough that one wrong word and somebody could make the connection. Calling him All Might by accident was a disaster waiting to happen, and Izuku was doing his best to stay on top of it.

Toshinori ignored the teen’s near slip of the tongue and shook his head, tapping a long thin finger against the metal case. “I brought my own. They’re underneath the foam.”

Izuku felt a cold rush of air conditioning hit him as they walked through the door. As he entered, he couldn’t help but stare. The interior had not been what he was expecting at all. They were in a large, open area that was clearly some kind of store, with aisles full of items and a cash register on the corner of a counter off to one side. But what really struck Izuku was what was hung on the walls.

One of the walls of the store was nothing but guns, hung up for display or stacked neatly in rows on a giant wooden backboard covered in pegs and shelves. Shotguns, rifles, and the parts of disassembled guns hung from the walls. Dozens of pistols, revolvers, and handguns were laid out on velvet cloth underneath glass. There was even a section of bows, some clearly modern in design, compound and recurve bows, while others were much more traditional, like the asymmetrical Japanese yumi bows made out of lacquered wood and wrapped in cloth.

That wasn’t what he was staring at, though. While fascinating, that wall was about what he had expected to see when he first walked in. What he couldn’t look away from was what was on the other three.

They were covered in historical memorabilia. Dozens of flags were hung from the walls in clusters and groups. Underneath the flags were medals, plaques, and names printed on brass plates. There were even photographs and pictures of individuals or groups of people, worn and yellowed with age, many with signatures or short messages written on them.

Izuku couldn’t wrap his head around what he was seeing. He wandered slowly down the side of the store, drinking in the sight. There were so many flags from over a dozen different nations. Many of them were older designs, from the pre-quirk era. There were groups of what he recognized as state flags from America, as well as flags representing various military regiments or organizations.

Suddenly, Izuku realized what he was looking at. They were memorials.

The wall he had just entered the store through was dominated by a large Japanese flag, the classic red dot of the rising sun on a white background. Beneath it were three smaller flags; the iconic stars and stripes of the American national flag, one that Izuku recognized as the state flag of Hawaii, and a third one he didn’t recognize that might have been from Africa or South America.

Beneath those four flags were dozens of emblems and patches from various military regiments and naval groups. The wall was also covered in countless bits of old Japanese naval memorabilia. At first, he didn’t understand the theme of what he was looking at. He walked closer and looked at the plaques on the wall, trying to understand the theme.

It was the messages written on the pictures that gave him the answer. It was a memorial to the native Japanese that had been stranded overseas during the Dawn of Quirks. It was for the people in the JSDF who had deployed abroad and never made it back home.

Izuku turned to look across the store, at the back wall on the far side from where he was standing. Like the first, it had a strong military and naval theme, but unlike the first, there was no Japanese flag, and none of the naval groups or military patches looked Japanese, either. As Izuku wandered closer, he also realized that the far wall held more flags, and they were all foreign. Most of them were the flags from American states, though even as much of an All Might fan as he was, he didn’t recognize all of them.

At first, he wasn’t quite sure what the theme was. But if the first wall had been about native Japanese who had been unable to return home, then logically…

Yes. As he drew closer and read the messages written on these pictures, he realized his guess had been right. There was a reason most of the flags had been from American states. This was a memorial to foreigners, soldiers and civilians, who had been stranded here in Japan when the Dawn of Quirks happened. People who had been caught out in a foreign land, but who still took up arms and fought to the death to defend Japan from anarchy.

Before the Dawn of Quirks, the American military had possessed three navy bases in the Japanese islands. Izuku hadn’t known before what the names of those bases were, it wasn’t information that had been considered important by their teachers in their history classes at school. But he knew them now, because all three of them were on this wall. Yokosuka. Atsugi. Sasebo. Flags bearing the emblems of the bases were hung on the wall, and beneath them were old photographs, war medals, uniform patches, and other bits and pieces, all representing the lives and achievements of people who had died trying to keep order in the streets in those early years.

The last wall was across from the gun wall, to the left as you walked into the building. It was also the longest memorial wall in the rectangular room. Like the one before, it was covered in foreign flags. But unlike the previous two, there was no military memorabilia present. Izuku stared at it, connecting the dots in his head, glancing at the names and written messages.

It didn’t take him long to realize what it was.

“Destro,” he whispered under his breath. Destro was the first supervillain, it’s what he was remembered for. The first superhuman criminal classified as a threat to the fundamental order of civilization itself. When Destro had risen to power near the end of the Dawn of Quirks, when he announced his political revolution and declared that everyone was either with him or against him, the fragile Japanese government of the time had realized it wasn’t a fight they could win on their own. They had sent out a call for help, begging for assistance.

This was a memorial for the people who had answered that call.

Izuku’s eyes darted from flag-to-flag, drinking it all in. A French flag, of course, there were many French veterans who had come, he had read about it. Many of their descendants were still here, in their own cultural communities. A German flag as well. A Canadian flag. The old Union Jack of the United Kingdom before it had turned into modern Britannia. An American flag, of course. Dozens of state flags from America, primarily from the South and Midwest, as well as a few he didn’t recognize. A Lone Star flag, from the brief period when Texas had become it’s own republic before being reintegrated back as a state in modern America.

And there were strange flags here that he hadn’t been expecting, and a number that he didn’t recognize at all. There was one he didn’t understand, a solid yellow flag with two entwined serpents being cut to pieces. Another he didn’t get was a red flag with a black boar’s head holding a knife between it’s teeth. An iconic jolly roger pirate flag was present, crossed bones and all, which he understood the meaning of just fine, but not why it was here. And there were several other flags with symbols or patterns on them that he did not understand, but had seen before. Some motorcycle groups and delinquents from Musutafu and Hosu used them as icons of rebellion in their various clubs and gangs.

Izuku now understood exactly what he was looking at. Each wall was it’s own memorial. One for the native Japanese soldiers who had been stranded on foreign shores during the Dawn of Quirks. One for all of the foreigners who had been stranded here and chose to fight and die for a people not their own. And the last for all those who answered Japan’s call for help in her darkest hour.

And given the rates at which people had been born with quirks… almost everyone here would have been quirkless. All of these people who had stood and fought for what they believed in, who had given their lives so freely and bravely… they had been quirkless. Like him.

They had been heroes. Quirkless heroes.

Izuku felt tears well up at the corner of his eyes. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch some of the things on the walls, to run his fingers across hero history, across quirkless hero history, but he held back. He didn’t dare.

He didn’t belong here, among the memories of all these dead heroes. This shrine wasn’t for him. Because that’s what it was, he realized. A shrine. Walls upon walls of memories. Grandchildren and great grandchildren, reaching out to a past they couldn’t touch. Donating photographs, medals, and memorabilia of relatives they had never spoken to. Writing messages of love and farewell on notes that dead eyes would never see.

It was a graveyard of memories, interred beneath flags instead of soil. Laid to rest with bouquets made of apologies and fond farewells. It would be unthinkable to disturb it just to satisfy his own ego.

Slowly, Izuku turned away from the sprawling memorial of heroic ancestors, and began looking through the aisles, browsing. All Might had left him almost as soon as they had entered the store to go purchase the things that they would need for target practice, and he seemed to trust Izuku to find the things he needed on his own. Izuku felt he had wasted enough time already. He didn't need much, but there were a lot of things here he needed to look through, and he would probably have-

Izuku stopped suddenly at one of the aisles when he realized what he was looking at. There was hero merch here. There was an entire section of shop floor that had nothing but hero-themed items. Almost every Japanese hero that was associated with firearms, either practically or thematically, was represented here in some way. There were about a dozen heroes in Japan that used bows and arrows as their gimmick, and there was an entire section of the archery supplies featuring things sponsored by them, too. The pro hero Silver Ranger and his wife Fletch featured prominently, which thrilled Izuku. Not only were they both archery heroes, which was rare, but they were also one of the few pro hero married couples.

It was a relationship that Izuku had quietly dreamed about having, once. Fighting crime, being in love, having your own shared agency. It was, well. It seemed perfect. But that was a long time ago.

He didn’t know why he had thought there wouldn’t be hero themed stuff in here, but somehow with the pre-quirk Japanese military theme of the building and the flags and memorials on the walls, the place seemed very old-school. Solemn, almost.

Then again, he’d been to museums on field trips before, and their gift shops had hero merch, too. So maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. 

Izuku didn’t dwell on it. There were Gunhead brand protective earmuffs and a pair of All Might themed protective glasses, and that’s all he needed to know. He grabbed one of each and hurried out of the aisle before he lost out on the temptation to look more. He knew the longer he looked, the more things he’d want.

He didn’t even know how to use a bow and arrow, but the Silver Ranger stuff looked so cool. He didn’t need an official Snipe cowboy hat, either. He didn’t. Honest.

Maybe if he repeated it enough times, he’d eventually believe it.

Izuku walked up the aisles and made his way to the cash register where his mentor was standing. It was almost impossible to lose All Might in a store or crowd: even deflated and in his Yagi Toshinori form, the man was still over seven feet tall. Izuku approached his mentor and saw him carrying a large plastic bag that seemed to have a cardboard box and two rolled-up posters sticking out of it. Before he could ask any questions, however, the person manning the cash register leaned over the counter and greeted him.

Izuku had seen people with transparency or invisibility quirks before, but he had never seen anything quite like this. The only reason she was visible was because of her clothes, which seemed to float in mid-air in the vague outline of a person. She was wearing a pink crop top with the gun range’s logo stamped on the front, along with form fitting black yoga pants and a plaid overshirt tied around her waist. A girly necklace with little plastic clouds and teddy bears hung floating in the air above her shirt. She also wore a pair of simple white gloves, though whether they were there to help keep her hands warm or to just make them visible, he wasn’t sure.

The only reason he was sure it was a girl at all was because of her voice and extremely curvy outline.

“Hi!” the invisible girl chirped, waving a gloved hand enthusiastically at Izuku. “You must be new, I haven’t seen you around here before! My name is Hagakure Tooru, what’s yours?”

Izuku felt himself choke up, thoroughly unused to the attention of girls his age. The only reason he didn’t shut down completely was because this one was invisible, which made talking to her a little bit easier. “My n-name is Midoriya I-Izuku,” he stammered, trying not to blush.

“That’s a great name!” she said, giggling. “This is my uncle’s shop, which is why I’m working here for the summer. What brings you here?”

Izuku flinched slightly at the aggressive enthusiasm being directed at him, and glanced desperately at his mentor, begging the man to take over the conversation and answer for him. But the teen felt a stab of betrayal when the tall blonde just grinned and quirked an eyebrow at him, staying silent.

“Um. I’m a-aiming for the Hero Course a-at UA, and I’m also t-training to work with the p-police. So I need to learn about f-firearms.”

The invisible girl slammed both of her hands against the counter enthusiastically. “That’s so cool! You’re gonna be like one of those pro crime stopper heroes in anime, fighting evil with a badge and a gun! Pow pow!” she said, making finger guns for emphasis. 

Izuku rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. When she said it like that, it did sound pretty cool, didn’t it?

“I’m also aiming for UA!” she said cheerfully. “Hero Course for me as well! I know it’s super out-there, right? They get loads applicants every year, and they can only take a couple dozen. But if you dream about being the best of the best, it’s the only choice, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Izuku stuttered, nodding awkwardly. “I’m s-sure there will be t-tons of people who have really s-strong quirks! It, ah. It won’t be easy to get in. But I’m going to shoot for the moon.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tooru cheered, jumping joyfully at his proclamation. Izuku blushed and averted his eyes from the bouncy teenage girl in front of him. He wondered how her quirk worked. Was she always invisible, or was it some kind of stylistic choice on her part? And what kind of invisibility was it, anyway? Transparency? Crystalline-structured cells? Light-bending?

“I’m permanently invisible!” she replied brightly, and Izuku almost choked when he realized he must have muttered the last bit out loud. “Which isn’t the most convenient thing in the world, but seeing how both my parents also had invisibility quirks, maybe it’s to be expected, right?” She shrugged in an exaggerated manner, throwing her gloved hands up in the air. “And I have no clue what kind of invisibility it is. I wasn’t aware there are even different kinds. All I know is that mine doesn’t have an off switch!”

“There a-are,” Izuku replied. “Different k-kinds, I mean. It can matter a lot, a-actually. Changes how the power works, what you c-can and can’t d-do with it.”

The invisible girl slapped a fist into the flat of her other palm. “Good to know! I’ll have to look into that later. Maybe it will help me when I get to UA! So how about you? What’s your quirk?” she asked cheerfully.

Izuku flinched, feeling the panic rise up in his chest.

“I… I, uh. I d-don’t have o-one,” he stammered out, clenching his fists behind the counter so hard that his knuckles turned white. The invisible girl stared at him for a moment, or at least he assumed she was staring, because he couldn’t see her. ‘Here it comes,’ he thought. He knew asking her about her quirk was a mistake, because whenever he asks people they always ask him back. He was such an idiot, he should have kept his stupid mouth shut and-

“That. Is. So. COOL,” she whisper-shouted, leaning over the counter to look closer at him.

Izuku’s brain blanked as it promptly attempted to shift gears without a clutch.

“You’re so inspirational!” she cheered, bouncing slightly on her heels. “I really want to be a hero, but I’ve always struggled to try and figure out how! Since, you know, wearing clothes or any kind of uniform or outfit just defeats the whole point of my quirk. It’s like a useless quirk for heroics, you know? Unless I go running around streaking or something. To hear that somebody in a similar position to me is trying so hard to be a hero, it’s super inspirational! It makes me wanna try even harder! I’ve gotta keep up!”

The words ‘quirk’ and ‘useless’ rebooted Izuku, and he waved his hands in a half-panic. “Your quirk isn’t useless!” he insisted, his stutter vanishing. “It’s unbelievably useful! You could wear camouflage clothing, or clothes that shift colors and patterns to partially match what’s behind them, and it would synergize great with your quirk! There are also DNA infused fabrics and quirk-sympathetic materials. They can be used to create clothes and costumes that work with your powers, lots of heroes have them. Once you get some of those, you’ll be unstoppable! Hostage situations, infiltrating criminal hideouts, clandestine guard detail, even terrorist situations or bomb disposal, you could do it all! Your quirk is amazing!”

Tooru blushed to the roots of her hair, though Izuku couldn’t see it. “T-That’s really sweet of you to say,” she said, stuttering slightly herself. Nobody outside of her own family had ever complimented her quirk like that before, especially not a cute boy. The two teens descended into an awkward, hormone-induced silence, trying to avoid looking directly at each other and struggling to come up with something to say next.

Toshinori grinned, and finally decided to rescue his teenage pupil. “I hate to spoil your fun, but I think we should let the young lady get back to her job,” he said, clapping a large, bony hand down on the young man’s shoulder. “After all, we’ll be regulars here from now on, so you’ll have plenty of time to talk to her later.” His grin widened into a sly smile, and he was unable to resist poking one last time. “Or get her phone number.”

Izuku choked slightly at that, and Tooru’s clothes twisted in a way that indicated she had turned to face away from them very quickly. It was all Toshinori could do to stop from bursting out laughing.

Toshinori began walking away from the counter towards a pair of double doors off to the side, and Izuku followed quickly, desperate to escape the awkward situation behind him. They went through into a hallway where the walls were lined with trophy cabinets and plaques. Izuku glanced at them as they walked by, seeing various cups, trophies, and awards for marksmanship and competition shooting. There were also a row of plaques higher up near the ceiling hung onto the wall. Izuku didn’t recognize them, but they had emblems on them that made them seem police-related.

They pushed through another set of double doors, and ended up in a small circular anteroom with several other doors. Given the signs over them, they seemed to lead to different kinds of targeting ranges. Toshinori seemed to know exactly where they were going, however, and opened one of the doors without hesitation, beckoning Izuku through.

Izuku didn’t need to be told what he was looking at, because it was obvious at a glance. This was a gun range. The room was a long rectangle, with some sort of hard green rubber for flooring. A series of twelve lanes divided the room up lengthwise, each with a corresponding number stamped in front of it on the floor. Down the length of the room were a series of markers denoting distance, starting at 5 yards and going in increments of 5 all the way up to 50 at the far end. The back wall was dominated by overlapping sloped curtains of some bulky looking material that Izuku assumed was there to stop the bullets. Each lane had a table fixed to the floor in front of it, along with several metal folding chairs. A number of fire extinguishers and first aid kits lined the walls, and there was a large broom and dustpan propped up in the corner next to several open plastic boxes full of spent brass casings.

The range was also currently empty, which was something Izuku was unbelievably grateful for. He had no desire to make a fool of himself in front of an audience, especially not one made of people who would know exactly what he was doing wrong.

Toshinori walked up to lane 6 in the middle of the room and began pulling things out of his bag and putting them on the table. Izuku’s eyes widened at the size of the ammunition box Toshinori had purchased, a large ‘250 9mm’ on the side of it in bold lettering.

“I-isn’t that a bit much?” Izuku asked, stuttering slightly in shock.

Toshinori chuckled. “Not really. You’ll have shot a thousand rounds by this time next week.”

“A thousand!?” Izuku exclaimed, choking slightly.

Toshinori nodded as he reopened the locked metal case, revealing the two handguns and eight empty magazines. “Yes, a thousand. I think that’s pretty good start for getting you a feel for things.”

“Is it!?” Izuku blurted out, sounding slightly hysterical.

The tall, ill-looking blonde hummed a positive as he began setting the guns and magazines out. “Oh yes, at least a thousand. Marksmanship is all about one thing, and that’s practice. The average police academy cadet would need to shoot around two thousand rounds to pass the basic training to become an officer. There’s no hard and fast rule for numbers, but generally, I’d say if you want to be good at shooting paper targets accurately, which is what we’ll be doing today, you’d need to shoot a few hundred rounds. The same is true if you want to shoot deer or some other hunting animal. Someone training to become private security or a police officer would want to shoot a few thousand bullets. If you’re looking for a competitive marksmanship trophy, you’d probably need to shoot tens of thousands of rounds to get good enough.”

Toshinori tapped a long, thin finger against his chin, thinking. “I don’t know precisely what training someone would have to go through to become a special response sniper, but I’d imagine you would have go to through tens of thousands at a minimum, possibly even hundreds of thousands.”

The tall blonde hero shrugged. “Either way, if we stick to a schedule of at least a thousand rounds a week, then by the time the entrance exams for the hero schools roll around, you’ll have shot at least 40,000 rounds of live ammo. I’m sure that’s not as much as Gran would like, but I’d say that’s pretty good myself. We might even be able to get that number higher.”

“I-I see,” Izuku said, trying to wrap his head around what felt like the literal mountain of bullets waiting for him in the near future.

Toshinori nodded. “You’d also want to put at least a thousand rounds through any gun that’s new or that you’ve never used before, to break it in and get a handle on it. It’s important to make sure your firearms are in proper working order. A weapon that’s prone to break or jam will definitely show it’s flaws if you spend a week putting bullets through it. Come here, let me show you how to load bullets into a magazine.”

Izuku walked over to the table the blonde hero had picked out for them, and stood next to the box of bullets and handguns.

“You stand the magazine upright and brace it against the table with one hand,” he explained, demonstrating what he was saying, “Then you push bullets into the top of it at an angle with your other hand, using your thumb to press them down into it against the upward force of the spring. You’ll need to hold the magazine steady to get enough leverage against the spring to slide them in. Here, watch me do this one, and then you handle the others.”

Over the next few minutes, they filled all eight magazines, each one taking fourteen bullets. Toshinori pointed at the ammunition box. “See, it’s already almost half empty, and that’s just from filling these magazines. I know the numbers I quoted at you sound big, but they’re really not. If we empty these and then refill them and shoot again, we’ll only have about twenty bullets left.”

Izuku nodded slowly, feeling like he was wrapping his head around the numbers better after seeing it in person.

Izuku began pulling the tags and stickers off of his Gunhead earmuffs before putting them on. As he did, Toshinori pulled the foam out of the metal carrying case and fished out his own gear. Carefully pulling the tag off of his All Might glasses, Izuku turned to face his mentor, and almost choked at what he saw.

All things considered, maybe he should have been expecting this.

Toshinori’s earmuffs were the same general shape as Izuku’s Gunhead ones, but instead of being visually pattered off of Gunhead’s helmet, they instead had an absolutely ridiculous print pattern of an incredibly detailed American flag waving in hurricane force winds. The edges of the flag were burning and trailing smoke, like something taken from the side of a rally car. A pair of totally pointless soft plastic antennae on the top of the muffs completed the picture, clearly made to mimic All Might’s hair in his heroic form.

His glasses were somehow even more ostentatious, if that was possible. While Izuku’s own had the triple golden bars of the ‘All Might’ logo as the folding arms, and the classic overlapping ‘A/M’ worked onto the nosebridge, Toshinori’s frames were shaped and molded after a stylized American eagle. The spread plastic wings, complete with detailed feathered ridges, swept back and became the folding arms, while the angled lenses of the protective glasses were ‘held’ in the eagle’s talons. From the front, it looked like the eagle was diving forwards at extreme speeds, claws stretched towards the viewer. That wasn’t even the end of it, as the lenses themselves had an American flag pattern stamped on them in hundreds of tiny dots, with the edges of the pattern cut to look like stylized racecar flames.

The entire ensemble was violently, even cartoonishly American, and Izuku couldn’t help but stare. Toshinori seemed to know exactly what he was looking at, as he gave a slightly smug grin.

“You like my gear, young Midoriya?” he said teasingly.

“How has nobody ever guessed who you are?” Izuku blurted out. He was so caught off-guard that he didn’t even stutter.

Toshinori chuckled warmly. “It is pretty on-brand, isn’t it? Funnily enough, it’s actually because I’m too famous. It sort of loops back around. All Might is such a superstar that there’s huge numbers of people obsessed with Americana now, just because it’s my theme. So stuff that you’d think would blow my cover really just makes me blend in.”

The tall, skinny blonde reached over and ruffled the teen’s hair affectionately. “It’s thanks to superfans like you that I can get away with it, young Midoriya.”

Izuku flushed red to the roots of his hair in embarrassment. Sure, that made logical sense, but he didn’t have to say it like that!

Toshinori reached into the plastic bag and pulled out the two large posters Izuku had seen earlier, which turned out to be rolled up paper targets. He pressed a button on the table they were setting up at, and the two rails hanging over their lane whirred mechanically, bringing a pair of clips forwards to the table from farther down the range.

“Normally, you’d be shooting all of these yourself, since the point of this is to train you,” Toshinori explained as he wrote each of their names down on one of the targets with a sharpie. “However, it’s your first time, and I also haven’t gotten a chance to shoot recreationally in quite awhile, so I’ll be joining you today. Teaching you is actually a pretty good chance to get my own eye back in, so I’ll probably be buying some bullets just for me in the future, while you’ll be getting your own box to shoot, okay?”

Izuku nodded in understanding, and Toshinori hung up the signed paper targets on their clips before pushing another button, sending both of them back down the line until they were between the 5 and 10 yard markers. It was close, by the 50 yard standards of the range, but it still seemed pretty far away to Izuku.

Toshinori picked up one of the pistols and sat it down in front of Izuku. “Now, before we start, I’m going to show you the shooting stance you’ll be using today. There are a couple of different ones that all have different pros and cons. Like Gran mentioned during the knife training, this is really all about fulcrums and levers. Holding the gun in certain ways can make it more stable, reduce the recoil when you fire, or make it easier to control the gun and switch targets. Planting your feet in certain positions can do similar things, as well as helping to minimize your front profile so you’re a smaller target, making you harder to hit. I’ll be starting you with the Isosceles shooting stance. It’s the most stable shooting position, is one of the easiest to learn, and lends itself well to tactical shooting and hero work. Here, watch me.”

Picking up the other unloaded gun, Toshinori pulled back the slide to check the chamber before nodding. Putting both hands around the grip and keeping his index finger off the trigger, he raised it up to slightly below his eye level, holding it out at arm’s length directly in front of him.

“This gun is unloaded,” Toshinori said, “but even so, you should never walk in front of somebody else holding a gun out like this. So don’t stand directly in front of me. But step around and look at what I’m doing.

Izuku complied, stepping slightly around and to the front so that he could look at his mentor head-on.

"For the Isosceles, you square up to the target," the blonde said, taking his left hand off the gun and pointing at his own paper target before gripping it again, "and you position your legs shoulder-width apart with both arms forward and your elbows locked out. The idea is that we're forming a triangle with our shoulders and arms, which maximizes the stability and recoil handling. We also bend slightly at the waist and knees, which keeps the position flexible and able to move. This stance is easy to learn and offers the best control. It’s also great for hero work because it's the most effective stance to use while wearing body armor or a costume that has armor integrated into it."

Toshinori relaxed his stance and put the unloaded gun down. "For all it's pros, though, the Isosceles does have three drawbacks. The first is that it's going to be uncomfortable in the beginning, it feels awkward and a little unnatural. The second is that it's not an easy stance to hold; your arms would get tired if you spent the day shooting like this, and it's difficult to hold someone at gunpoint with it for an extended period of time, too. Hero training will help mitigate a lot of that, but it's still fundamentally a tactical stance, not an endurance or sharpshooting stance. And the third drawback is that it's not a bladed stance, which means you're not turning your body to the left or right to reduce the size of the target you’re presenting to an enemy. Your front is the ‘base’ of the triangle, which means you’re facing your target head on. That makes you easier to hit yourself, though again, hero training will help mitigate some of that."

Izuku nodded rapidly, having sketched a rough diagram in his notebook of a featureless person holding the Isosceles stance. He had also filled the opposite page with notes on the pros and cons of the position.

“Now then,” Toshinori said, gesturing at the unloaded gun he had sat in front of Izuku earlier, “show me what you remember about those rules I made you write down.”

Izuku nodded once, determination on his face. He checked his earmuffs to make sure they were snug before putting on his protective glasses. Toshinori nodded in approval. Then Izuku picked up the pistol in front of him and pulled the slide back, checking it to make sure there was no bullet resting in the chamber.

“Good,” Toshinori hummed encouragingly. “What next?”

Izuku picked up one of the filled magazines, sliding it into the bottom of the pistol with a firm mechanical click. He then pulled the slide back before slowly letting it go, feeding the first round into the chamber. It was surprisingly tough to do, whatever spring or mechanism was in the slide was stronger than he had thought it would be.

Toshinori nodded. “So you have a loaded gun now. What do you do with it?”

“I check to make sure I know what’s behind what I’m shooting,” Izuku said, looking down-range.

“And where’s your finger?” the blonde prompted.

“Outside of the trigger guard,” Izuku replied.

“That’s great, you’re doing well. Now, keeping your finger off the trigger, I want you to raise the gun up and mimic the stance I just showed you.”

Izuku carefully did what he was asked. It took a slight bit of fumbling to get his hands comfortable, as he wasn’t quite sure how to position his left hand, but after a moment, he had it. His mentor had been right, the stance did feel slightly unnatural in the shoulders and elbows, but it was certainly stable.

“You’re doing fantastic,” Toshinori said. “Two more things before you shoot. Hold the gun at eye level and line up the dotted sights on the back. The single dot at the front needs to be between the two dots at the back, that’s how you know it’s pointed straight. Then use your grip to level the gun out, so you don’t shoot high or low. And when you fire, pull firmly on the trigger. I have the sensitivity on these pretty high as a safety feature, so you’ll need to give the trigger a firm squeeze. Take your time to line up the shot, and fire whenever you’re ready.”

Izuku did his best to calm his breathing down and keep his hands steady. He measured his shot for what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, before working up the nerve to fire.

The gun was shockingly loud, even with his ear protection on, and the kick from the recoil made him flinch.

“Good!” Toshinori said, encouragingly. “Now put the gun on the table and let’s see how you did.”

Izuku put his gun down gently, somewhat wary of it, and his mentor pressed the button to bring their targets forwards.

Disappointment swelled in Izuku when he saw he had hit nowhere within the bullseye, and instead had sent his bullet through the upper left corner of the paper target.

Toshinori, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking, clapped an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

“That was an impressive first shot, young Midoriya, especially at a target that’s past the five yard mark. When I first fired a handgun, I missed the target entirely and put it somewhere in the ceiling. Missing the target is normal for first timers, to actually hit your paper as a total beginner is very good.”

Izuku nodded slowly. He understood what All Might was saying, but there was still a part of him that felt like he should have done better.

“Now one more thing before we work through this ammo together,” Toshinori said. “There’s an issue with shooting where people become afraid of the gun. It’s always unexpected how loud and strong they really are, and once people have fired for the first time, they tend to start flinching slightly every time they start to squeeze the trigger. This throws their aim off. You will eventually get over this and become used to the noise and recoil, it just takes practice and repetition. But it does mean that your aim will actually get slightly worse from here until it slowly starts to improve. I don’t want you to be discouraged by this, it’s normal and it happens to everyone. Practice smooth, clean trigger squeezes, and do your best to relax and not pre-flinch when you fire the gun, okay?”

Toshinori’s warning had proven prophetic. It didn’t take them very long at all to go through the eight magazines twice, and Izuku’s aim did in fact get worse, even though he did his best to steady his nerves before every shot and squeeze the trigger smoothly. He never completely missed the paper target, though, which Toshinori repeatedly praised him for. Three of his shots landed inside the bullseye rings, but Izuku felt that those were more flukes than accurate shots. None of them were a literal bullseye.

Toshinori’s paper, by contrast, was almost the exact opposite of his. One or two stray bullets had fallen outside the bullseye, but besides them, he had a fairly reliable cluster the size of a dinner plate that was slightly off-center from the bullseye. Like Izuku, he also had not outright missed the target with any of his shots.

With 26 bullets remaining in the box, Toshinori took his magazine out, checked the slide, and then put his gun down on the table.

“We’re almost out of bullets,” the blonde announced. “We have enough for two more magazines. You’ll be firing the rest, but before we do, I need to show you something important.”

Izuku sat his gun down carefully before turning to watch his mentor.

Toshinori picked up one of the empty magazines he had been using and slid the bottom part of it off, setting the hard plastic piece aside. This revealed another, smaller metal plate it had been covering, which he also slid out and removed. As he did, the large spring inside of the magazine tried to pop out, but he stopped it with his thumb. He carefully fished the spring out, and pulled the small plastic cradle that was attached to the top of the spring off.

“There are five parts to the anatomy of a typical magazine,” the blonde hero explained. “The spring,” he said, pointing to the spring. “The base,” he said, pointing to the plastic part he had slid off the bottom. “The base plate,” he said, pointing to the small metal plate that had been sitting flush with the base. “The carrier,” he said, pointing to the plastic cradle that had been attached to the top of the spring, “and finally the magazine itself,” he said while tapping his finger against the metal body of the magazine.

Izuku had pulled out his notebook again and was rapidly sketching out notes. Toshinori continued as he did, confident by now that the teen could keep pace while taking notes without needing pauses or breaks.

“The spring is what pushes the bullets up to the top of the magazine so they can feed into the gun. The carrier is what the bullets rest against. The base plate is what holds the spring in. And the base itself is what locks it all together and prevents the base plate from coming out.”

He turned the gutted magazine case around and pointed to the top of it. “The reason the bullets don’t all just fly out of the magazine is because of these curved edges at the top of the magazine stop them from just coming straight out. They have to be pushed forward and up for them to feed into the chamber correctly. For pistols like these, it’s the action of the slide moving forwards that strips the bullets out of the magazine and pushes them into the chamber. For a rifle, the internal bolt does that.”

Toshinori quickly reassembled the components of the magazine, sliding the base back on the bottom and locking everything back together again.

“The reason I’m telling you all of this is because it’s important to know how to store a gun correctly. You remember the spring inside the gun?” Toshinori asked. Izuku nodded in confirmation.

“The tension of that spring is what feeds the bullets up into the gun. But if we leave the spring compressed for a long time, it will lose strength. If it becomes too weak, then it won’t have the tension to feed the next bullet properly. If that happens, then the next time you fire your gun, the top bullet will chamber and fire, but the next round won’t feed correctly. It might even jam the gun. That can be extremely dangerous. So what do you think we would do when we go to store the gun?”

Izuku looked at the magazine. “We… unload it before we store it?”

Toshinori smiled gently. “That’s exactly right.” He sat the empty magazine back down on the table and began feeding bullets back into it. “It doesn’t matter today because we will be firing all of our bullets, but I want you to learn the good habits early so you have time to practice them. We shouldn't have any bullets left over when we practice like this, but if we ever do, we should always take them back out of any magazine we don’t intend to use before you store it. That way, the springs in our magazines will keep their tension.”

Izuku frowned at the table as he watched the older hero put the remaining bullets back into the last two magazines, preparing them to be shot.

“What, um. What about people who use guns for self defense?”

Toshinori smiled, looking slightly confused. “How do you mean, young Midoriya?”

“I mean what do you do if you keep a gun for self defense? You’d want to keep it loaded, right?”

“Ah!” Toshinori exclaimed, realizing now what the young man was getting at. “I see what you mean. Sorry, I didn’t quite realize what you were asking. It’s actually safe to leave bullets in magazines for quite some time, but we do this as a preventative measure to keep our gear in top condition. Someone who was mostly interested in self defense would want to own more than one magazine, and every few months they would take the bullets out of one and put them into another. That way, the spring tension is maintained. You could also use a revolver instead of a modern pistol, as the bullets simply rest in the cylinder.”

Izuku nodded as his mentor finished, leaving a full magazine and a second nearly-full one on the table.

“Go ahead and shoot these last two. Remember, do firm, smooth squeezes. And try to relax. Avoid the pre-flinch if you can.”

Izuku couldn’t, which was expected, but he maintained his trend of not completely missing the paper target itself, which Toshinori continued to insist was fantastic for a beginner.

After the last shot had been fired, Toshinori brought the two targets back to the table and unclipped them from the rail. He rolled them up and put them back in the plastic bag, insisting that it was “always important to save your first,” and together the two of them packed up their gear.

As they left the store, the invisible girl cheerfully waved at them. She called out to Izuku by name, telling him goodbye, which caused the teen to blush and Toshinori to grin.

As they walked up to the truck, Toshinori spoke.

“You did good today. How about we go get some ice cream to celebrate your first time working with knives and live ammunition?”

Izuku looked up at the taller man, frowning slightly but with a hopeful look in his eyes. “Is that okay? What about the meal plan?”

Toshinori laughed gently. “Don’t worry about that, young Midoriya. You can’t cheat every day, but with the amount of exercise you’re doing, a little bit of sugar and cream can’t possibly hurt you. Come on, I know a good place nearby on the outskirts of the city. It’s themed like an American drive-in diner.”

After a relatively short drive down the main highway, where Izuku once again practiced driving and Toshinori gave directions, they arrived.

Izuku marveled at the retro-style of the ice cream shop. It was no wonder Toshinori liked it. It looked like something from the pre-quirk American 60s, a glass and seafoam-green building trimmed with chrome, all rounded corners and checkered tiles. A giant sprawling sign with huge letters listed the dozens of different ingredients for their ice cream shakes.

They parked the truck, and a tall, dark-haired teenage girl skated up to their vehicle to take their order. She was wearing a uniform and apron that matched the color and theme of the shop, along with a pair of roller skates and a folded paper hat. Her hair was in a bob, and she was wearing a medical eyepatch while loudly chewing gum.

“Hi,” she said with an utter lack of enthusiasm. “Can I take your order?”

After a few short moments of looking over the sign, both gave their orders, Izuku getting a strawberry vanilla shake while Toshinori chose a health mixture flavored with green tea. Shrugging her shoulders, the waitress skated away, and in spite of her blatant disinterest, she had only been gone for a few moments before returning with their orders, which were correct even though she hadn’t written anything down.

Izuku sipped at his. It was actually really good. They sat in silence for several moments, watching the sun beginning to set over the distant Tokyo skyline.

“I owe you an apology, young Midoriya.”

Izuku turned to face his mentor, startled at the sudden, out-of-the-blue admission. “What- what are you talking about?” he asked, stuttering slightly.

“For my words on that rooftop.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in shock. “N-No, you don’t have to apologize to me about that!” he exclaimed.

But the tall, skeletal blonde shook his head, rejecting those words.

“When you asked me that question on the rooftop, I know what answer I should have given. I’ve given it hundreds of times before in speeches and interviews. Anyone can be a hero if they try hard enough. Everyone has a hero inside of them. Being a hero isn’t about having a good quirk, but a good heart. Work hard brave youth, you too can be a hero. Those were the words you wanted to hear from me, weren’t they? You just wanted to hear them in person is all, not from some screen or recording. And they were the words I should have said. But I just couldn’t say them. Not to you. Do you know why?”

Izuku shook his head, curiosity warring with something fragile and hurt on his face.

“Like you, I was born quirkless,” Toshinori said, and Izuku’s mouth fell open, his eyes going wide. “I never knew who my parents were; my earliest memories are from foster care and the orphanage. And when I was your age, I was a vigilante. Except I wasn’t, and you know exactly why, don’t you?”

Toshinori gave a pointed look at Izuku, and it broke through the teen’s shock as he flushed and averted his eyes.

“I’m sure Gran suspects why you know so much about weapon laws and the precise legal definitions of heroes and villains. But he doesn’t know. Not like I do. Because I did the same thing when I was your age. At some point, you thought about becoming a vigilante, didn’t you? A quirkless vigilante. You researched it, and realized how much freedom the quirkless really have to act in our superhuman society. Without powers, most modern laws simply don’t apply to you. You were making plans at some point, trying to figure out what you could and couldn’t get away with. How far you could go and still have the get-out-of-jail last resort of admitting you were quirkless if you were caught.”

Izuku hunched over in the seat of the truck and stared at his shoes, sipping absently at his shake. Slowly, after a long moment, he nodded once.

Toshinori’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile, and he reached over and put a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder. Izuku jumped in his seat, but the blonde hero kept his hand on the teen’s shoulder. In spite of the man’s shriveled and emaciated appearance, his fingers were strong. His hand was warm.

“Back in those days, things were bad,” Toshinori said, his eyes getting a far-away look in them. “There were gunshots and screams every night. Robberies and murderers happened all the time. The Dawn of Quirks was over, but the governments and heroes of that era were struggling to try and keep order. As a quirkless kid, I didn’t have much worth living for. I didn’t even have real parents, something all the other kids constantly reminded me of. I think you know how cruel some children can be, don’t you?”

Izuku nodded, still staring at his shoes. His free hand that wasn’t holding his drink clenched tightly in his lap.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” Toshinori admitted, continuing. “I saw so many people just standing around and doing nothing while society slowly broke down, telling themselves that it wasn’t their problem. That someone else would take care of it. They were all convinced that they wouldn’t be next. I had to do something. So I did my research, I put the time in. I found out all the things I'm sure you also have about the law. Then I put on a hoodie, sweatpants, and a medical mask, went out in the dead of night, and jumped off of a building onto a drug dealer’s head.”

The tall, skeletal man grinned. “I have to admit, it wasn’t exactly my finest moment.” Izuku still kept his eyes on the floor, but he snorted slightly and choked, clearly trying to suppress a giggle.

“I’ll be honest with you; I knew my chances. I was aware that I would end up in a ditch or a shallow grave somewhere. I knew how my story was going to end. But I did it anyway. Because I felt that somebody had to. If nobody else was going to do it, then didn’t I have some kind of obligation to try?”

Izuku’s mind flashed back to the day of the sludge villain incident. The burning street. The screaming people evacuating. The heroes, standing around and doing nothing, because none of them had a quirk that could easily solve the problem.

He remembered his feet moving on their own. Fifteen yards past the police line before he even realized where he was or what he was doing. Sprinting directly at the villain.

‘Kacchan!’

Red eyes, panicked eyes, full of fear and hurt and desperation that Izuku had never seen in them before.

‘Deku!? You- why!?'

He was crying, tears pouring out of his eyes and snot running from his nose. Totally undignified as he forced an arm through the ooze, grabbing the only thing that had been a constant in his life besides his mother and his own shame.

‘You looked like you needed saving!’

The older man smiled as he watched his successor’s face flicker through emotions in rapid succession. He had a pretty good idea what the young man was thinking about.

“The only reason I’m still alive today,” Toshinori continued, “Is because my own mentor found me. Shimura Nana. She’s the one who took a liking to me. I’d gotten into a lot of trouble with organized crime, and was even wanted by the police. There were a lot of crooked cops in those days. People who would shoot at a kid wandering around at night whether they had a quirk or not. But she handled the situation and got me off. She took me under her wing and taught me how to be a hero. She was also the one who gave me One For All. She was the seventh wielder.”

Toshinori tilted his head up at orange sky as evening began to creep up on them. “I loved her,” he admitted. Izuku’s head whipped around, staring at the pro with wide eyes. “She was like the mother I never had. She was the first person in my life to actually care about my well-being, who treated me like I was a normal kid. When she died fighting a villain, she took a piece of my heart with her. It hit Gran even harder than it hit me, she was one of the only truly close friends Gran ever had. I dedicated most of my career to trying to act out her old motto. ‘Saving people with a smile.’”

The blonde pro turned his head to face the young man, meeting him eye-to-eye for the first time since the conversation had started.

“That’s why, when I looked at you that day on the rooftop, I didn’t see you. I only saw myself. I was looking through a window fifty years into the past, seeing myself when I was your age. And the answer I gave you was the answer I wish somebody had cared enough to give me when I was your shoes. No one in any of the orphanages or foster homes I was bounced between cared enough about me as a person to wonder where I disappeared off to at night, or why I’d always have new bruises the next day. None of them worried about my safety.”

Toshinori squeezed the young man’s shoulder for emphasis. “I know your problems and mine weren’t the same. But what I needed the most back then was for somebody to care. About me, personally. And no one did. The moment you said you were quirkless, all I saw was the stupid, gangly teenager that I used to be. Poised to jump off of a roof right on top of a mobster, armed with nothing more than his heart on his sleeve and a lead pipe in his hand. And the words just came out of me. Be realistic. It’s okay to dream, but you need to be safe and realistic. If you really want to help people, look into the police or the fire department, or becoming a doctor.”

Toshinori sighed. “I don’t regret my career as All Might. I have done more good, and helped more people, than I ever imagined was possible. I have been truly blessed to come this far. But I still wish, with all of my heart, that somebody had cared enough about me as a person back then to tell me those words. That somebody had cared enough to grab me by the shoulder and pull me away from the edge. But no one did. Not until Nana, but by then, I was already in way over my head and sprinting straight for an early grave.”

Toshinori slowly squeezed the teen’s shoulder one more time with his strong, warm hand before letting go, drawing his arm back.

“I didn’t give you the answer you needed. I gave you the answer I wanted. The answer that I wished somebody had cared enough to tell me. That was wrong. I was projecting onto you, and that was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

Izuku had started to tear up. He couldn’t help it. And before he could stop himself, the words came out in a sudden breath.

“I was suicide baited, near the end,” he said, his stutter leaving him as he stumbled over the words in a rush, trying to get them all out before he choked on them. “It started about a year ago, with people leaving messages on my desk or funeral flowers on my chair. Usually red spider lilies, but there were others, too. White lilies and yellow chrysanthemums.”

Toshinori froze, his heart turning to ice. Before he could speak, the young man sitting beside him pressed on, talking like he was afraid of the consequences of stopping.

“I never considered it- never. I was never tempted to try. I-I always wanted to help people, to be a hero, and I knew if I died it would- it would destroy mom. And I’d never get to be like you, not even in a small way. So I never considered it. But, well…”

Izuku smiled a small, watery smile, and Toshinori had to fight the urge to grab his boy with both hands and hug him even if he had to drag him out of the seat to do it. But he didn’t want to interrupt this, wherever this was going. Toshinori knew what it was costing Izuku, to speak of this. He knew this was drawing poison out of a wound that might never heal otherwise. He didn’t dare stop the young man now.

“But it’s funny you mention jumping off of rooftops, because about an hour before I met you, my childhood friend Kacchan told me… told me that if I really wanted to be a hero so badly, I should take a swan dive off the roof and wish for a quirk in my next life. That was… it was a first. It was always the other kids, who left those messages or said things like that. N-not… not Kacchan.”

Kacchan. Toshinori knew that nickname. The young blonde with the explosion quirk. Red eyes. A foul mouth. The hostage from the sludge villain incident, who screamed about not needing any help. Who didn’t even thank Izuku, out of some confused mixture of pride in their own power and self-loathing over needing help at all.

Sixty minutes before Izuku had met All Might, he had been told to jump off of a roof by a childhood friend. A minute before he met All Might, Izuku had been attacked by a villain. Less than five minutes later, Toshinori had crushed his dreams… and left him standing alone on a roof.

Toshinori felt the exact moment his heart broke. He felt it.

“I- I’m sorry for bothering you, telling you about this-”

“No!” Toshinori said suddenly, unable to stop himself. “It’s no trouble, please, tell me if something like this happens-!”

“-I just think it’s funny, is all, in a weird sort of way.” Izuku continued, still giving that watery, tearful smile. “I would have never jumped off of a roof to kill myself. But, the thing is- I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t have become a vigilante and jumped off a roof onto some criminal’s head. I don’t think I would have planned it out that way, but… that sounds like the sort of thing that might have happened to me. So, uh. Y-you know. Maybe your w-warning wasn’t so w-wrong after all. So I’m g-glad, really. I’m glad you c-cared enough to tell me n-no. You were just t-trying to help me. You wanted me to be s-safe. So- so thank you. Thanks for c-caring.”

Toshinori didn’t fight the urge this time. He reached over across the seats and pulled the teen into his side in a one-armed hug. Izuku didn’t flinch this time, though whether it was because he was too emotionally exhausted to react or if he was beginning to get over the shock of people besides his mother caring about him, even Izuku couldn’t say.

The sat like that for a few moments, sipping their shakes and watching the sun set over the glass and neon skyline of ‘Neo’ Tokyo.

“I want you to know one more thing,” Toshinori said, still holding Izuku close. As long as the teen didn’t show discomfort, he wasn’t going to let go, not after hearing what he had.

“W-what is it?” Izuku asked, scrubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“I’m proud of you.”

Izuku choked at the words.

“Your personal idol, one of the most famous heroes in the world, told you that your dreams were unrealistic and that you should give up and move on. But even after I told you that, even at your lowest, on what was probably the worst day of your life… your heroic spirit was untarnished. Undiminished. You still ran out into that street to save someone when the other heroes wouldn’t. And not just anyone, but a bully. Someone who had been cruel and unkind to you. Someone who told you to kill yourself. When even I was just standing on the sidelines and making excuses about my time limit, you acted. You were the only one out of all of us who showed real heroism that day, young Midoriya. And I’m more proud of you than words can say.”

Izuku was fighting tooth and nail to hold it in, he didn’t want to break down, not here in some strange parking lot sitting next to All Might, not while he was being held in some kind of confusing hug by the man.

But somehow everything that had happened on that fateful day was coming back to him. Bakugo exploding his desk in a miniature mushroom cloud. His notebook being destroyed and cruelly thrown out the classroom window. The suicide baiting. The sludge villain attack. His first meeting with All Might. Getting the man’s autograph.

‘Kid. I’ve come to thank you and revise what I said earlier… I also have a proposal.’

Izuku felt short of breath. The tears were burning in the corners of his eyes.

‘Most of the top heroes show signs of greatness even as children. Many of them claim that their bodies simply moved before they could think! That's what happened to you back there, yes!?’

‘Young man... you can be a hero.’

He had to know. He had to ask.

Izuku turned to face his mentor, eyes swimming with tears. “Do you r-really think I can become a hero, t-then? Even if One For All d-doesn’t work o-out?”

Toshinori smiled. In his injured, emaciated form, it wasn’t a pretty sight. But it was honest and genuine.

“Young man, you already are.”

Izuku couldn’t hold the tears back as they started to fall.

“You know,” Toshinori said, as he leaned back into his seat to stare up at the evening sky. “Now that I think about it, even if I could somehow have told my past self all of those things, I doubt I would have listened to me, either. I bet I still would have jumped off of that roof onto that guy’s head.” He grinned. “Seeing how you ran out into the street anyway even though I told you to be realistic… I guess that makes us even more alike than I thought, huh?”

Izuku gave a hoarse laugh, still crying into his shake. The two sat in silence for several moments, enjoying the peace.

A loud snap-pop broke the moment as the bored waitress on roller skates pulled up next to their truck, loudly popping her chewing gum.

“Ya’ll need anything?” she asked in a bored voice. “Refills?”

Toshinori coughed slightly in shock, a small amount of blood coming out of his mouth, and Izuku flushed red and turned away quickly from the hug, desperately trying to scrub the tears out of his eyes with his sleeve.

“Ah, no thank you,” Toshinori rasped out slightly, barely managing to keep the cough in. “We’re fine, we don’t need anything else, thanks.”

The dark haired girl shrugged her shoulders and gracefully skated away.

Izuku couldn’t help it, and began to giggle uncontrollably, is face flushed and damp from crying a moment earlier. It was infectious, and Toshinori was laughing a moment later.

Hagakure Tooru waved goodbye to the green haired teen, giggling under her breath as he turned beet red and almost tripped over his own feet. 

He and that scrawny beanstalk guy that was his mentor had only been showing up for a few days, but there were three things that were extremely consistent with him. He always drooled over the hero merch. He always looked at the stuff on the walls. And he always complimented her quirk and asked her questions about how it worked and what kind of things she had tried with it. 

Honestly, he was a total sweetheart. It was a crime how cute he was. 

She grinned as she watched him reflexively stop and look at the walls again before reluctantly allowing himself to be guided out the door. 

It's not like Tooru didn't know what all the memorabilia on the walls was. She probably knew better than anybody exactly who all those people were. Her uncle had certainly talked her ear off about it enough. Which was kind of the problem?

Seriously, who showed up to fight a supervillain with Soviet hand-me-down firearms from the pre-Quirk Cold War era, wearing replica medieval knight armor with fake cat ears riveted to the helmet, while driving a garage-armored truck with a Roman aquilla on the hood, the American Confederate flag printed on the doors, and the Jolly Roger flying off the antenna? 

Tooru wouldn't even know what any of that crap was if her uncle hadn't explained it to her. He always said that they were the Gen 0 heroes, the people who laid the groundwork for the first generation, and that they deserved respect for having the guts to show up and fight a superhuman terrorist that wasn't even their problem to deal with.

Tooru got it, really. She did. But, like, just because they helped fight Destro didn't mean they weren't a bunch of weirdos. And not the trendy kind of weirdo, either. The 'hello police I'd like to report a suspicious person in my neighborhood' kind of weirdo.

She didn't dispute that what they did was very brave. But all the bravery in the world won't change the fact that the people who showed up looked less like heroes and more like a crowd of sports hooligans, historical reenactors, and Renaissance fairgoers got lost in the bowels of Comiket before getting blind drunk and deciding to collectively stage an insurrection. 

Then again, it did sort of make sense. Would normal people who have their crap together show up on a bus to pick a fight with a superhuman nutjob and his terrorist army? Maybe they were all crazy because being crazy is fundamentally part of the job. Maybe you have to be a little crazy to run directly at the danger.

Maybe her gimmick could be Invisigirl: The Common Sense Heroine, and her strategy for fighting crime would be 'I haven't lost every single marble I've ever had.'

Midoriya thought it was all hella cool, though. He had sparkles in his eyes every time he came and looked at that stuff. He couldn't get enough of it. 

Maybe it's a guy thing?

It's definitely a guy thing.

Chapter Text

It was evening, and Izuku was stranded in his room. He had finished all the real schoolwork he had been assigned in his current online module yesterday morning, which meant he was alone with his thoughts and the homework Gran Torino had given him. His computer was on, but it showed nothing but his desktop and a paused music playlist. He hadn’t touched it since he came up from dinner. He had been staring at a blank sheet of notebook paper for what felt like days, twirling a pencil idly between his fingers.

For the first time in his life, the topic of conversation was heroes and heroics, and Izuku couldn’t think of a single thing to write.

‘List all the major mistakes All Might had made in his career,’ the assignment had said. ‘Explain what you would have done to be better.’

But how? What had All Might done wrong, exactly? Sure, everybody makes mistakes, but he was the greatest hero in the world! That’s not even Izuku’s own opinion, it’s literally a fact. Maybe the word ‘superhero’ had been cheapened in the era of quirks, but the term ‘supervillain’ still held impact. There were villains, and then there were supervillains. Those rare breeds of of criminal whose strength, charisma, or ambitions managed to threaten the balance of the entire world. Maybe a lot of heroes today casually called themselves superheroes. But All Might really was a super hero, in the same way Destro or Toxic Chainsaw had been super villains. He was a world-class hero, too big for any one nation or country to contain him.

If Izuku had been asked to write fifteen pages about All Might’s quirk, this wouldn’t even be a problem. There was simply so much to talk about, largely due to the fact One For All was apparently an eighth generation quirk, and thus unstable and randomly manifesting other quirk factors.

Of course, Izuku knew that now, but even assuming he couldn’t talk about it, he could still talk around it with speculation. Talking about just one of the top five internet theories about All Might on the quirk analysis forums could easily clear the fifteen page requirement for Gran Torino’s personal assignment.

Two of Izuku’s personal favorite theories were the telekinetic theory and the projection theory. He had been involved in a very large discussion that spanned several years across multiple forums, and over time the group of people he spoke with had collectively formed the guess that All Might’s quirk was actually very similar to Captain Celebrity’s. Which is to say, the man didn’t have super strength at all, but an extraordinarily powerful telekinetic quirk.

Izuku’s leading defense of that theory was that it was probably not a straightforward and simple telekinesis power, but had operational limitations or perhaps even only circumstantial ways it could be used, which is why All Might always dodged questions about his quirk in interviews. He was protecting information about his quirk because if someone knew exactly how his telekinesis worked, they could probably figure out ways to circumvent it.

This theory, which he contributed to creating, was one of the most popular ideas about All Might’s quirk in the semi-formal quirk science circles he walked in. He was even known as a co-creator of it and credited for the theory, which is something he was embarrassingly proud of.

The projection theory, however, was much more fringe, but Izuku liked it because of how clever he felt it was. The projection theory was in some ways much simpler than the idea of operationally restrictive super telekinesis. It was also interesting because instead of just explaining the man’s quirk, the projection theory also attempted to explain the man himself.

The theory goes that All Might is not actually a person at all, but is literally someone’s quirk. Someone with some sort of imagination or mental projection quirk was creating the image of an ideal superhero and manifesting it, and the resulting manifestation was, in fact, All Might.

This theory not only addressed the oddities of the man’s powers by claiming he was functionally just wish fulfillment in superhero form, but further argued that this was the real reason the man seemed to have no social life whatsoever, to the extent that he’s basically never been seen off the clock. The reason All Might seems to disappear the instant he’s no longer needed in an official capacity is because that is literally what was happening. The actual “All Might” is some random person in the background, creating and directing the All Might we see, and when he’s no longer needed, they simply dismiss him and walk away.

While the projection theory had many naysayers, the person who was primarily behind the theory, an old forum troll named BigModokGang that Izuku had slowly become friends with over the years, was exhaustive in their defense of it. Modok had provided photographic proof that the pro hero registered as All Might possessed an Underground Hero’s License, which is a minor detail that almost nobody knows but which Modok insisted was extremely important, because it meant that the real person behind All Might had something serious to hide. Owning an Underground License functionally sealed your records and made the mechanics of your quirk classified information protected by the government.

Detractors of Modok’s theory argued that this proved nothing besides the fact that All Might didn’t want the details of his quirk known, and pointed out that simply being a world famous pro and household name is motivation enough to want to hide your private details like that.

Modok, however, always countered by pointing to the complete and total absence of All Might ever being seen anywhere off the clock. Any real fan of All Might knows about the utter void that is the man’s social presence, and it’s one of the stranger and more enduring mysteries about him, especially in an era where every minor sidekick has an official social media account.

All Might has literally never been caught out-of-costume, ever. Not in a restaurant or a club, or driving around town. He’s never been seen out somewhere just buying groceries. Not even once. No paparazzi or random fan has ever caught him somewhere just being a normal person. The man only seems to exist during his active patrol hours or when working on official hero business, and vanishes the moment he’s off the clock. No other theory about him really addressed that part of the total mystery that was All Might. Only Modok’s.

That facet of the theory was also one of the reasons Izuku helped defend Modok’s ideas whenever they were challenged, even though he pioneered and helped create the restrictive telekinetic theory. And just between those two theories alone, Izuku could ramble for hours and hours about All Might. The fact that Modok and the rest of his acquaintances were wrong didn’t make all the speculation any less fascinating. Though Izuku would have to be careful from now on to not let slip any part of the truth.

In fact, now that he thought about it, Modok’s core question didn’t really have an answer, did it? Obviously All Might can deflate, but that only started after the injury, right? It explained the secrecy for the last six years, but… how was All Might dodging everybody before then?

Questions for later.

Between himself and his various internet friends, rivals, frenemies, and troll acquaintances, Izuku was pretty sure he could fill several books on speculation about the quirk and the man behind it.

But the man’s mistakes?

All Might had probably made mistakes in his career, sure. And Izuku was confident he could probably look a few up if he tried. Some of his earlier interviews when he was just starting out, maybe some mistakes or gaffes during charity events or broadcasted formal functions. There were people who hated on heroes just as much as there were people who loved them, he was sure somebody on the internet had a comprehensive list he could make use of. But could he really stretch them into a whole fifteen page paper? Let alone two?

And why? What was the purpose of the assignment? Gran Torino had yet to give him an assignment that didn’t have some purpose or motive behind it; the man clearly didn’t believe in busywork. Why would he care about an essay or thesis about All Might stuttering in an interview twenty years ago, or stumbling at some charity dance for children with cancer? What was the point? What would something like that teach him?

Izuku shook his head, shoving the blank paper away from him before standing up from his chair and stretching. The essay part of this assignment was a wash: as far as inspiration went, he had nothing. He knew what he could probably do to pass, just look up some hater list and pad it out into thirty pages worth of mistakes and fixes. It didn’t sit right with him, he was sure he must be missing something, but he couldn’t think of what that might be for the life of him.

Maybe if he ignored the writing part and picked a name for himself first, he could come back to this and have some sort of breakthrough or new perspective.

Yeah, right.

And yet after pacing a line into his carpet and racking his brain, he couldn’t come up with a name, either. So much for circling back around.

Part of him knew he was being silly. Some heroes had pretty goofy or uncreative names, and people still took them seriously because it was their accomplishments that mattered. It was what they did with the name. There were even heroes with deliberately weird or funky names as part of their aesthetic. This shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t bother him. It doesn’t.

Okay, it bothers him. It bothers him a lot. One For All is a ridiculous legacy quirk, it has the weight of all superhuman history resting on it. When all those dead people on the memorial walls were fighting in the streets, it was power like One For All they were praying for. With all the combined strength of the past wielders of it, it may very well be the single strongest quirk in the world now. And even beyond that, it’s going to be the world’s first singularity quirk when he gets it.

What’s he going to do, call it “Super Strength” or “Superpower”? He’d die of embarrassment if he had to write that down on the paperwork.

He couldn’t just pick some generic name, for him or for the quirk itself, it would be an insult. Maybe All Might wouldn’t judge him, and maybe Gran Torino wouldn’t judge him either. But he would judge himself. He couldn’t live with a crappy name, he just couldn’t. This was too important.

Izuku sighed. He wished he had someone he trusted that he could ask about hero names.

Izuku blinked as he stopped pacing. He… he did have someone like that, didn’t he?

He had trusted All Might enough to ask him a question on the beach. He had even trusted him enough to talk about the bullying when they were eating ice cream. Maybe…

Maybe it was okay to trust him enough to ask about this?

Izuku hesitated for a second longer before picking up his phone. He didn’t just want to call his idol and the most famous hero in the world stone cold, so he sent him a text first, asking if the man was free to speak over the phone. Izuku pushed send, and then felt his nerves leave him. He tossed the phone over onto his bed and turned away from it. He sat down back to his desk, his shoulders shaking.

All Might was definitely going to ignore that text. Of course he would. It was all fine, everything was just fine. All Might would ignore his text because it was a stupid question, and this was a stupid problem, and Izuku was stupid and he knew that. He would deal with the issue on his own, he still had a few days to figure this out. Worst case scenario he’d pick some generic hero name like Indomitable Man or something, and he’d go on the internet and find some All Might hate list. It would be easy, one and done, he could have this whole assignment wrapped up in-

A bright, electronic jingle knocked him out of his mumbling thought spiral. He blinked rapidly, before realizing the noise was coming from behind him on his bed.

He turned around. His cellphone was lit up. It was ringing.

Izuku felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. All Might was calling him. He couldn’t see the details on his phone from where he had tossed it, but he knew it couldn’t be anybody else without even looking. He didn’t have any real friends, he hadn’t had any for years. Not since the bullying started. The last time Kaachan had called him was when aunt Mitsuki forced the issue a few years ago on Izuku’s birthday. This was actually happening, wasn’t it? He was really going to talk to All Might over the phone about homework.

Izuku picked up the phone with a shaking hand, and driven less by social grace and more by the unbridled terror that would be sending All Might to voicemail, he answered.

“I just- I’m sorry,” Izuku said, rushing his words out. “I was having trouble with the assignment Mr. Sorahiko gave, so I wanted to know if it was okay if I talked about it with you?”

Toshinori laughed. It was a much gentler sound than when he was booming his voice as All Might. “Don’t worry about it, young Midoriya. He was my teacher once too, so that makes us comrades. I know how intense he can be, especially when he’s trying to show you something that he wants you to understand. There’s an important lesson he wants you to learn underneath all of this. That’s why he assigned those three things together.”

Izuku had figured as much. There was never any such thing as ‘just an assignment’ with Gran Torino. There was always some purpose, some angle the man was trying to play. There was no reason this would be any different.

“Also, Gran wouldn’t care if you just called him Torino, I promise, young Midoriya. He’d likely even prefer being Gran over ‘Mr. Sorahiko.’”

“I could never!” Izuku said, feeling mildly scandalized. “I feel like he’d make me run laps all day or something!” His mentor chuckled good-naturedly over the phone.

“I’ve known Gran for long enough to know that he doesn’t stand on any sort of ceremony. You can call him whatever you like. In fact, please call me Toshinori. I hope you won’t mind if I call you Izuku. You’re my successor, after all.” Toshinori switched to a slightly louder tone of voice, clearly imitating himself when he was in his heroic persona. “For good or ill, you’re stuck with us now, young man!”

“I- I guess?” Izuku said, still feeling like it was way too much to be on a first name basis with the number 1 hero in the world.

“I would appreciate it, young Izuku,” Toshinori said, using the teen’s own first name. “We share so many secrets, it feels strange to be so formal. You can call me whatever you wish, but I hope in the future you’ll be comfortable with being more casual. Now, what’s this about the assignment?”

“I was just struggling with the whole coming up with a name thing, is all,” Izuku admitted. “I know the hero is more important than the name, but this is important to me. I was hoping you would have some advice.”

Toshinori chuckled softly before cleared his throat. “If I may, young Midoriya, when I was in school our heroics teacher recommended that if we were stuck on hero names, that we start with colors or metals. Sometimes gemstones. Gold Force. Red Rider. Sapphire Star. Things like that. And then branch out from there. Before I went with All Might, I was seriously considering both Crimson Valor and Captain Gold for names.”

It was a sign of how distressed Izuku was over talking to All Might over the phone and not understanding the assignment that he did not immediately leap at the chance to ask questions about such incredibly obscure fan knowledge as the pro hero names that All Might had considered but didn’t go with.

“What about All Might and Gran Torino?” Izuku asked, fishing for something he could use for himself. “Is there a story behind those names?”

“Well, neither of them really means much,” Toshinori replied. “I picked mine after helping with disaster relief during the internships at UA. There was a big flood up north in Hokkaido, and I was working with a church group to help clear out a landslide that had swept away some roads and crashed into a small town. It was the first time I had heard the world ‘almighty’ in English, and I liked it enough that I repurposed it into my official hero name for my debut.”

Yet again, it was a sign of how distressed and anxious Izuku was that he did not have a small meltdown at learning this sort of fan-trivia about All Might directly from the source.

“And what about Gran Torino?” he asked.

“Ah, that,” Toshinori said, chuckling slightly. “Well, the funny thing is, Gran didn’t originally want to be a hero at all. He went after a license just so he could use his quirk freely. When he passed his licensing exam, he was literally signing the paperwork before realizing that he didn’t have a hero name picked out. He had forgotten that he needed one. So he made one up on the spot while Nana was laughing at him. Gran just means ‘great’ in Spanish. It would be like if you named yourself Ultra Izuku or something. When I heard the story from Nana, I asked him why he went with that, and he told me it reminded him of his family’s history.”

Izuku frowned slightly. “You said it doesn’t mean much, but it must mean something if it reminds him of his family. Isn’t he from Texas?”

“He is,” Torino confirmed. “Are you familiar with the history of the North American continent during the Dawn of Quirks?”

Izuku frowned before reaching over to the shelves next to his desk and pulling a notebook off of it. He flipped through it rapidly, searching for something.

“No,” the teen said after a moment’s pause. “I’ve looked into it before but I didn’t find much. It’s the same with Japan, all anybody really talks about is Destro.”

“It’s the same everywhere,” Toshinori elaborated. “You wouldn’t find much information on what happened during the Dawn of Quirks because most governments don’t really want people thinking about it. They lost control of their own nations, to varying degrees, for almost a century. It’s a massive embarrassment, and one that they don’t advertise if they can help it.”

Izuku frowned, tapping the eraser of his pencil against his open notebook. “I… guess that makes sense? I feel like honesty would be a better policy, though. It’s not like it’s their fault that quirks appeared and turned everything upside down.” The teen smirked slightly, his emotions more honest in the privacy of his own room. “I’ve read that conspiracy theory before, it’s just about the only one I’m sure isn’t true.”

Toshinori laughed. “I’ve seen that theory as well, and I agree, I doubt quirks are some government experiment gone wrong. And I would also agree that honesty would probably be better, but governments are run by people and people aren’t always rational.”

“So what does this have to do with Gran Torino’s family?” Izuku asked.

“Ah. Right.” Toshinori said, clearing his throat. “During the Dawn of Quirks, some countries managed to get along fairly well. America was one of them. But some nations collapsed entirely or simply ceased to exist. Many countries in South America disappeared, being swallowed by riots and anarchy. Naturally, organized crime groups that already existed took advantage of the situation. Things came to a head in the region when a druglord managed to unite most of the South American cartels under a single banner and overthrew what remained of the Mexican government by force. Most people were busy just trying to survive at the time, so not many cared outside of Mexico. But it got worse a few years later, when the next generation of children was born and quirks became stronger and more common.”

“What happened?” Izuku asked, even as he flipped to some clean pages in his notebook on quirk history and began rapidly writing.

“The druglord and his top men realized that there were more valuable things to trade in than drugs and guns,” Toshinori replied evenly. “Given the information I know you’ve researched, I assume you know all about quirk trafficking?”

Izuku’s pencil stilled. He took a long, deep breath. Held it. And then slowly let it out. His left hand was gripping his notebook so tightly in his lap that his knuckles were turning white.

“They started taking kids, didn’t they?” Izuku asked, in that absolutely certain way that made it not a question at all.

“They started taking kids,” Toshinori confirmed. “Kidnapping children, teens, and even some adults with useful or interesting quirks, and then selling them to the highest bidder. It started small and local at first, but they slowly spread their operation, using their army of enforcers and mercenaries to raid towns and cities looking for merchandise-." 

Izuku could hear his mentor cough over the phone, a rustling as the man turned his head to the side and wiped his mouth.

“I apologize, young Izuku,” the older pro said over the phone. “Please excuse me.”

“It’s fine, really,” the teen said, his pencil scratching and breakneck speed across his notebook. He was listing out things he wanted to look into now, new avenues of research to see if he could find more information like this on his own. “Please continue, I’d like to know more. This is all new information to me.”

“I’m rambling,” the older man said apologetically. “I’ll get to the point. Like all criminals, they got greedy. They went too far. The whole situation came to a boil when they crossed into what was then the Independent Republic of Texas and raided the ranch of a wealthy Texan family. They were well-liked by everyone around them because they kept the ranch operational through all the troubles that were happening, selling beef and milk cheaply to their neighbors and giving jobs to locals who needed work. But they had a son, a little boy with a pyrokinesis quirk. It was nothing special by today’s standards, but it was a spectacular quirk for it’s time.”

There was the muffled sound of someone standing up on the other end of the line, and the rushing noise of a sink being briefly turned on. Izuku guessed All Might had probably put him on speaker and was washing his hands.

“Spectacular enough to catch the attention of the wrong kinds of people?” the teen asked, already knowing the answer.

“Spectacular enough that they put together a small army of mercenaries and thugs and traveled over nine hundred miles up from Mexico City to Austin Texas,” Toshinori responded. “Weaponizable quirks with a good balance of control and power were rare back then. The boy was worth a mountain of gold, and the traffickers wanted to auction him off. They already had buyers lined up, or so I've been told.”

“The best laid plans don’t survive contact with the enemy,” Izuku said, his eyes narrowing, “And this doesn’t sound like that great of a plan to begin with. I seem to recall both quite a few people having a bad time after marching across a continent to try and invade Russia. The Russians didn’t enjoy being visited by Napoleon or Hitler either, but they both lost in the end. Armies don’t really do well when sent out for long distances. I’m guessing it went wrong?”

“The traffickers were used to terrorizing people in their own backyard,” Toshinori replied. “People who were too afraid to fight back and barely had anything worth stealing. Their greed made them arrogant. The Red Rock Ranch wasn’t expecting to be attacked by slavers, but no ranch or farm survived through the Dawn of Quirks without taking precautions against cattle rustlers and thieves.”

There was a soft squeak as the sink was turned off, the rushing sound of water disappearing. “The ranch had firearms, explosives, and even an armored vehicle. The family fought back, as did the ranch hands and even some of their neighbors. The raid turned into a siege, and then the siege turned into a massacre. In the end, the slavers had to fall back after taking massive casualties, but the whole family was wiped out. The boy burned himself to death. From what I understand, he lost control of his quirk after watching his family die. He turned the whole property into a sea of flames.”

Izuku slowly closed his eyes, the old familiar sting of tears beginning to prick their corners. This shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, it was ancient history, but… quirk traffickers were still a problem even today. There were still people out there willing to kidnap children for powerful or useful quirks. Children with healing quirks or unique meta-quirks were always at risk. It was significantly less of a problem in first world countries, but the odds being low isn’t the same as the odds being zero.

Izuku had worried himself to death when Kacchan’s quirk first came in. It was a beautiful, powerful, flashy quirk, on the bleeding edge of what was possible in the modern generation of superhumans. It was absolutely perfect for heroics.

Which was exactly the problem. It was a perfect quirk. A dangerously perfect quirk.

What had happened to this boy… could have easily happened to Kacchan. Izuku used to have nightmares about it. 

In the end, nothing had come of his worrying and fretting. But he could never forget that frozen knife of fear in his heart, no matter how irrational or self-inflicted it may have been. Fear for his childhood friend, turned bully, turned something else. Some complicated love/hate just-give-up relationship he didn’t have words for.

He still worried. About what might still end up happening to Kacchan. Even to this day, he worried. Sometimes the nightmares came back, the icy dagger of fear mixed with a sickening, ill feeling of self-loathing at his own powerlessness, at his own inability to stop anything like that from happening. The helpless feeling of hearing fate rattle the dice and knowing you don't have the power to object to the outcome.

Maybe he was just a worrier by nature. It seemed to run in the family.

“The Red Rock Massacre was the beginning of the end for the cartel empire,” Toshinori continued, the soft clicking of his footsteps on the hardwood floor audible over the phone as he walked away from the sink. “That family was well-liked. They were also a vital part of the Austin community. Their ranch kept people fed and clothed. Gave people jobs. And overnight it became a wasteland of smoldering corpses. Some of the raiders got caught trying to flee, and the locals made them talk. They found out what they had come for, and who they worked for. Word got around, on homestead networks and broadband radio. A posse was formed up. People were mad and they were scared. Worried if it would be their kids or grandkids next. People even came from out of state, which was no mean feat during the Dawn.”

A soft rustling came through the phone as the pro sat back down. “An army of truckers, cowboys, militas, angry citizens, retired military, and freedom fighters went down south and repaid Red Rock by blockading Mexico City. A siege for a siege. It was far from a bloodless victory, holding the blockade cost lives, but eventually the cartel broke. They butchered the traffickers, burned the drugs, freed every captive they found, and tarred and feathered the druglord before hanging him from the flagpole outside of Mexico City Hall.”

“Wait, where was the government in all of this?” Izuku asked, confused.

“If you mean the American government, they barely had any power at that point. They had a famine on their hands and were trying to deal with the total breakdown of law and order that was happening in some of the larger cities. If you meant the Mexican government, that would be the cartel that just lost a fight with an angry mob.”

Toshinori sighed, and the sound was audible through the phone. “Anyway, one of the ranch hands who survived the Red Rock Massacre was Gran’s ancestor. His family joined up with the Texas Rangers and went south to avenge Red Rock. And when the call for help to defeat Destro went out, some of Gran’s family felt strongly enough about the ideals of fighting terrorists that they sold most of their possessions and came to Japan to help. He still has distant family back in Texas, but he was born and raised here as a naturalized Japanese citizen. His family took a new surname and everything. Sorahiko, because their family has always had air-related quirks.”

Izuku tapped his pencil against his book pensively. “So his name is a reference to his family’s past, then?”

“Correct,” Toshinori said, coughing slightly. “His full hero name is Gran Torino: The Lone Star Hero. Though I hear some people called him the Jet Hero back in his heyday, because of his quirk. Gran is a reminder of his family’s history at Red Rock, and Texas is sometimes called the Lone Star State. It’s actually a pretty terrible hero name, honestly. It would be like if you called yourself Ultra Izuku: The Musutafu Hero. But Gran made it work. As you yourself said, it’s the hero that makes the image, not the image that makes the hero.”

“So wait, how did you learn all of this?” Izuku asked, confused. “If this isn’t something that’s talked about or advertised, how do you know it?”

“Some of it is from Gran,” Toshinori admitted. “A lot more of it I learned just by talking to people in America when I was on tour there. People still remember the local stories and what their ancestors were up to, even if those things don’t make it into schoolbooks or television documentaries. The truth is still out there, in local stories and tall tales.”

Toshinori’s voice shifted slightly in tone, becoming less regretful and more direct. “But then, you’re already familiar with the concept, aren’t you? I saw you looking at the memorials on the walls of the gun shop. I’m pretty sure you figured out what they were there to honor.”

Izuku bit his lip. Maybe it was the stress, or the worry, or simply because he was alone in his room talking over the phone and not in person. But he didn’t have any trouble or hesitation expressing his real feelings.

“All of this, I just don’t-. It’s stupid! Why weren’t we taught about any of this in school? It’s history!”

“Yes, it’s history, but the problem is that it’s vigilante history, young Izuku,” Toshinori replied, his voice sounding heavy and old.

Izuku blinked several times, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, but what?” Izuku blurted out, his exasperation clear in his voice. “Why would that matter? Gran said that the governments needed vigilantes! That without legitimizing vigilantes, they wouldn’t have been able to end the Dawn of Quirks!”

“And that’s true. Vigilantes were the key to regaining legitimacy. But don’t you see how that was a double-edged sword? Once they had legitimacy back, they couldn’t keep allowing vigilantes to operate freely, because it would undermine the government. They had to crack down on them.”

“So they- so they what? They used the vigilantes when they needed them, and then outlawed vigilantism afterwards?”

“That’s exactly what they did,” Toshinori replied. “Vigilantes are accepted when they work for the government. When they’re heroes. Not when they go their own way. The first generation of heroes were all legalized vigilantes. The other side of that story is that the first generation of villains were mostly the vigilantes who refused to cooperate with the government.”

“But that’s a betrayal of the entire point of heroes!” Izuku exclaimed. “The government couldn’t help enough people on their own, so they starting working with citizens who were already helping! Isn’t that the whole point?”

“For you and me, perhaps,” Toshinori admitted, “For the people on the ground, that would be the correct logic. But the government wanted legitimacy out of the deal. They wanted stability. They were desperate for it. Up until the Rhode Island experiment with legalized vigilantes, nobody had any idea how to bring society back under the control of law and order. Anything that was a threat to their newly discovered path to peace couldn’t be tolerated.”

“So, what,” Izuku said, his anger cooling off into something bitter and hard. “You’re saying that there’s no state memorial for the people who helped fight Destro because they were all vigilantes? Because the Japanese government doesn’t want people to remember the good that they did?”

“Simply put, yes. By modern day definitions, those people were either vigilantes or villains. That’s why they’re honored in a gun store, and not in some marble and glass building in a park somewhere.”

“That’s disgusting,” Izuku said, his voice flat and uncharacteristically severe. “It belongs in a museum. All those plaques and medals and ribbons. They shouldn’t have to be hidden away somewhere in some improvised memorial. Those people gave their lives to save Japan. It’s the very least that they deserve.”

“I agree with you completely,” Toshinori replied evenly. “Anyone willing to lay their life down to save the innocent is a hero and deserves to be remembered. But the government won’t budge. I’ve stepped on a lot of toes just by creating quirkless charities. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m allowed to get away with it is because I’m so popular that it would look bad if they started shutting down charities made by All Might to help children with disabilities, which is what I had to classify it as to get them approved. I’ve brought up the idea for more proper memorials for past heroes before, but it never goes anywhere. They never seem to find the budget for it. ‘Heroes today are the heroes that matter,’ is what I always get back from them. Yesterday’s heroes are old news. It’s bureaucracy and politics, nothing more.”

Izuku was aware of those charities. It was one of the reasons he was such a rabid All Might fan. He was also one of the few pro heroes in the top 100 rankings who had a gold star in the various quirkless support networks Izuku had found online.

Legally, discrimination over quirk status was against the law. In practice, if a train derailed due to a villain attack, the wealthy and people who had good quirks would go to the front of the line at the emergency room. It wasn’t a conspiracy per say, but the soft bias of society itself. Someone had to be first in line, and somebody had to be last. That was just how lines worked.

And if you took a group of people and made a line out of them in Japan, you’d see a pretty solid trend of who ended up where each time. Powerful, flashy, and useful quirks were given priority. Complex mutants, people with unfortunate secondary mutations, and the quirkless tended to end up at the back of the metaphorical line every time. While 'normal' people with weaker or less useful quirks ended up somewhere in the middle. That's just how it was.

Few were willing to admit it out-loud, due to how distasteful it was to say, but people with powerful and flashy quirks were seen as more important, more useful. More valuable.

Gold stars were given to people, businesses, or groups that had confirmed positive interaction with the quirkless during emergencies, disasters, or villain attacks. It was given to people who actually played by the rules when the chips were down instead of just giving them lip service. Who didn’t discriminate, even indirectly. You couldn’t just talk a good game in an interview or something and get a gold star, you had to actually give help when people needed it, when it mattered the most. There were less than a dozen gold stars in Japan's top 100 heroes, and All Might was the biggest name on the list by far.

Izuku’s obsession with other heroes came and went, but All Might was one of the only top pros who ever spoke out for the quirkless publicly. Knowing that the man was quirkless himself made that trend make much more sense. Most people who lived in the limelight seemed to forget the quirkless even existed. Those who did remember often treated them with pity, or like they were made of glass. Open contempt was rare, but it was still there. All Might was one of the few who seemed to treat people without quirks as just people.

It had gone a long way towards keeping Izuku’s bedroom full of All Might merch. It was also the driving reason that compelled Izuku to grab onto the man's leg just for the chance to ask him if a quirkless person could ever become a hero.

There was a sound of cushions shifting. Izuku guessed his idol must be sitting on a couch. “Besides, from the government’s perspective, they already rewarded the people who helped with Destro. Nobody was arrested for it, and many of them were allowed to stay in Japan and re-settle there as naturalized citizens. It’s one of the reasons we’re so diverse today. Secondary recessive mutations don’t account for all of the different skin, hair, and eye colors, just some of them.”

“Not being arrested seems like the very least they could do, seeing how they were the ones who asked for help in the first place,” Izuku said, more to himself than to Toshinori.

“That’s the government for you. The only thing I can really say in their defense is that they need to have a monopoly on legitimacy or else they would cease to exist. They literally cannot let it slide, it would be suicide to do nothing. But just because I can say that in their defense doesn’t mean I want to. There were better ways to solve most of these problems, but historically, we don’t have a great track record of that.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” Toshinori apologized, and he sounded genuinely regretful. “This is a conversation we needed to have at some point, Gran is really big on ethics and why heroes do the things that we do. He doesn’t like it when his students can’t explain why we go out and fight crime to try and keep order and civility. But I kind of just sprung this on you. You were asking about hero names, and I just-”

“No!” Izuku said hurriedly. “You don’t have to apologize for anything! I asked, I’m the one who wanted to know, and it’s fascinating, honestly!”

“I appreciate your kindness, young Izuku. But I know for a fact that Torino wanted to be a part of this particular conversation, so I’ll leave it here. The short answer is no, neither his hero name nor mine really mean anything important. I stole an English word I thought sounded cool. Gran made his up on the spot because he forgot he needed one until they pushed the paperwork for his license into his hands. Nana made fun of him for years because of that.”

There was another soft cough that came through the phone, muffled like a hand or a handkerchief was blocking it. “What about childhood nicknames?” Toshinori asked. “Something with meaning to you personally? I know sometimes those sorts of things can be embarrassing, but it could be a starting point to figuring out a name you’re comfortable with.”

Izuku certainly did have a childhood nickname that had followed him around for years, but he wasn’t sure he could stomach being Pro Hero Deku. Maybe there was some merit to trying to turn the old insult into something positive, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to even bother trying.

Kacchan would be absolutely furious if he went through with that, though. It might almost be worth doing it just to see the conflict of emotions on his old childhood friend. If he made it his hero name, it couldn’t be an insult anymore. Anyone who called him 'Deku' then would just be acknowledging him as a hero. But was it really worth it, to put so much emphasis on something he genuinely shouldn’t care about anymore?

It’s not like… it’s not like they were friends, or anything. They hadn’t been friends in a long, long time. Some part of Izuku had accepted that, though he wasn’t quite sure when. He couldn't remember the last time Kacchan had fought against other bullies, or had spoken out in his defense. It had happened, once, but that was years and years ago. Things had changed. They had both changed. If Izuku wanted to seize his dreams and become a great hero, he couldn’t let something like old grudges or bullies define his future and hold him back.

‘Let’s go ahead and mark down Deku as a last resort,’ he thought to himself. ‘A very, very last resort.’

“And you can always change it later,” Toshinori continued, “Or just have it be the name you use for quirk analysis, like an alias. I know how much of a fanboy you are, so I’m sure you’re aware that most sidekicks change their names when they go pro.”

“That’s true,” Izuku said thoughtfully as he idly spun his pencil between his fingers. “Only the most famous and successful sidekicks keep their names when they start their own agencies. Usually their marketing teams have them rename and rebrand, to show that they’re now their own independent hero.”

“Exactly!" Toshinori said enthusiastically. "And even some pros will do that, especially if they start a new agency with a new team. Sir Nighteye originally operated as Pro Hero Sparrow until he teamed up with me, and then he kept the new name after we separated and founded the Nighteye Agency.”

That was also true. Sparrow merch was almost impossible to find, because Sir Nighteye wasn’t really very popular or famous until he became Sir Nighteye. Not much had been made, which meant what little was out there was now extremely collectible.

Just last month, a mint condition Sparrow watch had been sold at an auction in Tokyo for almost two million nuyen. Izuku was far from the only rabid hero fanboy out there, and some of them were wealthy enough to throw fortunes around to build their collections.

“I understand you want a name that’s cool and has the appropriate gravitas, but I think choosing something you’re comfortable with is more important. Not to put too fine a point on it, but we pay other people to obsess over things like our names and brands. That’s what our support departments are for.”

Izuku sighed. As much as he had been hoping for some sort of lighting bolt from the sky answer to his problem, he knew that All Might was fundamentally correct. The best heroes literally did pay other people to worry about those things for them. It’s what modern marketing and PR departments specialized in.

“I know this probably isn’t the answer you were looking for, and I’m sorry about that,” Toshinori confessed, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But the best advice I can give you is that there’s something particular that Gran wants you to learn from this assignment, and picking a name is related to it. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

“I’m not mad or disappointed!” Izuku hurriedly said, sputtering. “And I really appreciate you talking to me! I know you must be extremely busy!”

Soft laughter came through the other end of the phone. “Not as busy as you might think, young Izuku. Since the injury started limiting my time, I’ve gotten pretty good at convincing people to take my Do Not Disturb signs seriously.”

The man coughed slightly before continuing. “But if you can’t figure the assignment out, don’t worry too much about it. It’s not the end of the world. You won’t disappoint Gran, I promise. He's just testing you to see what things he should teach you and what things you already know or can figure out for yourself. You're still learning, after all.”

Maybe that was true. Izuku wasn’t entirely convinced, even if it was All Might who was saying it.

Maybe Gran Torino wouldn't be disappointed. But he did know that he felt disappointed in himself.

The two exchanged some final pleasantries before hanging up. Izuku stared at the black, reflective face of his sleeping phone.

He wasn’t going to solve anything like this. Especially not if he wanted to actually finish the assignment on time. He only had a few days left before the deadline.

He needed some fresh air.

Izuku stepped out of his room, intending to go for a walk to clear his head, but he bumped into his mother standing just outside.

“Hi sweetie. I know you’re working hard, so I peeled and sliced an apple for you,” she said, handing him a small plastic bag full of apple slices.

“Thanks mom,” Izuku murmured. “I’ve been having some issues.”

“Well, honey, I want you to know that you’ll always be my precious little emerald, no matter what. I’m proud of you for trying your hardest.” She leaned forwards and hugged him.

Izuku gave her a wobbly smile, and hugged her back. The smell of her hair and the soap she used to wash their clothes was nostalgic.

‘What about childhood nicknames? Something with meaning to you personally?’

Izuku stiffened slightly in his mother’s soft embrace. My little emerald. Both of his parents had used that nickname for as long as he could remember. They always embarrassed him by calling him that when he was younger, telling him that his eyes were like two big emeralds. Calling himself Emerald was certainly an option, thought it felt a little girly in his opinion. Like some sort of magic girl hero.

‘When I was in school our heroics teacher recommended that if we were stuck on hero names, that we start with colors or metals. Sometimes gemstones. Gold Force. Red Rider. Sapphire Star. Things like that.’

Colors. His mother’s hair was green. His hair was green. Both of their eyes were green, it's where 'my little emerald' came from. Their family name, Midoriya, literally meant ‘green valley.’

Izuku hugged his mother tighter and gave a rushed 'thank you' before throwing on his shoes and practically sprinting out the door, muttering to himself as he went. Inko sighed and smiled sadly as she watched him go. Sometimes she really didn’t understand her son at all, it was like he was living half of his life in a totally different world that she could never reach or see. But she still loved him. Wherever he was in that world she couldn’t see, she hoped he was happy. That was all she had ever wanted. He was her favorite thing in the whole world, and always would be. She hoped she would be able to visit him there, one day.

Izuku’s feet took him to a wooded area several blocks away from their apartment. It was about a dozen different lots of land in total that nobody had bothered to clear or build anything on. There was a small gully, a few hills, and a creek running through the center of it.

Izuku used to play here with the other kids in the neighborhood years ago. Back when they were younger, this little place seemed like a huge forest to them. It felt so small these days, with bits of trash and other pieces of the city intruding into it.

He used to come here often, before, well… before the diagnosis. After that, he learned quickly that it was safer to avoid quiet out-of-the-way locations where the adults couldn't see. 

He slowly walked to a place near the approximate center of the wooded lot. Some trees had been toppled over or had chunks of bark scored out of them. Some of it had been Kaachan. Some of it had been others. Most of the damage was very old.

Legally, you weren’t supposed to use your quirk for anything without a hero license. But it was always a law that was limited in how it could be enforced. Adults could do whatever they wanted in the privacy of their own homes. People with useful powers that could help in a hospital or with the police had legal routes to pursue their quirks and could gain not just permission to use them, but fame and fortune for doing so. And obviously, there were the heroes. As far as society was concerned, kids testing out their powers and flexing a bit on private property or in secluded areas was normal. It was expected. Just kids being kids.

The phantom, acrid smell of burnt caramel wafted across his senses, a charred notebook being tossed cruelly out the window to a chorus of mocking laughter that wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears from the explosions.

Yeah. Just kids being kids. It was expected. It was normal. Nothing to see here.

Here, near the center… there was a lot more trash than he remembered. This used to be a clean place, years ago. So clean that you could almost have thought you really were deep in the woods somewhere. When had it gotten this dirty? There were plastic cups, laminated paper plates smeared with mud, and several rusty metal cans scattered across the clearing. A bunch of plants had been dumped off to the side, a plastic carry crate full of wilting flowers and herbs. They looked like they’d fallen off the back of a truck somewhere, or come from some discount counter at a nursery that wanted to sell them before they died.

Some part of Izuku felt offended. This had never been a real wilderness, but who just comes to a place like this and dumps crap everywhere? Drug users? Some other group of teenagers from another school, messing around in a place adults couldn’t see? He hadn’t been cleaning the beach for very long, but some small part of him took personal offense to the mess. Was it really so hard to bring a plastic bag for your trash? Who just throws stuff on the ground when they’re through with it?

Izuku sat down on an old stump in the middle of the trash-strewn clearing. The sun was starting to set, painting the clouds in vibrant smears of orange and purple fire. This place wasn’t what it used to be. So many things had changed.

‘Young man… you can become a hero.’

And yet, somehow…

‘Ha? You wanna be a hero so bad? I’ve got a time-saving idea for you. Go take a swan dive off the roof and wish for a quirk in your next life!’

Was anything really different for him now? This was change, yes, but was it new? Wasn’t this still the same him, with the same useless resolve and the same fundamental problems? He could pretend that his resolve or his courage made a difference, he had even been praised for those things! But still…

‘Can you become a hero like me? Sorry kid. Not without a quirk.’

Wasn’t a useless kid with All Might’s quirk still just a useless kid in the end?

Change wasn’t new, not for Izuku. So many things had changed, when he had come home from the doctor’s office with the slip of paper declaring him quirkless. Literally overnight, things changed for both him and his mother. A superhuman society didn’t care about people who lacked powers. It wasn’t fair and never had been, but Izuku couldn’t pretend it didn’t make sense. He got it. Really, he did. If you didn’t have powers, what could you do?

If you didn’t have a quirk, were you even a real, full person?

‘Deku, that’s your name! Like the wooden doll. U-s-e-l-e-s-s.’

Or were you just a doll, some small and precious thing that people put on a high shelf and leave there for fear of breaking or tearing it? Something fragile. Something delicate. Not something to be taken outside and subjected to the dirt and damage of the world. Something you keep locked away for it’s own safety.

‘Deku.’

Not something that would ever do anything. Not something that would ever be useful. Something you look at, leave on a shelf, and slowly but surely… forget about.

‘DEKU.’

Izuku looked down at his plastic bag of sliced apples, hot tears streaming down his face.

He couldn’t do this. He just… he couldn’t. Gran Torino was a real hero, and he wanted something from Izuku that he didn’t understand and couldn’t give. Some sort of deep and clever answer that only a real hero could come up with. He wasn’t that. He wasn’t… whatever they thought he was. He was just Izuku.

Just Deku.

The top part of the baggie crumpled in Izuku’s fist. How could he ever tell Gran Torino how he would have done better than All Might, if he didn’t even know what his own stupid name should be as a hero? What do you even call a hero that can’t do anything? What’s a good name for a hero that wins on stolen and borrowed power? Look out world, it’s Captain Dead-Weight, here to save the day! Look up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, no, it’s Magnificent Parasite: The Copycat Hero!

Izuku opened his plastic bag and slowly began eating his apple slices. He wanted to win under his own power. He always had. It was the only thing he really had in common with Kaachan. It was the one thing that had kept the two of them together for as long as they had been. Before, well. Before everything. And even now, after everything, warped and twisted as it had become, they still shared that one tenuous connection. That one unbroken thread of mutual understanding, where they both still existed on the same wavelength because they had the same fundamental ideals and desires.

The desire to win. To be number one. To do it with your own strength, because you had something to prove.

It was the last little bit of pride that Izuku was allowed to keep. That last sliver of ego he refused to abandon.

They were going to be the best heroes in the world. Better than All Might. The strongest, the fastest, the smartest. They had something to prove, and they were going to prove it together. The top of the world would belong to them. They would hold the sun in the palms of their hands. They would save everybody, protect everybody, defeat all the villains and save not just the day, but the world. Together.

That was the dream.

It was also the root of all their problems, the core of their disagreement.

Kacchan believed he was hopeless without a quirk, that he could never stand in the sun without one. Izuku still clung to hope, he refused to shut up and go sit quietly on his shelf and be forgotten about like some doll. Izuku refused to let the dream die. More than anything, Izuku wanted to believe in that dream.

But was any of it real if Izuku had to borrow power to make it happen? Wouldn’t that still mean he was useless after all, in the end? What did Izuku have to offer that was actually his own, besides the blind suicidal stupidity that was running out into a burning street to jump on a villain?

‘The story of every great hero begins the exact same way, young man. ‘My legs moved on their own.’’

Izuku could hear All Might’s words almost like the man was standing beside him. Trying to help him. But legs moving on their own weren’t enough. All Might himself had admitted it.

‘Sorry kid. Not without a quirk.’

He was going to get a quirk. He was going to get a singularity quirk. But… it wasn’t his.

And wasn’t that really the problem? If Izuku knew exactly what One For All would become when he inherited it, he could probably come up with a dozen different names for it. But would any of them have any meaning, when it was just rebranding the same quirk All Might and half a dozen other people had already wielded? He’d be giving a pretty name to pretty wrapping paper. You could wrap up “useless” in a dozen different pretty ways, but it was still useless underneath it all, wasn’t it?

If he knew what One For All would be, he could name it and himself easily. But those names wouldn’t mean anything. Those names wouldn’t change him. He was the problem here.

He had always been the problem.

Gran Torino may have invented his own name on the spot, he may have forgotten about it until the last minute, but even then, his name still meant something. The Great Torino, The Lone Star Hero. It had nothing whatsoever to do with air jets on your feet, it wasn’t even a particularly heroic name, but it was a reminder of where he had come from. It was an assertion of his identity, something that made him different from everyone else. It may have been stupid and last-minute, but it was still really cool.

In hindsight, maybe Ultra Izuku: The Musutafu Hero wasn’t such a bad idea.

Izuku sighed before pulling out his phone. He wiped the apple juice off of his fingers before unlocking it, pulling up a web browser. He still had no clue what he was going to do about the All Might assignment, but the advice All Might had shared from his own teachers was still good. Start with colors and metals, and go from there. At least to get some ideas.

Izuku at least knew where to start. He had no particular affinity for any kind of metal, but his hair was green, his eyes were green, his family name was green, and everybody had been calling him green for his entire life. At least until… well. You know. Then they called him different things.

‘Synonyms for green’ pulled up the official definition for the color, and a bunch of adjectives and nouns. Greenish. Grassy. Verdant. Lawn. Common. Sward. Environmentalist.

Of course, this was the Oxford definition, the default result. He realized his problem immediately.

‘Synonyms for green color’ pulled up an online thesaurus, which had much better results. He could filter by color adjectives. Blue-green. Olive. Apple. Beryl. Chartreuse.

Chartreuse would definitely be unique, but he’s pretty sure that whatever imaginary paid team was trying to help him sell a brand wouldn’t be thanking him for that one. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, though maybe a more lighthearted hero could get away with something like that in France. Some sort of jester-themed French hero with a yellow-green masquerade aesthetic. Didn’t France have a romantic tradition of trickster heroes and noble thieves? ‘Chartreuse Chevalier’ has a certain ring to it. Could be interesting for the right kind of hero. But he wasn’t French, didn’t live in France, and would probably die if a reporter shoved a camera into his face and asked him to pronounce ‘Chartreuse Chevalier’ correctly.

Fir. Forest. Grass. Jade. Kelly. Lime. If he had some sort of plant quirk, this would have been much easier. He would have been spoiled for choices. Jade was a pretty good hero name, but it felt excessively Chinese. Izuku wasn’t interested in playing the celebrity side of the hero game like some others were, but he doubted a Chinese gimmick hero could make it very far in Japan. The two nations had never gotten along, and the advent of superhuman society hadn’t changed that. Plus, he was pretty sure there were dozens of Chinese heroes calling themselves Jade Something-Or-Other anyway.

Was kelly even a color? Apparently yes, it’s got something to do with Ireland. Weird. He was moderately fluent in English thanks to being an All Might fan: if anything, American culture was even more dominant internationally after the Dawn of Quirks than it was before. There were a lot of places in the business and commercial district of Tokyo that had French and English signs as well as Japanese. But he still ran into weird stuff all the time that didn’t make any sense.

Then again, he didn’t know much about Ireland, either.

And lime made him sound like a fruit drink or some sort of candy. Spearmint-Lime: The Minty Fresh Hero! Trendy, he could see somebody run with it. But not really his style.

Malachite. Moss. Peacock. Sage. Sea. Spinach. Verdigris. Viridian.

Izuku sighed. This wasn’t working. He didn’t have some sort of stone or bird quirk, though malachite and peacock would have been admittedly pretty cool names if he had, and he didn’t have a water quirk either. Verdigris was weird. Chartreuse belonged to a different language. The only colors with good name potential here were Jade and Viridian, but there were a dozen heroes who used Viridian in their names in Japan, and Jade had the same problem, on top of being Chinese.

Of course that’s how it would be. Naturally, the few good names would be taken multiple times over. What had he been expecting?

Izuku sighed, closing his phone with a click. He began munching on his apple slices again while looking at the clearing around him. There were actually a lot of flowers here. Izuku recognized most of them. Gladioluses. Dahlias. Yellow carnations. Red and yellow chrysanthemums. Lillies of the valley.

He wasn’t very big into flowers, but Aunt Mitsuki was. She and Uncle Masaru used flower language all the time in their fashion lines. It was apparently a huge fad with their clients. It was seen as very old-world, very European, and thus, extremely fashionable. She would often take Izuku aside when he was younger and teach him flower meanings when she was babysitting him.

She had tried to teach Kaachan flower language too, but Izuku didn’t think it stuck. Flower language seemed very… un-Kaachan-like. Izuku’s childhood friend only spoke one language, as far as Izuku was aware, and that was violence.

Izuku had been fascinated with the concept of having an entire conversation through symbolism when he first had it explained to him. He had rambled on about using it as heroes to do cool secret things. He was all set to make an entire underground hero agency themed off of flowers. Aunt Mitsuki had ruffled his hair and laughed, telling him that flower symbolism was hardly some big secret, so she didn’t think it would work out very well. Izuku liked Aunt Mitsuki. She was loud and brash and aggressive, but she was still friendly and happy. She liked him, and he liked her.

He wished Kaachan was more like her. That didn’t make him a bad person, did it? Wishing that?

Most of the flowers in the clearing were tossed aside or discarded almost carelessly. A small cluster, though, seemed to have been deliberately planted. Did somebody salvage a bunch of trash and try to make a garden out of it? If so, they either did a terrible job or they had given up halfway through. Or somebody else had come in here and wrecked the place. Given the location, all three might have happened. He had no way of knowing.

Izuku sighed. Metals didn’t help him. Colors were basically a bust too, which was a shame, since green would have been a pretty good motif.

‘And you can always change it later, or just have it be the name you use for quirk analysis, like an alias.’

All Might was probably right. He was overthinking this. He could just pick something generic and vaguely on-point, like Viridian Fist or Starflash, and let it go with that. He just needed a name. It didn’t have to be a good one. He definitely hadn’t put this much thought into calling himself SmallMight online before, and that had worked out just fine, though the name made him blush a little these days.

Izuku shifted his position slightly on the stump as he reached for another apple slice, starting to cross his legs, but as he did, he accidentally kicked the small plastic pouch of a plant lying on the ground. Izuku blinked owlishly at it.

Sage. Huh, that was odd. Most of the plants that had been brought here were flowers. That was the only herb, wasn’t it? It was the only thing here that was strictly edible, too, at least as far as he knew. The snooping detective inside of him, that Kaachan always called his “creepy stalker,” thought it a bit strange. Around him were things that fit a theme, but there was one thing here that didn’t. An odd man out.

If somebody wanted to start some out-of-the-way herb garden, they would have brought more herbs, wouldn’t they? Sage wouldn’t be the only one here, there would be rosemary, thyme, garlic, and other things like that. But if it was supposed to be a flower garden, why was the sage here?

Izuku frowned at his surroundings, his worries and angst temporarily forgotten as he saw a puzzle in front of him. It could just be random coincidence, just a bunch of trash plants that had been on sale. But was it? He squinted at the flowers around him. Not every flower had a meaning in flower language, in fact most of them didn’t. But every flower here did, if he recalled correctly. Every single flower present in the clearing had a meaning, even if he didn’t quite recall them all. That couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

Was this… a message garden, of some sort? No… No. Of course not, that would be ridiculous. What would a message garden be doing out here, of all places? 

Even as he thought that, he pulled out his phone and unlocked it, tapping away absently with his thumb to look up if sage had some sort of meaning or symbolism behind it. This would prove that he was just overthinking things. It was getting pretty late anyway, he should be leaving soon, and-

Izuku blinked.

Sage had a meaning. Sage had… it had a lot of meanings.

Salvia officinalis. A woody perennial shrub in the mint family. It's scientific name, Salvia, means "to be in good health," "to save," or "salvation," while officinalis is an old reference to a pharmacy or drugstore. It had antibacterial properties, and a long history of being used in herbal medicine.

It did have a meaning in flower language. Just like every other plant that was here. In flower language, the flowers of the sage plant mean immortality, domestic virtue, wisdom, and health. It was believed to be strongly medicinal in the ancient world, and even allegedly held the power to drive out evil spirits. It was a sacred ceremonial herb of the Romans, who called it the “holy herb.” They associated it with divinity, healing, and the gods. According to Roman folkore, sage had to be gathered with a special knife, or else it would lose it's healing powers.

The herb could be found all around the world, in both the East and the West, and is so strongly associated with immortality and wisdom that even the word 'sage' as a synonym for a wise man is derived from the herb. Being sage-like or sagacious meant being wise in both western and eastern culture.

Celtic mythology associated it with intelligence and immortality, and claimed that when things were going bad in life, sage would wither, but as long as it did not die, there was hope.

There was even an old English saying from the medieval period: How can a man die, who grows sage in his garden?

Izuku looked down absently from his phone to the plastic pouch holding the herb. It was wilted and bruised, it needed water desperately.

But it wasn’t dead. Not yet.

He blinked, slowly, as his eyes slid out of focus. Wheels turned in his mind. Puzzle pieces shifting around, small things sliding into place.

Sage means wisdom. A sage is a wise man.

He had heard Gran Torino insult Toshinori before, while he was working on the beach. He had seen him slap Toshinori on the head with a rolled up tube of papers, yelling at him about something. All his insults had the same theme. Gorilla. Ape. He was calling Toshinori stupid. Or perhaps stupidity was a bit too simple. Gorillas weren’t subtle. Tactless, maybe. Yes. He was calling All Might tactless.

Had he been? Had All Might been stupid and tactless in his career? Izuku didn’t think so, but then, did Izuku really know All Might, no, Toshinori, the way that Gran Torino did?

Izuku frowned. Didn’t David Shield make that incredible armor for All Might during his initial debut that let him shoot air bullets from his arms and legs? It even gave him a limited form of flight, and it accomplished it all by using clever aerodynamics combined with All Might’s superhuman strength and speed. But All Might got rid of it after only a year or two, he stopped wearing it. He never used support equipment. He was infamous for it.

‘It’s not just you anymore, throwing punches and taking on all the risks.’ That’s what he had heard Torino saying distantly on the beach.

Izuku stared at his trash and flower strewn surroundings without seeing any of it. Why was Torino even here? Because Izuku asked Toshinori to teach him how to use One For All. And Toshinori couldn’t. So he called Torino for help. Hadn’t the retired hero grumbled something under his breath like ‘better late than never’ that day Izuku first met him? He was pretty sure the man had.

Izuku didn’t think Toshinori had made any mistakes. But Torino obviously didn’t see it the same way. He was even quite vocal about exactly what he thought All Might had… done… wrong…

Izuku let out a long breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding as understanding flooded him. All Might- no, Toshinori, had given him the hint he needed during the phone call.

‘There’s an important lesson he wants you to learn underneath all of this. That’s why he assigned those three things together’

Gran Torino had given him those three assignments at the same time for a reason. There was something he wanted Izuku to understand, something he wanted him to realize.

Toshinori had been telling Izuku from the very beginning that he wanted Izuku to be his own hero, to move beyond the persona of All Might instead of just trying to imitate him. He knew that, he had heard the man say it. He had understood what those words meant. He had even nodded along and agreed.

But had he ever really understood the intention behind them? Had he actually accepted them?

Name all the things All Might did wrong. Name everything you would have done to be better. Come up with your hero name.

They weren’t three different assignments. They were one assignment. It was one assignment that he had been given, one specific thing that Gran Torino had wanted him to see.

That day when All-Toshinori, fought the villain that crippled him. Had anyone been there? Did he have help? Or had he gone into that fight alone, with no support equipment or backup?

Somehow, Izuku already knew the answer to that question. Toshinori had walked into the jaws of death alone. And he had almost paid the ultimate price for it.

What could you call that, but a colossal, catastrophic mistake?

‘My respiratory system was nearly destroyed, and my stomach had to be removed. I’ve wasted away because of the aftereffects of those surgeries. I can only do my hero work for about three hours a day now.’

If Toshinori had been a little bit wiser… a little bit less of a- of a gorilla. Would he still have that hole in his chest? Would he still be limited to a mere three hours of hero work a day?

Warmth and light and the cool, crystal clear water of understanding began to flood Izuku’s heart, washing away years of dirt and grime that had been caked on by an unkind world. In his mind the jeering calls of ‘useless’ and ‘deku’ were being replaced by something else. ‘Ape.’ ‘Monkey.’ ‘Damn gorilla.’ He could hear Torino’s shouting overtaking the words of Kacchan and the bullies. His breath became sharper, and all the colors around him seemed more vibrant and a little less gray. It was like he was breathing unimpeded for the first time in years, like something covering his eyes and tinting the world had suddenly been ripped off.

Torino was harsh. He was pushy. But he wasn’t like Kacchan or the other bullies. He wasn’t just insulting Toshinori. He was pointing out his flaws. He was challenging him to be better. Daring him to be more than what he was.

Sage. A shade of the color green. A plant that symbolically represents healing and immortality. Folklore says it drives off evil spirits. It had antibacterial properties, the herb of a healer. ‘How can a man die who grows sage in his garden.’ Sage saves lives. It saves people. But it’s more than that. Sage is a word that means wisdom in both the East and the West. A sage is a wise man. Sometimes a warrior, sometimes a protector, but always a scholar. A thinker. Someone who does not just know, but who understands.

Someone who would not walk into the jaws of death alone. Someone who would fight with friends and allies. Someone who would use every means at their disposal to win, which was exactly what Gran Torino had been telling him he was being trained to do. A quirk is just a tool, nothing more. The most esteemed legacy quirks are still just shiny tools in the end. Seize all the tools at your disposal. Use them. Understand them. Win.

He could almost hear Torino whisper ‘knife’ on the wind, and he barely stopped from reaching for his own out of reflex.

A sage was no ‘damn gorilla.’ A wise man wouldn’t make those mistakes. And if he did, he would learn from them, and never make that same mistake again.

That’s… that’s what made him special. That’s what he could bring to the table to help him surpass All Might. He had said it himself, hadn’t he? Together he and Kacchan had dreamed of being the strongest, the fastest, the smartest. Toshinori and Kacchan were strong and fast, and Izuku had thought they were both smart. No, they were. They were both smart, he knew that.

But would Gran Torino agree? Or would he just call them both gorillas?

Somehow, Izuku already knew what Torino would say. Somehow he could guess exactly what Torino would say to Kacchan, if the two ever met as teacher and student.

The retired pro had never called Izuku a gorilla. Not once. Suddenly, that tiny detail seemed terribly important. Torino never insulted Izuku’s ability to think through his problems. Torino never insulted Izuku that way. He- he told Izuku to run faster. To lift heavier. To be stronger. Never to be smarter.

Suddenly, the things Gran Torino had not said to Izuku seemed to be oh-so important. The encouragement that wasn’t given. The insults that weren’t used.

Izuku knew what kind of teacher Sorahiko Torino was. If he didn’t say something to you, then it meant you were doing fine. He didn’t waste time with meaningless compliments. What all had the man not said to him?

He could almost hear the old man whispering in his head, he could hear it in Torino’s voice.

‘Your smarts are good enough, kid. But do you know how to use them? Have you figured out how that tool works, yet?’

Strength. Speed. Intelligence. One For All would give Izuku the power to be the strongest and the fastest. And even if it couldn’t, the physical training would give Izuku what he lacked. And Izuku… completed the triangle himself. He already had the third piece. He had possessed it all along.

Kacchan had always called his analysis and obsession with details creepy. Was it really? Or did… did Kacchan just not like it because it was something only Izuku could do? Because it was something the blonde teen couldn’t do?

Toshinori had never called him creepy. Neither had Gran Torino, and he always spoke his mind. Wouldn’t they know, if anyone did?

One For All may be borrowed power. But it was Izuku’s mind that would direct it and control it. It was his choices that could allow him to either fall short or become greater. That was his power, his strength. That’s how he could win as a hero without sacrificing his pride and dignity.

He must have been blind, to not see it before. Hadn’t Torino just told him the other day that One For All was nothing more than a tool? To stop thinking about it like it’s something special? And he had nodded along and agreed. He had thought he had understood what the man meant.

He had been wrong. He hadn't understood anything, at least not then. But he did now. It wasn’t the saw that mattered, it was the carpenter. It wasn’t the sword that mattered, but the swordsman.

It wasn’t the quirk that mattered. It was the hero.

What- what had been stopping him from seeing this? Fear? Despair? Doubt? Izuku couldn't even completely remember how the world looked a mere hour ago. Something had shifted inside of him, and the details of how he had thought and felt before were slipping away through his fingers like a bad dream being chased away by the morning sun.

Izuku didn't know what that dark cloud over his heart had been, but it hardly mattered anymore. Because he could see the rising sun clearly now, and the childhood dream of grasping it with both hands no longer seemed so impossible or out of reach.

He was going to do this. He could do it. 

Toshinori had built All Might around his strengths. He had started with nothing, with less than nothing. A quirkless vigilante with a death wish. And when he had been given One For All, he figured out what he could leverage within himself and he used it.

Izuku needed to do the same. He needed to build a hero persona around his own strengths. Strengths that made him different, that separated him apart from everyone else. Strengths that he had been cultivating since childhood without even realizing it.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to go about that just yet.

But he did know what that hero would be called. It may not be his full name, or his final one, but it was a beginning. It felt right. It was real and it was true.

The sun was setting, the red and orange sky painting fire across the woodlands. Izuku ate the last apple slice and folded up the plastic bag before putting it in his pocket to recycle when he got home.

He knew what he had to do. He had research material to look up. And he wanted to hug his mother again, to show her how much he appreciated her. None of this would have been possible without her.

As Izuku stood up and walked away, he took one last look at the clearing. He had a strange feeling about the place, like he was missing something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He’d had a weird feeling ever since he arrived there, actually.

After looking back at the twilit clearing for a moment, Izuku shrugged. It was probably nothing. Just a weird sense of deja vu from seeing an old childhood haunt as a smaller, dirtier place than he remembered it being.

At the base of one of the trees with a large, old scorch mark on it, a group of purple hyacinths, daffodils, white orchids, purple lilacs, and white lilacs waved and bobbed slightly in the evening breeze. They were the only flowers that had been planted properly.

The next time the three of them got together was two days later in the afternoon, a full day after the assignment had been officially due. Between Toshinori being forced to hunt down several villains that escaped from police custody and Torino trying to get his old license renewed as-is instead of having to specifically pick between daylight and underground licenses, this was the earliest all of them could meet up.

Torino normally didn’t like giving students extensions on homework, but this was important enough that he didn’t mind giving the kid an extra day. The teen had assured them that he had both assignments done on time, and the still-unfortunately-retired pro was willing to take the kid’s word on it.

Izuku walked up to both men on the beach and held out a soft plastic binder. It was dark green and had slightly less than two dozen pages pinned inside of it.

Torino took the binder and flipped it open, Toshinori leaning over from behind him to see as well. It was a hero breakdown, just like the dozens upon dozens Izuku had already done. But it wasn’t a breakdown of an existing hero.

It was a breakdown of Izuku himself, in the future.

It was shorter and more concise than most of his individualized analysis, but since there was no mention of a quirk, that was to be expected. Instead, this future, adult Izuku had costume designs, lists of emergency response qualifications, sketches of support gear ranging from firearms to grappling hooks, and even a basic plan for a hybrid agency that would deal in both limelight street heroics and underground crime fighting. The kid had even drawn up a simple budget and a floor plan for the agency.

It was very impressive. If Torino had given an assignment to students nearing the end of their education in UA’s Hero Course asking them to write about their plans for going pro, something like this is what he would have expected back from them if they wanted passing grades.

But what really caught the old man’s eye was the picture at the front of the binder. It was a sketch of future Izuku, in-costume, on a fold-out full page spread. He was taller and looked older, with broader shoulders and a more muscular build. A few subtle lines under the eyes and a subtraction of baby fat from his cheeks did wonders.

He was wearing a practical-looking costume, at least by modern hero standards: a silver age-style spandex bodysuit with armored, Gundam-like boots and gauntlets that extended far enough up his limbs to protect his shins and forearms. Classic silver age, the inner-fanboy was really seeping out of the kid on this one. He could have been part of Toshinori’s graduating class in that getup. It was also a very general design, without specifics, though the kid had taken care to draw a police-style shoulder holster with a badge and a gun prominently displayed next to a sheathed knife strapped across his chest.

But it wasn’t Izuku that stood out the most in the picture. It was that he was surrounded by other people.

The sketch had adult Izuku standing in the middle of a group of four other people, two on either side of him. They weren’t much more than silhouettes, dark outlines that had been shaded in and given some sparse details. The kid had broken out the colored pencils for this picture, but instead of using them to fully color the piece, he simply included small colored highlights on each of the costumes of the figures, each one getting their own color as a theme. Izuku’s own outfit had some tasteful green trim. The two figures on his left and right had bits of red and blue respectively on their shadowy figures, while the ones on his far right and far left were themed in yellow and purple.

If it wasn’t for the facelessness of the other four figures, the retired pro could have believed this was a promotional poster for some newly formed hero agency.

But what really made Torino grin was the large, clear title drop at the top of the page in bold, capitalized English. 'SAGE: THE TEAMWORK HERO.'

The name was a bit on the nose, but he couldn’t complain. He doubted this would be the kid’s full hero name, or his final one, but it was a strong start. The kid had definitely understood the point of the homework exercise, that was for sure.

Torino flipped back through the self-analysis for a moment longer before grinning. “Not bad kid. I’m glad you realized the point I was trying to get at. Ten out of ten, full marks. You still owe me those other essays, though.” Toshinori also gave him a more gentle grin and shot him a thumbs up.

Izuku gave the two men one of his blinding sunshine smiles before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a brand new notebook. Printed across the front were the words “Career Analysis: All Might.” He handed it over to Torino, who raised an eyebrow before flipping it open.

Inside it was information on every high profile fight and rescue in Toshinori’s career, as well as every media interview he had ever given. Every mistake he had made during those incidents was recorded in painstaking detail. In almost every single fight, a reference was made to how it could have been ended more quickly and safely if Toshinori had brought backup, with a rotating list of the few people All Might had publicly mentored or teamed up with during his career. Cathleen “Star and Stripe” Bates and Sasaki “Sir Nighteye” Mirai featured prominently.

There were even highlighted moments where a reference was made to how bringing David Shield along could have helped.

There was also a list of all the pieces of support equipment All Might could have used that would have helped him save more people or defeat villains more easily, and a harsh critique of his career-long aversion to support equipment in general that was long enough to have served as a standalone essay. The air bullet armor that David Shield had invented for him early in his career and which he had given up on using shortly afterwards had an entire chapter dedicated to it.

It didn’t cover everything, only the most public and high-profile fights and rescues. If it had tried to cover everything, especially with this level of attention to detail, it would have been a phone book. But even so, it was an absolutely ruthless analysis of All Might.

It also ran on for a full 96 pages.

Torino grinned like a demented monkey, his dark eyes glittering. Toshinori coughed a spray of blood.

‘Oh yes,’ Torino thought to himself. ‘Nezu is going to love this.’

Chapter Text

Sorahiko Torino was not happy. And shockingly, this particular problem had nothing to do with getting stonewalled on his hero license renewal.

No, Gran Torino was upset because in spite of his and Toshinori’s best efforts, they had been unable to actually open up a door for Izuku to take advantage of in the analysis industry.

Of all the setbacks Torino had expected to run into, this was honestly pretty low on his list.

He had been prepared for the kid to be a knuckleheaded boy scout, and had been delighted at being proven wrong.

He had been prepared for the kid to lack motivation to climb the metaphorical mountain all the way to the top. But the kid never complained, never slacked off, hell, he barely even did the normal teenager amounts of messing around. Which was concerning in a different way, to be honest, but they were working on that.

He had even been prepared to show up and find out that Toshinori had made an absolute mess of things that he would need to fix. He had the utmost faith in his gorilla of a former student to act heroically and do the right thing, the lummox would cut his own left arm off to save a cat that was up a tree. But sometimes a situation calls for a delicate touch, which was not something the man was known for, in or out of costume.

None of those things had turned out to be an issue. Grand thanks for small favors.

But to try and open some doors for the kid’s analysis, only to have them slammed shut in their faces? That was pretty low on Torino’s list.

By definition, every quirk was unique. They could be broadly classified by typing, function, or even what organs or parts of the body they affected, but no two quirks were ever truly the same. Thus, from the moment people stopped murdering each other in the streets and began to act civilized after the Dawn, there was a demand for professionals who could analyze, identify, and break down quirks to help their owners understand and control them.

Once upon a time, quirk analysts had lived and died by their end product. By results. By their ability to do their job. Nothing else mattered. That’s not to say politics didn’t still exist in the field. Politics were at play in every field. But once upon a time, having an information-gathering quirk or an intelligence boosting mutation wasn’t seen as a requirement. The only requirement was your output, your results. How you produced those results didn’t matter. A lone genius or savant working as an independent consultant could absolutely compete with a dedicated analytics company, and historically, many had.

But the rules Torino had thought the game was played by had clearly changed.

Maybe that was Torino’s mistake. Assuming things hadn’t really changed much in the industry. Time had passed, after all, and a new generation was now in control of things. He would be the first in line to shake you by your ear and tell you that heroics wasn’t what it used to be, so maybe it was no surprise that the auxiliary industries that orbited around heroics had changed to match. It was an oversight. One he would have to correct going forwards. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Using All Might’s name and credentials, they had sent out some appeals to some of the top names in the Japanese analytics and quirk science industries. The messages he had gotten back, in effect, had been “stay in your lane.”

Oh, they had been nice about it. Even they weren’t stupid enough to brass off the world’s top pro directly. But that’s what all the pretty words amounted to. You know your business, and we know ours. We’re sure the kid you’ve found is very clever. If he’s worth anything, we’ll talk to him in two decades when he’s graduated from a university and interned at one of our companies for a few years.

Stay in your lane, in other words.

Torino was not impressed, to say the least. Maybe the quirk science crowd had a point, given how multi-faceted and cross-disciplinary the modern field of quirk science was. It wasn’t totally unreasonable for some of them to be skeptical, or for them to ask that he get a higher education first. Though they could have at least pretended to look at the kid’s work before blowing them off.

But the analytics? The only equipment and training you had ever needed to help walk people through their quirks were Mk. 1 Eyeballs and a working brain. The kid had both. His amateur writing was already at an expert level of quality and detail. But they were just going to dismiss him out of hand and say come back and talk to us again when you’re 35 and we already employ you.

Torino also had a sneaking suspicion that the responses would have been a hell of a lot less polite if All Might’s name hadn’t been involved. Assuming they would have even gotten responses back at all.

The nerve of some people.

But just because Torino hadn’t expected something to become a problem, didn’t mean he lacked solutions for it. If the pretentious, potentially quirkist balloon heads in mainstream analytics didn’t want to give a chance to a quirkless boy genius, that was fine. He wasn’t called “The Hell Teacher of UA” in his heyday for nothing.

He’d be a pretty poor hell teacher, in his own opinion, if he didn’t have a nuclear option sitting in his back pocket waiting to be used.

It was time for the nuclear option. It was time to involve Nezu.

And Torino knew exactly how to get the rat’s attention with a splash.

There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

“I’m going to get Nezu involved. I need you to get us passes to I-Island so the kid can meet his fiancée and father-in-law.”

Yagi Toshinori had no intentions of ever writing a memoir or autobiography. Not a real or honest one, at any rate. He knew far too many secrets that he couldn’t afford to share. But if he ever did, he would definitely chalk up this moment as one of the most heroic examples of willpower and physical endurance in his long and storied career. Because he somehow managed to not inhale the plastic straw of his health smoothie and lodge it somewhere inside his last working lung.

He still coughed up a particularly impressive spray of blood, though.

After painting a frankly concerning amount of beach sand red and dabbing the blood off of his mouth with a handkerchief, the number one hero in the world turned to stare at his former homeroom teacher with indignant resignation. The old bastard was enjoying this, and Toshinori knew it.

“I’m going to need you to- you’re going to have to walk that one by me again. Slowly. Because I’m stupid and I need help.” Toshinori said in a deadpan tone of voice.

“We heard back from your list of contacts,” Torino began, talking slowly and clearly enunciating his words with a lecturing tone. “The quirk science people aren’t interested in anybody who doesn’t have a Master's in at least one natural, physical, or life science field, which is somewhat understandable. What is less understandable is that the analytics crowd are taking the same position. They’re not interested in any child prodigy unless they have a data processing or intelligence boosting quirk. They basically told us to stay in our lane and not bother them again with ‘suggested employee applicants.’ I’m not sure they even looked at the samples we sent. I suspect the only reason we even heard back from them at all is because your name was being used. So I’m involving Nezu.”

Toshinori closed his eyes, breathed in, and counted backwards from ten. Slowly. Somewhere in the background, the distant crying of seagulls blended together with the scraping and clanking of trash being cleaned off the beach. Gran really did enjoy doing this to people, didn’t he? He hadn’t changed at all since he taught at UA.

“That is not- no. That is unfortunate, but not a huge surprise. I had a feeling something like this might happen when you first brought it up. I would like you to explain to me what you mean by fiancée and father-in-law. And maybe after that, you can explain why we are escalating this directly to Nezu, of all people.”

Torino grinned. Because he was an old bastard, and he did enjoy doing this to people.

“We’re escalating it to Nezu,” Torino replied, deliberately skirting the real issue for the second time, “because the kid doesn’t have time to play games with impotent middle-aged bureaucrats who believe that having seaweed for hair or the ability to glow in the dark makes them better than him. Also, why not Nezu? It’s going to get escalated to him anyway once the kid gets to UA, we couldn’t hide this from the rat if we tried. Why wait around? There’s no reason to delay it.”

Toshinori wanted to scream. He didn’t. Forty years in the business and thousands of interviews with trick-question-asking shark interviewers was too much experience with this sort of thing to lose his cool. But he wanted to lose his cool. He really, really did.

This was classic Gran. He knew exactly what he was doing, he did it all the time at UA. It was his idea of a joke. Walk into class, casually drop some huge bomb on the students, and then brush it off like it was nothing while pushing past it and dancing around the issue. Grinning that horrible monkey grin of his, knowing full well that he was pulling your leg and not even trying to pretend otherwise.

Toshinori had never really gotten used to it, he didn’t think any of Gran’s students ever had. But clearly his lack of exposure to his old homeroom teacher over the years had lowered his guard to the man’s particular brand of humor.

The blonde pro resisted, with all of his might, the temptation to go down the rabbit hole of ‘why not Nezu.’ That was probably one of the most loaded questions he had ever heard in his life, and it was also, quite frankly, bait. There were many reasons why not Nezu, not the least of which being that Nezu had a questionable understanding of morality and ethics at best. Or that ‘involving Nezu’ was a one-way trip, because once he was involved in something getting him to drop it was utterly impossible.

Gran also knew all of that, and would have perfectly reasonable explanations for why. He’d actually already given his explanation, which was that the rat would find out one way or the other no matter what they did. That was the price of attending UA. They couldn’t hide Izuku, especially not if he was given One For All. Nezu was one of the few who knew the secret of One For All and the existence of transferable quirks, and unlike everyone else, he hadn’t been told. He had figured it out himself. Hiding Izuku from him was impossible. That’s why Toshinori knew that the flippant off-hand remark about ‘why not Nezu’ was bait.

Gran was essentially daring him to latch on to the Nezu issue, both because he wanted to see if Toshinori was paying attention, and because he found it funny to try and sneak the bigger bombshell past him. It wasn’t a coincidence that two of Gran’s former students had become the greatest police interrogators of their generation in Japan, and several more had retired early from heroics only to go on and become extremely successful lawyers. The old man’s tongue was just as dangerous as his knife, and he used the former far more freely than the latter.

Fortunately for Toshinori’s sanity, he remembered how to do this particular dance. Talking with Torino when he was yanking your chain was like riding a bike. You never really forgot how to do it.

The fact that said bike was hurtling downhill and directly into oncoming traffic was just part and parcel of having Gran around.

“I would like you to tell me,” Toshinori said, enunciating his words very clearly. “Exactly who young Izuku’s ‘fiancée’ and ‘father-in-law’ are, and why you believe he will be getting married soon.”

“Why, Melissa and David Shield, of course!” Gran said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. A total stranger could have conceivably bought the sincere confusion in his voice, but Toshinori had known Gran too long to miss the glitter of dark amusement in the older man’s eyes.

“And why, pray tell, will young Izuku be marrying young Melissa?” Toshinori said, unable to completely hide the exasperation in his voice.

Torino grinned innocently. “Well, David is pretty laid-back, all things considered, but I think even he might draw the line when his daughter gets pregnant, don’t you think?”

Until the day he died, Toshinori would not know how any of them, how any of them at all, had ever survived having this man as their homeroom teacher. He wasn’t sure how he had survived it.

Some days, he was half-convinced they hadn’t, and this was some sort of particularly ironic shared hell.

Toshinori sighed deeply, seeming to deflate even though he was already in his skeletal civilian form. “What’s this really about, Gran?” he asked, sounding defeated.

“How much time do you have left?” Torino asked, his teasing attitude vanishing in an instant, replaced with something professional and cold. “You were at three hours, weren’t you? Down from four last year. Then you pushed yourself beyond your limits to save Izuku and the other kid. That had to cost you something, right? So I’m guessing two fifty now, or maybe two forty. So how much is it?”

Toshinori hesitated a moment at the sudden topic change before answering. “Two thirty. I’m at two hours and thirty minutes.”

“So you’ve lost half an hour of your total ability to be a superhero. That was the price you paid. You might be able to get most of that back if you rest and heal, take some time off from heroics. But you won’t get it all back. And it will get worse once you hand off the power to the kid.”

The older man fixed Toshinori with a pointed stare, and the blonde hero tried not to flinch under the intensity of his former teacher’s gaze.

“You know what kinds of monsters are out there, waiting in the dark,” Torino said. It wasn’t phrased as a question. “All For One is dead, but people like him will always exist. Transferable quirks exist, and the governments of the world can’t just wish that away. Some day soon, some poor kid is gonna be born with the same power. Maybe even a better version of it. Or they’ll get something worse than transferable quirks. Something we can’t even imagine yet. Then society will turn them into a monster, and suddenly it’s everybody’s problem.”

The old pro turned away from his former pupil for a moment, looking out to the ocean’s horizon without really seeing it. “Old demons die, and new demons are born. Quirks are getting stronger and more unstable. That kid is going to face trials greater than anything you or I have dealt with. And he’s not ready. He’s not ready now, and he won’t be ready in nine months, either. But time isn’t kind enough to wait. Soon enough, you and I will both be dead. Then who will he have in his corner?”

It took Toshinori a moment to realize that this wasn’t a hypothetical question, and Torino was waiting for an answer.

“His friends?” the blonde pro offered up. It was the logical answer to give, especially since the man was well aware of the purpose of the assignment Gran had given young Izuku.

“Yes,” Torino said simply. He paused for a moment, still looking out over the beach, before elaborating. “He needs friends. Allies. People who would come if he called. Who would meddle if they knew he needed help. Right now, he has no one. And that’s not good enough. Not by a long shot.”

“You want him to make connections on I-Island, then?” Toshinori asked, though he felt he already knew the answer to that question.

Torino turned away from the polluted ocean view to look Toshinori in the face. “Pretty soon, the kid will be starting his work with the police. It will be part time, because it has to be. We’ll put him on the Protocols, they’re proven to work. But once that starts, he won’t have as much free time as he does now. And you are running out of time. Melissa is every bit as brilliant as her father, and I think having them become friends would help them both. If you’re going to take the kid to I-Island to meet-and-greet with the Shields and all of the other eggheads, it has to be soon. Very soon.”

“The I-Expo is slated to start next year,” Toshinori said somewhat defensively. “It’s not like I hadn’t intended for Izuku to meet some of my old contacts. I’m certain David would send us guest passes, and even if he didn’t, I know Melissa would.”

But Torino shook his head.

“You’ve lost an hour’s worth of time, on average, every year since the injury. You just burned thirty minutes off of that a few weeks ago, and it will start to go faster once you pass the power on. Yes, you can double or even triple your time in it if you don’t fight or exert yourself, but two or three times is still, what? Six hours? Nine? Let’s split the difference and say seven and some change. Do you think seven hours a day is long enough to evade all the security cameras on I-Island and keep your secret? And you want to wait until next summer, when you’ll have lost even more time?”

Toshinori felt himself flinching internally as his former teacher broke the math down like that.

“Teaching full-time at UA as a faculty member would give me plenty of time to rest and recover,” he protested, though even as he said it, he knew how weak of an excuse it was. “I’d catch a few purse snatchers or small-time robbers in the morning, be in the building by the time the first bell sounds, and I’d be fine.”

“You’re not ‘fine,’” Torino said emotionlessly, and this time Toshinori really did flinch at the sound of his old teacher’s voice. “You are the farthest thing from ‘fine’ it is possible to be. I think Mirai is a fool, but even a broken clock is right twice a day. I like the kid and I’m glad you picked him, I really am, but honestly? You should have chosen somebody twenty years ago. Izuku should be getting scouted by your successor as their replacement. Instead you’ve kept doing this for so damn long you’ve practically skipped a generation.”

Torino turned away from the ocean view to look directly at his former student. The blonde pro struggled to meet his eyes. “I’m not Mirai, so I’m not going to try and tell you that you’ve made a mistake with how you handled your career. I’m old enough to understand that sometimes you can’t trust somebody else to do a job, you have to do it yourself. I get that. So I’m not going to baby you, it’s your decision to keep going and I respect that. But you have to face facts. All For One ripped your guts out and nearly tore you in half. It wasn’t a fight, you two mauled each other. He died, and it’s sheer dumb luck that he didn’t take you with him. You were a warm corpse that was stitched back together with quirks and painkillers. You do not have enough time left on the clock to be playing games.”

Toshinori felt the need to defend himself. “It’s not like I didn’t try and look!” he exclaimed. “Nighteye would never have accepted it, because he didn’t feel like he was worthy. When we realized that the fourth wielder died because having two quirks accelerated his aging, that limited my choices to either someone who was quirkless or somebody whose quirk was so subtle or weak that One For All wouldn’t over-strain their body. I tried using quirkless charities to look for potential candidates, but even keeping those charities running was a nightmare with all the bureaucracy constantly trying to shut them down. In the end, it didn’t help!”

“You should have started earlier, is the point,” Torino noted.

“After all the trouble I had just trying to keep what I had afloat, I don’t think an extra few years would have helped,” Toshinori replied, doing his best to not sulk.

“Is that why you had Mirai looking through hero student rosters?” Torino asked.

Toshinori sighed. He had been expecting Torino to chastise him for not seeking out help in trying to find a successor for One For All. It figures the old man had already realized he did, in fact, ask for help.

It hadn't gone well. 

“Yes,” he admitted flatly. “When all of my efforts came up short, I roped Nighteye into the search, hoping he would have the resources, insight, and time to achieve what I couldn’t. It was a mistake to involve him, though I wouldn’t realize it for a few years.”

Sorahiko Torino was silent for a few moments, watching the ocean view and tracking the teen’s progress across the polluted beach. So Toshinori had originally asked for help from the super-fanboy himself, huh? That slotted one or two missing pieces into a picture that was already mostly complete.

A very ugly picture, in Torino’s opinion.

Small wonder his former student struggled so much with asking for help, when one of the few times he had, it backfired spectacularly in his face. There was a reason Toshinori and Mirai had broken up their agency and gone their separate ways.

The old man thought it said a lot when Toshinori, one of the kindest and most polite people he had ever met, refused to use Mirai’s name anymore in spite of having known him longer than anybody else alive. It was always ‘Nighteye.’ Never Mirai, or even Sasaki.

Hell, Toshinori was even polite to the lawyers and media vultures. For him to snub Mirai, however subtly he did it, spoke volumes.

“Personally, I think you should have just given it to Cathy and called it a day,” Torino grunted.

The tall, skeletal blonde stared at his former teacher for a moment, incredulity on every line of his face.

“Cathy? You mean Cathleen? Cathleen Bates?” he said, disbelieving.

Torino nodded in an affirmative, still looking out over the beach and following the teen’s progress. “Of course I mean her, how many Cathy’s do we even know?”

“Why?” Toshinori asked, packing as much disbelief and confusion as he could into a single word. “She has one of the strongest quirks in the world. What on earth- it would kill her, Gran!”

It was a fair question to ask. Cathleen ‘Star and Stripe’ Bates, the number one pro hero in America, was perhaps the only person in the world who could give All Might a run for his money in the department of force deterrence. The exact mechanics of her quirk, New Order, were a closely guarded secret of the American government. But as All Might had helped mentor and train her decades ago, he was naturally well aware of exactly what her power could do. As was Gran Torino, who had lent a hand in her training.

Her quirk, called New Order, was a reality-warping meta superpower. By touching a target and calling out it’s name, New Order allowed the user to issue up to two ‘orders’ that would change how the universe worked in relation to the target, effectively forcing reality to adhere to the user’s ‘new order’ of how things should work. This ability could range from simple descriptions to conditional changes based on cause-and-effect. It was able to affect physical entities, people, and objects, as well as incorporeal things such as the air, light, or even other quirks. In essence, it allowed the wielder to manipulate and bestow new properties onto themselves and the world around them functionally at-will, with a maximum limit of two ‘new orders’ at a time.

If Cathleen issued an order for gravity to stop working around her, then it would. If she issued an order that she now had the ability to run faster than the speed of sound, she could. If Cathleen issued an order that anyone who touched her would fall unconscious, they would. If Cathleen touched you and said you no longer had a quirk, then for as long as she held the order in effect, you didn’t.

It was a godlike ability. In a world of people who have quirks that gave them wings or let them breathe fire, New Order was more than hitting the jackpot on the superpower lottery. It was something that singlehandedly redefined what a quirk could even do or be.

It said a lot about how strong it was that Cathleen Bates could go around permanently under the effects of one order that made her as tall and as physically buff as All Might, purely as a homage to her old mentor, and that she could still function as a hero. Cathleen was literally half-assing it, she was only using half of her quirk at most in any given fight or rescue operation, and was still not only the number one pro in America, but a strong contender for the mightiest hero in the world.

Gran had practically torn his hair out over that, but she refused to budge.

She was also at the very absolute rock bottom of the list of people Yagi Toshinori had ever considered as possible candidates for being the successor to One For All.

“The entire point of looking for someone who was quirkless or who had some recessive barely-there quirk was to stop the next person from rapidly aging themselves into an early grave!” Toshinori exclaimed. “The human body can’t handle the strain of multiple quirk factors! Cathy is the last person I would ever give it to, Gran, it would kill her!”

The elderly hero tilted his hand back and forth, making a skeptical sound. “I’m not so sure about that. You forget, she can use New Order to modify quirks, including New Order itself. One For All would have enhanced her quirk and made it more powerful, maybe lifted some restrictions on how it functioned, but it would have still had the ability to do everything it could before. That’s what would have saved her and made it work.”

Toshinori stopped, dumbfounded, as his indignant confusion derailed. “You- you think she could have used her own power to modify One For All and make it safe to use. She could have curbed any dangerous side-effects or instabilities with New Order.”

Torino shrugged. “Or she could have used one of her rules to declare her body capable of handling it, whichever. It’s not like she isn’t already wasting one of her orders blowing herself up like a balloon just so she can imitate you. She may as well re-word that order and get something valuable out of it.”

Toshinori gaped like a fish, struggling to find words. Torino kept talking, his words casual and off-hand.

“It also probably would have kept the quirk from needing to die out, honestly. I remember having that conversation with you and Mirai at some point. We tried to figure out if it could even be passed on, if it was safe. Incorporating New Order into One For All would give some of Cathleen’s powers to whoever she made her successor. It’s possible that giving future wielders the abilities of New Order would allow them to keep One For All safe and usable as a tool.”

Toshinori sputtered, his brain finally re-engaging.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because you never asked, you idiot!” the wizened former-pro declared, clearing the distance between them in an eyeblink and slapping the taller man upside the head with his own rolled up copy of the Dream To Pass plan.

There was a beat.

“Also, I honestly hadn’t really thought of it until just now.”

Toshinori buried his face in his hands. They should all be dead. None of Gran’s former students should have survived the man.

“Even with all of that, I’m still not sure I would have given it to her,” Toshinori said after a long moment. “As long as All For One was on the loose, I couldn’t just hand the power off to someone else. I had a responsibility to end it. He was the one with the grudge against all of the wielders of his brother’s power, but I was the one who chose to take it personally when Nana died. It was my fight. My war, though I know how you feel about heroes calling crimefighting a war. I wasn’t going to bow out and let somebody else deal with my problems. I wanted to finish it. He deserved to be packed away in a box and buried after everything he did, and it was my hands that were going to take on the blood from doing that.”

Torino nodded, accepting that answer. "I understand. You felt like you needed to handle it yourself. I get that. I'm not Mirai, I'm not here to yank your ear or tell you your own business. But I am here to tell you that it's time for you to be realistic and own up to your choices, because you can't afford the luxury of blind optimism anymore.”

‘Be realistic, young man,’ Toshinori recalled his own words to Izuku as Torino talked. How ironic.

“Actions have consequences, Toshi, and that includes yours. Your refusal to retire has consequences, and this is one of them. So own it. Deal with it. You’re either going to have to come clean to the public about this," he said, gesturing at the man’s deflated skeletal form, “or you’re going to have to call David now while you still have enough gas left in the tank to not make a monkey of yourself in public. Your choice.”

Toshinori sighed. Gran was right. Young Izuku did need friends and allies, and while he was certain the teen would find both at UA, it was also something that the two of them could help him with. Izuku couldn’t afford for Toshinori to waffle on this, because it would be Izuku himself who would ultimately pay the price if he did.

And the sooner they started, the better.

So Yagi Toshinori made his choice. He pulled out his phone and started dialing a number.

“I’m definitely going to have to remember to buy young Izuku some condoms,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

“If you do, I’ll just poke holes in them. I want great-grandkids while I’m still coherent enough to teach them how to properly hold a knife.”

Toshinori stopped dialing halfway through David’s number. For the second time that morning, he closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten. Slowly.

They were actually all dead, weren’t they? They had all died decades ago, and this was actually hell.

The older man smirked, enjoying how rattled his former student was.

“It’s adorable how naive you are, Toshi,” the retired pro said. “The hottest betting pool for the UA faculty back in the day was the student relationship one. I don’t think any other pool saw more play, not even the Sports Festival. Just wait until you’re a proper teacher. You think I’m bad, I’m not even close to the worst.”

“I… do not believe that,” Toshinori said carefully, with all of today’s remaining allotment of dignity that he could scrape together.

Torino cackled with laughter. Somewhere out across the beach, Izuku tripped and almost slammed his head into a rusty washing machine.

Toshinori felt like he had aged ten years since he showed up to the beach this morning. He resumed dialing, as a way to escape having to talk to Gran if nothing else.

How any of them had ever survived having Gran Torino as a homeroom teacher, he would never know.

It hadn't taken Midoriya Izuku very long into his imposed task of cleaning up the Takoba Municipal Beach Park before he realized that some trash was easier to move when broken down. 

At All Might's urging, the teen had decided to leave some of the larger objects for later when he was physically stronger. However, for anything the size of a person or smaller, he was encouraged to remove it in whatever way he saw fit, which included breaking them down into smaller pieces. 

Which was why, after several weeks of hauling garbage bags and microwaves, he had started pulling apart the washing machines and dryers and dragging them up to the parking lot in pieces. With the steel drums and motors removed, most of the machines were nothing more than metal panels and some internal circuitry, which wasn't hard to carry at all. 

Izuku had also learned more about appliances and what was inside them than he ever thought was possible. Who knew that most washers and dryers were filled with concrete on the bottom just to make them heavier so they wouldn't wobble or tip over?

Moving those concrete slabs was currently beyond him, but much like the rusted out car frames and discarded refrigerators, it was a problem for future Izuku to deal with. For now, he was moving what he could, slowly building up his strength and endurance while following the steps of the Dream To Pass plan.

Barring some loud and somewhat disturbing laughter on the other side of the beach where Gran Torino and All Might were, it was a perfectly normal cleaning day on the beach for Izuku, with absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happening. 

Which is exactly why he should have been suspicious. 

The garbage Izuku was hauling was being thrown into a rented dumpster, while all the glass and plastic was sorted into various piles that the city would or would not accept for recycling. Motors, engines, and electronic parts were being put in the back of Toshinori's truck to be brought to a special recycling center that dealt with those sorts of things. 

The green haired teen was carrying a twenty pound motor up the beach to be put in the back of his mentor's truck when he was blindsided by a brown and pink blur that tackled him to the ground.

Izuku wheezed, the breath knocked out of him, but as he scrabbled and tried to get up, he realized that somebody was sitting on his chest. 

It was a girl, slightly taller than him with a stocky, busty build. She had pale skin, like someone who spent most of their time indoors, though it was smudged and covered in soot and grime. Salmon-pink hair hung down to her shoulders in thick, even clumps, like natural dreadlocks. She was wearing steel-tipped boots, heavy denim overalls, a dark, stained tank top, and a large, brown leather apron with matching leather gloves. 

Her most striking feature, though, was her eyes. They were a mossy yellow-green, but instead of a normal iris, hers had a cross shape surrounding each pupil. The overall effect made her eyes look like the lenses from a telescopic sight or a targeting scope.

It probably wouldn't have been her most striking feature under most circumstances, but when her face was only inches away from Izuku's own, it was certainly hard to miss. 

"Magnetrons," the salmon haired girl said succinctly, as though that explained everything. The green-haired teen could feel her breath on his face. 

"W-what?" Izuku managed to stutter out, trying to sit up and push the girl off of him. It felt like trying to move a sack full of bricks. 

"Magnetrons," she repeated, with emphasis. "Over the last week, 85 microwaves with intact magnetrons were dropped off at the Gawa Industrial Recycling Center. Some of them were even the Russian and Chinese models with beryllium oxide ceramics in them! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on beryllium oxide? I asked around about who was dropping them off and tracked you down. Where are you getting them?"

Izuku was blinking rapidly, half of his brain keeping up with this one-sided conversation while the other half was lying stabbed in a ditch on the side of the road, wondering what just happened. 

There was a long moment of silence, before the girl seemed to realize something.

"Oh, right, sorry. Hatsume Mei, future CEO of Hatsume Industries," she said, pulling back and shoving a gloved hand into his face, like that explained absolutely anything at all.

A combination of shock and being winded from the impact were the only reasons Izuku wasn't currently having a meltdown over a girl flying in out of nowhere and sitting on his chest. On autopilot, he reached out with one of his own gloved hands and shakily shook hers. "Midoriya Izuku" he replied absently. He was struggling so hard to catch up to what was happening that he forgot to be nervous. 

She grinned happily, before suddenly leaning back down into his face, an intense look in her eyes. "So where did you get the microwaves?" she asked again. 

Izuku raised his left hand and gestured vaguely off towards the beach.

Hatsume glanced off to the side in the direction Izuku indicated, only for her to do a double take, her head snapping back to stare at the dumping ground the Takoba beach park had become. Still sitting on Izuku's chest, she had a look on her face like she had just been shown the entire contents of Aladdin's cave of wonders. Which just raised further questions for the struggling Izuku. How on earth could someone attentive enough to track him down over some microwaves not notice where they were standing? 

"You're cleaning all of this?" she asked breathlessly. "Right now? You're cleaning all of this up, right now?"

"Y-yes?" Izuku replied hesitantly, the stutter beginning to come back as he started to get his bearings again. "It's f-for hero training."

She glanced to the side, and her eyes widened. She snatched up the motor Izuku had been carrying, turning it over in her hands like it weighed nothing at all. She poked a gloved finger in several of the holes and intakes, peering at it, before clutching it to her ample chest like it was a priceless treasure. 

The salmon-haired girl stared down at Izuku like she was seeing him for the first time, her gaze incredibly intense. Izuku felt the heat rising in his own face, completely unused to that kind of attention from pretty girls. He suddenly became very aware of the fact that she was sitting directly on his chest, pushing herself up against him. 

"You're trying to become a hero, right? My quirk is Zoom, it gives my eyes magnification. What's yours?"

For perhaps the fourth time in as many minutes, Izuku once again lost his mental footing, the metaphorical rug having been yanked out from underneath him. 

"Don't have one," he said absently. "Quirkless." 

The greasy, overalls-clad girl stared even more intently at him. Several of the crosshair lines in her eyes seemed to twitch slightly. Was that how her quirk worked? How far could she see? Did she have a defined magnification limit? Was it capable of zooming out as well?

Perhaps it was not surprising that whenever Izuku.exe stops working, it defaults to mumbling and quirk analysis.

"Yes," the girl replied, still staring at him like he had secrets written down on the inside of his skin. "Five kilometers. No, I don't have access to the equipment to measure it, but I can assemble microchips with my hands if I'm careful. And I don't know, I've never tried."

There was a beat of silence that seemed to stretch into eternity for Izuku. "Are you actually quirkless?" she asked, her voice serious.

"Y-yes?" Izuku replied. This was the first time in his life someone had seemed incredulous at his quirklessness. Why ask for confirmation? What on earth was she thinking?

Hatsume Mei smiled like the sun, bringing her face so close to Izuku's that the tips of their noses touched.

"Baseline. You're a perfect baseline. You and I are going to make so many beautiful babies together."

And with that, the mental cartoon Izuku who was desperately pushing buttons and pulling levers trying to catch up to where this conversation had gone snapped the gear shift clean off in his hand, leaving Izuku stuck on neutral for the foreseeable future. 

"I see," he said, with completely uncharacteristic calmness. "That makes perfect sense."

The salmon-haired crazy girl cheered in agreement, pumping her fist. It didn't. It didn't make any sense at all. 

Toshinori blinked in shock as a random pink-haired girl in overalls appeared seemingly from nowhere and tackled young Izuku. Snippets of the conversation that ensued could be heard across the parking lot, making it clear what the girl wanted with the green-haired teen. The skeletal blonde stood up to go intervene, but Torino grabbed his arm, holding him back. The shorter, older man was staring at the scene unfolding in front of them, his dark eyes glittering.

"Should- should we do something?" Toshinori asked after a moment.

Torino shook his head, grinning. Torino had seen enough madcap inventors in his lifetime to smell what Hatsume Mei was from a mile off. "No. The best support techs find their own heroes, not the other way around. And that girl screams support tech." 

Toshinori frowned, looking over at Izuku. "He's clearly uncomfortable."

Torino rolled his eyes. "At a pretty girl sitting on him? I'm sure he'll survive. Besides, in case you've forgotten, this isn't all that different from how you met your own support tech."

"David did not sit on me!" Toshinori replied indignantly. He was trying to keep his voice down, well aware by now how far sound carried on the abandoned beach. 

Torino shrugged. "Right, sure. He just kidnapped you after a fire disaster where you lost most of your clothes using your quirk, pulled you into a car while you were shirtless, drove both of you back to campus while asking you questions about your quirk, and then the next day he showed up with a brand new hero outfit for you that fit perfectly even though you never told him your measurements."

Toshinori opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

"You- you make it sound so terrible when you say it like that," the blond said lamely. 

Torino shrugged unrepentantly. "It's not terrible, that's just how all the best support techs are. You don't find them; they find you. All great heroes are busybodies by nature. We stick our noses into places they don't belong and meddle in other people's business whether they want the help or not. Great support techs are similar. They see a problem to solve, and they chase after it. The best ones won't let anything get in their way."

Torino let go of the younger man's arm, and Toshinori slowly relaxed, sitting back down on the bench. The two men sat for a moment, listening in to the distant, mostly one-sided exchange between the two teens. 

"I still don't think David was ever quite this bad," Toshinori finally said after a moment. He understood the gist of things just fine. She wanted parts, and was intrigued by Izuku's quirklessness. She seemed to think it made him ideal for a gadgeteer hero, which, to be fair, wasn't wrong. Granted, Izuku would be getting a quirk eventually, but she couldn't know that. 

"He was crazy in his own way," Torino replied absently, his glittering eyes glued to the girl on the other side of the parking lot. Weighing. Analyzing. Judging. "All the best ones are. Whatever makes them good with machines seems to make them terrible with people. I won't pretend to know why, but I've never met a gearhead worth their mettle that was on the straight and narrow. They're all a little cracked. Comes with the territory."

"I'm familiar with the old quote about all genius having a touch of madness," Toshinori said. "But still, it seems like she's taking it a bit too far."

"He'll be fine," Torino said dismissively. "We just had a conversation about how he needs friends. Look, he's already making some!"

In the distance, the stocky, grease-smeared girl started bouncing up and down on Izuku's chest while shaking the collar of his workout shirt, babbling about company shares and support equipment.

"I think there might be such a thing as being too friendly," Toshinori said dryly.

"Bah," said Torino. "He got roughed up worse than this in the knife training. Besides, a little competition is healthy for anyone."

"Competition?" Toshinori asked, confused. "How is she competing with young Izuku?" 

The retired pro gave a wide grin, his dark eyes glittering. 

"Oh, she's not competing with him. She's competing with Melissa."

Yagi Toshinori had no idea if they made such a thing as puncture-proof condoms, but he decided that finding out was now high on his list of priorities. 

'Do your best, young man,' he prayed in his own head, as the busty, salmon-haired inventor continued to manhandle Izuku. 

It was several days after what had been dubbed 'The Hatsume Incident,' and things were mostly back to normal on the beach. The salmon-haired inventor had been interested in everything they had been sending to the Gawa Industrial Recycling Center, and had insisted on taking it all off their hands. And after a great deal of excitement and shaking Izuku by his shoulders, she also scribbled down a 'wish list' of parts and materials on a sheet of Izuku's notebook paper, asking the teen to keep an eye out for anything on the list and to set it aside for her. 

When a dazed Izuku had asked what all of this was for, she merely laughed and told him that it would be a surprise. 

This was probably meant to be reassuring, but it had the exact opposite effect. 

Izuku shoved the soggy, sandy skeleton of an office chair into the dumpster that had been set aside for things that, due to various city regulations, wouldn’t be getting recycled. The chair stank of low tide. The dumpster didn’t smell much better.

As Izuku turned around to walk across the parking lot and back down the beach, Torino was standing there, arms crossed and with a manila folder in his hand.

It was a testament to how used to the man Izuku was getting that he didn’t jump or yelp at the old pro’s sudden, completely silent appearance.

“Knife,” the grey-haired pro announced solemnly. Izuku locked his heavily gloved fingers together and used his left gloved hand to pull his right glove off. Without hesitation, he reached down into his waistband and produced his knife.

Torino nodded once in satisfaction, and as Izuku slid his knife back into his concealed sheathe, the old pro held out the manila folder. Izuku took it, curiosity written on his face.

“This is everything we know about the past users, including what little we know about their quirks. A singularity quirk, by definition, is everything that came before it coming back together in one big pile. That means, with a normal singularity, a person would have to look at every quirk that’s shown up in their own immediate family tree to potentially understand what they might be dealing with. But One For All isn’t normal, and it’s singularity won’t be, either. It has touched nearly a dozen different people who aren’t related to each other. Can you guess what that might mean?”

Izuku blinked, thinking about the question for a moment. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to realize what the old man was getting at.

“It’s also going to include the quirk factors of everyone who was directly related to the past users,” Izuku said. “It’s not just one family tree of semi-related effects. It’s going to draw traits from the ancestor quirks of every single past user.”

Izuku blinked rapidly. “Wait, I could get my mom’s quirk. I could get my dad’s quirk!”

Oh, the hours Izuku had spent when he was younger, desperately wishing for the quirks of either of his parents, or some combination of the two. The time Izuku had spent pouring over what the combination of his parent’s quirks might make possible, and how he could use those combinations to be a hero. Both of his parents had quirks with very unique properties, in his opinion.

Attraction wasn’t true telekinesis, which in some ways was limiting, but in other ways made it much stronger and more difficult to counter. All true telekinetic quirks needed line of sight to work properly, so blocking their sight or blinding them was a hard counter. Inko had never needed to see what she was attracting, or even know exactly where it was, to pull it towards herself, which made finding missing keys or lost children's toys a breeze. As long as it was small enough and within a certain range, she could do it, and Izuku thought that was just incredible.

And his father’s Fire Breath worked off of breathing, which seemed obvious, but most fire quirks are stamina-intensive abilities, and heroes with fire quirks need to spend a lot of time training their endurance to use them properly. As a breath-based power, stamina was no factor at all for Fire Breath, because the only fuel it consumed was exhaled breath.

Fire and ice quirks could also raise or lower their user’s temperature dangerously, but since all the heat was pushed outwards, and ignition didn’t happen until the breath left Midoriya Hisashi’s lips, overheating with Fire Breath was almost impossible. Hisashi’s power was free of any of the typical limitations associated with fire abilities, lung capacity was it’s only drawback. That made it a top class fire quirk, in Izuku’s estimation.

He had spent so many hours crying himself to sleep at night, dreaming that he would wake up with a stronger version of one of his parent’s quirks, or some combination of the two. He had worn his heart raw wishing for it.

“That's right, you could potentially get your parent’s quirks, or at least something semi-related to them” Torino confirmed, nodding in approval. “That folder has all the information on the past users that we could find, at least for now. I’m getting my hero license renewed so I can get better security clearance to go through more records. We don’t know everything about all the users, and we know even less about their families. That’s why I’m cutting you in on this. You don’t have to consider this a homework assignment, but I'll be asking you for help in researching some things.”

Izuku took the folder in his ungloved hand and began flipping through it, balancing it against the crook of his other elbow to stop pages from spilling out across the filthy parking lot. His emerald eyes flicked back and forth across the information, skimming through the pages.

“Why do you need higher clearance, sir?” he asked as he flipped to the back of the folder and began looking at the appendix that was printed along with it. “Shouldn’t Mr. Yagi have all the clearance needed for this?”

Torino rolled his eyes. “Bureaucrats, kid. Toshinori has all the clearance in the world and then some, but he’s pants at this kind of technical research. It’s not his forte and never has been. He’s also pretty busy these days, between doing his day job and also training you. I’m better at the research angle, and I have more free time, but he can’t just introduce me as his personal friend and say that I need to see everything he’s allowed to see, that’s not how this works. My PI license gives me access to basic stuff, but I can't touch sealed records or anything to do with witness protection.”

Izuku frowned. “Why would any of the records be sealed or associated with witness protection?”

Torino snorted. “I’m willing to take it on faith that every past user of One For All was a good person who was trying to do the right thing, but that doesn’t change the fact that about half of them would probably be classified as villains or domestic terrorists today. To say nothing of anything any unknown family members might have gotten up to. The Dawn of Quirks was chaos, kid, you know that. Half the records don’t exist, the other half are forgotten in a filing cabinet somewhere. And the few people in high places who know the truth about One For All have sealed damn near everything to do with it. Transferable quirks aren’t supposed to exist, and the powers that be are afraid of what the stupid and criminally inclined might get up to if it became common knowledge that they did. The truth of the matter is sealed under so much bureaucracy and red tape that I’m pretty sure it’s easier to get your hands on nuclear launch codes. I’m shocked I’ve been able to fish up what I have.”

Izuku nodded slowly as he closed the folder. That made sense. In all the time he had spent on the internet arguing and debating quirks with people, he’d only ever heard the idea of transferable powers floated a few times, and it was always shot down or derided pretty quickly. The general consensus is that it might be theoretically possible for a meta-quirk to do it, but most people agreed that if it was possible, it would have happened by now. Since it hadn’t, it likely violated some fundamental law of how quirks operated, not that any such concrete laws had ever been hashed out.

Or there was a massive international conspiracy to cover it up. That worked too.

“I’m also giving you this for another reason, which is for my own peace of mind,” Torino continued. “As you already proved you’re aware of with the Swan Song discussion, singularity quirks are a concern because of control and activation issues. I don’t know much about the past users, and I know even less about their relatives, but one thing I can tell you for sure is that with two exceptions, they were all Emitter-class quirks, and all but one of them had an off button. That means that even though we don’t know how stable One For All will be when you get it, we’re basically certain that you’ll be able to turn it on and off at-will.”

“Which dramatically limits the danger it could pose to me or anyone else,” Izuku added, nodding along.

“Correct,” Torino praised. “If there was a chance this thing could turn you into some sort of walking disaster or a monster from a B-list horror movie, I’d be against giving it to you. But we don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m giving you this so that you can see my reasoning, instead of just taking my word for it. I taught teenagers for long enough to know that just demanding respect or trust doesn’t work, you have to show it. So here’s my homework that I’ve done. I’m giving it to you. I don’t know what this thing will do to you or be capable of, kid, but you will be able to turn it off. I’m certain of that.”

Izuku nodded as he began walking back over to Toshinori’s truck, Torino following along. “T-thank you for trusting me with this, Mr. Sorahiko. Sensei. Sir.”

Torino grinned. “No problem kiddo. And call me Gran. Or Torino. Whatever’s fine. Just let me know if you can find anything about the immediate blood relatives of anyone on that list. I’ll keep you posted on anything new I dig up as well.”

“Were there any mutants?” Izuku asked, curiosity on his face.

“Among the past users, no. Among their parents and grandparents? We’re not sure. That’s part of the reason we’re doing this. I believe in full disclosure, and I don’t like surprises. You deserve to have some forewarning if giving you this thing will make you grow wings or flippers or something.”

Izuku reached through the rolled down window of the truck, unzipped his backpack, and put the manila folder inside it.

As he pulled the backpack open, Torino caught a glimpse of the new notebook that the teenager had been using for the past few days. The title scrawled on the front of the previously unnamed volume made him grin.

It said ‘Hero Analysis of The Gun and Blade.’

Boredom was the greatest enemy of the pro-hero known to the world as Nezu.

The sapient animal with an intelligence quirk loved puzzles. He especially loved games, of all types, because they were like a kind of interactive puzzle with a human element. A puzzle that fought back as he tried to solve it, if you will. Board games, video games, tabletop and strategy games. It was all the same to him.

Puzzles and games were vitally important to Nezu, because they staved off the ever-present, ever-encroaching boredom. Fortunately for him, his quirk, High Spec, functioned on a kind of gear shift, allowing him to dial the separate components of it up and down to increase or decrease their intensity. At higher settings, he couldn’t even look at a normal puzzle without instantly solving it in his mind. Had he been forced to live on the higher settings all the time, he might have been driven to do something exceptionally drastic to keep himself entertained. Game theory and the concept of the ‘solved game’ may very well have been Nezu’s doom, or at least the doom of everyone around him.

As it was, he chose to walk around and function in his average day-to-day life with High Spec dialed down to it’s lowest setting. In that state, he was perfectly capable of playing a relatively normal game of chess with someone, which he would probably win.

But he didn’t necessarily have his opponent defeated from the first opening moves, which was why it was still fun.

Personally, Nezu preferred more complex games, often ones that featured strong aspects of chance or psychological manipulation, because they were harder to predict and more entertaining to meta-strategize. But humans were strange creatures, and had strange expectations. So he kept a very nice crystal chess set in clear view on a coffee table in his office, irrespective of the fact that he personally preferred Blackjack, Liar’s Dice, and Risk over the “game of kings.”

He kept the chess set in clear view because humans expected one of the greatest geniuses in the world to be fond of chess, and Nezu was hardly going to throw away an advantage like playing into expectations.

It might have confused or even frightened some of the humans he was forced to deal with diplomatically if he had a table out with simulated pre-quirk war games. He kept his painstakingly painted minis and figurines, as well as his extensive collection of pre-Quirk video games, packed away and out of sight when they weren’t being used by people who would appreciate them.

It wouldn’t have confused or frightened his employees, mind. They were all extremely familiar with their boss’s… eccentricities. But you never knew when some government bureaucrat or a member of Japan’s upper crust might knock on the door with some complaint or proposal. The chess set was a comfort. For them.

Today, however, boredom was not something that was bothering Nezu. Anticipation and curiosity were what was eating away at the quirked animal today.

It had been years since he had spoken with the human known as Sorahiko Torino. The last time they exchanged pleasantries was when Nezu had attempted, and failed, to persuade the hero to continue teaching at UA instead of retiring.

Regretfully, even a dramatically increased salary and a cornucopia of other senior faculty perks had not been enough to tempt him to stay. Sorahiko had never been a man to be swayed by material gains. He said he wanted out, and that was the end of it.

Nezu had genuinely regretted the loss. Sorahiko was one of the few people who treated Nezu like a normal person. He was also one of the few people who was not afraid of Nezu, either, which made him valuable and important to the quirked animal. To say nothing of his track record of success as a hero teacher.

So to hear from Sorahiko, of all people. That alone had piqued Nezu’s interest.

Sitting on Nezu’s desk was an analysis done on All Might. It was 96 pages long, and seemed to cover most of the major highlights of the man’s career, or at least the ones that had been widely publicized.

It was also done by someone Nezu had never heard of before. A quirkless young man named Midoriya Izuku, who was currently writing under the pen name of ‘Sage.’ A young man that Sorahiko Torino had apparently come out of retirement to teach.

It didn’t take the intelligence-quirked animal very long (eight seconds) to figure out the implications. Yagi had finally chosen a successor.

How exciting!

The quality was exceptional. It wasn’t perfect, but then nothing really ever was. It was not written in code or with standard industry abbreviations, which meant that Midoriya was an amateur of some sort. A hobbyist.

If one could call something of this level of quality ‘amateurish’ or the work of a hobbyist with a straight face.

Even as green as Midoriya clearly was, this work was still of a higher quality than what many professional quirk consultancy agencies and analysis groups produced. The young man was a prodigy. And wasn’t that just an exciting idea, to think that someone like this would be the next to inherit One For All?

Had Nezu been presented this analysis in a vacuum, alone and with nothing else, he would have considered it to be a valid token to earn a place in UA all by itself. It was exceptional, even more so to think that it came from someone who was wholly untrained. He would have gladly written a recommendation for the boy himself if he had wanted access to the Support or Business tracks at UA. It would have been rougher to see someone without a quirk make an attempt at the Hero Course, but Nezu would have been game to let this young man try.

He had, after all, opened up the rules to permit it for good reason. Nezu adored underdogs, and he was waiting for the day some determined young human without a quirk dared to try and be the first quirkless pro hero of the modern age.

What a terrible shame that daring youth would not be Midoriya. Nezu would have liked those odds.

But the analysis sitting on his desk and the future prospects of having Midoriya in his school wasn’t the source of Nezu’s anticipation and curiosity.

It was not, because apparently, this analysis of All Might was nothing more than a teaser. Something to pique Nezu’s curiosity.

Apparently, something else would be coming soon. Something significantly more… personal.

“Ah, Sorahiko,” Nezu thought, sipping a cup of tea at his desk. “You really do know how to push my buttons, don’t you?”

To be shown something like this analysis of All Might, and told it was just a warmup?

Well. After reading the message the man sent, and knowing what would be coming next, how could he not be filled with anticipation and curiosity?

After Izuku finished putting away his new manilla folder on the quirks of the past users, he sat down at a nearby picnic table on the edge of the parking lot for a brief lunch break. Torino walked up to his protégé and tossed him a cold water bottle pulled from a cooler in the back of Toshinori's truck. The young man caught it gratefully.

“By the way, speaking of research, I have a new homework assignment from me, kiddo,” the grey-haired man announced. Izuku perked up, showing interest.

“I want you to do an analysis on Nezu.”

Izuku blinked.

“You mean ‘the’ Nezu?” he said, somewhat incredulous.

Torino grinned. “I only know the one. There aren’t many people around with no last name.”

Izuku’s eyes slid out of focus as the wheels began visibly turning in his head. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “There’s not a whole lot to go off of, but I have some ideas, I think.”

His eyes came back in focus. “Is there, uh. Is there some specific lesson you want me to learn from this?”

Torino shook his head, still grinning. “Not this time. I just want an analysis of him. His origins, his capabilities, his quirk. The works. Whatever you can find on him, or what you can deduce from observations. There won’t be much, but speculation is fine too, as long as you can support it. In fact, I think you’ll probably have to rely mostly on speculation for this one. Nezu is pretty secretive.”

Izuku nodded, becoming more confident. “Yeah, sure. I can do that. I’ve already got an entry for him in one of my earlier books. I’ve always wanted to go back and revisit some of my older entries, but there’s always some new hero debuting or something else happening, so I keep putting it off.” Torino nodded in understanding.

“By the way,” the old man said, in a supremely casual way. “I’d like you to attach something else to this analysis. As part of the assignment.”

Izuku blinked naively up at his teacher from his seated position. “Sure!” he said cheerfully, a boyish smile on his face. “What else did you want?”

Gran Torino’s eyes glittered. “Hypothetically, if Nezu were a villain and not a hero, how would you go about dealing with him? How would you handle the operation, if you were put in charge of it? What steps would you take? That’s what I’d like you to also attach to this analysis.”

A short way across the parking lot, Yagi Toshinori stood up ramrod straight from where he had been fiddling with his truck. The tall, skeletal blonde spun around, wearing the same look of dawning apprehension and horror that could be seen on the faces of people who were witnessing large scale industrial accidents.

Midoriya Izuku, far more innocent than Yagi Toshinori, saw an an intriguing puzzle begging to be solved, and not a bomb with a lit fuse. He bit his finger absently and his eyes slid out of focus, deep in thought.

“I think I have some ideas!” he said brightly after a short moment, smiling.

Torino smiled back. “That’s great kiddo! Get it to me sometime before the end of the week if you can.”

There was more than one way to skin a cat. If they want to provoke a nuclear option, then a nuclear option is what they’ll get. Let’s see those clowns ignore the kid after this.

On the other side of the empty parking lot, all of the blood had drained out of Toshinori’s face, making him look even more ill and corpse-like than usual. Gran had said he was going to escalate directly to Nezu. Those were his exact words.

He couldn’t possibly be planning to do what Toshinori thought he was, could he?

He wasn’t going to have the kid come up with a plan to take down Nezu and then send it to Nezu, was he?

It was Gran. It was Gran. Of course he was.

They were definitely all in hell. He was absolutely certain of it.

If you had asked Midoriya Izuku when he got up that morning if he knew where he would be spending his evening, let alone who he would be spending it with, even 100 guesses wouldn’t have been enough.

The green-haired teenager tilted his head back, drinking in the sight of the gigantic structure in front of him. It was not the tallest building in downtown Tokyo, nor did it even have the largest overall footprint. But the Silver Mountain Tokyoplex gamsen was certainly among the most iconic.

Considering it shared skyline space with some of the top hero agencies in the nation, whose architects and marketing departments openly competed with each other to see who could produce the flashiest and most visually thematic brand, that was an exceedingly high bar.

It is, after all, only natural that if you keep rebuilding demolished architecture, you will eventually become exceedingly good at it. And since the Dawn of Quirks, there have been a lot of knocked over buildings.

Hero Age architecture around the world was defined by a single recurring theme that had come to dominate the collective thought process. ‘Why not?’

Why not choose to make something ridiculous? Truly, why not? If hero agencies are going to put up buildings designed to stand out and make it clear at a glance which top pro worked where, then why should all the buildings around them be left behind? And even if everyone hates the way it looks, it hardly matters. It’s probably going to get knocked down soon enough anyway, and then something else will get put up in it’s place.

In the Age of Heroes, the streets swirled with chaos. Humanity had changed, had become wilder and stranger. Heroes and the fantasy of heroes had seized the collective conscious. And as the skylines were repeatedly renovated and rebuilt, they grew to match the chaotic streets below them. As below, so above.

In downtown Tokyo, there were few buildings that exemplified this better than the Silver Mountain Tokyoplex.

It was the largest gamesen, or ‘game center,’ in the country. A huge pyramid made of black glass, it stood over 30 stories tall and was topped with a bright silver capstone that was large enough to be a building in it’s own right. During the day, the obsidian glass of the building had a faint silver tint, which matched the overall brand of the building’s black-and-silver theme. Once evening rolled around, however, the building truly stood out from it’s surroundings, as the dark glass became backlit with thousands of internal neon lights that slowly shifted colors and patterns.

Had it been a normally-shaped skyscraper and not a pyramid, the structure would have held more than a passing resemblance to a light-rigged gaming PC. Instead, the black pyramid shape combined with the cornucopia of geometric neon to give the building an almost otherworldly science-fiction appearance at night.

The Silver Mountain Tokyoplex was, without the faintest shred of irony, one of the many reasons some people had taken to calling Tokyo ‘Neo-Tokyo.’ The enormous arcade looked like something ripped straight from the feverish rain-soaked dreams of a cyberpunk cityscape. It stood front-and-center of the modern trend of Hero Age Japanese architecture. ‘Why not’ was truly the password of the Heroic Age.

It was also one of the very last places Midoriya Izuku had ever expected to end up. If for no other reason than because the largest and most elaborate arcade in the country was the sort of place you went to with friends.

Friends had always been a commodity in extremely short supply for Izuku.

Silver Mountain was no place for an introverted loner teen with no quirk and a mumbling habit. There were smaller arcades and gamsens, quieter and less popular. Izuku generally wouldn’t have gone to a gamsen or arcade to begin with, but if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have come here. He would have picked a place where he would be less self-conscious about being alone.

So why the Tokyoplex? Izuku asked as much.

“Training!” Gran Torino barked out cheerfully, once again in his more casual jeans and flannel. “This place has some of the best laser tag facilities around! You didn’t think that you could just plink away at sheets of paper for a few months and call it a day, did you? That’s good enough for the Metro Police Academy, but you need live training if you want to stand a chance of going pro!”

Izuku conceded that was probably true. But still, the Tokyoplex seemed like… overkill.

It was gigantic. It was loud. It was a jumbled mess of salarymen, teenagers, tourists, and cosplayers.

It didn’t seem terribly conductive to what Izuku would think of as ‘pro-hero training.’

Some of his apprehension must have showed on his face, because the elderly hero grinned and slapped him on the back. “Buck up, kiddo! I know what I’m doing. Trust me, you’ll enjoy this. It’ll be fun!”

The skeletal blonde that was civilian All Might also shot him a thumbs up and a warm smile.

“I concur, young Izuku. I think you’ll do just fine.”

Izuku had his doubts.

The internals of Silver Mountain were as much of a marvel as the exterior. There were over thirty floors to choose from, extending both above and below the ground, and every individual floor had it’s own dedicated theme. One entire floor was dedicated to old-school games, with hundreds of restored cabinets and gaming consoles from the pre-quirk era set up and arranged in a very traditional looking arcade. Another floor housed the UltraX Esports arena, one of the largest dedicated sites for digital sporting events in Japan. Yet another played host to an entire glamrock concert hall with a pizza buffet and it’s own rotating schedule of real bands and mascot rockstars.

There were even several floors with different themes that were all dedicated to games and machines that awarded tokens and tickets that could be spent on prizes. Organized gambling was illegal in Japan, which meant a closed economy of tickets and prizes was as close to gambling as anyone could legally get. Respectable salarymen could be seen in clustered groups aiming for high scores right alongside gaggles of middleschoolers that were racing each other to the top shelf prizes.

Izuku fiddled slightly with the black and silver band around his wrist. Toshinori had gotten all three of them Silver Mountain passes, which was unlimited access to all floors and games, with the caveat that you couldn’t earn tokens or tickets on the floors that featured them.

Privately, Izuku felt like that was massive overkill. It was just the three of them and they probably weren’t even going to be here that long, since it was already evening. The teen couldn’t help but wonder idly just what sort of bank account or line of credit the biggest hero in the world had.

One elevator ride and a short walk later, and the group had made it to the 15^th floor. The exact opposite of the retro-arcade floor, this area was themed as bleeding-edge science fiction, with a style falling somewhere between Star Trek and Tron. Everywhere you looked, there were neon light strips, rounded corners, and a whole lot of black glass with silver trim. Sticking with the high-tech theme, the floor was packed with VR games, group booths for popular MMOs where people could log in with their own credentials and order food and drinks, and of course, the laser tag facilities.

Even the attendants for the floor were robots instead of living staff.

Hesitantly, with some nods of encouragement from the two pros, Izuku walked up to the robot staffing the counter of the floor.

“Um, three for the laser tag arena?” the teen asked hesitantly.

A large, warm hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Actually,” the blonde pro said, “it will just be one for the laser tag.”

Izuku felt himself freeze up.

The tall, skeletal pro shot him a warm smile that was meant to comfort and encourage him. It did neither.

“Don’t worry, young Izuku. We will jump in for a few rounds later, but to begin with, it will be just you.”

“No, All Might!” Izuku thought desperately. “Don’t betray me like this!”

But it was too late. Izuku had already been betrayed days ago, when both men decided the Tokyoplex was the best place for Izuku to make friends while still doing hero training-adjacent activities.

Even if the adjacency part was a stretch, it didn’t matter much. They were doing it on time scheduled for Izuku to relax anyway, so even if he learned nothing, it was fine. As far as both heroes were concerned, helping Izuku get over his anxiety and make friends was the priority, not training. That was just a flimsy excuse. But Izuku didn’t know that.

The green-haired teen also did not know just how close he had come to having Hagakure Tooru dragged along with him tonight as a ‘training partner.’

Thankfully for Izuku’s sanity and fragile social graces, they had decided that would probably be a bit too much to start with.

Unfortunately for Izuku, Torino knew the invisible girl’s uncle, the very same one who owned the targeting range and had gotten her a summer job in the first place. And the important part of that statement was ‘to start with.’

He wasn’t going to escape public embarrassment at the hands of his mentors that easily.

So it was with much consternation and no small amount of fear that Izuku was ushered through a set of doors and into a ‘suit up’ room where he could put on his laser tag vest and choose his gear for the round.

As Izuku got busy questioning all of his life decisions that lead him to this moment, Torino and Toshinori made their way to the viewing gallery, where both the prep rooms and the full layout of the arena could be seen.

And if they moved a little faster than was strictly necessary, it was only because they were concerned for Izuku. Deeply, deeply concerned.

They certainly weren’t motivated by a desire to not miss the show.

Izuku slid the vest on easily. It was thin and lightweight, barely there, as was fitting of such a high tech facility.

The problem started when he went to pick a gun. There were rifles, shotguns, and pistols all over the walls. Some had bulky, angular designs, while others were rounded and compact. They were all clearly inspired by science fiction.

Quite frankly, Izuku didn’t like any of them. Maybe it was just from being around real guns for a few weeks and having a much better idea conceptually of what a firearm was and how it was supposed to work, but these prop guns all looked ridiculous to him.

His current notebook had a number of sketches of potential designs for pro-hero and law enforcement firearms. All of them had been done in the last week or two, and none of them even remotely resembled the fakes hanging from the walls.

Hesitantly, he walked over to the rack of pistols and picked one out that was a close match to the ones he had trained with under All Might.

Izuku held the large, tacky looking toy gun, and couldn’t suppress the frown on his face. After practicing so much with a real pistol, which had a certain balanced heft to it and a sense of responsibility from carrying it’s weight, this just felt… wrong.

Unbeknownst to the teen, Toshinori was watching from the viewing gallery. The pro hero put a hand to his mouth and turned away, trying to hide a smile.

His boy was already becoming a gun snob. He was so proud.

A door slid open, and Izuku’s partner for the round walked through into the waiting room. It was another teen, tall and lanky, with dark hair that was combed backwards into simple spikes. He was wearing basketball shorts, a v-neck t-shirt, and burnt orange sneakers. Like Izuku, he was already wearing his vest, and had a casual, easy-going smile on his face.

“Hey man, the name’s Sero Hanta,” the tall teen said, waving casually. “You can call me whichever, both are fine by me.”

“M-Midoriya,” Izuku stuttered out, still not entirely used to being thrust into social interactions with his peers. “My name is Midoriya I-Izuku.”

The other teen grinned. “Cool, Midoriya, nice to meet you. I was worried I’d get paired up with some old guy again, so you’re a sight for sore eyes. What brings you here? You like laser tag?”

“It’s- it’s training. Sort of. I-I’m trying to be a hero, so I’ve been t-training and doing things to get ready for the e-entrance exams next year.”

Sero grinned wider, a sparkle in his eye. “Oh man, same. I’m here with two other friends of mine, they’re our opponents. We’re all shooting for hero schools, so we’ve been working out and practicing with stuff like this in our spare time. What’s your pick? Ketsubutsu? Shiketsu?”

“UA,” Izuku said softly. “I’m, ah. I’m aiming for UA. Because it was All Might’s alma mater.”

Sero shot the green-haired teen a thumb’s up. “Yeah man! That’s what I’m talking about! Same here. It’s the sky or bust, right? My aunt wants me to submit applications to a couple of schools, just to be safe, but I know it’s got to be UA or nothing. I’ve dreamed of being a top pro and helping people ever since my quirk came in. So many big names come out of UA, graduating from there is almost a requirement to go huge, you know?”

Izuku noticed that the taller teen had what appeared to be knobs on his elbows. Was that his quirk?

“Sure is,” Sero said happily, and Izuku choked slightly when he realized he had been mumbling again. “I can shoot a sticky tape out of my elbows. It’s not the coolest trick, but I’ve been working real hard to train it.” He patted each of his elbows, an easy grin on his face. “The knobs are part of the mutation that makes it work.”

Izuku flinched slightly when Sero had explained what his quirk did, like he was expecting some other shoe to drop that only he knew about. It was a subtlety that was not lost on Sero. He kept his easy going grin, but something flickered slightly in his eyes. ‘This kid… was he bullied?’

“What about you, man?” Sero asked, trying to keep things casual. He’d be a pretty poor hero hopeful if he didn’t want to help people in distress when he saw them, and Midoriya was definitely in some kind of distress. “What’s your quirk?”

Izuku flinched again, as Sero unknowingly dropped exactly the other shoe he had been afraid of. “I, ah. I don’t- I don’t have one,” he mumbled out, averting his eyes.

Sero’s eyes narrowed slightly as he suddenly became uncomfortably aware of exactly what the problem was.

Yes. Midoriya was being bullied. And it was obvious why. The black-haired teen had assumed he just had a nervous disposition, but being quirkless? Suddenly that twitchy stutter and mumble felt a lot more ominous. Sero had never even met somebody his age who didn’t have a quirk. Being quirkless was something you'd expect to hear about somebody's grandmother or something. Being quirkless in their generation… just what had the other teen been through?

Sero didn’t know. But he knew what a hero would do.

Sero grinned wider and shot finger guns at the green-haired teen, who looked like he was considering the merits of trying to escape by climbing through an air vent. “Wow man, that’s really cool. I think that’s super respectable. Good on you.”

For the second time that month, Izuku’s brain screeched to a halt as it attempted to shift gears without a clutch. He wasn’t… what? Did Sero just say he thought Izuku was cool?

“Sure did,” the other teen said, still smiling that easy smile of his, and Izuku just wanted to die, why couldn’t he ever stop mumbling, he needed a gag with his hero costume.

Sero chuckled. “I don’t think it’s that bad. But yeah, you’re cool. Look, my quirk is tape. I got made fun of a lot by other kids, so I know how it is. But I didn’t let it stop me from chasing my dreams, and it looks like you didn’t let it stop you, either. So yeah, you’re real cool.”

Sero leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “People like you and me, we always have to work twice as hard just to get half as far as the people who were born lucky. People with flashy quirks have it easy, that’s just the way it is. And it would be easy to be bitter, sure, but what’s the point in that? Bitterness never helped anybody. Just because you have to fight harder to succeed doesn’t mean you can’t succeed at all. Isn’t that what you should focus on? That you can? That’s what I think, anyway.”

Izuku nodded. “It- it was hard, sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But I never wanted to give up. I wanted to help people. Everyone… people told me that I should just be a doctor or something. But there was something in me that just wouldn’t…”

Izuku trailed off, averting his eyes, but Sero nodded, grinning. “I get it. It would feel like settling, right?”

Izuku flinched again, and then waved his hands frantically. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a doctor or a police officer, it’s just-!”

Sero laughed. “Nah man, really, I get it. You had your dream, and it gave you strength. And people told you to give up on your dream and be realistic.” He patted his own elbow knobs ruefully.

“But you know what?” Sero said, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially.

“W-what?” Izuku said, finally looking the taller teen in the eyes.

“Screw realistic,” Sero said, a wide smirk on his face. “I want to be a hero.”

Sero stood up off the wall and brushed down the side of his shorts. “We all have our dreams, and some of us have an easier time chasing them than others. Going after yours no matter what and refusing to let anybody tell you otherwise? That’s cool. You’re a cool guy, Midoriya, and don’t ever let anybody tell you otherwise. We’re both gonna have to bust our asses to get into UA, we’ll have to work twice as hard for half the gains that other people get. But you know what? We’ll make it. We both will.”

Izuku choked slightly, blinking rapidly. Sero… he really meant that, didn’t he? He really thought Izuku would make it. Not All Might, or Gran Torino. Somebody his own age thought he could do it.

That- that was a first. He didn’t know what to say.

However, fortune chose to smile on Izuku for a change, and he was literally saved by the bell. A flashing light went on in the waiting room, and a blaring alarm like something from a space ship began sounding.

Sero grinned, hefting his chosen weapon, a laser rifle, up to his shoulder. “It’s showtime! Come on, Midoriya! Let’s show those two knuckleheads what it takes to go pro!”

What happened next was extremely one-sided.

Torino watched the proceedings with a critical eye, evaluating. What he saw was better than what he had expected to see when he and Toshinori had first hashed out this particular venture. The kid was once again pulling ahead.

It would be unkind to the other three teens in the arena to say they were totally outclassed, and it wouldn’t be true, either. They were scoring points, they were still in the match. It wasn’t a total blowout. But all of their experience with firearms had clearly come from laser tag matches and video games.

Izuku, by contrast, had already fed enough rounds through small caliber firearms at the Musutafu Targeting Range to qualify as a fully-fledged police officer, at least as far as range time was concerned. Thanks to Toshinori’s gun-nut tendencies, the kid had fired and handled everything from the old-style New Nambu revolvers used by the pre-quirk Japanese police to the modern “Neo Sakura” law enforcement sidearm, a Japanese-exclusive police pistol inspired by current American and German designs. Like most modern law enforcement guns in the age of quirks, it was designed to feed standard rounds, but could handle higher calibers and more exotic loads if necessary.

The guns Izuku had seen and fired that first day had, in fact, been Neo Sakuras.

Thanks to Toshinori, Izuku had practiced with just about every gun Japanese law enforcement had ever used since swords were abandoned as impractical. And not only did he have experience with the guns, but he had been taught the proper stances to fire them with. Power Point, Isosceles, Chapman, Strong Hand Retention, Monet-Grupp. Even if there was no recoil to deal with in a fake toy gun, the kid had been drilled on the correct ways to stand and move. He knew how to minimize the profile he presented while accurately returning fire from partial, full, and no cover.

Izuku knew enough now to mostly know what not to do, and he was starting to reach a point where he could recognize the mistakes in others and take advantage of them.

There was a lot more for the teen to learn. He might have enough range experience to qualify as a police officer, but to be brutally honest, those standards had never been terribly high to begin with. Police, like heroes, were keepers of the peace. Not soldiers. The kid had a long way to go as a pro hero in training before Torino would be satisfied that he had successfully stolen that particular skillset and made it into a tool in his arsenal.

But this was a firm start. A strong foundation. As flawed as it was, the skills he was developing were already starting to show fruit.

To say nothing of Toshinori, who looked like he was on the verge of having some sort of minor breakdown over how proud he was that their kid was handing a couple of other teens their asses at laser tag.

Torino grinned from the observation deck as the klaxon blared, signaling the end of the round. The finals scores hung from the dark ceiling in stark neon lights.

Izuku’s two-man team had more than doubled the score of the other two-man group. And between all four players, Izuku was responsible for nearly half of all the landed shots that round. So much for it not being a blowout. The green-haired teen had pulled ahead and refused to stop running full tilt towards his goals. That's exactly what Gran Torino liked to see. 

‘Not bad, kiddo. Eight out of ten. You’re getting there.’

After returning his gear and exiting the arena, Izuku was nearly bowled over backwards as the two teens who had been their opponents rushed him. They were both talking over each other, making it impossible to hear anything they said.

Sero grinned, putting a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Sorry for their bad manners, Midoriaya, but these two idiots are Kaminari Denki and Ashido Mina.”

The first teen was another boy with spiky blonde hair and a black highlight in the shape of a lighting bolt. He was wearing a white t-shirt with black cargo pants, a bulky metal wallet chain, and large, heavy boots. A bracelet of mixed wooden beads was wrapped around his wrist, and he had a pair of dog tags around his neck.

He rubbed the back of his head ruefully. “Ha, sorry about that, the name’s Denki. Kaminari Denki,” the blonde said apologetically.

He was elbowed aside by the other teen, a girl with bubblegum pink skin and slightly darker, fluffy pink hair. She had golden eyes with black sclera and a pair of small twisted horns poking out of the hair of her upper forehead. She was wearing a sporty halter top, drawstring shorts, and knee-high socks with sneakers. She had also pulled an oversized t-shirt on over her halter top that looked like it had come from the glamrock floor. It was stonewashed black, with the featureless white outlines of some of the Silver Mountain mascots striking poses while brandishing guitars and microphones. The English word ROCK was embossed across the front of it in glittering sequins.

“Hi, I’m Ashido Mina, and how on earth did you DO that!?” the pink girl exclaimed breathlessly, practically vibrating in excitement.

Izuku felt overwhelmed. Talking with Tooru hadn’t been easy, but at least she had been invisible! He had almost had a breakdown when talking to Sero earlier, he wasn’t sure his heart was ready for this.

“I, u-um. I’ve b-been doing p-police training,” he managed to stutter out, while the fluffy pink girl stared at him excitedly like he was divulging the secrets of the universe. “So I’ve, u-uh. I’ve s-shot some real guns b-before.”

“That’s so cool!” Ashido hissed, her eyes wide. “Are you going to join the police?”

Thankfully for Izuku’s disintegrating dignity, Sero was the one who fielded that question. The black haired teen shook his head.

“Nah, he’s aiming for UA. Just like us.”

Kaminari grinned widely. “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! You’ve got to go big or go home, am I right?” He playfully punched Izuku’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Kaminari’s eyes widened. “Wait! If you’re doing cop stuff for hero training, then that means you know how to drive, right?”

Izuku blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Y-yes?” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder slightly. “I’ve been, uh. I’ve b-been learning how to drive. Mostly in m-manual.”

Kaminari started at Izuku for a moment in shock. “Dude. You can drive stick? Are you serious?”

He suddenly grabbed Izuku by the arm and started dragging him off towards the VR area of the floor. “I can’t believe I’ve found somebody else who can do stick shift. Everybody else I know can barely drive automatic. You’ve GOT to try this racing MMO. Ever heard of Redline 4: World Tour? They have a kiosk for it here with headsets and everything. We’ll make an account for you and I’ll friend you, then I can loan you copies of my cars. Do you know how to drift?”

“Aw, no fair!” Ashido exclaimed, as a stunned Izuku was lead away. “We all agreed we were going to do Rhythm Factory next while waiting for our turn again!”

Before she could run after the two teens, however, Sero leaned over and began whispering in her ear. The pink girl’s eyes widened in shock as she focused on Izuku’s retreating back.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I can’t think of any other reason,” Sero admitted quietly. “You saw how he flinched and stuttered, what do you think?”

Black and golden eyes narrowed dangerously.

Ashido Mina hated bullies.

The next two hours passed in a blur for Izuku. Kaminari, who kept insisting Izuku call him Denki, had practically kidnapped him and dragged Izuku off to play a very realistic and detailed driving simulator. Izuku learned two things very quickly.

The first is that he knew absolutely nothing about the technical details of cars. The first time he opened the tab showing the specifications of his car, he was confronted with an incomprehensible wall of sliders and check boxes. He couldn’t back out fast enough, terrified of touching anything.

The second is that getting behind the VR-simulated wheel of a souped up Italian hypercar and going from 0 to 450 kilometers per hour in three seconds was a thrill like nothing else.

He did not know what this car was. He could not remember who manufactured it. He had not earned access to it, as Kaminari had sent the vehicle to him. He couldn’t even begin to understand the modifications Kaminari had made to it’s engine and systems to allow it to perform like this. He wasn’t even able to drive it for more than ten seconds before crashing it into a ditch or sending it careening off a cliff at slightly less than flight-capable speeds.

But none of that mattered. The first time he had put the pedal down all the way, he was hooked. The raw acceleration, the speed, the thrill of going that fast… it was addicting. Izuku hadn’t been able to stop grinning, and when Kaminari saw the expression on the other teen’s face, he just laughed.

“We’re going to the Alps,” the blonde said, picking a world area as the session host. “I’m going to show you how to drift."

As the world session loaded them into a gorgeous free roam area in Switzerland, Izuku received several notifications informing him that he had messages in his in-box. 

"In this game, you can gift cars to other people, and loan copies of cars out to friends," Kaminari explained, pulling up his own menu and making some selections. "The cars I've just loaned you are all tuned for drifting. Normally we'd start with an all-wheel drift car, but that's baby mode. Since you already know how to drive stick, I'm starting you off on some rear-wheel drift cars with manual transmission. It's harder to lose traction on demand with them, but they're much easier to control when you do."

The blonde-haired teen shot Izuku an eager, encouraging grin. "Trust me, dude, if you can learn to drift these, you can drift anything. What do you know about e-brakes?"

"N-nothing?" Izuku admitted hesitantly. 

Kaminari grinned wider. "Good."

Time flew by at the speed of cars screaming down winding mountain roads. It seemed like barely a minute had passed before Sero and Ashido were there, bringing them back for another round of laser tag. This time, it was Sero and Kaminari on one team and Izuku and Ashido on the other.

Somehow, the klaxon announcing the start of the round managed to sound before Izuku died of embarrassment from Ashido asking him so many questions about what he was doing to get ready for the entrance exams next year.

The round had barely ended before Ashido was dragging him off to some other part of the floor, sticking her tongue out Kaminari as she did so.

“Do you know how to dance?” the pink girl had asked him.

Izuku wished that the laser tag guns had been real, so somebody could have shot him before he had to dance on a pad in public with a pretty girl he barely knew.

Izuku stumbled his way through the first set with a barely passing grade, while Ashido, standing beside him, aced the round. She grabbed his arm and pulled him close, laughing, while the green-haired teen turned tomato red from the close, casual contact with such a pretty girl. "See, you can do it if you try! It's not that bad!"

Fortunately for Izuku’s crumbling sanity, no one else was near the Dance Factory machines. He would only have to humiliate and embarrass himself in front of the three overly-friendly people he had just met, and not a crowd of total strangers.

Unfortunately for Izuku, a tall, skeletal blonde was lurking nearby. Toshinori’s phone was out and recording everything while the man grinned.

And so, somehow, two hours seemed to pass almost in the blink of an eye, the group of teens alternating their time between various activities on the floor while they waited for another turn at the laser tag arena.

And all the while, Toshinori and Torino hovered nearby. Strangely enough, the ‘we will jump in for a few rounds later’ promise never materialized.

But Izuku never noticed.

It was starting to get late, and the two adults were going to need to get Izuku home soon.

But before they did, there was something Toshinori had been wanting to do.

“Hey Gran, can you keep an eye on young Midoriya for a bit?”

Torino snorted. He already knew where his former student wanted to go. “You want to try out that airgun range a few floors down, don’t you? The one where you order a gun and a drink as a combo off of their menu, and get to shoot while you drink.”

“They have health drinks on the menu, Gran,” the blonde replied with a straight face.

The old pro rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and replica cowboy guns, too. I know why you want to try it. Go on, get out of here, you star-spangled gorilla. Go play with your lever action rifles and silver plated revolvers. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

Torino watched as a man old enough to be the grandfather of most of the people on this floor did his best to walk away casually and act like he wasn’t a kid in a candy store. No wonder that gorilla had gotten all of them the annual premium passes.

For a man who lived such a spartan lifestyle behind closed doors, Toshinori certainly was willing to splash money around where the kid was concerned.

A peal of laughter echoed behind Torino. That blonde teen, Kaminari, had thrown an arm over Izuku’s shoulder and was talking animatedly about something as the group sat at a table. Izuku was giggling uncontrollably, a soda clutched in both hands. The pink girl, by contrast, had throw her head back and was laughing so hard she looked like she might fall off her seat. The other teen, Sero, was leaning towards the other two boys with a wide grin on his face, gesturing with a slice of pizza.

Their kid looked… happy. The laughter was genuine. The subtle tension in his shoulders was gone.

He looked his age.

A small, genuine smile graced Torino’s face, his lips quirking upwards.

He could make fun of the younger man all he wanted, but getting those passes had been the right idea after all. Not bad, Toshi. Not bad at all.

At this rate, Toshinori might actually make a half-decent teacher by the time UA took him on next year.

Years ago, something was shown on television that shouldn’t have been.

There is an intrinsic problem with combining show businesses and law enforcement and then outsourcing it to state-sanctioned third party mercenaries. Which is that occasionally, things can go wrong.

Under most circumstances, the media is equip to handle these ‘incidents.’ Even the most cutting-edge live feeds of hero activity and breaking news are on a minimum five-second delay. This is, explicitly, so that if the footage suddenly becomes graphic, or if things take a turn for the worse, the feed can be cut or redirected.

In theory, it’s a great plan.

In practice, the key word in the phrase “under most circumstances” is ‘most.’

State-subsidized news networks, or major private networks that receive significant government kickbacks, often have plenty of advanced equipment to let them manage their streams automatically.

However, even the most advanced and expensive systems can make mistakes. And smaller stations of lesser means can’t afford such luxuries to begin with, relying on manual overrides by living staff that keep a finger on the switch.

The modern media industry in the Age of Heroes walks a tightrope between breaking coverage and graphic content. Sometimes, in the grand circus act, a ball gets dropped.

Occasionally, something gets broadcast by accident that never should have aired.

One day, years ago, Bakugo Mitsuki walked into the living room to see the sunshine of her life, her beautiful little baby who looked almost exactly like her, staring at a horrific scene on the television.

A villain, breaching through the police cordon trying to contain the scene. Taller than the street lights and heavily muscled. Dark and reflective, with some sort of mutation that covered his body in a shell of black carbon.

He smashed into the crowd of watching civilians, ripping a man in half effortlessly. Passing through him like he wasn’t even there. Like a hand waved through the water of a running faucet.

A quirkless man. Some salaryman, middle-aged, who was just on the way to work. Who had gotten held up because of the crime scene. Who hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t asked for this, and never should have been there.

Who had lunged into the path of the villain as the police line broke, grabbing a small girl who was screaming and pushing her out of the way.

Who had died, horribly, for no good reason at all.

Mitsuki had swept down, grabbing her little angel away from the television and dragging her child into the kitchen. But ruby red eyes had watched over her shoulders even as they hustled out of the room. Those beautiful, innocent eyes drank in the blood and the screaming. Internally, a camera bulb went off with a silent flash, preserving the moment in stark relief. It became one of those rare childhood memories that does not fade. A snapshot that stays with you, undimmed by time.

The news station should have been chastised more for letting the footage get through. But instead, all the news talked about for weeks afterwards was that the man was quirkless. That he died because he was quirkless. That it was such a shame that he was quirkless.

That maybe he would still be alive, if only he had a quirk.

Bright red eyes saw it all. And something cold and hard, something bitter and sour, formed in the heart of a child.

Midoriya Izuku was four years old when he was diagnosed quirkless. When he learned that not all men are created equal.

His childhood friend, his best friend, ‘Kacchan,’ the only real friend Izuku had ever had, was five when their innocence was lost.

The world is a cruel place. And perhaps somewhere, an angel cried while playing the piano, singing a song for all that had been so callously ripped away. For words that should not have been said. For pictures that could not be unseen. For truths too bitter for a child’s soul.

But if they did, their music was drowned out in the cosmic wind. Their song never reached far enough through the dark and shivering void to comfort the unhappy earth. For Midoriya knew that men were not equal. And Bakugo knew that death would come for the weak, as sure as sunrise.

Men were not created equal. And all who profess otherwise announce to the world a beautiful and hypocritical lie. And death will come, like a ravening beast, to drink your blood and devour your heart. Only the strong could turn the tables and make the hunter the hunted. Only someone who always won, and never lost, who was always strong, and never weak, could square their shoulders and face it down.

Or so young Bakugo believed.

“I am here!” echoed out through the television screen over morning breakfast, announcing the arrival of All Might on the scene of disaster. And red eyes that were no longer innocent drank in the sight of overwhelming power. Of invincible might. Of guaranteed victory.

Deku saw the smile. Kacchan saw the strength. Both fell in love, but for very different reasons.

Little red riding hood, oh little red. The wolf is not yours to fight. Little pig, little pig, your house will not save you, though it be made of iron and stone. For every time you walk through these woods, you must get lucky and miss the wolf.

The wolf only needs to get lucky once.

Only the huntsman, you see, can fight the wolf. All others who challenge it are doomed to die. That is simply the way of the world.

It is not your story. It is not your fight. Stay home, little red. Stay home, little pig. Don’t go walking in the woods tonight. For there are wolves in the dark, in the shapes of men. And they are forever hungry.

Death is coming, and all who are not prepared for war should just… stand aside. That is what young Bakugo learned. A lesson bought for the price of innocence. Everyone else should just stay on the sidelines where they belong. Should go sit on the shelf like a pretty doll and watch, never meant to touch the dirt and grime of the world.

It’s for your own good.

Paradise given. Paradise lost. Paradise burns.

Time is a fire, and it consumes the past even as we race to stay ahead of it, the flames licking forever at our heels. There is no room for regrets. You cannot go back, you can never return. All that passes you by is lost forever, reduced to ashes. You can only move forwards. And no matter how much you might want to take something back… you can’t. It is already gone. The arrow, once loosed, cannot be recalled. For want of a nail, did the kingdom fall.

For want of a quirk, did a pure and noble love die.

Some trauma stays with you.

A bolt of lightning split the night, the roaring thunder of it echoing through Bakugo’s chest and rolling far away across endless sweeping hills.

A sea of flowers surrounded the blonde teen. They were roses. All of them, roses.

They were supposed to be white, for purity and innocence, for eternal loyalty. They were supposed to be pink, for joy and happiness, for appreciation. They were supposed to be- they were supposed to be red. Red for… red for…

They had no color. They were made of static, hissing and flickering quietly, casting dim light on the dark hills. The rain poured. The wind howled. The sky was black, and there were no stars. Bakugo was cold.

But the television, glowing with a steady neon white, was colder.

Nestled in a bed of static roses. Beckoning. Calling.

The teen didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see. But tired red eyes saw anyway. Traitorous feet drew closer, shoulders hunched against the wind.

This was an old story. An old scene. A recurring song and dance. And no matter how much the blonde struggled to turn aside with mounting fear and recognition, it meant nothing. Bakugo and the television drew closer to one another because that was what must happen.

Izuku was dressed in a suit, laughing casually behind a counter with another Izuku as they banally reported on the news.

A live feed showed a whole crowd of Izukus wearing an assortment of casual and business clothes, crowding up against the lurid yellow tape that denoted an active crime scene. Several Izukus in police uniforms waved and shouted at the crowd, trying to keep them back.

It was coming. Bakugo knew it was coming. It always came.

It happened in an instant, as it always did. One moment, there was excitement, anticipation. People gawking at the everyday spectacle of heroes fighting villains. The next, the villain was among them. A patrol car was launched into the air, spinning end-over-end as it flew, sirens bleating in a drawn-out wail. A police Izuku shouted and drew their gun, but was smashed aside with horrific ease, disappearing into the panicking mass.

Izukus shouted. Izukus ran. And there was one left in the suddenly deserted street, wearing a shabby everyman suit.

A little girl no older than five with blonde hair screamed. And Izuku moved, lunging into the path of faceless and nameless death.

The moment stretched, and stretched, it went on and on, like an illusionary faux-moving image of something that’s always about to hit you but never quite does. It raced towards the knife’s point of oblivion, faster and faster, but didn’t quite reach. Bakugo wanted to scream.

The teen feared the blood and wanted it. Let it never happen. Hurry up and get it over with. Please, anything but the waiting. Anything but the forever-not-quite.

The television was gone. The field was gone. But the heavens were still roaring in a torrential downpour, the whole world was made of fire and hissing static roses. Bakugo was there, standing in the street.

What?

This… this was new.

The street was burning, and everyone was screaming. Bakugo couldn’t breathe, ‘The slime! My explosions, I can’t- No, please, someone-!’

He was there, running. Running right at Bakugo, sprinting past the tall and featureless shadows of unmoving, judgmental heroes. Soot and dirt marring his school uniform. Singed and torn. Tears streaming down his face, his arm outstretched.

Izuku. Deku. Stupid, useless Deku.

‘Kacchan.’

Deku, who never stopped putting himself in more and more danger, chasing after heroes and quirks no matter who told him to stop.

‘Kacchan.’

Deku, who never stopped trying to intervene in fights and be the peacekeeper, even when kids with criminal records were involved and quirks started coming out.

‘Kacchan.’

Deku, who kept talking about heroes and dreams like they still had a chance. Like the whole world hadn’t ended in a whimper and a broken promise, written down on a special ed permission slip labeled ‘quirkless’ and placed on their homeroom teacher’s desk with the finality of a casket closing.

‘Kacchan.’

Deku, who never took a fucking hint, who kept twisting the knife over what they had both lost that day, who wouldn’t just let it go and move on.

‘KACCHAN.’

Bakugo saw it coming. The blonde always did. Bakugo saw the figure coming, looming up out of the fire. Blowing through the shadows of the heroes like they weren’t even there.

Death. Death was coming, a looming anthropomorphic hulk of dark inevitability. Crashing through with the speed of a derailed train, with enough force to splash through a man’s body like he was made of water and air instead of flesh and bone.

Izuku didn’t see it. Deku didn’t see it. Deku was shouting, crying, reaching out.

‘You looked like you needed saving!’

He was too busy trying to save Bakugo to see death screaming towards him like a crashing plane, like a collapsing building, like a natural disaster.

Deku was too busy chasing after the person who told him to jump off a roof and wish for a quirk in his next life to see the deafening wall of noise and violence barreling towards him with all the uncaring cruelty of an avalanche.

I’m too useless. Too weak. I should have never been captured, never been turned into a hostage, none of this should be happening. I’m supposed to be the best, the strongest. All my fault- it’s all my fault-

Bakugo’s arms were moving through molasses, through slime, something thick and heavy holding them down even as the blonde struggled to rise up and reach out. To stop a stumbling, singed, doe-eyed boy from running directly into the fire.

Directly into death.

Bakugo prayed then for the stretching moment, for the indefinite delay. For the knife that endlessly stabbed without ever piercing. For once, the blonde longed for the waiting, begged for it with blind and silent desperation.

The teen’s prayers went unanswered.

The roses were burning. The world was burning.

The green-haired teen that Bakugo wasn’t fast enough to reach was burning. His uniform on fire. Smoke trailing from his hair.

Izuku reached out a hand, a desperate and frightened smile on his face.

And all the roses finally found their color. Red. Red, with Deku’s blood, splashed across them and the entire burning street.

Bakugo tried to scream, but the slime flooded in, and-

There was a thud, dull pain, and thrashing mixed with curses. Bakugo had fallen out of the bed.

Barely able to restrain the urge to blow up the bedsheets to escape them faster, the blonde staggered into the bathroom and promptly threw up directly into the sink. It only lasted for a few seconds, but for the teen it felt like years. Sour slime and bitter bile mixed with the chunks and spices of last night’s dinner. A shaking hand turned the hot water on, flushing the mess down the drain.

The teen spat, and rinsed, and spat, and rinsed, trying to get the taste out. Bleary, haunted eyes glanced at the digital clock on the wall. 1:22.

‘I never asked you to save me! Huh? Well?! I could have beaten him myself! How dare a quirkless failure like you pity me! Trying to win me over or something? Don’t you dare mock me, you stupid nerd!’

Time is a fire. A terrible, burning flame.

Please just be safe. Please just stop following me. You can’t come and you know why. Stop playing stupid. Stop mocking me by playing stupid.

It consumes all that we allow to slip past us.

You know it has to be this way. Don’t keep twisting the knife. Please. Just- just let it go.

And no matter how much we might wish otherwise.

If you keep following me… you’ll die.

We can never go back.

Izuku took a running leap off the top of the skyscraper, laughing. Sero flew past him in an upwards arc, using his tape to swing from one tall building to the next like some pre-quirk comic book hero. The black haired teen shot Izuku a friendly, challenging grin as he sailed up and away. Izuku returned it. On Izuku’s other side, Ashido leapt, glittering streamers trailing from her costume as she laughed.

Izuku felt free. Izuku felt alive. He had no fear, no hesitation. The hundred story drop wasn’t terrifying. It was thrilling. He felt a spark of something inside of him, and with a twist, he was flinging himself through the air after Sero and Ashido. He flexed the quirk, his quirk, and felt it leap inside him, power surging through him.

Far below them, a powerful engine roared, and Kaminari was there behind the wheel of a souped-up blur, half racecar red and half armored chrome. The blonde teen gunned the engine, keeping pace with the three heroes swinging and leaping among the rooftops.

The cityscape was full of inky black glittering glass and bright, bright neon lights. The streets were made of silver, and the buildings were strange and beautiful. The moon hung huge over the horizon, and the sky was full of stars. They all raced across the city, running towards a signal shining bright in the night. A beacon was reaching up and touching the clouds, calling for help. Calling for heroes. And in the corners of his eyes, he saw others rising up out of the lights and shadows of the city to join them.

They were heroes. They were strong, and brave, and free, and they had no fear.

The soft, midnight light of the moon and the city filtered down through Izuku’s bedroom window, making the waves and curls of the sleeping teen’s hair shine.

Izuku dreamed of Neo-Tokyo that night.

And on the corner of the teen’s desk, sitting in a small pot, the bruised but healing sage plant glittered green and silver in the moonlight.

Chapter Text

A car pulled up outside the Midoriya apartment. Torino grunted as he looked at it. It was a Might Tower vehicle, but at least Toshinori had chosen to have some tact today, because it didn’t have any huge, obvious markers that shouted to the world that it was from the motor pool of the most famous hero on the planet. The typical giant decals of screaming bald eagles and American flags with racecar flames were conspicuously absent. It was not a garish red, white, and striped blue, nor was it covered in stars.

In fact, only the serial number on the license plate gave it away as a vehicle from the Might Agency motor pool. The top of the license plate listed Tokyo as the prefecture, then there was the standard one letter four number hash of all Japanese plates. Beneath that was a small line of numbers at the bottom of the plate, notating it as a vehicle that was officially registered to a hero agency. That number, 00001, was the only identifying feature that marked it as having anything to do with All Might.

Yes, the hero agencies did all have to get new plates issued every time the official rankings changed.

Torino pushed his suitcase into the trunk of the vehicle without waiting for the chauffeur to step out and offer help. He considered it a point of pride that he could fit every worldly belonging he cared about into one suitcase, and he wasn’t about to let anybody help him move his own luggage. He was old, damnit, not decrepit.

A door at the top of the stairs on the landing of the apartment opened, revealing two crying Midoriyas. The mother and son duo were putting on an impressive waterworks show, hugging each other and saying goodbye. If it kept up for much longer, they might flood the street.

“Oi, kiddo. Finish hugging your mother and come on! It’s not every day you get invited to visit I-Island, you know!”

Fortunately, Toshinori had shown up much earlier than Torino himself had, and helped the teen pack. Having known the kid’s mother for about a month now, Torino felt it was wise to have somebody impartial supervise the process. She was liable to pack half the apartment up to send off with the boy if nobody kept her grounded.

Speaking of the devil, the tall skeletal blonde appeared next to Torino, a pair of suitcases in either hand. He also attempted to put them in the back of the car on his own, but apparently the chauffeur had taken Gran’s rushing of things personally. With the crisp, clean movements of a true professional, the driver physically interjected himself between Toshinori and the trunk before taking the suitcases out of the taller blonde’s hands and stowing them away.

Gran couldn’t help but grin. Toshinori always did have good taste in hired help. Then again, it took an entire circus worth of hands to keep up with the Might Agency, even though only one full-time pro operated out of it. It was a testament to being the most famous person on the planet. If his former pupil hadn’t had a good eye for talent, it was doubtful All Might as a brand would have made it this far.

As the driver discreetly walked away to a distance where he was both absent but available, Toshinori cleared his throat.

“For the record, I still don’t wholly approve of manipulating young Izuku or lying to him about parts of his training,” the tall blonde said quietly. “However, if you’re going to insist on keeping him in the dark while having him analyze random people, then I think we should do it properly, with a concrete goal in mind.”

As far as Torino was concerned, having the kid analyze Nezu was far from random. It was a very calculated and deliberate move. But he held his peace, because he was curious to know where Toshinori was going with this.

The other man didn’t make him wait. From somewhere inside his baggy civilian clothes, Toshinori produced a sealed manila business folder and a small, palm-sized cardboard box that was taped shut.

“I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a private banking account for young Izuku under the pseudonym of Sage. Part of the reason I came so early today was to have his mother sign off on the paperwork to make it completely legitimate. I also explained my plan to her, and she approves.”

The older pro’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead in surprise. Toshinori taking the initiative like this, he really was taking his job as a teacher seriously, wasn’t he?

Torino grinned approvingly as Toshinori handed him the manila folder. “I assume this is our copy of the paperwork for the account?” the older man asked.

Toshinori nodded, before handing over the small box. Torino took it, curiosity written on his face.

“Those are business cards,” Toshinori clarified, a soft smile on his face. “Custom made by an American company based out of California. I had it done as a rush job and express shipped.”

With a flicker of movement that very few living eyes could have followed, Torino cut the tape with a knife that appeared and disappeared so fast it was like it was never there. He popped the small box open and looked inside, before softly whistling in approval.

It was a stack of crisp, clean business cards, wrapped neatly in clear plastic. They were thick cut and glossy, with the background done in a solid, professional dark green. There was a thin, bright silver boarder on all the edges, and in the same reflective silver, the name ‘Sage’ was printed across the top in both English and Japanese, along with the words ‘Professional Quirk Consultant.’ Below that, there were several lines worth of contact information also printed in silver, including a phone number that Torino recognized as one that redirects straight to the desk of Toshinori’s civilian identity as a secretary of All Might’s main office.

And in the background, almost invisible as it had been printed using just a slightly darker shade of green, was a large stylized ‘S’ and a simple, line-traced picture of the trumpet-like flower of the sage plant.

“Professional,” Torino said, and he meant it. Even though the glossy cards weren’t unwrapped yet, they still looked good even through the plastic. “It’s clean. Catchy. The solid green background is nice. You also don’t have anything here that references your own name or brand, which I like. You’re letting him stand on his own.”

“I know some pretty good people,” Toshinori said, smiling down at the package. “David knows the owner. They came very recommended. Those are for you, if anybody needs a way to contact young Izuku in a professional capacity. Let me know if you need more, I ordered them in bulk.”

Torino nodded, secreting the stack of wrapped cards away in a hidden pocket and handing the empty box back to Toshinori.

But the retired pro was too sharp to be distracted by something like a shiny business card.

“So what’s this plan of yours?” the older man asked, his eyes sharp and glittering.

The taller man glanced quickly up at the landing, where the two Midoriyas were still saying their goodbyes.

“It’s a car,” he said, lowering his voice even more.

“A car?” Torino asked curiously.

“My plan is for the money he makes from consulting to be wired to this private account. Preferably, he won’t know about it at all. His mother said she would help us hide it from him when I explained why. Then, for his birthday, I thought I could take him shopping for a brand new car, but then show him that the money is his, not mine.”

Torino slowly grinned, his eyes glittering. “Show him the fruits of his labor all at once? I like that.”

Toshinori shrugged somewhat helplessly. “As I said, I don’t really approve of hiding things from him. But since you insist that it’s the best way to help him believe in himself, I tried to think of a real goal to work towards. Since we’re already getting him a driver’s license anyway, helping him earn enough for a car of his own seemed obvious.”

“It’s a great idea, but there aren’t exactly many places to park around here,” Torino said, glancing at the neighborhood surrounding them. “There’s a reason most people just use trains or the subway to commute.”

“I thought of that,” Toshinori admitted. “My plan was for it to be a bait and switch. His birthday is July 15^th, so we’ll be celebrating it near the end of the training. That’s more than enough time for him to earn enough from consulting to buy a decent new car. I was planning to let him believe I’m buying him a car as a present, but then show him the account and everything he’s earned. I was going to give him a Might Tower motorpool sticker to go with the car he picks so he has a place to leave it, along with my real gift.”

It took all of Torino’s professionalism to not burst out laughing. As it was, he still chuffed under his breath.

The old man didn’t have the heart to tell the younger pro that for an ascended fanboy like Izuku, being able to park your car at Might Tower and have it serviced and delivered to you by Might Tower personnel whenever you called would probably be a better birthday present than any ‘real gift’ the other man would be able to think up.

The kid already looked like he was going to have a heart attack when they pushed him into situations with other teens his age. Getting that sticker might actually finish Izuku off.

“You never even gave one of those to Mirai, and he was your sidekick,” Torino pointed out, trying to contain his laughter.

Toshinori, oblivious to why the other man was so amused, frowned slightly. “I thought about giving him one, but I don’t think Nighteye owned a car. In fact, I’m not sure I ever saw him drive anywhere, either. He might not even know how.”

Which wasn’t that unusual, for a small country with such a high standard of living like Japan. There were quite a few people who lived in the greater Tokyo metro area who didn’t know how to drive, simply because it wasn’t necessary for them.

Even so, Torino couldn’t resist ribbing the younger man about it.

“And I’m sure it never crossed your mind how it would look to give your apprentice something your own sidekick never got. You’re liable to provoke a super-fanboy civil war, you know?”

The taller blonde blushed slightly and looked away. Torino finally burst out laughing. So the gorilla had thought about it!

Classic Toshi. Gran didn’t know what was funnier, that the other man was capable of being petty after all, or that even when he was being petty, he was still polite.

Apparently, Torino’s laughter was the signal for the Inko to give her son one last tear-filled squeeze before finally letting him go. There was a flurry of final goodbyes, along with some firm demands to behave and accompanying promises to call her as soon as they had arrived, and Izuku was scrambling down the steps, a carry-sized duffle bag hanging from a strap on his shoulder.

The chauffeur smoothly appeared at the speed of professionalism and had the bag inside the trunk before Izuku could even realize he’d been relieved of it. Then everyone was piling into the ordinary-looking but still very upscale car, and they were off, Izuku shouting one final love you out the window as they pulled away.

Even the act of flying out to I-Island was an incredible experience for Izuku. He had been on a plane a few times in his life, but the jet that taxied out on the runway to meet them was like nothing he had ever seen before.

It was smaller than a commercial airliner, a private aircraft instead of a public one, and the interior was nicer than his family apartment. It was even nicer than Kacchan’s house, and both of the adult Bakugo’s worked in the fashion industry.

There was a flat-screen television, a black marble kitchenette, a bar, and two overstuffed black leather sofas with matching black reclining chairs. And that was just the main room. There were four rooms in total, including two bedrooms in the back and a full-sized bathroom with a stand-up shower. The last room, which he had walked through when boarding to get to this lounge area in the middle, was some sort of briefing center, with several computers embedded into the walls and a satellite uplink that looked nicer than what some pro hero agencies had in their actual offices.

Even the internal ceiling of the plane was tall enough to accommodate All Might’s full-sized and impressive standing height.

If it hadn’t been for the porthole windows, you would have been hard-pressed to guess the interior was an airplane at all.

There had been a bit of fanfare on the runway, as unlike the car, the plane did have the giant overlapping ‘AM’ logo on the side of it in All Might’s signature golden bars. Fortunately, airport security was used to dealing with high profile heroes that need to travel, so they were able to board the plane and take off without being mobbed by the press.

Once again, Izuku’s thoughts wandered back to some of his internet friends, with Modok’s ‘Illusionmight’ theory at the forefront. How had All Might dodged all the attention and notice directed at him for so long?

Izuku scribbled it down in his current notebook. It was something to research. Questions for later.

Toshinori had elected to sleep for most of the way, saying he needed to conserve as much energy as he could so he could stay transformed for the full duration of the trip. Apparently, almost every square inch of I-Island was covered in security cameras, which meant his mentor couldn’t let his control slip for even a moment.

That left Izuku alone with a quiet Gran Torino and a muted television, playing international hero news with the closed captions turned on.

Several hours had passed as Izuku flipped back and forth through some of his older notebooks, touching up some of his old entries with minor corrections, or making notes of certain topics he wanted to revisit in a fresh book.

His notebooks were more than just hero analysis. They were diaries of a sort, containing his thoughts, ideas, and descriptions of what he had done or what had happened to him that day. They contained lists of things he wanted to research, drawings he had sketched, and even some snippets of personal writing and poetry. He poured his heart into them. Many of his newer ones were exclusively about heroes and villains, but that was only because of something that had happened years ago.

Some of the more persistent bullies a few grades back had gotten their hands on the notebook he was using at the time, and humiliated him by reading parts of it out to the class. After that, Izuku had left all his journal-like notebooks at home, where no one could see them and where they couldn’t be lost or damaged. He had learned his lesson.

Come to think of it, the only reason he got that particular notebook back at all was because Kacchan retrieved it for him. It was one of the last times the blonde had fought other bullies for Izuku’s sake.

‘Ha? You wanna be a hero so bad? I’ve got a time-saving idea for you. Go take a swan dive off the roof and wish for a quirk in your next life!’

Izuku closed his eyes, swallowing down the sting of tears that threatened to fall. He wasn’t even angry about the things the blonde had said and done, not really. He had never been one to hold a grudge, and he couldn’t do it now, either. That spiteful heat, the angry black fire, just slipped through his fingers. It always had. His mother was the same way; he was pretty sure he got it from her.

Izuku used to feel a lot of things about Bakugo, once. Sometimes even anger. Now he just felt empty.

It hurt, to lose someone you had been so close to. Even though he knew they hadn’t really been friends in a long, long time.

He would have understood, if Bakugo had chosen to just not be involved in what was going on. That would have been painful in it’s own way, but he would have understood. But to actively join the bullies the blonde used to defend Izuku against… it had hurt. It had hurt so much more, to hear that from Kacchan’s mouth. It was like the difference between some random stranger telling you to kill yourself and your own mother saying it.

They had been friends. They had been to all of each other’s birthday parties. They were going to become heroes together. They were going to open their own agency. And even if all of that had just been a bunch of hot air and dumb, childish dreams… they still had each other. Wasn’t that worth more?

They had been childhood friends. Did that- did it not mean anything, to Bakugo? Had it ever?

He was glad he had Kaminari, Sero, and Mina. He was glad for Tooru, even though he didn’t think he knew her all that well yet. He was even glad for Hatsume, in her own manic way.

Izuku was slowly closing out an old and painful chapter of his life. But there was a part of him that didn’t want to. There was a part of him that didn’t want to believe it was too late. That maybe all it would take was one phone call, or one accident, or one awkward conversation, and everything would be okay. That things would go back to the way they used to be.

But he knew that was a lie. It was already too late. It had been too late for years. How could things go back to the way they were when Izuku himself barely remembered what that was even like? How could everything just be okay again when the bad times completely outweighed the good?

There was a part of Izuku that didn’t want to give up on Bakugo… but he knew that Bakugo had given up on him years ago.

Izuku had known how this would end. He had known it for a long, long time, had quietly accepted the inevitability of it. But knowing it had to happen and actually doing it weren’t the same thing.

The only happy ending was to accept it all for what it was and move on.

Even if it did make him feel like his heart was breaking.

Izuku sighed, and scrubbed away the prickling tears that hadn’t fallen yet. His notebooks got damaged enough as it was, the last thing he needed was to cry on this one. The teen flipped to a clean page, ready to start taking notes on some of the international heroes on the television. But as he did, he noticed that Gran Torino was not only awake, but looking directly at him. There was an unreadable emotion in the older man’s dark eyes.

“You alright, kid?” the retired pro asked softly, keeping his voice down. Toshinori was asleep in one of the bedrooms in the back, so he probably wouldn’t hear them anyway, but the former teacher didn’t want to take the chance.

Izuku sniffed loudly before nodding, scrubbing at his face again. “Y-yes,” he said, stuttering slightly. “I think I will be. Sir.”

Torino continued to look at him for a long moment before nodding slowly.

“It was never easy, being quirkless,” the older man said, leaning back in his chair. “Not in my lifetime.”

Somehow, Izuku wasn’t surprised that the old man had read him like a book.

“Toshinori used to get that same kind of expression, back when I first knew him,” Torino continued, almost like he had heard Izuku’s thoughts. “Back then, he was even skinnier than you are now, and not a whole lot taller, either. But you know what?”

“What?”

Torino smiled softly. The expression wasn’t one of his usual grins, but it seemed much more genuine. “As time went on, he got that expression less and less. Then one day he never got it again. None of us knew that day for what it was at the time, Nana and I didn’t know it would be the last time we would see him like that. But it happened. It hurt him, going through what he did. And it hurt you, too. But that last day came for him. And it will come for you too, kid. I’m sure of it.”

Izuku pressed his lips together tightly, and stared down at the blank pages of his newest notebook.

‘As a quirkless kid, I didn’t have much worth living for. I didn’t even have real parents, something all the other kids constantly reminded me of. I think you know how cruel some children can be, don’t you?’

That last day will come, huh?

Izuku wanted to believe in that.

“T-thank you, sir,” the teen said after a long moment.

Torino smiled that gentle smile again. “You don’t need to thank me for believing in you, kid. I’ll do that for free anytime.”

Izuku sniffed, rapidly blinking the tears away, and resisted the urge to scrub at his face again. He began writing almost on autopilot while watching the television. A large dam on a major river in Russia had been attacked by villains, and the hero agency that responded was headed by a thermal manipulation hero who had used fire to defeat the criminals and ice to patch over the damage done to the dam. It looked like they were unable to create either element themselves, but could freely manipulate any fire or ice that was already present in their immediate vicinity. Several of the man’s sidekicks seemed to be chosen specifically so they could create the environments he needed.

Izuku had so many questions about how that quirk worked, and slipping into the analysis was an escape from his raw emotions. Slowly, he could feel himself become calmer as he sketched out his observations, the tension inside him unwinding.

He wasn’t the only one paying attention to the news reel, though, since Torino waited until the footage ended and a commercial break began before speaking again.

“The reason we arranged for this trip is to help you build connections for the future,” the old man said softly, still trying to keep his voice down.

Izuku turned around to look at him in surprise. “Connections?” the young man, matching his elder’s lowered volume.

Torino nodded. “Think about it for a minute. Toshi didn’t meet David Shield until after he had already graduated UA and left to further his education in America. The man was iconic as All Might’s support tech, but from your perspective as a student, he didn’t make that connection until very late. Riddle me this, fanboy. Who is All Might’s most famous student?”

Izuku was surprised at the question, but he didn’t even need to think to provide the answer. “Star and Stripe, of course.” The top pro in America was a phenomenon all by herself. One of the few people who was nearly as famous as All Might. And one of the even fewer people who was nearly as strong.

Torino nodded. “Exactly. Another connection he only made after he left UA. And I’m sure you know his sidekick, right? He only ever had the one.”

Of course Izuku knew the answer to that. Even more than the last question, the identity of All Might’s one and only sidekick was a big deal for the teen.

“Sasaki ‘Sir Nighteye’ Mirai,” Izuku said softly. The stoic, businesslike pro was an old inspiration for Izuku. He had no combat quirk, no mutations, nothing. Only a somewhat secretive data collection quirk that helped him function as a detective-style pro hero. Izuku believed it may have been a type of touched based telesympathy, or perhaps some form of limited precognition. Confirmation was impossible, since the man held an Underground license. But in spite of having to fight effectively quirkless, Sir Nighteye had still fought multiple villains in public, shoulder-to-shoulder with All Might himself. He never let the passive nature of his own quirk slow him down or hold him back.

Small wonder Izuku had looked up to the man. He was living proof that Izuku’s dreams were more than just childish delusions. If Sir Nighteye could do it… then Izuku could, too. Sasaki Mirai was proof that the concept of the quirkless pro hero was more than just a pipe dream.

Torino nodded again. “That’s right. Mirai is another important person in the chronicle of All Might as a hero. And he’s yet another person Toshi never met at UA.”

“I’m noticing a bit of a theme, here.” Izuku admitted. “You’re bringing up people All Might met outside of UA.”

The old man sitting across from him grinned. “Yes, I am. Which is, like I said, the real reason why we’re bringing you here.”

Izuku understood. “Everything you brought up only happened after Toshinori became a pro hero. And yet without those things, All Might may never have become as big an icon as he did. You want me to have a head-start on building connections.”

“That’s right,” the retired pro replied cheerfully, though he still kept his voice down. “On your own, it might take you years, just like it took Toshi years. But if we can open some doors for you now, then why wait?”

Izuku had already been excited that he was going to be visiting I-Island. It was the only place in the world where public quirk use was completely legalized. The artificial floating island was a paradise for quirk nerds and science fair geeks alike. He knew for a fact that Hatsume would probably manhandle him half-to-death demanding details when he got back.

But to realize that he was here for something more serious than just tourism made his stomach lurch with excitement. He felt jittery. This was his first concrete step towards becoming a professional superhero.

“The I-Expo is next year,” the teen couldn’t help but point out. “That would have been a more optimal time to go.”

Which was true. After the Dawn of Quirks had ended, there had been a concerted effort to bring back many older traditions as a way of pushing the idea of peace and cooperation. One of those restored traditions was the World’s Fair, and the I-Expo was a major part of that. Every two years, one of several rotating major venues on the international stage would host the World’s Fair. And next year, it would once again be I-Island’s turn. Their version of the Fair was called the I-Expo, and it had a long history of going the extra mile in a spectacular fashion.

After all, it’s pretty hard to beat the kind of spectacle that can be created for international tourists and business interests when public quirk use is not only permitted, but actively encouraged. And since the artificial island was owned primarily by corporations, huge amounts of advertising money were funneled into the event.

“Sure,” the old man said, grinning again. “There’s always the I-Expo. But whether or not Toshi will have enough gas left in the tank a year from now to make it through a visit without having to deflate like an expired balloon animal is a question we don’t have an answer to.”

Something twisted in Izuku’s stomach. That’s right. All Might was running out of time. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the man’s days as a living icon were numbered.

“So why risk it later when it could be done now? Is that the idea?” Izuku asked, completing the thought.

“Now you’re getting it, kiddo. We will probably get invites next year, but even if we don’t, or if Toshi can’t go, it won’t matter.”

Izuku nodded absently. On autopilot, he flipped over to a new page on his notebook, and began writing down questions to research later regarding thermalkinesis. He already knew quite a bit about the topic from researching ways to use a hypothetical fusion of his parent’s quirks that could let him attract or repel heat. But whatever that Russian hero had been doing must be more exotic, because the ability to push or pull thermal energy around wouldn’t stop someone from making their own fire or ice. He did not yet understand what that man’s quirk had been doing, but he was going to find out. More research into those kinds of quirks would be helpful for the future.

“By the way,” the old man said. “You did send off that copy of Nezu’s analysis like I asked before we left, right?”

Izuku jolted slightly before nodding, erasing a small smudge he had just made on the page. “Ah, yes sir! I sent it off last night after proofreading it five times. I used the address you provided me.”

“Good, good, I’m glad you got that out of the way,” the retired pro said, settling back down into his chair. “It’s one thing we won’t have to worry about anymore.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, who exactly did I send it to? Sir?”

Man, the kid really was rated G in an R rated world, wasn’t he? Torino almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Just someone I used to know when I worked as a teacher. They have some connections with UA and other people in the hero industry. I thought they might be interested in what you could come up with.”

Izuku blushed. “I, ah. I don’t want to waste their time. My analysis isn’t that great. It’s just random stuff I think about.”

Torino smirked. “Kid, until the day comes when you’re willing to believe in yourself as much as you deserve, I’m going to believe in you twice as much to compensate. Trust me, they were over the moon about your writing. I’m sure we’ll be hearing back from them pretty soon.”

Izuku sputtered, totally unused to that kind of compliment for his analysis. He had no way of knowing just how right Torino was.

After all, the old man hadn’t picked this timing out randomly. It would be better for everyone if Midoriya Izuku wasn’t in Japan for the next few days after the principal of UA unboxed his early Christmas present. That way, Nezu wouldn’t be tempted to do something he shouldn’t.

If Izuku was still within Nezu’s reach this time tomorrow, then the ‘pretty soon’ in ‘we’ll be hearing back from them pretty soon’ would have likely been loud, immediate, and more than a little traumatizing. Nezu was often known to become confused about the fine distinctions humans made between concepts like ‘emergency mandatory meetings’ and ‘kidnappings.’

Torino had known the High Spec user long enough to know how to handle the animal man. Best to let all parties involved cool off for a bit first before doing proper introductions.

Even Torino doubted Nezu’s ability to show up unannounced on I-Island and break through security just to meet Izuku. Though he didn’t doubt it so much that he was willing to tempt fate by saying that out-loud, either.

“Speaking of homework, I don’t really have any assignments for you here except to enjoy yourself and relax,” the old man said, interrupting Izuku’s sputtering. “I will have one simple assignment for you later, but I won’t spoil the surprise by telling you about it now.”

Izuku had a curious and somewhat apprehensive look on his face, but Torino waved it off. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” he said. “It won’t take you longer than two or three minutes. It’s real simple. I just don’t think you would understand why you would have to do it if I told you about it right now, is all. I’ll text you the details when it becomes relevant.”

Perhaps Izuku was learning to be a little less Rated G for Everyone, because he still had a somewhat suspicious look on his face. But any motivation he may have had to try and get more information from his trickster mentor vanished when the television suddenly unmuted itself.

Izuku jumped, startled at the sudden sound in the cabin, and Torino raised an eyebrow before turning around. Behind them, the door to the rear cabins had slid open silently, and Yagi Toshinori walked through to join them, a small remote held in his bony hand.

He was dressed in his full hero costume, which hung comically from his skeletal frame. He looked less like a pro hero and more like a cancer patient that had lost a fight with a colorful pile of star-spangled drapes. His absurd appearance was further compounded by the fact that he had a large, European-style greatcoat thrown over one shoulder, clearly intended to be worn over his costume as more casual clothing.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation, young Izuku,” the skeletal blond said, turning the volume on the television down several steps before sitting next to the teen. He leaned over and began pulling on a pair of shoes as the muffled sounds of a Russian news report filled the background of the cabin.

“You’re up early,” Torino said, a somewhat accusing tone in his voice. “We’re still an hour out at least.”

Toshinori had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “I slept for a few hours, but I kept waking up. I’ve had enough of laying down on beds and staring up at the ceiling for a lifetime, so when I couldn’t drift off again, I decided to just take a shower and start getting ready.”

Torino rolled his eyes. “You’ll regret not having that extra hour once we land, you oaf. You’re running a marathon, remember? Preparation is key. You need to pace yourself.”

The taller man nodded in agreement as he stood up, pulling the coat on over his sagging costume. “You’re right, I probably will regret it. But I suppose we can chalk it up to taking responsibility for my choices.” He bulked up, and for a brief instant, All Might was standing in the cabin in all his glory, the greatcoat filled out and all of his clothes looking proportional. The man quickly checked himself over to make sure everything was in place before deflating, sitting back down on the sofa.

The retired pro couldn’t help but snort. It figures the gorilla only started moving past his older hang-ups just in time to be even more of a pain in Torino’s ass.

Izuku leaned over and began speaking excitedly with his mentor about quirks that could manipulate fire and ice. Toshinori craned his long neck over to look at what Izuku was gesturing at in his notebook, appearing just as interested as the teen.

Neither of them saw the brief glint of sadness flicker across Gran Torino’s face.

The old man was doing his best to be honest with Izuku and teach him correctly, but even so, he didn’t have the heart to tell the young man that this trip was, at least in part, an introduction to where he would probably end up spending the rest of his life if he got crippled in the line of duty as a hero.

Sometimes, between old men and young men… there are some things that just don’t need to be said.

Izuku couldn’t keep the sparkles out of his eyes as their destination came in sight, and he wouldn’t have wanted to. All of the biggest and most populated cities of the modern world, from Tokyo to Paris to Boston, had become visual spectacles since the advent of the age of heroes, sparking the imaginations of children around the world and drawing in tourists from the four corners of the globe.

But none of them held a candle to I-Island.

It was an artificial, mobile, legally sovereign island. It primarily cruised around the Pacific, but could go anywhere in the seven seas if needed. Construction on it began almost a century ago, when the Dawn of Quirks had fully ended. Research into quirks and the science behind their functions had been in high demand, as people quickly realized that superhuman society couldn’t exist without a better understanding of quirks. There had been a need to create a place where the greatest minds in the world could freely research and experiment with quirks without the fear of being attacked or exploited.

Every major company in the world at the time that was involved with the pro hero business pooled money together with a number of major international corporations and billionaire private interests to commission the creation of I-Island. And they did so with the blessing of the major world governments and powers that existed at that time. The world desperately needed not only a better grasp of quirks, but better heroes to help keep the peace. I-Island was created to fulfill that need.

I-Island housed four entire, fully-functional cities, three of which were arranged in a triangular pattern with the fourth situated in the middle. Surrounding these four cities were huge artificial lakes, beaches, forests, scattered farms, and sprawling, high-class suburbs. Between the four cities and their surroundings, there was enough space to house hundreds of corporate offices, catering to the needs of thousands of high end staff and their entire extended families. I-Island today comfortably housed a permanent residential population of nearly one million, with plenty of room for more if necessary. It was a totally self-sufficient space.

Almost every major international corporation that had anything to do with quirks or the hero industry had at least one office on the island. Several were incorporated there directly. The island was also home to countless think tanks, research divisions, and even housed it’s own hero school, I-Academy. The school focused more on support and research, it produced more scientists than pro-heroes, but they still had a world-class hero course with a hero track. I-Academy was in direct competition with UA and Olympus Heights for the top hero school in the world.

And for all of the resources and money it had cost to create, and it truly had been enough to literally build a small country, I-Island had long since paid for itself, and was now making money hand over fist. The ability to freely use quirks made countless avenues for research, manufacturing, and commercial business possible that would have never worked anywhere else. That exclusivity was worth billions.

I-Island only had one way to arrive or depart: a single airport and dockyard down at sea level on the outer ring of the megastructure. Having a singular entry and exit point was part of the island’s tight security.

As their plane circled around the island to lock in a clean approach, Izuku had his cheek shamelessly pressed up against the glass, drinking in the sight. He honestly couldn’t decide what was more impressive. The sheer size of the disk-shaped floating facility, whose lip alone was taller than most mountains. The fact that it was still somehow mobile, in spite of it’s ludicrous size. Or the fact that the security was extensive enough that not once since it’s inauguration had there ever been a villainous incident on the island.

I-Island was one of the great wonders of the world. In Izuku’s eyes, it was Camelot. The shining city on the hill.

“I’m glad you think so, kid, but you should probably get ready,” Torino snarked, walking back into the lounge with his single suitcase.

Izuku choked.

“How- how much of that did I say out-loud?”

“Not much,” Toshinori lied from his seated position across the aisle of the lounge.

Torino rolled his eyes. “You were muttering about 16,000 foot high walls that could tank a category 5 hurricane when I left, and you were talking about how the suits here have more money than God when I came back. Which is all true, but I feel like you’re giving this overblown frisbee a bit too much credit.”

Izuku wondered if it was too late to consider just grabbing a parachute, jumping out of the plane, and swimming the rest of the way.

Torino hefted his suitcase over his shoulder and grinned, giving the wilting teenager a wink.

“Look on the bright side, kid, if the hero gig doesn’t work out you’re a shoe-in for tour guide!”

No, it definitely wasn’t too late. In fact, he didn’t think he really needed that parachute, either. Where was the door again?

A soft ding rang through the cabin, announcing their final approach. Toshinori stood up, popping his back as he stretched his arms out. Thin threads of steam began to curl up off of him through his clothes.

“Now then, it’s about to get pretty exhausting. Because from now on-” the scrawny man’s form ballooned outwards, bulking up into the most iconic and recognizable superhero in the world.

“-I’ll be needing to maintain my muscular form constantly!” he finished, shooting Izuku a shining grin and a thumbs up.

The green-haired teen returned the smile, his previous woes forgotten.

He was, after all, still a fanboy at the end of the day. How could he not smile back, when All Might was here?

Izuku wasn’t sure if the greatcoat Toshinori put on was actually intended to be a disguise, but if it was, it failed miserably.

They made it off of the plane and through the airport security just fine, boarding a giant elevator and smoothly accelerating to the top interior of the wall in just a few minutes. Izuku chalked that up to the extreme professionalism of the security personnel and half of the facilities being managed by robots.

However, they hadn’t even fully made it across the plaza outside the top of the elevators before a muffled cry of ‘holy crap, is that ALL MIGHT’ was heard, and Izuku was nearly washed away in the ensuing mob. Thankfully, Gran Torino had managed to grab onto the teen's shoulders in the crush, and somehow the elderly pro was able to stand his ground against the tide of humanity.

As it turns out, All Might in a greatcoat is still All Might.

After several minutes of shouting, pushing, cheering, and autograph signing, the mob finally dissipated, revealing a somewhat ruffled All Might whose face was covered in lipstick kisses.

Torino snorted at the sight as the trio moved away from the plaza and towards a more private side area full of flowers. “You’re old enough to be somebody’s grandpa, and you still get this much attention. Nana would be rolling in her grave if she knew you hadn’t given her any grandchildren, you know.”

Apparently Izuku wasn’t the only one who could choke on his own spit, because All Might coughed loudly enough that a small wisp of steam puffed off of his shoulders, and a few nearby people turned their heads curiously.

“Gran!” the tall blonde hissed under his breath. “Are we really doing this now? In front of cameras?”

The diminutive old man grinned back with more than his fair share of mischief glittering in his eyes.

“Just making sure you’re committed to the bit, you monkey. I bet you’re missing that extra hour now, aren’t you?”

Toshinori knew it had been a mistake to taunt Torino like that on the plane, however subtly. He was going to have to watch his back to make sure his former teacher didn’t provoke him into reverting somewhere public.

The retired pro always got even, in the end. Always.

It was going to be a long couple of days.

Toshinori was spared further public harassment at the hands of his former teacher by a tall, busty, blonde haired girl with pale skin and round glasses rapidly bouncing towards them on a bright red pogo stick.

“Uncle Might!” she cried, launching herself from the top of the steps of the sunken flower garden. As she did, the pogo sick distorted and warped, and in a flash of light, the smart-materials object flowed together into a solid red bracelet on her arm.

Toshinori caught her, laughing as he spun the teenage girl around. “Melissa! It’s so good to see you!”

The young woman laughed, her plaid skirt and the folds of her school uniform rippling as her adoptive uncle swung her through the air. She was tall for her age, but she looked like a child in All Might’s giant arms.

“Uncle, I’m so glad you came! You’re always so busy, I can’t believe you found the time to visit us!”

Toshinori chuckled in his bassy All Might voice. “I can hardly believe it myself! But look at you!” he exclaimed, holding her up with his hands on her waist. “I hardly recognize you! You’re all grown up now, Melissa.”

The teenager squirmed happily, her aqua-blue eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m nineteen now!” she exclaimed, smiling. “I bet I’m heaver than I used to be, aren’t I?”

“Not at all!” Toshinori proclaimed, and swung her around once again, eliciting another shriek of laughter from the girl.

Suddenly, she gasped. “Wait! Is that grandpa Torino? What on earth are you doing here!?”

The wizened pro smirked, casually waving a hand. “Long time no see, kiddo. You keeping your dad in line for us?”

“She’s certainly doing her best to try,” a new voice announced from the top of the steps leading out of the sunken garden.

Izuku, who had been stunned and distracted by the sudden appearance of a girl his age who seemed to be like family to All Might, suddenly snapped to attention.

He knew that voice.

The man standing at the top of the stairs was tall, with broad shoulders and an even build. In contrast to the girl’s platinum blonde hair, his own was an auburn reddish-brown, cut to a comfortable medium length and left shaggy and unstyled. He had a rough goatee and the same aqua eyes as hers, peering down from behind a pair of simple and utilitarian glasses. He was wearing work jeans, sneakers, and a casual pale green dress shirt with the top three buttons left open, partially baring his chest to the salty sea air. A pristine white labcoat hung from his shoulders, almost like he had put it on as an afterthought.

He wasn’t wearing any sort of costume, and didn’t have any kind of blatantly identifying features declaring his identity to the world. But Izuku still knew exactly who he was looking at. How could he not?

“Y-you’re David Shield!” Izuku stuttered out, starstruck. Two pairs of identical aqua eyes snapped to him, one in confusion and the other in recognition.

The scientist Izuku had recognized as All Might’s first and only support technician smiled an easy, warm smile, and began walking down the steps towards the group.

“I am, unless somebody hit me with a quirk this morning and I’m extremely confused. And you must be Izuku Midoriya.”

David Shield walked right past Toshinori, who gently set Melissa down even as the blonde girl stared curiously at the other teen. David stuck out his hand for Izuku to shake. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, young man. I must confess, I’m a big fan of your work.”

Izuku.exe crashed straight to desktop. Only his previous, albeit limited, exposure to Hatsume Mei kept him from standing there gaping like he had been petrified. He took the older man’s hand and shook it automatically.

David Shield had won the Nobel Prize for contributions to the field of unified quirk science. David Shield was the sole designer and creator of every single costume and piece of support equipment that All Might had ever used in his entire career. David Shield was so close to All Might that he was often seen and referred to as the man’s second sidekick, even though he wasn’t a licensed hero himself and mostly stood on the sidelines as a support technician.

David Shield was one of the most important and influential scientists in the world.

David Shield knew who he was. David Shield was a fan of his work.

Internally, half of Izuku’s brain was soundlessly screaming while the other half was operating at full capacity to try and keep him breathing without choking to death on empty air.

How?

“The same way I read most analysis by outside experts,” David confessed casually. “A copy of it was sent to my desk.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh, he’s doing it here, in what is supposed to be his big meet-and-greet. He’s doing it on I-Island, in front of David Shield. Why couldn’t terrorists blow up the plaza right this second? Was there no justice?

And- and ‘outside experts?’ What?

“That would be my doing,” Torino confessed casually. His voice was innocent, but his dark eyes glittered with unchecked mischief. “I sent a copy of your analysis of All Might to David’s desk, along with some samples of your other work. I wanted to have an honest, second opinion about them.”

Izuku wanted to scream “you WHAT” at the top of his voice, but unfortunately it came out as more of strangled squeak. Melissa Shield giggled.

Just, kill him now. Please. Sweet, merciful death.

“I’m- I’m so sorry,” Izuku finally managed to gasp out, as the overworked and underpaid cartoon Izuku jury-rigged enough of his brain back together to start it working again. “I had no idea Mr. Sorahiko did that, sir, I’m so sorry I wasted your time, and I just…” the teen’s voice trailed off lamely.

The auburn-haired scientist laughed easily, his hands in his labcoat's pockets. “Don’t apologize for anything, young man. You didn’t waste my time, and it was a fascinating read. I wish I had been half as eloquent as you in presenting my case for why Toshi should have kept using my Air Force Armor.”

Sensing the anxiety radiating off of his protégé, Toshinori decided to draw attention back to himself as a distraction. “David!” he exclaimed, sounding exasperated and slightly petulant. “We’ve had this discussion. It kept breaking!”

“And whose fault is that, you monkey?” Torino snapped back, rapping the muscular blonde in the shin with his walking stick.

Melissa giggled again, and David laughed. “So nostalgic!” the scientist declared. “How about we all go get a bite to eat before giving you the grand tour?”

At that exact moment, Izuku would have given his left hand to be back on Takoba beach shoveling trash into a dumpster. They were supposed to be here for several days. He wasn’t sure he would survive to see tonight.

Toshinori grinned his shining All Might smile, and gave his support tech a thumbs up. “That sounds like a wonderful idea!” he declared. “Why don’t you and I go find someplace nice that will take us in without needing reservations? Melissa and young Izuku can take a quick look around in the meantime! I’m sure Gran won’t mind keeping an eye on them.”

Torino smirked. There was the clever gorilla coming out to play. The old pro didn’t get to see it often, a fact which he vocally complained about, but Toshinori could be quite cunning when he wanted to be. As though there was a single restaurant on the planet that wouldn’t give All Might and David Shield a table if they asked, no matter how haughty or exclusive they were. The man was trying to give Izuku some room the breathe.

Far be it from Torino to discourage his ape of a former student when he decides to use his brain for a change.

“That’s a great idea!” the retired pro said, maneuvering himself between the two teens and beginning to shepherd them away. “I haven’t gotten to spend time with my adoptive granddaughter in years, and I’m sure there’s got to be something on this overblown lighthouse worth looking at. Come on you two, let’s give those old men some time to catch up.”

Toshinori gave a thumbs up to the retreating back of his former mentor, who glanced behind and gave a casual wave. David watched the scene with a bemused expression on his face.

Being part of All Might’s life was rowdy, but it was never boring, that was for sure.

“Is he going to be okay?” the scientist asked quietly.

“Give him a minute,” Toshinori replied. He was still smiling, but it was a softer, sadder expression. “He is not used to people he doesn’t know accepting him for who he is or complimenting his hobbies. It took him weeks to become comfortable with the two of us.”

Pale blue eyes watched the two teens turn the corner out of sight, being expertly led along by a talkative Gran Torino. As sharp-tongued as ever, the old man was using his rambling to provoke responses out of both of the teens, easing the tension. He had clearly lost none of his edge.

“I heard some of the details from Torino,” the younger scientist said softly. “What the world does to quirkless kids these days is cruel. I agreed to move here partly to get Melissa away from it.”

“Was California that bad?” Toshinori asked.

“Yes,” the scientist said simply. “It’s not perfect here, either, but the social culture is more permissive due to quirks being free use. Most of her problems here revolve around people underestimating her or treating her like she’s made of glass. There is a certain condescension that never really goes away. There are still bullies, in and outside of I-Academy, but I’m one of the project directors of I-Island. The Shield name carries far more weight here than it did back home. What my name doesn’t protect her from, she can protect herself from.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” Toshinori said, the smile fully fading from his face. “They shouldn’t have to protect themselves from any of this.”

“No,” the shorter man agreed. “They shouldn’t.”

About half an hour had passed since the two teens began wandering around the central area near the airport elevator. In spite of his earlier nerves, Izuku was feeling surprisingly relaxed. He had been worried this impromptu tour would become an awkward disaster, but after a few minutes of listening to Gran Torino being thoroughly unimpressed with I-Island, he and Melissa had teamed up to explain to the older man just how important the place was to heroes around the world.

Izuku quite liked the retired pro, but honestly, did he think all of his customized air jet shoes grew on trees?

Izuku never saw the satisfied glitter in the old man’s eyes, and neither teen noticed how he seemed to talk less and less, fading into the background as the two of them paid more and more attention to each other and their surroundings.

Huge sections of the surface cities were under construction, being renovated and remodeled in preparation for the I-Expo. Some World Fair locales maintained the same traditional spaces and buildings for the event, but I-Island made it a point of pride that no two Expos were ever the same, and they had the budget and backing to put their money where their mouths were. For both Izuku and Melissa, it was a fascinating look behind the scenes of what would be the premiere international event on next year’s calendar. Izuku because he had never seen anything like it before, and Melissa because, in spite of living here, she didn’t usually have time to simply tour her home and see the sights.

Time flew by as they wandered among the partially built skeletons of future attractions and venues, pointing out visiting international heroes and famous scientists and inventors to one another with shared glee. The two teens easily fell into the same wavelength as they both let their passions shine through.

Currently, Torino and Izuku were on a mostly deserted back street near the airport plaza they had originally started from, with colorful shops and food stands on either side of a brick-paved road. Melissa had needed to use the restroom, and both of them were waiting outside of the bookstore she had dashed into.

Shortly after the teenage girl had gone in, a coordinated swarm of janitor robots moved into the alley on their evening patrol. Long, telescoping limbs with brushes and nozzles on the ends extended from some of the trashcan-like automatons and began cleaning the outsides of the surrounding buildings, while others whirred quietly as they started scrubbing down the street with spinning mops on their undercarriages. One of the robots in particular, notable for visually appearing to be an older model, was taking ire with the presence of several seagulls in the area, and was attempting to shoo them away. 

The seabirds were extremely unimpressed. Though the sight did seem to be amusing Izuku, who was giggling quietly as they both watched the one-sided contest of nature versus artifice. 

Any time now, Torino was expecting to get a text or call from Toshinori letting them know where to meet up with the other two men for dinner. What Torino hadn’t been expecting was to hear a loud and terribly familiar female voice call out “Is that who I think it is?” from near the entrance of their side-street.

Torino paused for an instant at the sound before audibly groaning and appearing to brace himself. Izuku could have sworn he heard the old man mutter ‘How on earth does she always find us?’ under his breath.

“Who is that?” Izuku asked, craning his neck to follow the voice. The scattered crowd of human-sized machines began to part as someone large started moving towards them.

Torino sighed. “The alpha silverback of the North American quirk zoo.”

“If it isn’t Gran Torino!” the figure boomed as the wall of robots finally parted. The person it revealed was a towering, statuesque woman with healthy tanned skin, deep blue eyes, long blonde hair, and outrageously bulging muscles. She was wearing a navy blue spandex hero outfit with a tall, stiff popped collar, shoulder pads, boots, gauntlets, and a plated cuirass that covered her upper chest. The shoulder pads and chest armor were vibrantly colored with red and white stripes, while her gauntlets and boots were metallic gold with polished silver stars studding them. A sparkling smile and a flowing, oversized cape that shared the same red-and-white pattern as her upper armor completed the picture.

The gigantic star-spangled woman grabbed the old man by his shoulders and lifted him up to be head height with her amazonian stature. “I missed you! Still scaring all the kids and old men with your snarls and glares?”

Torino’s dark eyes stared dispassionately into the woman’s own. “Cathy, if you don’t put me down right now I am going to spin kick you into the sun.”

Cathleen “Star and Stripe” Bates let out a booming laugh before lowering the old man back down. “It’s like you haven’t aged a day! What’s your secret?”

“Spite.” Torino replied as he dusted himself off, “Also, a spoonful of pickled horseradish with my takoyaki, and a coffee machine older than I am that they couldn’t legally sell today because some idiot student would kill themselves with the strong setting,”

Torino turned to the green haired teen and gestured to the giant woman. “Izuku, this gorilla that stole an American flag and made a diaper out of it is a former associate of mine and a student of All Might’s.”

Izuku was vibrating so hard he looked like he was in danger of either falling through the floor or taking off into the air. “Y-you’re Star and S-stripe, the number one pro in America!”

The towering blonde shot the teen a winning smile that was so bright Torino would swear until the day he died she had figured out a way to sub-vocalize with her quirk.

“I sure am!” she proclaimed, and with all the practiced ease of a true professional, she produced a ridiculously elaborate pen from somewhere on her person. It had an ornate golden eagle crouching on the top made out of metal, with wings spread wide, and the body was made of polished wood carved in the wavy, cylindrical shape of a hanging American flag.

She shot the vibrating teen a wink, and flicked her chin at the notebook he had clutched in his hands. “Got something there you’d be willing to let me sign?”

Torino rolled his eyes even as Izuku squealed in delight. It figures. Hundreds of hours of knife lessons, and her takeaway was how to conceal and handle a pen that no sane person would ever want to write with. The President of the United States used a more normal looking pen than that. How are you even supposed to hold it to write with? It was a cylindrical wooden flag with a blob of metal stuck on the top of it!

He understood the point of having an aesthetic as a hero, but there were limits, damnit! What was wrong with a normal fancy pen?

Izuku fumbled with the notebook in excitement, but instead of going towards the back for a free page like the American pro had been expecting, he instead was flipping forwards to the front of the book, looking for something. Having apparently found it, the teen thrust it out for the pro hero to take, stars in his eyes.

Cathleen Bates took the notebook, her special autograph pen poised to sign her name, but she paused.

The American pro’s eyebrows slowly began to climb as she looked at the extremely detailed and accurate sketch of her heroic persona, as well as the adjacent page, which was full of information about her.

They continued climbing when she turned the page. Scrawled across two pages was an extremely well-thought out, and disturbingly accurate, hypothesis on what her true quirk, New Order, actually was and did. Which was followed by a hypothetical list of effects she could create, based off of effects she had already produced in the past during public fights and rescues.

When she got to the pages after that, which contained suggestions for further avenues of training and research that could potentially allow her to create new effects she had never tried before, or even hypothetically mimic the traits of having other quirks, her mouth started to fall open.

Her quirk was a secret. Scratch that, it was top secret. It was completely classified. There were protocols in place in American superhuman society to identify people with reality warping and meta quirks and keep them safe, and that included a general blackout on their abilities. Few of them became above ground licensed pros that operated in the public eye, but the ones that did always had a cover description of their quirk manufactured for them to go on their public paperwork. She was no exception to that rule. Her quirk was classified, and if somebody managed to get around that, all the paperwork was full of lies anyway.

This kid had not only figured out that she had a meta quirk just from watching her fights, but he had realized the two biggest and most important limitations of her powers: that she had to touch whatever she put a New Order on, and that she had a limit of two Orders at a time.

There were well-respected, professional quirk consultancy agencies in America who had been hired to do outside, no-context analysis of her hero work that hadn’t managed to figure out even one of those things.

The only details he didn’t appear to know were the things he couldn’t possibly have known, like the fact that she cannot affect inanimate objects specifically because they don’t have a sense of self. At least under most circumstances, they don’t. But even then, he came dangerously close to guessing that, too.

This kid… he had reverse engineered one of the best kept secrets in the American superhero industry. And he had used that information to write a breakdown on how she could do better as a hero.

She recomposed herself with a shake of her head, and gave the teen a smaller and more genuine smile. “I think I’m starting to understand why you were brought here, young man. This is high tier stuff. My people paid top dollar for a dossier just like this a few years back, but I think I like yours better.”

Izuku blushed beet red all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I-I just do analysis as a hobby!” he protested. “It’s h-heroes like you and A-All Might who inspire me! You’re both always s-saving people with a s-smile, and that’s what I want to do t-to!”

The giant americana-clad woman grinned a million watt smile worthy of any celebrity. “Saving people for the sake of saving them is the right attitude to have! And how flattering! You can imitate me however you like, I don’t mind!”

Torino snorted. “I certainly hope he doesn’t. He’s as big of a fanboy as you and Mirai. I’m trying to get the kid to not imitate his idol. You dyed your hair blonde, grew out eight of those damn antenna, and waste half of what is probably the strongest quirk in the world inflating yourself like a damn balloon.”

“So cutting!" Cathleen replied in mock offense, before smiling brightly "You really haven’t changed.”

“So your limit really is two alterations?” Izuku asked eagerly. As the analysis gears began spinning in his head, his stutter disappeared in direct proportion. “I had wondered if you were using one of your distortions to give yourself superhuman physical abilities. Is it true?”

Torino snorted. Of course the kid would focus on that. The old man had already seen his analysis of Star and Strip during that visit with Midoriya Inko. He knew exactly how close the kid had come to correctly guessing one of the biggest national secrets America had.

Nothing slipped by this kid’s fanboy radar. If it could be weaponized, there would be no stopping him.

Cathleen, however, took the question with grace.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” she said, with a teasing grin. “But I’ll tell you what: I’ll make you a deal. I really like what you’ve done with this,” she said, waving his notebook in her hand. “So how about I have some of my people send you some info on exactly how my quirk works, and then you tell me what you really think of it, once you have all the details?”

Izuku’s jaw fell open. The giant woman took that moment of stunned silence to flip back to the page with her drawing. She signed under her picture with a flourish before handing it back to Izuku, who accepted the notebook numbly.

“I- I would, um. I would be honored. Ma’am. Mrs. Star. Sir.”

Cathleen laughed. “Cathy is fine. Or just Star.”

Izuku stared uncomprehendingly at the autograph, lost in his own world as he struggled to process everything that had happened in the last five minutes.

While the teen was distracted, the colossal woman leaned over to Torino and whispered “Is there something set up where I can pay the little guy for what he’s going to send me? I can’t accept that for free.”

Torino produced one of Toshinori’s brand new contact cards for Sage from seemingly nowhere with a flick of his wrist. Privately, he was proud of his former student. The gorilla was finally using that brain of his, and his foresight was paying off. They might just make a real heroics teacher out of him yet.

Cathleen Bates took the dark green business card almost as quickly as it had appeared, and vanished it into whatever hidden pocket she had produced her gaudy pen from. “We’ve already got a fund set up,” Torino whispered back. “Don’t tell the kid, though. It’s going to be a surprise.”

Cathleen raised an eyebrow. Torino grinned. “Kid’s got confidence issues. He doesn’t think his work is valuable and doesn’t understand his own talent. We think taking him out to buy his first car with his own money will help him realize something important about himself.”

The muscular woman grinned. That sure did sound like something the tricky old man she remembered would do.

“W-Wait!” Izuku exclaimed, as though suddenly realizing something. “I’m s-so sorry, but there’s somebody who just h-has to meet you!”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the green haired teen turned around and bolted into the bookstore. Torino snickered.

“So what’s the story?” the blonde woman asked, her eyes tracking the shadow of Izuku disappearing into the shop through the tinted glass. “I came expecting to find All Might, not you. I assume you’re teaching the kid?”

Torino nodded. He hadn’t been expecting to run into Star and Stripe on this trip, but the cover story was well-rehearsed. Most of it was even true. “Toshinori found him and decided to train him,” the old man admitted. “He saw real hero potential in the kid.”

Star and Stripe’s eyes lit up. “Master took on a new apprentice?” she said, looking pleased.

“He’s running out of time,” Torino admitted. He felt comfortable saying that publicly to Cathy because any idiot with two brain cells should be able to figure as much out on their own. It’s not like All Might was going to fight crime for a thousand years and never die. “He wants to try and pass on what he knows to at least one more person before he’s forced to retire. He’s pretty busy these days, but he roped me and Yagi Toshinori into helping set the kid on the straight and narrow.”

Cathleen Bates grinned slyly. She was familiar with the ‘All Might as his own secretary’ ruse. Officially, Yagi Toshinori and ‘Toshi’ having the same first name was a coincidence. Japan had a million Toshinori’s, after all. Separating out the two and talking like they were completely different people was a useful layer of confusing obfuscation that people close to All Might had used in the past.

“And how is that going?” she asked, unable to entirely keep a certain tone of sly smugness out of her voice. “As I recall, Yagi has a pretty good eye for that sort of thing. And a lot of experience as a personal trainer.”

She was clearly enjoying the public skullduggery.

“Better than I could have hoped when I first got the phone call,” the old pro admitted. “I was expecting some young gorilla who punches all of his problems. Instead, I found a bullied genius with a heart of gold who still wants to save everyone in spite of what he’s been through.”

Cathleen Bate’s smile faltered slightly. “Bullied? That little ray of sunshine? What on earth for?”

“Quirkless,” Torino said, like the one word explained everything.

To be fair, it did.

The muscular woman’s face became stony. A spark of something dangerous and not entirely of this world flickered in back of the meta-quirk user’s eye. “I see,” she said coldly.

Personally, Star and Stripe wasn’t entirely confident a quirkless kid could be a top ranking pro hero. She had been in enough tough situations even with her quirk to know just how hard it would be to try and make it without one. But she also knew that not every pro stood on the spearpoint either, nose-to-nose with villains that could make buildings explode just by looking at them. It was doubtful a quirkless pro could make it into the top 10 in either America or Japan, but there was an entire field of support and rescue heroics to consider.

The kid was smart. Just from what little she had seen, he had world class smarts. He would be an incredible support or tech hero. Any agency with an ounce of sense would be thrilled to have him. Hell, if nobody wanted him, she’d hire him.

A quirkless pro could probably never stand on the brightest parts of the red carpet, but if they were just in it to help people and didn’t care about fame in the first place, then that was a complete nonissue. There was no problem, then. Not in her eyes. There shouldn’t be any problem.

And yet, clearly, some people disagreed.

Some discrimination was inevitable. You couldn’t change the opinions of an entire society. Cathleen didn’t like that, but she accepted it. You could lead horses to water but you couldn’t make them drink. But being actively bullied and harassed was a different matter entirely. There were laws against that sort of thing.

Or at least, there were supposed to be.

Torino grinned at the expression on the taller woman’s face, his eyes mischievous. “That’s not even the best part, though,” he added.

The blonde woman blinked, breaking out of her train of thought. “Oh?” she said questioningly. “It gets better?”

Gran nodded, his eyes glittering. “You know how Toshi’s quirk works. He was a late bloomer. His quirk didn’t show up until he was in his teens, because his body couldn’t handle it. If it had manifested sooner, he might have exploded when he used it.”

For all her straightforward bluntness, Star and Stripe was no fool. “You think that young man has the same sort of thing?” she asked, curiosity on her face.

Torino wasn’t surprised Cathy had guessed the general gist of it. The woman wasn’t stupid. Which was honestly the reason she and Toshi drove him up a wall to begin with. If they were actually idiots, he would have been fine with their behavior. But both of them could be so much more.

“We have strong circumstantial evidence to suggest it,” Torino replied, lying smoothly. After all, Cathy knew quite a bit, but she didn’t know a thing about One For All. “He has all the signs and symptoms Toshi did when he was the kid’s age. Yagi agrees. The three of us believe he’s a False Negative with a delayed activation ability. If he continues on the fitness plan we’ve made for him, we think he’ll be manifesting some sort of strength or energy stockpile sometime late next summer. It is difficult to tell the specifics at this stage, but we all believe it will be stronger than Toshi’s.”

The woman nodded in acceptance. That only made sense, after all. Her master was quite old now by hero standards, and quirks did get stronger with every generation. If someone was born with a quirk like All Might’s in this day and age, then it stood to reason that they would end up being more powerful than him.

“Just in time for the hero course entrance exams to start,” Cathy said, before suddenly smiling brightly. “A timid and shy quirkless teen, getting a quirk with top class strength just in time to prove themselves to the world that rejected them? I love it! What an underdog story!”

Torino wasn’t entirely sure he’d call it an underdog story, when the kid’s analytical genius turned him into a walking weapon that broader society was simply too stupid to comprehend for what it really was. But he would be lying if he said the teen overcoming all odds and sticking it to the system didn’t thrill him a little bit, too.

“It’s going to a rough nine months, getting him ready,” the retired pro admitted. “But I think he’ll do just fine. Even if the quirk is a dud, I still think he’ll be an amazing hero.”

Cathy thought back to that analysis she had briefly seen. “I agree,” she said, and she wholeheartedly meant it.

The two stood for a moment in companionable silence, the evening sun washing parts of the street red and orange.

“How did you find us so quickly?” the old man asked absently. He wasn’t really expecting an answer. Quite frankly, he had been a hero for far too long to be shocked by the kinds of good and bad luck that happened to people in the industry. He was perfectly willing to believe the three of them had managed to trip over one of the only personal students All Might had ever taken by sheer chance.

It wouldn’t be the craziest thing Torino had ever seen.

“I used my quirk to find you,” the giant woman responded casually. “You know, like a dowsing rod. I heard from an associate that All Might had arrived on the island, and since I was already here on business, I wanted to meet with him. I used it to try and find my former teacher, but it seems it lead me to you instead of him.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Probably because you were closer?”

Torino pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Cathy would only get creative with her quirk when it was a way to be a pain in his ass.

Leave it to gossiping security guards and nosy scientists to blow their cover. They’d hardly been here for an hour, and somebody had already managed to track them down. Torino was sure that by this time tomorrow, the whole world would know All Might was visiting I-Island.

Nobody would question why, thankfully. His relationship with David was too well-known. Everyone would assume he was just catching up with an old friend. But that wasn’t what mattered. What was important is that word had already gotten around this quick.

This is exactly what the old man had been warning Toshinori about. It was one thing to play his little escape the cameras game in Japan, America, or Europe. But I-Island wasn’t an island so much as it was a giant floating microphone out at sea, which some people coincidentally happened to live on.

If that monkey let his control slip here and reverted outside one of the very few areas that had no cameras or security monitoring, then every gossip rag from Okinawa to Cairo would be screaming about it within twelve hours.

Coming to I-Island early had been the right call. The old man couldn’t imagine what would have to happen on the island to keep his former student slipping in public out of the papers.

There was a rattling bang as the door to the quaint little bookshop slammed open, Izuku practically dragging Melissa out. “Izuku, whoever it is, I don’t think-”

There was a beat as the shorter, younger blonde girl locked eyes with the much larger, older blonde. Slowly, like an engine warming up, Melissa began to vibrate exactly the same way Izuku had.

Cathy grinned winningly before giving a jaunty salute and a wink at the younger girl.

“Ohmygoshitsstarandstripe I am your BIGGEST FAN-”

The tall woman let out a booming laugh, and Torino rolled his eyes.

“-such a huge inspiration for me when I was growing up, I-”

He was surrounded by fanboys. Every single person he knew was an otaku.

“-and, wait, Izuku, let me tear a page out of your notebook for an autograph, please-”

Torino supposed it could be worse. Maybe there was something to be said for the fans.

The American pro began cheerfully signing a page in the back of Izuku’s book, while Melissa attempted to persuade the other teen to draw a copy of his Star and Stripe sketch on it afterwards. Izuku was resisting because, in his own words, he didn’t want to deface an autograph.

“I think,” the old man said, “that I have a very good idea.”

Izuku, Melissa, and Cathleen all turned to look at the old pro. The two teens looked interested. Cathy looked worried.

Probably because she had known Gran Torino for much, much longer than they had.

Torino pulled out his phone and quickly dialed a number. It rang twice before picking up.

“Hello?” a familiar voice said on the other end of the line.

“It’s Gran, Toshi,” the old man said, before looking at Star and Stripe and grinning. “Go ahead and get one more seat on those dinner reservations. We found Cathy, and she wants to catch up. For old time’s sake.”

All three of the people standing next to Torino squealed in glee.

Yes. Every single person he knew was an otaku. He supposed there were worse fates.

Nezu rode through the halls of UA on an electric scooter sized for someone of his stature, doing his best to keep his composure.

Usually, he preferred to travel through the vents, as they were large, clean, private, and very direct. But today was definitely a segway day. If he went through the vents, there was a chance he might start cackling uncontrollably. And he needed to do his best to keep his composure.

It had arrived. Finally. After almost a week of waiting, which felt like an eternity, it was here.

Midoriya Izuku’s analysis on Nezu himself.

The quirked animal had been looking forward to this. After reading Midoriya’s thesis on All Might, and after being told by Gran Torino, of all people, what the teen’s next project would be, the principal of UA had to restrain himself from showing up on the young man’s doorstep just to witness the process in action.

Human etiquette was relatively simple, but he had to remind himself sometimes that coming on too strongly was frowned upon. ‘Stalking,’ they called it.

Besides, it would taint the analysis if he gave away too much information about himself too soon, and Nezu wanted to see what Midoriya could accomplish while working blind.

After all, half the job of analyzing is finding the information to begin with. Compiling data is the other half, and it gets all the glory, but nobody can compile a box of hot air. It’s not just data processing. Data acquisition is key.

It was time to see just how much data Midoriya Izuku could acquire, what he could infer from it, and, most thrilling of all, how he would approach a hypothetical take-down scenario with a rogue Nezu.

How exciting!

Naturally, such moments of prime entertainment were best enjoyed with company, and today was no exception. Nezu had already ‘conscripted’ an audience of UA faculty to enjoy the ‘entertainment’ of Midoriya’s- sorry, Sage’s analysis.

He was headed towards the conference room next to his office to meet up with his eclectic gaggle of employees now.

UA was a strange school. Most hero schools were. After all, you need heroes on the faculty to teach the students how to be heroes themselves. For most, this meant employing pros who were retired or in the process of retiring. Most hero schools had one or two pros who were still active and in their prime. They were usually the ones who taught in the foundational heroics departments, and the remaining faculty was comprised of either retired pros who had decided to go into teaching after hanging up their capes, or particularly competent normal teachers.

Not UA. Every single teacher employed by UA was a currently active professional hero. Some were brought on in what amounted to a full-time capacity, meaning they technically worked two jobs. Others worked part time, splitting their focus between the school and their own hero agencies. There was even a system in place for guest lecturers and guest teachers to be rotated into the curriculum. Just last year, the business course students had been thrilled to learn they would be taught by Best Jeanist himself on the best ways to operate and manage a brand in the Japanese industry.

There was also a quiet war going on between UA and the all-girls hero school, Seiai Academy, over who could get Ryukyu, the Dragon Heroine, to commit the most time to helping their institution. Nezu was currently winning that little competition, must to the chagrin of Seiai’s dean.

These arrangements also had a side-benefit of making UA one of the most secure institutions of learning in the world. Anyone stupid enough to even attempt something criminal would find themselves surrounded by currently active pros, most of which would be in the process of calling for backup from their own agencies. No class was ever without at least one active pro serving as a chaperone at all times, because every single teacher was a pro. This was a huge advantage for UA, as it meant most of the wealthy elite and legacy families wanted UA as the first choice for their children.

Structuring UA this way was Nezu’s decision, and the absolute nightmare of scheduling it created on a day-by-day and week-by-week basis was something that only a person with an intelligence quirk like Nezu’s could solve without having a mental breakdown.

Nezu solved it, and did so gladly, because this was one of the core policies that had cemented UA as the top school for heroics in the world. Nezu had implemented many policies and revisions to how the school would be run when the role of principal and dean of the institution had been thrust upon him. Every single one of them had people questioning, at the time, if he was clinically insane. Or if he was attempting to crash the school out of spite for being forced into the position.

But in a single year, he had turned a large but fundamentally mediocre school into one of the most prestigious and cutting-edge institutions for general education and heroic studies on the planet.

The results spoke for themselves. People feared Nezu, people were wary of Nezu, and some people attempted to manipulate, contain, or neutralize the threat that Nezu posed simply by existing. But no one ever questioned his competence again after what he accomplished at UA.

If the animal man was crazy, he was crazy like a fox.

His employees would certainly agree. After all, it wasn’t exactly normal for your boss to force you into a private viewing of what was, in essence, a plan to arrest and kill him, purely for entertainment purposes.

But Nezu wasn’t going to go over the analysis in private. Where was the fun in that?

Sadly, he could only wrangle a bit less than a dozen of his employees for the viewing, which was still a significant chunk of the permanent faculty. He supposed it would have to do.

The others really didn’t know what they were missing out on. Some people had no taste.

Aizawa “Eraserhead” Shouta knew it was going to be one of those days from the moment the alarm on his phone went off.

Thanks to working both a full time position as UA faculty and a full time position as an Underground pro hero, complete with nightly patrols to deter crime and stacks upon stacks of papers to grade, sleep was a premium currency for the man. As such, he didn’t have a set schedule so much as he had a series of recurring alarms on his phone to make sure he didn’t oversleep and miss being somewhere he was supposed to be.

He liked dogs, but waking up to a jingling alarm and Nemuri’s huge mutt slobbering on his face was not ideal.

Technically, Aizawa had two bedrooms that belonged to him. The first was a teacher’s apartment that was on UA campus grounds, which was a perk provided to all faculty. The second was a small spartan space at his own hero agency in the rough side of town, which was little more than a cot on the floor with some filing cabinets, a lamp, and a chair pulled up to a desk.

He used neither of them. After one of his best friends, Shirakumo “Loud Cloud” Oboro, had died during their student internships at school, Aizawa’s other friends had decided after graduation that they were all going to stick together and support each other. Part of that apparently included sharing ownership of a large multi-bedroom apartment in the city near UA, so none of them would have to be alone if they didn’t want to be.

Aizawa really, really wanted to be. But unfortunately, he was a lone introvert against a gaggle of extroverts. In the end, he was dragged kicking and screaming into companionship against his will, as always.

Which is why, instead of sleeping in either of the two perfectly serviceable beds he technically owned, he was instead on a couch in a third, unrelated location, having his face worked over by a dog large enough that it could probably legally vote in some countries.

Nemuri, Tensei, and Hizashi were going to be the death of him, assuming the villains and his students didn’t get him first.

With more effort than he cared to admit, he managed to shove the giant shaggy dog away and stagger to his feet. Checking his phone, he cursed under his breath. He had missed the first bell of his alarm, and didn’t have enough time to take a shower and still make it to UA.

He briefly debated the merits of blowing off Nezu and taking the shower anyway. Normally, he’d risk it, because dog slobber is awful and ten minutes either way wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Then again, the rat had been… disturbingly excited, over the last few days. Something about some new face on the block sending in some analysis to be reviewed. Analysis that had shown up in the mail last night, and which Nezu had aggressively insisted that the faculty view with him first thing this morning.

Up to his usual games. Up to no good, as always. Typical Nezu.

Normally, his boss wouldn’t care. There was some forgiveness built into all the schedules of the full-time faculty. But Aizawa had lacked a good excuse to avoid showing up for the viewing, which meant being late today would involve making Nezu wait on something he was excited about. And anything that could make him this excited was concerning all on it’s own.

Aizawa was tired and fed up, not stupid. So he resigned himself to sneaking in a hot shower in the faculty gymnasium during his lunch break, and staggered over to the sink to scrub the sleep and dog off of his face.

He popped two over-the-counter pills for pain on his way out the door, and instead of taking a left and heading for the stairs like a normal person, he instead chose to head right and take a running leap over the railing of the apartment building’s upper walkway. He landed on the adjacent roof in a rolling crouch, sprang upright, and then began his morning commute to school.

Wasting time with a vehicle in early morning Musutafu traffic was illogical when he could beat the average driving time to the campus by a solid seven minutes just by heading directly there as the crow flies.

Of course, it would be even faster if he could use his own apartment, that belonged to him, and was already on campus. He could probably squeeze an extra half hour of sleep in on the weekdays with that. But with Yamada “Present Mic” Hizashi and Kayama “Midnight” Nemuri constantly around on UA grounds, any gains made would be lost elsewhere due to pestering.

He would know. He had tried.

Aizawa knew his instinct about what kind of day this was going to be had been right, because the UA campus was larger than most Japanese cities, and yet somehow he ended up walking alongside Nezu on the way to the conference room.

Small world. Wish he could say the same about his growing headache. It was 6:12 in the morning and he was already vicariously wishing for a building to collapse or a terrorist attack to blow through and put him in the hospital. Anything to take him away from here and put him in a bed where he could rest.

Seeing his boss in the hallways at all was unusual. Nezu’s preferred method of travel while on campus was either via the air vents or the labyrinthine secret passageways that only Nezu and maybe the support staff like Cementoss and Power Loader knew the full extent of.

Seeing the waistcoat-clad animal riding around on one of his little motorized scooters in the middle of the hall was unusual.

Unusual and Nezu went together like gas stations and fire quirks.

The sentient animal was also practically vibrating. Some might assume from anxiety or nerves, but Aizawa had worked at UA long enough to know what it was.

Nezu was barely restraining himself from cackling manically.

Aizawa was very, very glad he had listened to his gut today. Anybody who made Nezu wait when he was like this was going to end up regretting it.

There were a lot of questions Aizawa could ask. Most of them were probably going to be answered in the next hour, which made asking them irrational. But there was one that might not be.

“So who is this person whose work you want us all to see?” the tall, scruffy pro asked. He considered this a valid question, because knowing his boss, that very well might never come up.

Nezu smiled. He was excited enough that he didn’t bother to smile in a way that hid his very, very sharp teeth. Worrying.

“Their name is Sage!” the principal of UA chirped.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. That was remarkably unhelpful even by Nezu’s standards.

“I don’t know a Sage,” Aizawa said after a short moment, when Nezu refused to elaborate. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Nezu’s toothy grin stretched even wider. “Up until last week, neither had I!” he declared, seeming absolutely thrilled at the prospect. “I was made aware of them by one of my more unusual contacts, who forwarded me a rather large sample of their work! It was quite the thrilling read!”

One of Nezu’s more unusual contacts? So anybody from a European political ambassador to a reformed druglord working as an informant, then. That narrowed it down not hardly at all.

Since he doubted his boss would elaborate on his own, and because Aizawa was becoming more deeply concerned by the minute as to what could have wound Nezu up this much, the Underground pro decided to bite the bullet and ask.

“How large is ‘rather large’? What did they send you?”

The quirked animal giggled manically, barely pulling back from a full blown cackle. “It was a 96 page analysis of the mistakes All Might made during the highlights of his career! I’m told that Sage assembled it in less than 72 hours after he began working on it!”

He. So Sage was male. That was one word of a description, which was more than Aizawa had a minute ago.

“I assume you approve of the quality,” Aizawa said, though it wasn’t really a question. A blind man could tell that Nezu was over the moon about it. It wasn’t a question so much as it was a distraction. Small talk while he rapidly sifted through people he knew Nezu associated with, who the rodent considered ‘unusual,’ who might have some kind of contact with a ‘he,’ who would work under a pseudonym and could produce analytics that made Nezu act like a kid in a candy store.

Aizawa had more information than one might think. But still, he drew a blank. The talented son of a reformed villain who wanted their child to go to UA? Had one of the vigilante street urchins he spent so many nights trying to wrangle back into society managed to impress somebody big enough to sponsor them directly at Nezu? Was it some kid from the witness protection programs trying to start over at the school with the heaviest security this side of Tartarus? There were a million different possibilities, each as equally unlikely as the last.

“I completely approve!” Nezu replied, practically bouncing on his segway. “It was a thrilling read, a real work of art! If someone had turned that in with an admission application to UA’s support or business course, I would have written their letter of recommendation myself!”

Just shy of 100 pages in less than three days. All Might was probably the most publicly visible hero in the world, so information was hardly difficult to come by, but that was still almost a page and a half every hour. And of a quality high enough that Nezu would write a recommendation letter over it.

Either Sage didn’t sleep, or he could work even faster than the timeframe implied.

Nezu smiled, full of teeth and maniacal joy. “Best of all, it was actually just a teaser. What arrived last night was an analysis of me!”

And now they were going to look at an analysis of Nezu himself, made by the same person.

Ah, yes. Now Nezu’s anticipation over the last few days made sense.

Aizawa quietly hoped that Sekijiro “Vlad King” Kan, hot-headed idiot that he was, had read well-enough between the lines to realize how important being on time for this meeting would be. Kan still owed him five pounds of imported Italian coffee and a week’s worth of overtime pay from last year’s Sport’s Festival betting pool, and Aizawa couldn’t collect from a dead man.

The door to the conference room they were using for this little meeting opened, revealing that almost everyone who agreed to come was already here.

It was a small comfort to know that Aizawa wasn’t the only one who noticed how intense Nezu had been this past week.

Yamada "Present Mic" Hizashi was playing on his phone, flipping through something idly with his thumb. He grinned and waved cheerfully as Aizawa walked through the door.

“Hiya, Sho!”

Aizawa rolled his eyes and grunted at the voice hero. After the episode with the dog this morning, he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards any of his co-workers who were his former classmates. He could have gotten an extra fifteen minutes of sleep AND showered this morning, but with Hizashi and Nemuri on his case, he would have gotten an earful about ‘isolating himself.’ It would be irrational to blame the dog for slobbering on him, so he instead directed his ire higher up the chain.

Speaking of the devil, Kayama "Midnight" Nemuri was also here, though she was currently out-of-costume. Instead of her ridiculous painted-on spandex bodysuit and domino mask, she was wearing work jeans, sneakers, and an oversized sweater that was clearly made for comfort, not fashion. Sans her costume, she looked like a completely different person. If Aizawa hadn’t known her for years, he probably wouldn’t have recognized her.

The underground pro hadn’t bothered to examine today’s schedule beyond noting that he was on for classes, but it must be a free day or a grading papers day for her. No wonder she couldn’t beg off from this meeting.

The school’s nurse, Shuzenji “Recovery Girl” Chiyo, was sitting at the near end of the table. The elderly woman was reading a newspaper. Thankful that there was someone reasonable he could sit next to, he grabbed a chair beside her and sat down, ignoring Hizashi making injured doe eyes at him.

There were a few other teachers clustered here and there, either seated at the long conference table or otherwise grouped up. The most conspicuous were Lunch Rush and Snipe. Snipe had taken his signature mask off, revealing pale skin and bright green eyes, and was currently sipping a fresh cup of coffee. Next to him, Lunch Rush was busy putting another pot on.

Aizawa knew some about the two cryptids on staff. He knew enough to know that the ‘real’ name on Snipe’s paperwork was fake. The man operated as a daylight hero, but he had an Underground License, which meant his real identity was a state secret. Some students and members of the faculty referred to him by his fake name, Okitetsu Bouya.

Aizawa never did, always calling the man Snipe. Part of it was out of respect for another Underground license carrier who valued his professional privacy. Another part of it was because Aizawa didn’t want to use the man’s name unless he actually knew what it was.

But mostly, it was because Snipe had a terrible sense of humor, and Aizawa refused to indulge him by referring to him as “Big Iron Boy.” As if anybody would name their kid that, only for them to grow up to be a cowboy themed superhero. It practically screamed fake name.

Aizawa had a low opinion of All Might and Endeavor from the few times he had encountered both of them in a professional capacity, but at least neither of them had ever deigned to call themselves Punchface Goesfastalot or Propertydamage Firebeard the few times they had needed fake paperwork to do something.

Bad humor aside, Snipe was even-tempered, approachable, honest, and kind. He was the pro hero in charge of the upper year hero classes, and all of his students loved him. He was great with kids, had a very well-rounded skill set as a hero, and remained relatively popular and approachable in his niche as a cowboy hero in Japan in spite of being nowhere near the top rankings.

Most people would never guess such a man was a professional assassin, but then Aizawa supposed that was rather the point. A conspicuous assassin wouldn’t last very long, would they?

Snipe and Lunch Rush were both cryptids. More importantly, they were the same kind of cryptid.

They were deep, deep Underground. People who did jobs nobody else could or would do, to help preserve the stability and order of the world even in the face of the chaos that superhumanity caused. It would probably be impolite and not politically correct to refer to them as ‘the heroes that secretly killed people for the government,’ but it wouldn’t be entirely wrong, either.

Large, traditional wars weren’t really fought anymore, due to fears of the kind of damage a no-holds-barred quirk conflict might cause. That was a rubicon nobody wanted to cross. But the need for skunkworks and black ops remained. Sometimes, there were criminals with quirks so dangerous or disruptive to society that they couldn’t be allowed to continue to operate. Instead of a trial, they just disappeared one day. People like Snipe and Lunch Rush were among the tiny circle of pros in Japan who did the disappearing. They were professional cleaners, fixers. Licensed heroes with the authorization to deal with messes and problems that other heroes couldn't touch.

Aizawa knew some about Snipe, but not much. He knew the man was a true believer in helping people, and that he sincerely wanted to protect the students and teach them how to be great heroes. He knew that the man’s quirk did… ‘approximately’ what it was stated to do on his official forms, but that quite a bit had been left out, and the listed limitations were completely bogus. Only Snipe himself, and perhaps Nezu and a few government officials, knew exactly what he was fully capable of.

That wasn’t much, but it was still more than what Aizawa knew about Lunch Rush. At least Snipe had a public identity of sorts, even if it was fake.

Lunch Rush didn’t even have that much.

Very little information on the cyborg chef was publicly available. He was known as a support hero, big into disaster relief and rescue operations. He specialized in cooking, and was officially employed as UA’s chef, staffing the cafeteria and feeding students. He was even lower in the public rankings than Snipe, comfortably disappearing down the cracks of obscurity to the place where the triple digits fought among themselves to avoid becoming quadruples.

Aizawa felt that anyone with an ounce of logic in them would find it suspicious that his name, motif, occupation, and persona revolved entirely around a mundane skill that anyone could learn, while not a word of what his quirk was or did was ever breathed anywhere.

Then again, while Snipe hid behind false public paperwork, Lunch Rush hid behind obscurity. Nobody ever seemed to ask too many questions about him because everything to do with him faded away into the background. Support heroes never got the accolades that the frontline enforcers did. Disaster relief was a huge deal, but again, very few heroes ever made it into the big leagues handing out blankets and bottled water, no matter how important and fundamental it was.

Maybe if he was more explicitly famous, if he was closer to the glitz and glamour of the red carpet, more people might wonder what his quirk actually was. Instead, everything about Lunch Rush, from his motif to his chosen niche, seemed designed to make him fade away.

To the man’s credit, if he hadn’t been Aizawa’s co-worker at UA, it was doubtful Aizawa would have thought twice about not knowing what his quirk was, either. 

It didn’t escape Aizawa’s observations that there was almost no place on earth a disaster relief hero specialized in feeding the hungry couldn’t go, almost no back doors or security they wouldn’t be allowed through. If Snipe was posing as a C-Lister, then Lunch Rush was practically a janitor hero.

Something about that put Aizawa’s own instincts as an investigative hero on edge. Snipe may be a triggerman with a partially-classified quirk, but everything about Lunch Rush seemed carefully chosen to give him as much access as possible while dissuading anyone from ever asking questions about him. Aizawa’s gut told him that between the two of them, Lunch Rush would make a far more dangerous enemy than Snipe.

Which was exactly why, he supposed, Lunch Rush was sitting in the middle of the campus, casually seeing every single faculty member and student every day during lunch hours in the most innocent and inconspicuous way possible.

Whatever the man’s quirk was, he was in a prime position to use it if there was ever a true emergency.

The public face of UA’s security was comprised of Inui “Hound Dog” Ryo, Ishiyama “Cementoss” Ken, Maijima “Power Loader” Higari, and Snipe. Ryo and Ken were the muscle, Higari handled the technical end, and Snipe was head of security and supported the others. The three other pros were here today for this meeting, seated on the far corner of the table watching the news quietly on a wall-mounted television. Hound Dog and Cementoss had come in their hero uniforms, while Power Loader, like Midnight, was dressed down as a civilian, sporting flip flops, cargo shorts, and a t-shirt with the word DIG printed across the front in gratuitous English.

And make no mistake, all of them were powerful heroes in their own right. All of them were employed full time by the school. None of them had weak quirks, and they were all competent at their jobs. At least when they weren’t getting drawn into the boneheaded shenanigans that was typical of professional heroism in general and UA specifically. 

But Lunch Rush and Snipe were the true threats. Nezu’s personal, matching knives in the dark. The hypothetical last line of defense if something got through the rest of the staff to threaten the students.

Lunch Rush was situated in the center of everything, a calm, polite, and inconspicuous spider in the middle of a giant web. And Snipe taught the upper years, meaning at any given moment, he was in charge of, and directly protecting, the strongest and most advanced students on campus, who would trust him and listen to his instructions.

It was a smart setup, Aizawa had to admit. Credit to the rat where credit was due.

The real question Aizawa wanted answered was how Nezu had managed to employ two wetworks heroes and gain their loyalty, since most national organizations that licensed and regulated pro heroes didn’t idly allow their black-ops heroes to freelance at the behest of others. Aizawa had no stomach for politics at all, but he assumed there must be a story behind it, and he wasn’t too proud to admit he was curious.

But even though he was sensitive enough to the subtleties of interpersonal drama to infer what he had, he doubted he would ever get answers to his real questions. After all, he still didn’t even know either of their real names.

The only thing he knew for sure was that Nezu had been trying to get a warper on staff for years, but had been repeatedly blocked by the HPSC, and Snipe and Lunch Rush were a big part of the reason why. Ostensibly, it was because there were no licensed warpers to be spared, but that was ridiculous and everyone knew it. Just a few years ago, some socialite in Japan had thrown a birthday party and used a warper to bring all the guests to some private island. Aizawa had heard the police gossiping about it. But somehow there wasn’t one to spare for UA, no matter the price.

The real reason the HPSC didn’t want UA to have a staff member with a teleportation quirk, in spite of how useful it would have been in the school’s day-to-day operations, is because they were terrified of Nezu becoming too powerful and staging some sort of coup. Apparently, the people they all paid taxes to were afraid that letting Nezu employ a warper was too much of a security risk after he already managed to employ Snipe and Lunch Rush.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. Nezu didn’t need a warper to overthrow the Japanese government, and never had. If the rat had wanted to stage a coup, he would have done so by now.

Lunch Rush, seeming to have a sixth sense about people in need, walked over to Aizawa and handed the man the first cup from the fresh pot of coffee he had just brewed.

Aizawa sipped at it. It was pitch black, sickeningly sweet, and scalding hot, without a drop of dairy or creamer in it. Exactly the way he preferred his coffee to be fixed. He sipped again, just to be sure. Perfection.

At that moment, Aizawa wouldn’t have cared if the man had personally assassinated an entire country.

His exhausted gratitude must have shown on his face, because Lunch Rush shot him an earnest thumb’s up before walking back over to continue his quiet conversation with Snipe.

Honestly, if those idiots in business suits were scared of internal coups toppling the government, they should pay less attention to Nezu and UA, and pour more resources into youth outreach and the villain factory that was the nation’s streets. Aizawa couldn’t count the number of teens and young adults he had tried to help, only for them to end up arrested and in jail because there were not enough resources for too big of a problem.

The fools at the top were complacent. The entire first world averaged a crime rate of approximately 20%, and those were considered good numbers now in the age of quirks. Just because All Might was personally lowering Japan’s crime rate to an unprecedented 6% didn’t meant the suits had the right to be so dismissive of preventative measures. All Might was ancient by hero standards, he wouldn’t be around forever.

Just by law of pure averages, one of those kids was eventually going to have a quirk dangerous enough that their day in court became a villain origin story that would change the course of history. Tomorrow’s supervillains could be stopped today, but convincing the bureaucracy of that was like trying to argue with a tree.

It was irrational. Illogical in the extreme. And yet here they were.

The door opened, and Kan walked in, eight seconds late on the dot. Sloppy. The man was a professional, how on earth were they supposed to beat the arrogant, bratty demigods they were teaching into halfway respectable heroes when the faculty couldn’t even be on time?

‘I could have taken my shower and still beaten him here,’ Aizawa thought to himself while sipping his coffee. ‘Maybe I should have.’

If he had known what this meeting was going to be about ahead of time, he probably would have. Either that, or deliberately thrown himself in front of a car during his commute.

It was doubtful being laid up in a hospital would stop Nezu, but it would have at least stalled him. Probably.

Kan looked around the room, beaming. “Ha! Looks like everybody is on time today. How are all of you doing this morning?”

Aizawa blinked, very slowly. It was not acceptable to throw a chair at your co-workers, he reminded himself. It was not.

Hizashi and Nemuri cheered back their own morning greetings, and Kan walked the long way around the table, grabbing a cup of coffee for himself and giving a respectful nod to Snipe and Lunch Rush as he went. He sat down directly across from Aizawa.

The large, blood-themed hero dumped somewhere between a quart and a gallon of creamer into that perfect, beautiful cup of coffee before loudly slurping it. Aizawa wondered if Snipe accepted private hits for cash or if there was some sort of official procedure and paperwork that was needed to erase somebody. “So, it’s not like Nezu to be late,” the blood hero declared. “Has anyone seen him today?”

Taking that as his cue, the principal popped out from the folds of Aizawa’s capture scarf, both arms held up high in excitement. “Not yet!” the diminutive animal man cheered.

Kan choked, barely stopping himself from spitting out his coffee all over the table.

Aizawa grinned from ear-to-ear, though his scarf mostly hid it.

He hadn’t felt or even noticed Nezu climbing up his body and lodging himself in inside his clothing, but that was par for the course. Yet another reason why Aizawa felt the HPSC were kidding themselves, believing they could somehow stop Nezu from killing them all if he really wanted them dead.

Nezu had never needed anybody’s help to be a massive threat. But for some reason, that didn’t seem to comfort the idiots in charge. So irrational.

The quirked animal jumped from his impromptu nest on Aizawa’s shoulder and landed on the table. He boldly walked down the center of it, grinning eagerly all the way, before promptly seating himself in his chair at the far end. He only remained visible because of the stacked cushions boosting him up. Nezu sat there for a long moment, surveying the room and grinning toothily while the rest of the faculty awkwardly stared back at him. Vlad was quietly using napkins to clean up his mess on the table. In the background, Power Loader had produced an energy drink from somewhere and unscrewed the lid.

Frowning, Recovery Girl, bless her soul, folded her paper up and put it away before fixing the principal of UA with a stern glare.

“Nezu, you already dragged us here almost two hours before school starts. Don’t make us wait any longer. What is all this about?”

The petticoat-wearing rat laughed and clapped his hands gleefully. Not a comforting sign.

“I’m so glad you asked, Chiyo! There’s a brand new analyst trying to break into the scene, a young man by the name of Sage! Their teacher is an old acquaintance of mine, and someone with former associations to our school, so they sent a sample analysis in of All Might to pique my interest!”

Aizawa took another slow sip of his coffee and tried not to roll his eyes. Even when the rat was giving explanations, he still reveled in withholding as much information as possible. It was always a game with him. ‘Someone with former associations with UA,’ great, that narrowed it down so much. Not even former alumni, just associates. So practically anybody alive in the Japanese hero industry between the ages of fifteen and dead.

Also, calling 96 pages a ‘sample’ was a bit much, even for Nezu.

Snipe raised his hand. “So we’re watchin’ an analysis of All Might?” the green-eyed cowboy asked.

“No!” the anthropomorphic dean replied, practically vibrating in his seat. “The All Might analysis was actually just a teaser! What we’re watching today is an analysis of me! My acquaintance convinced their student to write an analysis of me, which includes a hypothetical plan to neutralize and defeat me if I were a villain instead of a hero!”

The entire room went dead silent.

There was a long, long moment, where Aizawa wasn’t sure anyone even dared to breathe. Even Snipe and Lunch Rush were frozen in their seats, so still they could have passed for statues. Then Recovery Girl got up, tucked her paper under her arm, and walked out of the room without another word.

Never had Aizawa been so envious of somebody else’s academic tenure.

Nezu shrugged to himself before triumphantly holding up a complicated looking remote control and clicking a single button, setting the presentation in motion.

And as the lights dimmed, the ceiling projector spun up, and the female text-to-speech voice began to read the document while displaying the first page on the wall so they could all read along, Aizawa had an epiphany.

He knew it. He knew it. From the moment he woke up that morning, Aizawa knew exactly what kind of day this was going to be. He should have taken that shower and fallen asleep in the stall. He should have locked every door and window in his crappy hole-in-the-wall agency and passed out on his closet cot, no matter what his self-proclaimed friends said about it later.

No wonder Nezu had been so excited this past week. No wonder. Some mad bastard out there that knew Nezu personally had conned their poor student into drafting up a hit plan for Nezu as a thought exercise and then sent it to him.

Because if there was one thing Nezu enjoyed more than playing games, it was having a clear and direct opponent to play against. If there was one thing the rat loved more than a puzzle, it was the struggle, the contest, the hunt.

No wonder he had dragged all of them here at fuck-this-o’clock to make them watch it with him.

Somewhere in the darkness of the room, a quiet, hysterical giggle could be heard from somebody. Aizawa didn’t know who it was. Aizawa didn’t care. 

This was hell. This was some kind of abstract, ironic hell, and Aizawa was trapped here with two polite state-sanctioned serial killers, five idiots, and the devil himself. And Cementoss.

Aizawa should have thrown himself directly into oncoming traffic on his way to work today. He really, really should have.

It is, perhaps, somewhat important to establish beforehand exactly what Midoriya Izuku’s analysis of Nezu was not.

It was not a shining golden blueprint of infallible plans that would inevitably lead to Nezu’s downfall.

It was not an immensely convoluted and complex scheme of Machiavellian disposition, fit to wrap the intended victim up neatly with a bow and deliver them into the hands of anyone who executed the strategy.

It was not some long and daring con, dripping with raw and unvarnished genius, that would compel the subject to turn themselves in out of fear before being subjected to it.

It was none of these things, because these things do not exist. They are impossible. They are a delusion of fiction and drama, born from the high-flying fancy of poets and bards.

When Sorahiko Torino had asked Izuku to analyze Nezu, Izuku did so, to the best of his ability and with the information he could access.

And when Sorahiko Torino asked that Izuku include an attached strategy to employ in the hypothetical scenario that Nezu was a villain instead of the principal of the most prestigious hero school in the world, Izuku did the same thing again. He created a strategy, to the best of his ability, and with the information he had access to. He could do nothing more.

It is under those criteria, knowing full well that the teenager knew, well…. basically nothing, relatively speaking, that Nezu chose to approach the work that had been given to him. The teen was being graded on a curve.

Because Midoriya Izuku did know nothing. He knew what the public knew, which was as little as the Japanese government, the Japanese Hero Public Safety Commission, and the World Heroes Association could get away with admitting.

It is a simple fact that many heroes, when registering their quirks, will be deliberately vague about precisely what their superpowers are capable of. Details are frequently omitted. It is such a common occurrence, in fact, that if a hero naively submits a particularly detailed and revealing description of their quirk, most of the clerks and bureaucrats in charge of filing the paperwork will reject their applications and return them with an insistence that they should try again with less details.

This policy is in place for many reasons, the most straightforward of which being that, if the full extent of what a hero is capable of was public knowledge, then any villain or criminal with two braincells to their name could work out exactly how to deal with the people coming to stop them.

This is, naturally, a bad thing for anyone who cares about law or civil order in society.

Keeping the full details of their quirks a secret gives heroes an edge. It helps keep them and their families safe. It also helps befuddle and confound the persistent efforts of human traffickers to hunt down and procure specific quirk effects via kidnapping.

There are many, many reasons for why the public is not given full disclosure on the details of the quirks of professional superheroes.

As such, it stands to reason that any strategy built using publicly available data as a reference would be inherently flawed.

Midoriya Izuku’s plan was not as flawed as it could be. He had, in fact, managed to guess or extrapolate more specific aspects of the quirks of many pro heroes simply by observing them over dozens upon dozens of public fights, rescue operations, and disaster relief missions. He then used that information to construct an informed, ranked roster of people whose talents and abilities would be most useful for the task at hand.

That, by itself, was impressive all on it’s own. By itself, such a feat would have qualified the young man for admission into UA’s support or management courses.

He also could not, truly and accurately, give a full accounting of how best to counter or contain Nezu, simply because Nezu had never disclosed the full details of how his own quirk, High Spec, worked, or what it was truly capable of. Nor did Nezu have any intentions of ever doing so. It was a secret he intended to take to his grave.

So it was truly impressive that the young man had gotten so much of what he had correct. This analysis of Nezu was seventy, perhaps even eighty percent correct, by Nezu’s own estimation. And that was truly astounding, all things considered.

Before the takedown plan, there was the analysis, and many of the details he provided about Nezu were correct. In fact, the animal man was fairly certain that Midoriya Izuku had a more accurate understanding of his origins and abilities than anyone else alive. 

Midoriya Izuku was correct in his identification of Nezu’s species and origin. He was, in fact, a Eurasian Stoat, and had in fact been born in captivity in the Sydney Biomedical Accelerator, the largest biomedical facility in Australia.

Midoriya had deduced this after realizing his species, cross-referencing major biomedical laboratories in the eastern hemisphere, checking which ones would have operated animal testing facilities featuring Eurasian Stoats, and then deducing that Nezu must have been born in Australia due to the incredibly subtle and specific accent of someone who learned Australian dialectic English first before learning Japanese in an academic setting.

Nezu’s preferred choice in both teas and cigarettes, specifically more expensive and imported Britannian teas that were popular in Australia, as well as one of the rarer cigarette brands that was only sold in Australia, merely sealed the deal.

Midoriya Izuku was correct in assuming that High Spec was a mutant-type quirk, which tied into his original identification of Nezu as a Eurasian Stoat. Midoriya deduced this by noting that all currently known intelligence quirks are mutation types, even if they are subtle. Midoriya was yet again correct in crediting those mutations to Nezu’s larger and more anthropomorphic stature, as well as the smaller but more mechanically complex changes to his body, like the manifestation of opposable thumbs and speech-capable vocal chords. Midoriya Izuku was also correct in supposing that Nezu’s own joking assertions that he was some sort of hybrid creature created via dubious mad science was exactly that; a joke, meant to misdirect attention away from the truth.

All taken together, Midoirya had thrown out nearly all other public speculation on Nezu’s species and origin, and managed to correctly guess that he was a Eurasian Stoat, born with a mutation quirk, in Australia, in the one lab that was doing testing on animals of his species during the timeframe of his birth.

Unbeknownst to Nezu, the animal man was experiencing a similar train of thought to Gran Torino’s own those many weeks ago back in the Midoriya’s apartment. The senior leadership in Tokyo law enforcement were going to throw a fit when they realized they had lost Midoriya to the hero system, when they could have pushed him through the Metro Police Academy and gotten him as a cadet instead. 

With analysis and deductive reasoning like this, Midoriya Izuku would have probably ended up the youngest prefectural police commissioner in Japanese history. 

Midoriya Izuku was even correct in supposing that High Spec did not merely boost Nezu’s intellect, but most other aspects of his biology, as was often typical of mutant-type quirks. He was correct in supposing that it was these augmentations that were responsible for him living dozens of times longer than the lifespan of any previous Eurasian Stoat. A shot in the dark, to be sure, but a remarkably accurate one. Nezu was genuinely impressed.

Though perhaps even Midoriya did not truly understand just how much High Spec was capable of.

Had High Spec manifested in a human, it would have transformed them into a building sized superman. They would have boasted a perfect physique, an intellect that rivaled those of fictional artificial intelligence, enough brute strength to lift a skyscraper, enough raw speed to break the sound barrier in a footrace, and a lifespan that dwarfed that of the average person by an entire order of magnitude.

The name Nezu chose to give his own power was the single biggest tell to it’s true nature, and the only hint the intelligent animal would ever consent to granting the world. Whoever bore it truly was of a ‘higher specification.’

It was truly a godlike superpower. So perhaps in some ways it is fortunate that it fell into the hands of a small and relatively weak animal, where it’s magnifying “spec improving” power was somewhat limited by the base material it was enhancing.

There is no way Nezu could have flown as far under the radar as he had if it had been more obvious just what his quirk could do. The powers-that-be were barely willing to tolerate him as it was.

Midoriya Izuku had no way of knowing any of this. It was already impressive enough that he guessed as much as he had.

And even if that had been the full extent of his analysis, if it had stopped there and been nothing more than just this, Nezu would have been impressed. In fact, had any student turned such a work in, no matter what quirk they had or what their own situation was, he would have considered it to be a valid application to be admitted into UA.

But it didn’t stop there.

Tactics were a subject that was relatively easy to understand the theory of, but which took a lifetime to properly master. Anyone who looked at a map of a historical battle could be forgiven for supposing that it was easy. Some of the most famous battles of all time, conducted by the most talented tacticians to ever live, visually appeared to be relatively simple affairs. A division moved slightly to the left to dissuade an attempted flank. A battalion of riflemen or a phalanx of Roman Legionaries moved forwards to intercept a charging push. 

It looked easy, because in the world of tactics and strategies, less is more. Complex and convoluted plans do not survive contact with the enemy. But it took a considerable amount of skill and insight to understand that, and even more to put it into practice. The art of war was knowing when to advance or retreat, of knowing when to rush or wait. Of understanding where the line for success was and committing exactly enough to reach it. 

Alexander the Great is remembered as one of the greatest generals to ever walk the face of the earth, and yet in some of his most famous battles, he gave less than ten orders total to see the conflict to completion. 

Anyone can be told that less is more. Putting it into practice is the reason war is called an art, and not a science. 

Midoriya Izuku's plan to neutralize Nezu was simple. And it's simplicity was it's strength. His first proposed step was to nuke the whole area with an EMP pulse. His second was to make use of a team of empaths and telepaths to divide the area the suspect was known to be inside into a numbered grid, coordinating with each other to further narrow down his location while feeling out his presence. Then a small team of heroes with suppression and knockout quirks that work on a variety of mediums would deploy their powers, flooding the location with multiple overlapping suppression effects. In theory, at least one of them would be able to touch Nezu through whatever sort of protection he might devise. And then, for the final step, the EMP would be deployed again to neutralize any contingency or dead-man switch Nezu may have, before a small squad of physical bruisers were deployed to rapidly blitz the location to secure detainment, with the suppression team waiting in the wings to flood the area again if Nezu was still active and a fight broke out.  

Midoriya's strategy was brutal, simple, and took no chances. And what's more, he didn't go overboard in building his team of heroes to execute it. Using nothing more than the publicly available roster of Japan's top 500 pro heroes, Izuku had assembled a list of 20 names that he would employ to, in the teen's own words, "raise the capture rate to as near-100% as possible."

Every step of the way, he assumed his own strategy would be inadequate and planned accordingly. At no point did he ever underestimate Nezu, nor did he allow fear to drive him to overestimation and the pitfalls that brings. 

Midoriya Izuku calmly and coolly executed a simple but highly effective strategy, displaying a surprising grasp of tactics. In fact, in Nezu's opinion, there was a certain grace and efficiency to his planning that could only be described as artistic. 

This plan was a work of art. It was flawed. It was incomplete. Because Izuku had no clearance, no full grasp or understanding of the nuances of all the quirks of every pro hero in the country. He was forced to assemble his side of the field using half-truths and deliberate obfuscations. He did the best that he could with what he had. 

And still, it was a work of art. Nezu wanted to frame it. He wanted to frame copies of it in every single classroom in the school, and make every heroics and business student read it before they were allowed to sit down and begin their day. 

Nezu, being Nezu, couldn’t resist doing what he did next. He simply couldn’t.

In his mind, he took Midoriya Izuku’s plan and corrected it. He imagined the boy, a year or two older, with some formal hero training and the proper clearance to see the quirks he was working with. Nezu used the data he had already seen to extrapolate this exact plan out again, assuming Midoriya was actually being trusted to lead and command this hypothetical operation, as the thought experiment assumes.

He corrected the plan, and then stood back and considered it.

While the precise details of High Spec were something Nezu scrupulously guarded, one aspect of his quirk that made his own genius existence tolerable was that it functioned like the gear shift in a car or engine. He could, at will, choose to shift into higher or lower gears of mental acuity. Most of the time, he had all the parts of his quirk set to their lowest possible settings.

This was fortunate for him, because it meant that he could still enjoy games such as chess or the thrill of pouring over puzzles without simply instantly solving them at a glance. Nezu had the mental processing power to solve chess, and nearly every other game ever devised, but he was, mercifully, allowed to dial that aspect of his mind up and down at will. This saved him from the immense, gnawing boredom that he often struggled to deal with.

Right now, at this very moment, Nezu was grappling with a problem he did not believe he would have to face when he got up that morning. In fact, this particular problem was one he had never experienced before in his entire life, and not one he had ever anticipated experiencing either.

Right now, he was staring at meticulous, unbelievably well-built plans for his own capture, containment, and execution in the event that he ever became a supervillain. Before correcting them, these plans were excellent, tactically sound, and had a high probability of success.

After correcting them, there was no simple or obvious counter that he could devise. He had stared at the problem in his lowest gear, and seen no way out of it. These simple, beautiful, artistic plans would work. The only prayer Nezu had was knowing Midoriya's moves ahead of time. 

He shifted up to a higher gear, and looked at the problem again. Still nothing.

Feeling a spark of something, a rush of genuine thrill, he shifted up to a higher gear yet again. And yet still, he saw no obvious flaw, no clear way out.

He began to laugh as he shifted gears one more time, skipping past several of his own middle tiers of operating power and frightening all of his staff and fellow teachers in the process.

But he didn’t care, because even now as he stared at the plans, he could see no fault in them. He could perceive no obvious counter or clear way out; these strategies, if employed, had a 98.958% chance of succeeding. The only flaws it possessed were the human elements themselves, the individuals whose talents and quirks would be employed to hunt him down and contain him. They had weaknesses. They had faults. They could be bribed, frightened, tricked, or otherwise subverted. But that was a given for any real life stratagem. The people were always the weakest link. The plan itself… remained a masterpiece.

And now, laughing uncontrollably at the raw thrill of it all, he stood on the cusp, on the brink, he stood on the edge of the abyss, and did something that had only rarely happened before in his life.

He hesitated.

Did he dare push again? He was already near the maximum mental capacity he could use without risking neurological damage from overclocking his body. The imaginary knob was turned almost to the fullest. Only one notch left to go.

And that was his dilemma. The situation he had never expected or experienced before.

If he turned the full power of his quirk on and solved this problem, the fun and excitement would end. He didn’t want it to end. He was enjoying this. What a wonderful, thrilling game this was! But what would happen if he did… and still couldn’t see a solution even then?

Nezu had never been what could be considered a coward. Cowardice was rooted in fear, and fear was an emotional response to threats. Even in his youth when he was trapped in the lab, he had ruled over his own fear, feeling it but never being controlled by it. But now he felt something similar to fear spark in him, not at the prospect of death or a perceived threat, but fear over the consequences of this game that was now being played out between himself and a child, a mere child.

He had played games with other intelligent beings before. A scant handful, often with intelligence quirks themselves, that he respected for their ability to give him a run for his money.

But this… he didn’t want this game to end. But it needed to end, it had to. This game was dangerous. The bets being wagered were counted in lives, and the pieces on the board were sentient. Even as a hypothetical, even in simple jest, the game was a threat to many. A solution needed to be found. But what would happen if he tried to end it, and found that he couldn’t? What would that mean? What would it imply, if a boy with no quirk managed to outsmart him? If a boy with no quirk had the ability to beat Nezu, and the only catch was that he be given the truth about the materials he had to work with?

What would it bring down on the boy, if the world knew he had matched Nezu? Did Nezu dare to open that door?

The emotion Nezu was feeling, that he had so rarely felt before in his life, was the abstract, parental fear for the sake of someone other than yourself.

At that moment, Nezu was stuck between desire, loss, and fear. His desire to win, the loss of such a wondrous and incredible game ending prematurely, and the fear of the consequences on behalf of another if his best, for once, wasn’t good enough.

Could Nezu, an educator with responsibilities, accept the danger it would put this young man in? Would this first and most thrilling game be the last that he could ever play with this particular human? Would the opening hand in a game the boy didn’t even know he was playing in be the last move Nezu could ever witness him make?

No. He wouldn’t accept that. He couldn’t. There had to be a solution to the problem.

And there was. The puzzle that Izuku had created stood before Nezu like a vast and impenetrable wall of smooth and unblemished white, as high as the sky and wide enough to split the world in half. Even the colossal titan of intellect that was a nearly-maximized High Spec could not simply smash through it casually. It would take time to puzzle through, it would have to be broken down and examined piece by piece. It would be a long, complex, and thoroughly enjoyable affair that would surely keep him busy for weeks, perhaps even months!

But the moment the focus of that titanic, high-gear mind was turned away from the puzzle itself and instead pointed at the problem of how to continue pondering the puzzle in peace, it found a solution in an instant.

Playing with Midoriya Izuku was dangerous, for Midoriya Izuku and everyone around him.

So all Nezu had to do was make Midoriya Izuku the most dangerous man in the world. So dangerous that no one would ever threaten him. So powerful that Izuku and Nezu would be enough to keep everyone safe with minimal effort. Giving them all the time in the world to play.

Yes. Of course. So simple.

Nezu calmed himself, and sipped at what little tea was left in his cup. After laughing uncontrollably for several minutes straight and splashing it around, it wasn't much. He looked at the projected images on the wall in peace, a small, calm smile on his face.

“I am going to teach that boy,” he announced. The room, already full of awkwardness and apprehension, suddenly began to stink of fear.

Honestly, humans were so touchy.

Chapter Text

The person Midoriya Izuku empathized the most with in the world right now was the head waiter who walked out that evening to find David Shield, All Might, and Star and Stripe asking for a table like it was a completely normal thing that happened every day, and not something out of a fever dream.

They were currently in the central city, named Metro Delta. It housed the nerve center of I-Island’s automated security, and also played host to most of the upper-class conveniences on the giant mobile island, such as high-end shopping, luxury metropolitan housing, and the offices of the most successful international businesses that claimed a space on the facility.

The location David Shield and Toshinori had decided their group would go to for dinner was called ‘The Four Seasons,’ a luxury apartment complex and upscale restaurant located near the city center. It was four massive towers seated on top of a huge glass-and-steel foundation building in a diamond pattern. The base was an entire city block in size, and was constructed in a pre-quirk art nouveau style. Green steel arches curved up from the street level into sweeping vaulted shapes, while the empty spaces were filled in with rounded glass panes tinted in subtle smoky colors. The four spires were what housed the high-rise apartment spaces, and each one was large enough to be a skyscraper in it’s own right. At various points up their sides, the towers were connected by curving glass walkways that hung suspended between them, allowing casual foot traffic between the towers with a spectacular aerial view.

The only reason The Four Seasons didn’t dominate the surrounding area was because of the absolutely gigantic central tower of the island, which was only a few blocks away. As impressive as the Seasons was, nothing else in the skyline measured up to that monstrous silhouette.

The moment Izuku set foot in the Seasons, he knew that the carpet in the entrance was worth more than his family’s whole apartment. It was just that kind of place. If he could have levitated to avoid stepping on it, he would have. He felt guilty just breathing the air here, like some butler in a tuxedo would materialize at any moment and scold him for daring to exist.

In the philosophical ramblings of his more personal notebooks, Izuku had once described quirklessness as being like an impoverished orphan out on the streets, pressing your nose up against the glass of a beautiful toy store or candy shop to look inside at the glamour of the age of quirks. It was a whole other world, like something out of a dream, but one that you were only ever allowed to look at from a distance. Not something you could ever touch or participate in. With that metaphor in mind, Izuku had never seen a place that belonged more firmly and completely on the other side of the glass than The Four Seasons.

It was entirely different to anything Izuku had ever experienced or known. What he had considered luxury a scant few hours before, things like the Bakugo household during Christmas or that nice restaurant his father always took him and his mother to whenever he returned home for visits, looked like the slums on the outskirts of central Tokyo compared to this.

However, if there was one positive thing to be said about Izuku’s interaction with the Seasons, it was that at least he and the Seasons both still lived on planet earth, even if they were worlds apart in culture and scale. The Four Seasons still functioned on rational logic, and not outer space insanity.

After all, the look on the man’s face who came out to seat their party described every single emotion Izuku had felt in the last twelve hours all in a single expression. Izuku knew exactly what that felt like. He had come to I-Island expecting a tour, or something approximating a science fair theme park. Instead he had apparently crossed some invisible threshold into an unstable circus dimension of dreams and nightmares without realizing it, where he was simultaneously getting to meet all of his idols and heroes, but it was also that dream where he showed up to school naked because he forgot to wear any clothes.

Izuku was sure The Four Seasons had seen it’s fair share of world class clientele, given it’s location and scale. He was sure they seated heroes, celebrities, influencers, and the internationally acclaimed on a regular basis.

But even for a place like this, seeing All Might, Star and Stripe, and David Shield show up asking for a spare table without a reservation, out of the blue on a weekday afternoon, must seem completely surreal. The combined star power of their little impromptu group was blinding.

Some words were spoken between the adults, but Izuku didn’t catch all of it, as he was still largely distracted by their luxurious surroundings. The interior of the Seasons was like a cross between a train station from the American roaring 20s, a modern-day art museum, and a country club. Everywhere he looked, there were copper and brass fixtures with tinted glass, crackling fireplaces with wood paneled walls, and pieces of art that looked far too important and valuable to not be behind the ropes of a museum exhibit.

Melissa didn’t seem distracted by their surroundings at all, but Izuku supposed that made sense, as he recalled her mentioning that she and her father owned a condo on one of the upper floors, which they both lived out of due to it’s proximity to a train station that went directly to I-Academy. Izuku supposed even a place like this would seem normal if you lived here and saw it every day.

No, instead of being distracted by their surroundings, Melissa was being distracted by Star and Stripe. Which Izuku felt was fair. The giant star-spangled woman was extremely distracting, after all, and the blonde girl was probably used to ‘Uncle Might.’

She wasn’t the only one being distracted by America’s top pro, either.

The huge woman let out a booming laugh, amused by a conversation Izuku had missed, before stepping forwards and casually slinging an arm over the maître d’s shoulder.

The man who had come out to greet them was tall, with broad shoulders and a physically fit build, but he seemed downright tiny crushed up next to Cathleen Bates’ enormous chest. The man flushed, but before he could protest, she had taken his phone out of his hands, held it up, and rapidly snapped off several selfies of the two of them.

“There you go!” she said, handing the blushing and stuttering man back his phone before shooting him a million watt celebrity grin. “I bet they’ll believe you now!”

“We, um. We have a table available in the S-Summer Room, if you would be interested, sir” the man stuttered out, struggling to keep his composure.

He seemed to have chosen to address David Shield, perhaps on account of him not being All Might or Star and Stripe.

Unfortunately, if his goal was to regain some composure and professionalism, he would be denied it, because the person who cut in and responded was Gran Torino.

“Yeah, sure, that’s great, we’ll take it,” the diminutive man affirmed, completely nonplussed at the extravagance of their surroundings or the fact that he was in the presence of both All Might and Star and Stripe in their full heroic regalia. “Just as long as we can get some chairs with straps to hold these two gorillas in so they don’t go haring off and getting involved in some fool business before one of them pays the bill,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the two towering heroes flanking the group.

All Might chuckled. Star and Stripe laughed and said ‘oh you.’ David Shield snorted and rolled his eyes. Melissa Shield giggled.

The maître d looked like he had woken up only to find his bed had been somehow transported to the martian surface while he slept, and he was now inexplicably stranded on the red planet with no way back.

Izuku felt for the man. Imagine seeing some random old guy in cargo pants and cowboy boots bullying two of the greatest superhumans in the world while somebody sixteen levels above your paygrade rolled their eyes at the spectacle.

Izuku knew that feeling. It felt a lot like Hatsume Mei, actually.

It was the feeling when reality tried to shift gears without a clutch.

Spurred on by the sudden bout of camaraderie, Izuku took the initiative, stepping forward and patting the man in an awkwardly friendly manner.

“It’s okay,” the teen said, doing his best to reign his stutter in. “None of this has really made any s-sense for a while. I’m sorry you got dragged into it.”

Several loud snickers and a hoarse, muffled laugh that was very poorly disguised as a cough came from behind Izuku. The maître d looked mortified.

“R-right this way, s-sirs, m-madam,” the man said, before stiffly walking away.

Izuku didn’t blame him for being mortified. Imagine meeting two of the greatest heroes in the world, and only managing a selfie instead of an autograph?

The deeper interior of The Four Seasons lived up to the name, as Izuku’s party of people passed through both spring and winter themed areas on the way to their private dining room.

The spring section of the restaurant seemed to be dominated by carefully cultivated plant life and elaborate, burbling fountains. These plant and water fixtures were spread out across a series of interconnected drawing rooms and greenhouse-style tea rooms, with immaculate white wainscoting and walls painted in clean wildflower colors.

The winter wing, by contrast, looked like an explosion of yuletide cheer had taken place and nobody had bothered to clean it up. Cobbled stone pavement on the floor and faux village storefronts built into the walls made the wing mimic the appearance of eating outside in some tiny rustic town from the old world that had been overtaken by the holiday spirit. Garlands, string lights, and huge tufts of fresh evergreen plant life hung everywhere. There were even fake piles and drifts of room temperature snow, which were clearly the product of some unknown quirk. Izuku dearly wished to know how that worked. A fluid hardening quirk, perhaps, that locked the water into a crystal form?

Sadly, they didn’t seem to pass through or near a fall themed area, which the teen assumed must exist. He was somewhat curious, after seeing spring and winter.

One thing he knew for certain, however, was that whoever was in charge of interior design at the Seasons clearly believed that summer was a time for beaches and the ocean. After passing through several doors, Izuku found himself being lead through a series of hallways where the walls, ceiling, and even the floor were all clear and looking out into various saltwater aquariums.

He didn’t have time to stop and marvel, though, because they were ushered through two more doors before finally stopping in a private dining room where all four of the walls had been painted in a beautiful, continuous mural of the seaside. Paired together with a bright, sunny sky mural on the ceiling, cleverly hidden natural lighting, and a floor made of thatch and weathered wood, it gave the illusion that the room was an open air platform on a pristine, sunny beach.

The maître d bowed stiffly before leaving at the fastest speed his professionalism permitted. He looked like a man who had been set on fire but was trying to remain stoic about it.

Even if they had nothing else in common, Izuku felt that he and the employees here were on the exact same wavelength about, well. All of this.

The four adults took their seats at the long, low table. Sporting a bubbled, green sea glass top, the table was made of wicker and polished, weathered wood. Like all the other fixtures of the room, it fit the theme of ‘outdoors and on the beach.’ Several roughly cut and polished wooden bowls were arranged down the middle, each containing a stumpy, unlit candle.

Izuku flushed when he realized that, with all of the adults sitting on one side of the table, he and Melissa would be alone on the other side.

One brief glance at Torino’s incredibly smug face made it clear that this probably wasn’t a coincidence.

Gingerly, like he was afraid his chair was hiding a bomb, Izuku sat down next to an oblivious Melissa Shield.

“Isn’t this cool?” she asked him, craning her neck around to admire the beach mural surrounding them. “Usually they serve breakfast and lunch in the spring rooms, and dinner in winter. But fall is for big events, and summer is for VIPs only! This is my first time being back here.”

Izuku gave a shaky laugh. Yeah, ‘cool’ was one word for it. He could think of a few others, too, but they weren’t nearly as polite.

They had barely been there thirty seconds, though to Izuku it felt like hours, before another employee of the hotel smoothly entered the room and distributed a menu to each of them. He was tall and thin, with dark hair combed cleanly back across his head. He wore an impeccable fitted tuxedo, and sported a French-style pencil mustache the same color as his hair. His speed, professionalism, and completely nonplussed expression suggested substantial training and experience, as the man handed both All Might and Star and Stripe their menus with little more than a nod and a polite ‘sir’ and ‘madam.’

He couldn’t be sure, but Izuku guessed that word had already spread among the staff that they were dealing with two of the most famous superheroes on the planet and one of the biggest celebrity scientists on the island. The shock factor that had tilted the maître d didn’t seem to be present anymore.

Izuku flipped open his menu, a heavy thing made of polished wood and clean leather, and swallowed. He wasn’t thrown by the language: he could read English just fine, and write some in a pinch if he had to. Most kids his age could. But he didn’t recognize a single name on the menu. A third of the entries seemed to be in French, and another third in Italian, or at least he guessed as much by the names. But even looking at what was written in English, nothing had a clear description of what it actually was.

And, rather conspicuously, nothing anywhere had a price attached to it, either. The Four Seasons seemed to operate on the theory that if you had to ask what it was, you shouldn't eat it, and if you had to ask how much it cost, you couldn’t afford it.

Izuku shot Torino a desperate, fish-out-of-water look, which the older man unhelpfully replied to by widening his own grin and not saying anything.

The exchange wasn’t missed by Toshinori, though, who gave Izuku a slightly more subdued version of his million watt celebrity All Might grin.

“Order whatever strikes your fancy, young Midoriya,” he said encouragingly. “Tonight will be my treat.”

Cathleen Bates turned her head indignantly at that. “Your treat? As your former student, that’s hardly appropriate. I’ll be covering the bill tonight.”

Torino snickered, and David smiled fondly at the two heroes.

Izuku did his best not to panic.

It was nice to know that price wasn’t an object, even if he did still feel guilty about it, but that didn’t change the fact that he was ordering blind.

Thankfully, however, the young teen was not alone in his struggles tonight.

“Did you need help?” Melissa politely whispered, craning her head to look over at him from her own menu.

The green haired teen could have cried from relief.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t r-really recognize anything on the menu,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice down to match hers. “Do they have anything like katsudon?” Izuku asked softly. In the background, half of the adults continued to debate the bill while the remaining half spectated with amused looks on their faces. “It’s, ah, like a fried pork cutlet with rice and eggs.”

Izuku wasn’t expecting a yes. But Melissa surprised him.

“Yeah, I think they have something like that!” she replied, before reaching over to Izuku’s menu and flipping over to the Italian section. She pointed at something Izuku definitely couldn’t pronounce, called ‘Lombo di Maiale Fritto con Risotto.’

“My Italian isn’t great,” the blonde girl admitted, “but I’m pretty sure maiale fritto is fried pork, and I know risotto is a kind of rice. I don’t think it has eggs, though.”

Splitting hairs over having eggs in his rice was the last thing Izuku cared about at the moment. He was just thankful he had something he could ask for where he had some idea of what he would be getting.

“T-thanks,” Izuku whispered back with sincere gratitude.

Melissa smiled like the sun. “No problem!” she enthusiastically whispered back.

Their waiter returned, so quickly and quietly that he was already asking each of them what they wanted before the whole table noticed he was there. Thankfully for Izuku’s dignity, the tuxedo-clad man politely accepted the teen simply pointing at what he wanted off of the menu, sparing Izuku from attempting to pronounce it.

“So,” Melissa said conversationally, still keeping her voice low. “What brings you and Uncle Might to I-Island? What’s your relation to him?”

Izuku sipped at his water absently, calming his nerves. “I’m training to be a hero,” he said, with hardly any stutter. “All Might ran into me by c-coincidence during a villain attack, and thought I had potential. So he decided to train me.” Izuku gave the blonde girl a small, shy smile. “I was brought here to try and make some connections in the industry. I’m very thankful for the opportunity.”

“Ah, how wonderful!” Cathleen cut in, her voice slightly less booming now that they were indoors. Even so, Izuku still nearly jumped out of his chair at the sudden volume change, while Gran Torino merely rolled his eyes and took another sip of his beer.

The tall, amazonian heroine leaned over the table eagerly. “That makes us comrades, then! Fellow students of Master Yagi!”

Izuku did his best to smile back. Next to him, Melissa’s eyes sparkled. “That’s so cool!” she exclaimed. “What happened during the villain attack? It must have been amazing for Uncle Might to notice you like that!”

Izuku ducked his head, somewhat shamefaced. “It wasn’t- I didn’t do anything helpful. I just ended up getting in the way, in the end.”

“That isn’t true, young Izuku,” Toshinori said. “You bought the hostage the precious few moments needed for me to act. Without you, someone likely would have died.”

Melissa gasped. “There was a hostage? Oh wow! Now I have to know, what happened!?”

Izuku glanced over at Toshinori and Torino, a silent plea on his face, but unfortunately for his nerves, he didn’t find what he was looking for.

“It’s your story as much as it is anyone else’s, kid,” Torino said over the rim of his beer. “Tell it.”

Izuku swallowed.

“I was- I was on the way home from school,” he said, his voice wavering. “When I got attacked by a villain. They were a-, ah. A complex mutation type.” Izuku cringed, as though that admission itself, that his attacker had been a mutant, was something inappropriate to speak about.

David Shield’s eyebrow quirked. “How so?”

“Their body was a giant mass of living slime,” Izuku said, clarifying. “He didn’t have any visible muscles, skeleton, or nervous system. The, uh, the only solid parts seemed to be his teeth and his eyes, and even those could change shape.”

Cathleen whistled slowly. That was one hell of a complex mutation. Many people had issues when their quirks gave them weird proportions or awkward animal parts. Being a living blob of slime was on a whole different level. “I can’t imagine what kind of life he had to live,” the giant woman commented, a note of pity in her voice.

“It probably wasn’t great,” Izuku admitted absently. “He was also non-Newtonian, I’m pretty sure. Not just because he could locomote without any visible means, but because he, well…”

Izuku swallowed nervously. “… he said he wanted to use me as a disguise. A ‘skinsuit,’ he said. To try and escape All Might. He was trying to force himself into my body. So that, you know, implies the ability to compress and change viscosity…”

Izuku trailed off, as the room had grown terribly still all of a sudden. Melissa clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. Cathleen was stone-faced, while Torino’s expression had gone carefully blank.

“It’s okay!” Izuku said, the words coming out in a tumble. “It’s okay, All Might saved me! He blew the villain away in one punch and then gave me an autograph, it was great!”

“I’m not really sure I’d call that ‘great,’ young man,” David Shield said evenly, his features assuming a schooled neutrality. “Nevertheless, I am glad you escaped unharmed.”

“And to think, I felt sorry for the bastard a minute ago,” Cathleen muttered to herself, but not so quietly that it went unheard.

“What happened next was my fault- the villain got away,” Izuku said apologetically. That admission raised several eyebrows around the table. A villain had escaped from All Might?

“Young man, it was not your fault,” Toshinori said, his voice even and sincere. “I am a professional. The villain escaped because of my negligence and inattention, and not for any other reason.”

“But I-!”

Toshinori shook his head, interrupting the teen. “No, young Izuku. I will not let you accept any blame for what happened. Even a mob of fans shouldn’t be able to stop a pro hero from bringing a villain to justice. If your actions alone were what allowed him to escape, then I should turn in my license and retire immediately.”

Izuku shut his mouth, his lips pressed thin in a worried line. But Toshinori wouldn’t budge. Torino watched with interest from the sidelines. He had been told what had happened in only the vaguest sense. But now he was interested in the specifics. He would have to get the full story from Toshinori later.

“What did you use to contain him?” David Shield asked with some curiosity.

“Empty soda bottles,” Toshinori replied. “When I realized I was dealing with a liquid villain, and wouldn’t be able to take them in normally, I purchased several from a local vending machine and emptied them out. Young Midoriya was quite right; his density and viscosity could change. In spite of how large he appeared at first, it was fairly easy to fit him into just a single bottle after I knocked him out.”

There was sputtered, uncontrollable giggling from Melissa. Cathleen grinned. “A soda bottle, master? Really?”

“What was I supposed to do?” the pro hero said somewhat defensively. “He was made of liquid! You can’t handcuff a puddle!”

Torino pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “I taught all of my students that if it’s a stupid idea but it works, then it’s not a stupid idea,” the old man said, sighing. “But were soda bottles really the best you could come up with?”

“Well, how would you have done it, then?” Toshinori challenged back. “I didn’t exactly have time or options, you know?”

David Shield chuckled. “Toshi has a point,” the scientist said, coming to his friend’s defense. “Sometimes you just have to make do with what you have.”

“In either case,” Toshinori said, cutting off further argument about his soda strategy, “the villain escaped, which was entirely my fault. What happened next, young Izuku?”

Izuku swallowed. “I, uh. I did something, to ask All Might a question, and it distracted him enough that we lost track of the bottle. At some point, the villain got loose, and tried to kidnap somebody else to use as a disguise. It was somebody I’ve known for a long time. We go to the same school. They have an explosion quirk, combustible sweat with natural igniters embedded in the palms.”

It was Melissa’s turn to be wowed. “That’s a crazy quirk,” the blonde teen said, looking interested. “It must be a really stable compound to not just blow up all the time. How strong is it?”

“Extremely,” Izuku admitted. “I’ve seen it destroy fully-grown oak trees. But the strength is variable enough that it can be tuned down to little more than a concussive shock. It actually reminds me a lot of the bubble quirk that Mr. Shield reverse-engineered during his debut as a quirk scientist.”

“Call me David, please. And I’m surprised you know about that,” the scientist across the table admitted, an impressed tone in his voice. “That’s pretty obscure trivia, and it’s not a topic most people even care about.”

“Who wouldn’t care about the science behind quirks?” Izuku replied, his indignation erasing any hint of stutter or hesitation in his voice. “So much of our world revolves around them, our entire society destroyed and rebuilt itself to accommodate superpowers, but we still don’t even know what they are! Why they happened! We don’t know anything! Understanding quirks, and using quirks to further advance our own understanding, is one of the most important things there is!”

David Shield laughed at the teen’s outburst of brightness and honesty. “Well said, young man. You are right, of course. But I think you would be surprised how many people ‘don’t’ actually care. It’s rare for someone of your age and education level to see things that way. You’re a lot like my Melissa in that regard.”

Izuku swallowed thickly and looked down at the table. Next to him, the girl in question whined in embarrassment at being called out. The scientist smiled indulgently at his daughter before turning back to the other teen.

“What about this explosive ability reminds you of my bubble capture weapon?” he asked, curiosity on his face.

Izuku perked up slightly. “Well, it’s just. Most quirks have effects that cannot be replicated, right? For all intents and purposes, they may as well be magic, and until we put in enough effort to understand the mechanics of how they function, that is effectively what they are.”

David Shield nodded. “That is very true. I have some colleagues who would be rather upset to hear quirks referred to as ‘magic,’ but you are fundamentally not wrong.” The scientist smiled suddenly, somewhat mischievous looking. “After all, any sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic, isn’t that how the saying goes? So if they don’t want some quirks to be referred to as magic, then I suppose they’d better hurry up in explaining their effects, shouldn’t they?”

There was soft laughter from around the table. “Exactly!” Izuku said, the topic of his passion driving away his shyness like sunshine chasing shadows. “But even though there are some effects that we don’t understand yet, there are others that we do. And that’s why there’s really three kinds of technology now. There’s normal technology, that’s us trying to reclaim what we lost during the Dawn of Quirks. Then there’s technology that is otherwise normal, but uses quirks in it’s creation.”

“I-Island itself is a good example of that!” Melissa supplied enthusiastically. “It would have taken generations to build a structure this large, but with quirks being used to manipulate and produce many of the materials, it only took about a decade to build!”

“Right!” Izuku said. “And then there’s the last kind, which is technology that can directly reproduce the effects of a quirk, because the quirk has been understood enough that we can recreate the ability without needing the person.”

“And that is the rarest kind of them all,” David Shield supplied, sipping at his water. “Just because we understand what a quirk is doing doesn’t mean we have the ability to recreate the effect. It still has to be within our reach. We have a pretty good idea of the physics involved in black holes, these days. But that doesn’t mean we can make them on demand, even if there are a few people with quirks that can. We owe most of our current understanding of advanced gravitational physics to those very people.”

The scientist sat his glass down on the table before leaning forwards, looking at the teenage boy in front of him with open interest. “I presume this is what you meant when you said this explosion quirk reminded you of the bubble quirk I recreated?”

Izuku ducked his head, looking bashful and somewhat shamefaced. “I’ve read all of your papers,” the teen admitted. “And the woman the quirk originally belonged to secreted a compound substance from her lips and fingertips that allowed her to create bubbles large enough to trap a person, and tough enough that they could contain an explosion. You studied that substance and realized there was nothing inherently anomalous about the compound itself. It was just incredibly complex chemistry. So you recreated the hydrophobic polymers that her quirk was producing naturally, which was the key behind a bubble strong enough to pick up a person or stop an explosion. That technology was what put you on the map as a quirk scientist, and a version of that bubble weapon has also been in every single version of the Mightmobile since!”

Torino grinned into his beer in spite of himself. David Shield, by contrast, was shocked. He had known already from offhand comments made by the retired teacher that Midoriya was something of a walking reference book when it came to quirks and fanboy knowledge. But this was something else entirely.

And calling it fanboyism was a bit misleading. After all, most fanboys were defined by their encyclopedic knowledge of what was functionally useless trivia.

The information Izuku was apparently obsessed with was far from useless.

“Yes,” the scientist admitted after a brief moment of hesitation. “That is true. Are you implying you have a similar level of understanding of this explosion quirk you mentioned?”

Izuku ducked his head. “Well, I mean- it’s not really a fair comparison, is it? I’ve known aunt Mitsuki and uncle Masaru for ages, so I know where Explosion- sorry, that’s what it’s called, came from. I understand the quirks that created it.”

David Shield raised an eyebrow. So this other person who was kidnapped as a backup disguise was a relative or close friend. Interesting.

But the scientist could see the teen’s self-esteem issues rearing their ugly head, and he wasn’t going to let that stand unaddressed.

“Her name was Henrietta McKinnon,” he said, speaking directly to Izuku.

The green-haired teenager was understandably confused. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“The woman with the bubble quirk,” David said, leaning back in his chair. “The school I attended ran from middle school all the way up to university prep, and was a boarding school. They had co-ed housing for the upper years. She was my old roommate and research partner. We had known each other for years. She was studying to become a nurse, while I had always been interested in quirk science and it’s application in heroics. I asked her permission to study her quirk and attempt to replicate it with technology, as a sort of thesis to break into the industry. She happily complied. So don’t feel like it isn’t a fair comparison. Having known someone for years isn’t an unfair advantage at all.”

The scientist sipped his ice water before leaning forwards again in interest. “Now tell me about the two quirks that created this Explosion.”

Izuku swallowed. “Um. Aunt Mitsuki’s quirk is called Glycerin. She’s technically a mutant, but has no outward expression of her quirk, so it’s not a complex mutation. The mutant body part is her skin. She secretes a glycerin-adjacent substance from her pores. It naturally moisturizes her skin and conditions her hair, which is why she works as a model at Verdana Valor. Her mutation gives her naturally perfect hair and skin, she doesn’t even have to try.”

Both women seated at the table made noises of envy. Melissa humpfed and crossed her arms, muttering ‘so unfair’ under her breath. Cathleen, by contrast, looked down at her own large, heroic hands, an expression of curiosity and consternation on her face.

“Save it,” Torino barked out of the blue, holding his beer somewhat protectively away from the large woman seated next to him. “If you’re going to experiment with your quirk, do it somewhere you aren’t liable to accidentally spray us all with sweat lotion.”

The number one pro in America had the decently to look somewhat sheepish. Toshinori laughed. “Feel free to experiment, Cathy!” he said in his booming All Might voice. “Variety is the spice of life!”

Torino placed a hand over the mouth of his beer mug and leaned away, eyes narrowed. “Quirk experiments at the dinner table is something children do, and if the two of you are going to act like bratty kids, I can sure as hell punish you both like some. I’m not so old I can’t whip the pair of you. Don’t you dare!”

There were several chuckles around the table. The old man harumped, before finally deciding that the giant woman seated next to him wasn’t about to issue some improvised Order and spray him with quirk-created body fluids.

“Well?” he said somewhat grumpily. “Finish asking your questions about quirks so the kid can tell his story!”

David coughed into his hand, looking slightly abashed himself. “Ah, of course. I apologize, young man. Given that your aunt’s quirk is a glycerin chemical, I assume your uncle must have had some sort of nitrate or nitro compound for a quirk?”

Izuku nodded hesitantly. “Um, y-yes,” he said, some of his hesitation returning. “Uncle Masaru is an emitter-type, his quirk is named Acid Sweat. He sweats an oxidizing acid that explodes. The, uh, the chemistry for that is a bit above my head, but from what I’ve researched, it’s similar to aunt Mitsuki’s. In, you know, in the sense that there’s nothing inherently anomalous about it. It’s just an unusual substance. He also has the secondary traits you’d expect from a fourth generation emitter. His skin is heat and corrosion resistant, and his bones and tendons are reinforced. He can make small explosions by clapping his hands together and setting off his sweat, and they don’t injure him. His body has adapted to withstand his own quirk.”

David nodded his head thoughtfully. “And combining the two naturally produced a hybrid. With the traits of both, I presume? A reinforced skeletal structure, explosion and corrosion resistant skin, and sweat glands that produce a combination of the chemicals of both parents?”

Izuku nodded, some of the hesitation leaving his posture. “Plus something new,” the teen added. “The palm igniters. Uncle Masaru doesn’t have those, he needs percussive force to set off his acid.”

It was Cathleen’s turn to be impressed. “That’s a top class quirk” the statuesque woman said, whistling appreciatively. “It was practically made for heroics.”

Izuku smiled somewhat sadly. “I know,” he said softly, looking down slightly. “That’s what everyone always said.”

Melissa missed it, perhaps because she was the only one at the table who wasn’t aware of Izuku’s quirklessness. But none of the adults failed to catch it. A child who had been told from the start that they would be amazing for their abilities, stood next to another that didn’t have any quirk at all.

So that was how things had been.

“I think you should publish what you’ve worked out so far,” David Shield said, a serious expression on his face.

Izuku looked up shocked, an expression of panicked horror on his face. “I- I couldn’t!” he protested. “I mean, it’s- I never asked! I don’t have permission! And it's, well- it’s all just theory and g-guesswork anyway! The hardest part would be the chemistry, and creating some way to make it useful! I don’t have a clue how to do any of that!”

But David Shield shook his head. “You’re wrong about something, young man. The hardest part was identifying it as something that could potentially be reproduced, understanding the quirk, and breaking down how it functioned. You’ve already done the most difficult tasks. I didn’t know how to make a bubble-based interdiction system either, when I started out, but I taught myself how. The practical engineering side isn’t as hard as some people make it out to be.”

Izuku wasn’t convinced. “But how could that possibly be the hard part?” he exclaimed. “Isn’t the science and engineering side the biggest hurdle?”

“Identifying and understanding the quirk is the hard part because every quirk is unique,” David explained patiently. He wanted Izuku to understand the value of what the teen had accomplished. “There are almost as many quirks as there are people on this planet. Every single one is different. No one has the time to even try and understand them all. We literally cannot. Picking Explosion out of the sea of quirks, understanding exactly how it works, and then realizing it could be independently recreated is absolutely, without question, the hardest part of the process. Without that discernment, quirk science would be chasing shadows. We would never accomplish anything.”

He leaned back in his chair. “As for your other concern, it’s true, not having permission could be an issue later. You might not be able to get a patent that was legally binding, among other things. But if anything, that makes what you’ve accomplished even more impressive. You did it from a distance, without any cooperation or voluntary testing. Don’t put yourself down by thinking that what you’ve done is simple or easy, because it’s not. I could not have done what you have, at your age. I was several years your senior when I figured out how to reproduce Henrietta’s quirk in a petri dish. And it took much longer to figure out a way to make it useful. She could naturally direct the polymers she created with a kind of substance-specific telekinesis. That secondary aspect of her quirk allowed her to control and manipulate her own bubbles. Naturally, I couldn’t replicate that, so it took years to put together a system that could get them to track and intercept people, projectiles, and debris.”

David folded his hands, lacing his fingers together. “Given the possible applications of a stable and relatively non-toxic explosive quirk, I’d say that the potential of your work is significantly greater than my own was. You have already surpassed me, when I was your age. Be proud, Izuku.”

Izuku flushed red and ducked his head slightly. Which is, perhaps, why he didn’t catch Melissa staring at him with open awe and admiration on her face.

Toshinori stood up from his chair, flexing both of his arms and dramatically posing. “That’s right, young Izuku! Be proud of yourself! Your quirk analysis, it goes beyond! I declare it-,” and he shifted his pose, shooting one arm out high while flexing the other down like a bodybuilder on a beach “-PLUS ULTRA!”

“I agree!” Cathy loudly said, slapping the table so hard that all that glasses shook. “Your smarts are top notch, young man! So don’t be afraid to act heroic-” she stood up, and flexed a mirrored pose to All Might. “-and let FREEDOM RING!”

Izuku went as red as a tomato. Melissa had stars in her eyes. The top two pros in the world shamelessly held their heroic poses.

The moment lasted for several seconds, until Gran Torino intervened.

“If you two apes don’t sit back down, shut the hell up, and let the kid finish his story about the villain attack, then I’m going to order the most expensive bowl of soup this place has and dump it over both of your heads! I'll make you run laps around this island while doing handstands!”

And, remarkably, up they did shut. It may have been a trick of the light, but Izuku could have sworn both pros sat slightly straighter in their chairs when they sat back down.

“Villain got loose after Toshi caught him,” the old man gruffly summarized. “Found a new kid that you happened to know. There were explosions. What happened next?”

Izuku swallowed. “Um, it turned into a hostage situation?” he said, hesitation in his voice. “From what the villain said, he wanted a disguise because he knew he couldn’t fight All Might. He was trying to leave the city. But, well. Kacchan wasn’t going quietly.”

‘That’s a pretty cute nickname,’ Melissa thought rather innocently to herself.

“The villain couldn’t completely take over Kacchan because of the constant explosions, but because he was made of slime, the explosions didn’t really hurt him, either. Their struggle caused a lot of damage, and started some fires. By the time I got over to the scene from where we were originally, a bunch of heroes had already shown up. But none of them had a quirk that was suited to dealing with the problem. The slime villain had a decentralized liquid body that was damage resistant. There were no weak points to exploit, besides maybe the eyes. And with Kacchan setting off explosions constantly, nobody could get close. Any chance the villain had of escaping went out the window, so it, you know. Kind of just turned into a hostage situation on the spot.”

Cathleen chuckled. “A stealth mission turned into an explosive fire hazard? That’s a mood I’m familiar with.”

“Is it, now?” Torino said, cutting sharp and dark eyes across to the towering female pro. “And why would you be familiar with that, young lady? Care to share?”

“No,” the woman said, a hair too quickly to be entirely casual. “Please continue, young man.”

Izuku swallowed again, a bit harder this time. Here was the part he didn’t want to repeat. “Ah, um. What happened next was… it was stupid of me. It was reckless, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Perhaps I can fill in the blanks, then!” Toshinori said, his voice filled with his usual heroic enthusiasm. “Young Izuku saw someone in danger, who needed help, and no one was helping them! So he slipped past the police line, ran out into the street, and engaged the villain himself!”

Melissa gasped. Across from her, Cathleen grinned in approval. “That’s the spirit!” the giant woman cheered, shooting Izuku a thumb’s up and a celebrity smile.

“It was an extremely heroic action!” Toshinori praised. “Lacking a weapon, the young man threw his schoolbag at the villain’s eyes, and then grabbed the hostage during the distraction. He received a scolding from the other pros afterwards for being reckless, but the brief window he created gave me the time I needed to arrive on the scene and act!”

“They weren’t wrong,” the teen mumbled. “It was a really bad idea, in hindsight. I wasn’t thinking at all when I acted.”

But the old man drinking beer across the table wasn’t having any of that.

“You’re both far too kind,” Torino said bluntly. “I saw the news footage of the last part of this, and those other heroes were a bunch of clowns. That firefighter hero was putting in work, and one or two of them were helping pull civilians out of the danger zone, but the rest of them may has well have been cosplayers for all the good they were doing. It was a travesty, is what it was. A dozen heroes on the scene, and not one of them could do anything but stand around and gape. There was some idiot with a baseball bat, looking like he got lost on his way to the park, and some other guy in a wingsuit with a bunch of gadgets hanging off of him, looking like a damn pterodactyl with night vision goggles on. Imagine bringing that much junk to a fight and not having a single tool that could help. I didn’t even recognize half of them, and small wonder. With that kind of lame duck attitude, they’re not the sort of people the Japanese government is going to put in the limelight. They’re all lucky they didn’t lose their licenses over that crap.”

“Harsh,” David said calmly, taking a sip of his own water.

“But fair,” Torino replied, his tone cold and unwilling to compromise. “If they were my students, I would’ve had them running a parkour course while carrying filled water buckets for such a shameful display. A hero is more than just their quirk, they have to be. But you never would have known that, looking at them. The police were more useful in that incident than any of the pros were. It was a disgrace.”

The short, retired pro sat his beer down on the table before pointing a finger directly at Izuku. “You listen here and you listen good, kid. What you did was absolutely reckless, yes. There’s no doubt about that. But you also saved somebody’s life. It was the job of the professionals on the scene that day to do something about the situation, and they all failed to act. If they had done their jobs, you wouldn’t have been in a position to run out there and interfere in the first place. You understand?”

Izuku nodded somewhat shakily. The older man looked at him a moment longer before nodding once. “Good. I’m glad you do. Those people who scolded you may not have been technically wrong, but they had no right to complain either, not when you did their jobs for them. There was only one hero on the scene that day, kiddo, and it was you.”

Privately, Toshinori agreed completely with his mentor. The blonde pro felt that losing track of the villain after he had been contained was an inexcusable blunder for any veteran hero. But it was impossible to miss how uncomfortable reciting the story for an audience had made young Izuku, so he chose to play up his role a bit.

“I feel somewhat left out, here!” Toshinori said, pouting in a comedic manner. “Do I not count as a hero on the scene?”

“No,” the retired teacher said bluntly and without the slightest hesitation. He understood what his student was doing. “You’re a gorilla with a horrendous sense of fashion. I’ve decided it’s not your fault that you only had soda bottles to contain a living slime monster, but it’s absolutely your fault that you dropped him somewhere because a fanboy jumped you. You’re lucky the kid bailed you out of your mess, you turkey.”

Toshinori feigned offense, putting hand on his chest dramatically. David and Cathy both laughed, while the two teens giggled.

Internally, Toshinori was glad young Izuku was smiling again. He glanced across the table, and his former teacher winked at him before taking a long pull from his beer.

The door to their private beach room opened, and the tall, thin waiter returned, pushing a gilded cart of polished nickel and chrome. The mixed cloud of smells reached the table ahead of both cart and man, and Izuku suddenly realized he was starving.

With enviable speed and professional grace, the man distributed the food across the table, not needing to ask who had ordered what. Something that looked like some sort of stir fry made of beef and peppers was placed in front of Gran Torino, while David Shield received a very nice looking cut of prime rib, rosy pink and herb-crusted, with a pile of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes taking up the rest of the plate. Izuku idly wondered what the man had ordered, as he hadn’t seen anything he recognized as steak on the menu.

Toshinori received something that resembled sweet and sour grilled fish on a bed of noodles, with large chunks of flaky white fish strongly seared before being glazed with some sort of orange-gold sauce. Again, what he had asked for to get it was a question Izuku had no answer to. It looked more Asian than European, but perhaps it was a French dish that merely resembled what Izuku was familiar with?

Cathy had a bucket-sized salad placed deftly down in front of her. Given the generous chunks of what appeared to be smoked meat and cheese arranged on top, Izuku assumed it was a salad intended to be a whole meal unto itself. The bowl had barely been sat down in front of her before the waiter returned, politely offering the giant woman a tall glass bottle of mixed oil and vinegar. She accepted, and with a casual gesture, the man swirled the bottle, creating a vortex of the dried herbs and spices inside of it. He deftly poured a spiral of the dressing over her bowl before leaving the bottle on the table.

Izuku’s meal was, thankfully, more or less exactly what he had been hoping it would be. Half of his plate was taken up by four respectably sized strips of pork that had been hammered thin, breaded in a mixture of flour and herbs, and flash-fried to a crispy golden brown. Most of the rest of his plate was a generous white snow drift of thick, cheesy risotto. The final corner of space was taken up by something that looked similar to broccoli, but was more leafy, with long stems. It appeared to have been grilled or seared, before being drizzled with olive oil, red pepper flakes, and toasted garlic.

Izuku had no clue what it was, but being acutely aware that he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast that morning in Japan, he found he didn’t really care. He had never been particularly averse to cooked vegetables, and in his opinion, with enough garlic and peppers, almost anything became edible.

His appetite was nearly ruined, however, when the tall, thin waiter walked by with Melissa’s dish. It was, quite clearly, an enormous cheeseburger. The patty was the size of a reasonable steak, and it’s oversized bun was a mahogany brioche roll, shiny and dark, the top speckled with a rustic, almost bagel-like mixture of black and white seeds. Pale cheese oozed out in an uneven ring from underneath the top bun, and what little space was left on her plate was occupied by some sort of wedge salad with diced tomatoes and dressing.

It wasn’t envy Izuku felt, since fried pork had always been his favorite, but rather confusion. Here he had been worrying himself to death about ordering something outrageous or disgusting, and she had gotten a cheeseburger? How? He had looked over the entire menu! Nothing in the section written in English sounded even remotely like a gourmet burger!

With what shaky social grace he could muster, Izuku asked the blonde girl what she had ordered. As he did, the waiter deftly lit each of the candles along the length of the table with a nickel-plated lighter that matched his own cufflinks before wheeling the food cart away and silently closing the door behind him.

“Oh, this? It’s called the World Fair Special.”

Izuku frowned as he scooped up some of his rice and tasted it. It was much better than he had expected, the salty and savory flavors of parmesan and toasted garlic blending smoothly together, while the rice itself boasted contrasting textures of the still firm rice grains and the thick, velvety sauce.

“What does the World Fair have to do with cheeseburgers?” he asked, confused. Maybe this was the reason why he couldn’t find anything on the menu. It’s because nothing he could recognized had been labeled normally.

“It’s where the burger was first invented!” Melissa replied cheerfully, using her fork and knife to cut apart some of her aforementioned meal. “Supposedly, there was a man trying to sell hamburg steaks at the first World’s Fair, but he wasn’t making any sales, because nobody wanted to stand around and eat steak off of a plate. He also had a vendor neighbor who was trying to sell buns, but wasn’t attracting any interest either. The two of them started talking, and realized that maybe they could solve each other’s problems, so the next day they combined their stalls and were selling hamburg steaks on split buns. The bun let people take the hamburg steak with them and eat it on the go, while the steaks gave appeal to the bun. They sold out of everything they had after that, and decided to go into business together! Or so the story goes.”

Izuku nodded in understanding. And 500 years later, a really snobby hotel called it the World Fair Special because it would be too pedestrian to call it a mere hamburger. Of course, that made perfect sense.

The teenage girl sitting next to him giggled, unaware that the boy hadn’t really intended to mumble that part out-loud.

“It’s actually one of my favorite things here,” Melissa confessed, spearing a chunk of brioche bun and cheesy minced meat with her fork. “They make it like an authentic hamburg steak, but the dish still has the flavor profile of a burger. The meat is marinated in a spiced dill vinegar, to reproduce the taste of pickles. The onions and mustard are in the gravy, which is mixed together with melted farmer’s cheese. And the lettuce and tomatoes are the side salad that comes with it. They have it on their lunch menu. You should try it at least once while you're here!”

Izuku smiled. It was nice, to just sit here and talk with someone his own age. Before Mina, Kaminari, and Sero, he couldn’t remember the last time something like this had happened. In an odd way, he was rather glad he had met them first, as it had given him a bit of practice in talking to people his own age again. He couldn’t imagine how awkward this might have been otherwise.

The two teens chatted aimlessly about some of the things they had seen before dinner, trading opinions back and forth about the skeletal attractions and under-construction venues of the upcoming I-Expo. Izuku also discovered that the seared vegetables on his plate was some variety of broccoli he had never heard of. The garlic and peppery oil paired well with it, and he had no complaints about his fried pork, either.

“So what training does grandpa Torino have you doing?” the blonde teen asked, curiosity in her voice.

Izuku smiled. “I’m mostly doing physical conditioning and exercise with All Might, at least for now, but Torino has been training me in emergency response tactics and the basics of law enforcement. I’ll actually be interning with the police pretty soon as a sort of consultant. That way, I can get practical training and experience in what it takes to keep the peace.”

“That’s so cool!” Melissa said, beaming. “I know the people in I-Academy’s hero track have to take extended field trips off of the island when it’s time for their internships, because there’s no real crime here to fight. I hear it’s a huge hassle for them, so it must be great to live in a normal big city and just, you know, go out there and do the job.”

Izuku nodded. “UA and Shinketsu are really lucky that they’re both right on top of the old Tokyo,” he said in agreement. “Being next to the rebuilt Tokyo and all the country’s biggest hero agencies makes it very easy for students from either school to get internships. You can just take the train or bus and you’re there in fifteen minutes. I’m sure there’s a lot more to the success of both schools, but location was definitely a contributing factor.”

Melissa smiled, and Izuku regretted relaxing so much when she stabbed him in the heart with no warning.

"So what does grandpa Torino have you doing to train your quirk? I bet it's really cool!"

Cartoon Izuku was an unpaid lifetime intern, and his sole motivation for working was that if Izuku Incorporated went under, he went along with it. But if Cartoon Izuku had a salary, he would have certainly earned it that night. Nevermind Explosion, it was only thanks to him that Izuku's greatest scientific achievement was not inventing a way to choke to death on a single grain of rice.

And to think, everything had been going so well. 

"He, uh- he doesn't have me doing any quirk training, actually," Izuku rasped out. Please, just drop it. Please, please, let him just pretend to not be a loser for a little bit longer. 

"Oh really?" Melissa asked. "That's unusual, but I guess it makes sense. He's always been really big on heroes being more than their quirks."

For one blinding, brilliant moment, Izuku thought he was going to get away with it. 

"So what is your quirk, anyway?"

And there it was. The other shoe dropped, as it always did. He couldn't escape it. Not the question. Not the answer. And certainly not the shame.

Izuku's hands were in his lap, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. They were shaking slightly. And it had been so nice, to be on this side of the window for a change. To be in the candystore, acting like he belonged. To touch the toys on the shelves. To be something more than a mere spectator, their nose pressed longingly up against the glass. 

Izuku's mouth opened, and then closed again. No sound came out. Neither teen noticed, but the whole table had gone quiet. 

And he had- he had liked Melissa. She was- 

She was like a less energetic Mina, or a more thoughtful Tooru. She was smart, and funny, and treated him like a real person. She asked all the right questions about quirks, and she-

And she was David Shield's daughter. She was David Shield's daughter and All Might's niece. She went to school on I-Island, a place that practically oozed prestige. She lived in a luxury hotel so upscale he was shocked that him breathing the air here wasn't considered a crime. 

She had been born into this. She had been born into this side of the glass, it was all she had ever known. Men were from Mars, women were from Venus, and Izuku was from the Musutafu municipal garbage dump along with the rest of the quirkless. It was never going to last. He had been kidding himself. 

"I don't have one," he said, and somehow he found the strength to stop his voice from wavering as he admitted it.

He had gotten half of a day's worth of friendship and happiness out of Melissa Shield, and quite frankly, that was way more than he could have ever expected. That was the right attitude to have, wasn't it? His mom always kept telling him to look on the positive side.

He glanced over at the girl sitting next to him, and saw exactly what he was expecting to see. She was staring at him in shock, her mouth had fallen open. She was at a loss for words.

Izuku's lips trembled, and they quirked up in a small smile. He had gotten to be friends with David Shield's daughter for half a day. That was what he should focus on. That was amazing. Nobody from his old school would have ever gotten a chance like this. He owed Toshinori and Mr. Torino so much.

"You- you're q-quirkless?" Melissa said, stumbling over her own words for the first time since Izuku had met her. She hadn't even done that when she'd gotten Star and Stripe's autograph.

Sero and Mina, Kaminari and Tooru, they were the exceptions, not the rule. He'd known that all along. He'd flipped a lifetime's worth of tails on the coin toss, so it only made sense that even an unlucky person would get a few heads in a row eventually. But that was the problem with statistics. Anomalies were anomalous. Everything returned to business as usual eventually, it was just math. 

After all, there was absolutely zero evidence that you could catch quirklessness from somebody, but really, who would want to risk it?

Izuku wanted to laugh hysterically. Instead, he just did his best to hold the tears in. He thought he might actually die if he started crying here, eating dinner with the Shields.

"Yeah," Izuku said softly, his voice hoarse. He looked down into his lap, his fingers twisting into knots. There was so much he wanted to admit, so many things he wished he was brave enough to say. But none of it came. "Yeah," he said again, trailing off.

"I've never-" Melissa started to say, before halting suddenly. Izuku's grip on his own fingers tightened painfully. "I’ve never met…"

A freak. A failure. A powerless walking abortion. An evolutionary dead end, as though evolution could ever possibly explain- as though randomized dice-roll mutations were somehow smart enough to give people-

Izuku swallowed. It didn't matter. Izuku knows, he’s heard it all before. And he gets it. Really, he does. It's just so rare, these days, it catches you by surprise. You simply don't see it anymore. Quirklessness was something you hear about somebody's grandmother or great uncle having.

Izuku got it. He understood her shock. She'd never met a Deku before.

"I've never m-met somebody else like m-me."

.

. .

. . . 

…what?

Star and Stripe covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling. While she had never met Melissa Shield in person before today, she knew all about Toshinori's niece. She had known from the beginning that David Shield's daughter was a young quirkless girl who had once dreamed of being a superhero. "Tell me one of you has a camera," the amazonian pro hissed quietly, trying not to disturb the scene. 

It was a pointless gesture. The two teens wouldn't have noticed if she had stepped up onto the table and screamed it.

Izuku stared at Melissa. He may have forgotten how to breathe, he wasn't sure, but he hadn't passed out yet either, so something must still be working. "You… you're quirkless?" 

David Shield's daughter, All Might's niece, was- was-

"You're just like me," Melissa said in a daze, accidentally completing Izuku's thoughts.

Across the table, there was a poorly muffled squeal from a woman who was about as subtle as a giant movie monster and twice as conspicuous.

Torino rolled his eyes at the antics of the idiots seated next to him. He pulled out his phone, turned the flash and lights off, and started discreetly taking pictures. This would be great for blackmail later. Or a baby shower scrapbook, whichever. He wasn't picky.

At the same time, David Shield discreetly tilted his own phone in his lap to the side, so Toshinori and Cathy could both see it. While the man himself maintained a respectable poker face, his screen showed an app that was controlling the private security feed of their dining room. The word 'PRIVATE' in the top corner of the screen, along with the blinking red circle showing that it was recording, couldn't be missed. 

Toshinori shot his old friend a thumbs up and a bright, sincere grin. Cathy looked like Christmas had come early. 

Torino closed his phone after snapping off several pages worth of candid shots of the two teens having a mutual existential crisis. With a grace that any of the waiters of the Seasons would have envied, the old man slid silently out of his chair, grabbed each of the giant pro heroes by their wrists, and began ushering them both quietly out into the hall to give the two teens a moment alone. 

David stood up a little more slowly, lagging behind the other three. He wasn't as quiet as the others, but he didn't have to be. A bomb could have probably gone off in the next room, and the two teens wouldn't have noticed. 

His gaze lingered for a moment on his daughter's face, his eyes tracing every line of disbelief, shock, and wonder as she stared at the first person her own age she had ever met who was quirkless. The first person she had ever met without a quirk, period. There was a tired, bone-deep weariness behind his eyes. Something in his chest ached. 

It hurt, to be a parent and have your child suffer over something you couldn't do anything about. It hurt, to know that for every friend and acquaintance your child had ever made, there had always been a barrier there that couldn't be broken down. To know that there was something in the way you couldn't do anything about.

It was painful, to see how much of an effect meeting another quirkless teen had on her. 

He turned away, and opened the door before carefully closing it behind him. Cathy, to her credit, restrained herself for all of three seconds before accosting him. 

"I need a copy of that recording," she insisted, with all the vigor and sincerity of a fan asking their favorite hero for an autograph. 

Somewhere off to the side, David heard Torino just barely fail to contain a snort of amusement. 

David Shield smiled, the warmth of knowing that his daughter had found a real friend driving away some of his own fears and doubts. "Sure," he said agreeably, sticking his hands in the pockets of his labcoat. Something mischievous flickered across his face. "But it won't come free. You'll have to trade me for it."

The star-spangled woman narrowed her eyes. "Name your price."

David grinned. "Oh, I don't know, Miss Bates. Out here on I-Island, we trade in favors and ideas. I keep hearing Torino say you've got a good head on your shoulders but never use it. Why don't you surprise me?"

He knew he had done his best. He also knew that it had never been, and perhaps never could be, enough. And as a father, that hurt, to know that. But maybe Izuku Midoriya would be able to help his daughter heal. They could help each other heal. 

Who knows? Maybe one day they might even take over the world.

"When you gorillas are done posturing, we should probably go back inside. If we hang out around here for too long, we'll end up shopping for baby clothes."

David laughed. Some things never changed. There really wasn't a dull moment whenever Toshinori was around.

Dinner was nearly over when the light banter and conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a cellphone.

Izuku wasn’t surprised, since he was in the presence of two of the most famous superheroes in the world and David Shield.

What did shock him was when he realized it was his phone. He had a blind moment of panic when he noticed exactly where the ringing was coming from before scrambling to answer it.

“H-hello?” Izuku asked.

“Hi son, how are things?”

Izuku’s eyes went wide with shock. “D-dad?” he stuttered.

“In the flesh! Well, not really, but you get the idea.” There was soft, self-depreciating laughter on the other end of the phone.

Torino’s dark eyes sharpened. The illusive Midoriya Hisashi. How interesting.

“I heard from your mother that you’re on a trip visiting I-Island. Word on the gossip vine is that you were spotted with All Might! How on earth did you manage that? I bet you were over the moon about it!”

Torino groaned. Of all the-

“Is there a single person on the planet who doesn’t know we’re here?” the old pro complained.

“To be perfectly fair, I enjoy privileged access to some pretty high level gossip,” Hisashi amicably replied on the other side of the line. The retired pro wasn’t sure if the phone was set to speaker or not, but apparently the man on the other end could hear them just fine. “But if you had anything you needed to do that required secrecy, I’d personally suggest you get it done tonight, because by tomorrow, the answer will probably be no.”

“I, ah, I met All Might by chance,” Izuku said into the phone, stumbling slightly over his words. “I got his autograph and everything! He saw some of my analysis, and, I mean, one thing lead to another, and now I’m here.”

Hisashi chuckled. “Well, that’s great son. For a minute, I thought maybe you were planning on going to I-Academy or something. I know your heart was set on UA, I thought there might have been a change of plans!”

“N-no, nothing like that,” Izuku said softly, his eyes darting around the table.

“Well then, I’m glad my little emerald is finally being recognized for his genius.”

“Dad!” Izuku hissed, a flush rising in his cheeks. There was a muffled giggle from Melissa Shield.

Izuku wasn’t normally one to cut calls with his father short, but today had been enough of an emotional roller coaster already. He wasn’t sure his heart could take much more. “I’m sorry dad, but we’re having dinner, so I’m going to have to call you back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hisashi said, and he sounded sincere. “I suppose where you are, it would be about that time, wouldn’t it? My mistake. I’ll let you go, then. I just wanted to call and let you know that our department had some business to take care of on I-Island, and since your mother mentioned you were visiting, I volunteered to be the boots on the ground. We don’t get too many chances to meet up, so I was hoping you’d make some time for your old man tomorrow or the day after.”

Sorahiko Torino couldn’t believe his luck. He had been considering ways to track down the kid’s father and play a game of 20 Questions, and here the opportunity was, falling right into their laps.

And boy, did Torino have an interesting list of questions to run through.

Shortly after the retired pro had met the young teen and his mother, he had used his own PI license and some of Toshinori’s clout to do a background check on the Midoriyas. What he had found was unusual enough that the old man was unwilling to simply accept it at face value. He wanted answers.

Hisashi himself seemed completely above board. His family history was sound, his records were all intact, and there was nothing wrong with any of it. But it was all very sparse. It stank of a coverup. Not the criminal kind, mind. Those looked different. This looked like the sort of thing that the Japanese government did to certain high level employees and agents. A careful, sterile wipe, that goes through all of the paperwork and simply removes anything besides the absolutely necessary information.

There was no such thing as somebody who only just barely existed in the system. Not in this day and age. Either you were in the system, which was normal, or you weren’t. Which was very rare, and becoming rarer with each passing generation, but some parents with quirkless kids or particularly hazardous complex mutations found it easier to live outside of the system than in it. Some countries refused to allow that sort of thing, but after the anarchy of the Dawn of Quirks, many governments were willing to look the other way as long as no crimes were committed. They were cautious about risking their newfound peace and stability by pushing the envelope too hard.

It had been much more common in the past, when Nana and he were both children. Banjo Daigoro, one of the few past users of One For All that they had extensive records of, had outright refused a formal hero license. He operated as a pro hero, and was paid for his work, but he did not want a license and refused every time he was offered one. His generation of heroes was the last that could get away with that sort of flagrant disregard for the modern rule of law. He would have been labeled a vigilante at best and a villain at worst for that type of behavior today.

Either way, having paperwork was an all-or-nothing affair these days, with an increasing focus on the all over the nothing. Pick a person off the street, and they’d have at least three dozen pages of information on them in the government’s database, even if it was nothing more than a pile of tax returns and an official quirk description.

Midoriya Hisashi barely had five. Considering he owned property, paid taxes, and had a family, that was extremely out of the ordinary. His quirk description was two words, ‘Fire Breath,’ and nothing more.

Anybody who didn’t know what they were looking at, or ‘weren’t’ looking at as the case may be, wouldn’t see anything amiss. But Torino had spent too many sleepless nights pouring over cold and cooling police cases for him to not raise an eyebrow at that sort of thing. The theory that Hisashi worked overseas in the private sector died an untimely death less than an hour after the old man had started digging. The private sector wasn’t this good at playing monkey with government paperwork. Only the government itself could manage that.

Considering Torino couldn’t even find definitive proof as to what Midoriya Hisashi actually did for a living, it certainly made the man seem less like your average salaryman, and more like somebody the government wanted to ‘look’ like the average salaryman.

But Hisashi wasn’t the most interesting of the Midoriyas. No, that privilege belonged to none other than Midoriya Inko. The crying, fretful, chubby housewife-lawyer who fixed people tea and sent death glares at anything that came within a hundred yards of her quirkless son.

She was in witness protection.

That, by itself, wasn’t tremendously unusual. There were many reasons someone could be placed under the witness protection programs. People who had been targeted by villains before would often be put under them. It was also fairly common for otherwise innocent people who were regrettably related to a villain to be placed under the programs. Partially to hide them, to keep them safe from anything their criminal relatives might get up to. But there was also a stigma associated with being related to a known villain, especially in Japan and other Asian countries. A vestige of the older honor culture. It was seen as a disgrace, something that made the family lose face and seem tainted by association.

There was a perception, however irrational, that someone who was related to a villain must have something to do with their villainy. Being placed under witness protection was a legal way for upstanding people to avoid that particular stigma. It was a way to cut ties.

Midoriya Inko being in witness protection wasn’t the unusual part. What was unusual was that she was in witness protection, but wasn’t hiding.

Sorahiko Torino couldn’t see what was being hidden by the witness protection designation. Even top pros like Toshinori and Cathy couldn’t just casually open those files without a good reason. Witness protection was something that was taken very seriously. It was need-to-know only. Only a very tiny number of stringently screened bureaucrats had the special clearance to manage those files. If you didn’t have explicit permission to see them, if you didn’t ‘need to know,’ then that was that. Access denied.

But what little he could see confirmed that Midoriya Inko had never changed her name. She had never changed her appearance either, though one look at the kid would have told you that. There were some crazy appearance-changing quirks out there, but few were permanent, and there was nothing he knew of that could make your kids match your new appearance. Quirks that could alter other people’s DNA usually just killed them. Midoriya Inko also wasn’t trying to lay low, she was a high level lawyer in a famous law firm that made the news on a semi-regular basis. She was no celebrity, but she existed on a professional level. You could find pictures of her face just by plugging her name into a search engine.

Anyone with malicious intent towards her specifically, like a villain hunting old victims or an unhinged criminal relative, could find out where she worked easily. From there it would be child’s play to tail her back to her apartment. It was a home invasion double homicide waiting to happen.

Who the hell goes into witness protection and then doesn’t even try to hide?

The old hero had his theories. And every single one of them made the pudgy, unassuming housewife significantly more interesting than her ghost of a husband, even taking into account the fact that he was probably substantially more important to the Japanese government than his unassuming appearance and background would suggest.

Sorahiko Torino was many things. But he wasn’t a man to pass up an opportunity to meddle and get some answers. It was part of what made him such a successful hero.

So when Izuku’s phone rang, and he heard who was on the other end of the line, he chose to do the hero thing. He chose to stick his nose in and meddle.

“I think we can definitely arrange for some family time,” Torino said smoothly, interjecting himself into the conversation before the phone call could end. “We’ll be here for a few days, after all, and we all know how rare it is for schedules like ours to line up so conveniently.”

“Really?” the voice over the phone said. “That’s great news, then! I’ll text you the details when I land, son, and you can pass them on to your minders. I need to speak with them about some things anyway, so this works out quite nicely!”

“Great dad, thanks,” Izuku rasped out hoarsely. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye kiddo, enjoy your dinner!”

The teenager’s phone dinged softly, indicating the call had ended. Izuku swallowed hard, trying not to choke on his nervousness.

He was going to see his father again. He was going to see his dad. He hadn’t been expecting to see the man in person again until his birthday. Midoriya Hisashi’s job kept him busy overseas, but he always made time to visit on holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays.

Izuku loved his father, and he missed the man terribly. But some part of him had gotten used to Hisashi’s absence. To just suddenly trip over him out here… he supposed it made sense, in a way, that his father would hear about their visit and meet him out here halfway. But it was almost unsettling. A shock to the system. Especially after his turbulent and emotionally taxing day. One last unexpected twist before his day was allowed to be over.

His hands shook slightly from nerves. He was going to see his father again.

Maybe if he became a pro hero, he would get to see his father more often. Hisashi had always been after Inko, trying to get the two of them to move to America where he worked. But Inko refused to uproot herself. Maybe if Izuku became an internationally famous hero like All Might, he wouldn’t have to wait for Hisashi to come to him. He could go on hero tours in America and drop in on his father instead. He could even bring his mother along to visit and see the sights.

Izuku smiled softly. Yeah. That sounded nice.

“What does your father do?” Melissa asked innocently.

Izuku blinked. “Oh, um, sorry. He works for the World Heroes Association. He’s one of the people in charge of assessing threats and the damage caused by disasters, so the right heroes are sent for the job. That means he has to travel often, so I don’t get many chances to spend time with him in person.”

“Wow, that’s really cool!” the blonde haired girl exclaimed.

Torino resisted the urge to slap a hand over his own face. After all of the lectures he had given Toshinori about covering all your bases, and he had managed to overlook something as simple as just asking the kid what his father did. It hadn’t even occurred to the retired pro.

He could have kicked himself. He really was losing his touch.

But it was fine. Failures, like successes, were in the past. He would have to be sharper, moving forwards. Never make the same mistake twice, that’s what he always told his students. To make mistakes is human, but to avoid repeating them is what makes you a professional.

The WHA, huh? That answered some of the old man’s questions. The World Hero’s Association was responsible for organizing international aid and hero relief missions. It was, technically, the successor to older organizations from the pre-Quirk era, such as NATO and the World Health Organization. It didn’t perform all of the functions that those now extinct organizations had: NATO had been a military defense pact, which the WHA was not, because heroes were not soldiers, no matter what any fool said or thought to the contrary. And while they stood at the top in terms of international disaster relief, they weren’t technically an organization of doctors either, so they weren’t quite what the old WHO had been, either.

Heroes weren’t soldiers, but they responded to threats, and the WHA organized hero missions to put down organized crime rings that exceeded the boundaries of any one national jurisdiction or economic zone. So the organization possessed many of the traits of an international defense alliance from the old world, in spite of not technically being one. Likewise, heroes and the people who supported them weren’t doctors or biomedical researchers either, but thanks to natural and quirk-made disasters being a constant threat to the world, the WHA had a hand in those affairs as well. So it had some aspects and attributes that made it similar to pre-Quirk disaster relief groups and old health-and-safety watchdogs.

The world had changed, in the last 300 years. It had become nearly unrecognizable from what it once was. So it stood to reason that as the people changed, the organizations catering to their needs and attempting to control their actions would change to match.

Much like I-Island itself, the World Heroes Association would have never existed if quirks had not come to be. But quirks did happen; that rubicon was crossed. And as the old world died, taking it’s organizations and treaties with it, new alliances were forged in the aftermath. New loyalties were made, new pacts had been written.

And in a world where criminals with superpowers could escape the law by crossing boarders and scattering their assets, there had been a need for a system that could identify villainous threats and respond to them on an international scale. For that, you needed politicians and diplomats. You needed military-grade gear and cooperative superheroes. You needed hospitals and medical staff, you needed disaster relief supplies and fleets of land, air, and sea vehicles. You needed competent, professional personnel. And you needed a whole, whole lot of money.

You needed the World Heroes Association.

By design, the WHA was politically neutral, rich, and capable of going theoretically anywhere. And hopefully being able to solve whatever problems it found where it went. Anything less, and large-scale international hero cooperation wouldn’t have been possible. Down that road of non-cooperation lay things like using national top pros as military propaganda pieces. In Torino’s humble opinion, the world had enough problems with quirks as it was without having to deal with crap like that. But by some small and merciful favor, some of the people in charge seemed to agree with him.

That’s not to say the quarreling didn’t happen. Just that it was a cold war of propaganda and politics, economic warfare waged in backroom deals and trade tariffs. All the old rivalries and hatreds still thrived. But the new post-quirk world had not, as of yet, felt the effects of a hot superhuman war. Even the dumbest and most aggressive politicians and political parties seemed hesitant to cross that line.

Good. In Torino’s opinion, those old fools should be exactly as afraid as they were. Maybe even a little more. The last thing the world needed was another apocalypse.

Midoriya Hisashi working for the WHA answered some of Torino’s questions. But not all of them. He had known people who worked with the WHA before; none of them had been ‘ghosted’ quite so thoroughly out of the system as Hisashi had been. It was possible that protocol had changed in the last… however many years it had been, since Torino had to deal with them directly.

But the old hero doubted it. Something else was going on. He could smell it.

The kid had mentioned that his father was one of the people in charge of threat assessment. That was a pretty important position in an organization like the WHA. It certainly explained the family’s budget, if nothing else. Hisashi was probably making about the same amount as his wife did, if not more. Probably more, if he consented to being dragged away from his family like this. It was possible he was singularly funding their lifestyle, while Midoriya Inko’s salary went directly into savings.

It even explained the kid’s proclivity for analysis: he had likely picked it up from his father.

But the ghosting. That shouldn’t have been necessary, not for this kind of job. Hisashi would have been given preferential treatment by the Japanese Diet and the Hero Public Safety Commission. He would have paid less taxes, received a much better state healthcare plan, and probably enjoyed several other perks the retired pro didn't know about. But his information wouldn’t have been wiped clean like it had been. A man like that shouldn’t really have any secrets.

Why do a wipe if there was nothing to hide?

Half his questions had been answered. The other half remained. And now he had brand new ones to deal with, cropping up like mushrooms after a summer rain.

Fortunately, it seemed like he wouldn’t have to wait very long to get them.

Torino stared into his beer as the kids and bigger, slightly less mature kids chatted amongst themselves. Their waiter swept in, with a quiet and professional presence that the retired teacher felt some modern heroes would do well to emulate, and absconded with their plates. A round of desserts was ordered, Torino abstaining. Cathy managed to get Toshinori to agree to let her pay for that, as a compromise for him picking up the bill. And the two teens had even loosened up enough that Izuku didn’t stutter or hesitate when Melissa ordered for the both of them, getting two rounds of some Italian frozen ice dessert.

The old hero took a sip of his drink, his mind far away from the dinner scene in front of him.

A man who had been ghosted, but didn’t need to be. A wife in witness protection, who wasn’t hiding.

What secret was lurking behind the Midoriya family name?

Toshinori ignored the sharp intake of breath as he released his heroic transformation. He was expecting that reaction. His old friend had read the medical reports, but that was the extent of his interaction with Toshinori’s injuries. Cathy hadn’t even read the reports. All she knew was that he had been badly hurt six years ago and would have to retire soon.

They were in a private part of David’s lab, a place where all the security feeds belonged to him and the scientist could turn the cameras on and off at-will. This particular section was full of cutting-edge medical equipment that could scan and test the human body’s health in countless different ways.

Torino had opted to stay behind at the Seasons after dinner, playing chaperone while Melissa dragged Izuku around to look at everything in the building.

The skeletal blonde’s eyes drifted over to a framed picture on a metal desk next to some filing cabinets and a large computer terminal. It contained a family photo of David, laughing, a much younger toddler Melissa, cheering, and a kind-faced blonde woman who was the spitting image of her daughter, smiling.

That woman was the reason David’s lab held all this medical equipment.

Toshinori opened the buckle on the belt of his hero uniform with a click, and shucked off the sagging, floppy top with practiced ease.

He had been expecting the gasp, so the stunned, dead silence that this act prompted wasn’t a surprise for him either.

It’s one thing to read a medical report in an e-mail, or hear of a crippling injury. It’s another thing entirely to see it first hand.

The scarred, rippling shockwave of stitched and discolored flesh that emanated outwards from the impact point where All For One had smote him down six years ago was ugly even in Toshinori’s opinion. And he was used to seeing it at this point.

He’d had a crater punched into his lower stomach that had nearly torn him in half. To quote Gran, he had been a warm corpse that was brought back from the dead with quirks and painkillers. The doctors operating on him had to staple and bolt his body back together to stop him from simply falling apart. To someone who hadn’t known what to expect, it must look like something out of a nightmare. Like a stitched together zombie from a low budget horror movie.

Ironically, that wasn’t too far off from what he was, these days.

He sat down in the glowing, scoop-shaped cradle of the scanning machine, and gestured for his old friend to continue. After a brief moment of shock, David Shield shook his head and moved over to start tapping away on his computer, spinning up a sequence of actions for the machines to take.

The last thing Toshinori saw before a visor folded over from above to block his vision was the horrified face of Cathleen Bates.

He had known she wouldn’t take this well, but she had insisted on tagging along after dinner had ended. He had warned her, and she had still wanted to see. Cathy wasn’t the awkward and eager teenager from Toshinori’s memories of his tours of America. She was an adult now, a hero in the prime of her career. And she was one of the only people who would be able to fill his shoes as the bulwark of peace if something happened to him tomorrow.

It was his job to pass on to young Izuku the torch that Nana had entrusted to him. But if he somehow failed to do so, if he ran out of time or fell in the line of duty, then it would be up to the likes of Captain Celebrity, Star and Stripe, and Crusader Gold to hoist the world up on their shoulders.

One day soon, he would no longer stand at the zenith of the world as it’s mightiest hero. And when that day came, the world would need new symbols of Peace and Justice. Cathy was one. With any luck, young Izuku would be another. Toshinori understood his place as the greatest of the old guard. He didn’t have the right to turn her away.

After all… she was next.

If Toshinori could have had his way, neither David nor Cathy would have ever seen him like this. But it was part of the price of getting his old friend to show Izuku around. David had wanted to know exactly how bad the damage was.

Apparently, being told ‘it’s bad’ in an e-mail just wasn’t good enough.

“You shouldn’t be alive,” the scientist said, as Toshinori stood up from the cradle and began pulling the top half of his hero uniform back on.

“You sound like Recovery Girl,” Toshinori said lightly, tucking the hem of his uniform in and clicking his buckle back into place.

“Then consider it my professional second opinion,” his old friend said absently. He was staring at the printout of the results with slowly increasing incredulity.

“What’s all that pink on the scanner?” Cathy asked, looking over the scientist’s shoulder at the ghostly overlapping blotches of color that combined to make a picture of her old teacher’s internals.

“Carbon-polymer bioplastics, or scar tissue that’s severe enough that the scanner is no longer able to distinguish the difference,” David replied absently.

“It’s scar tissue,” Toshinori said, rolling his shoulder and settling back into his costume. “They tried using that bioplastic stuff when they first put me back together, but it kept tearing whenever I powered up. Eventually, they just took it all out and compensated with skin and muscle grafts instead.”

David Shield folded the colored printout over with his thumb and stared at his oldest friend with a mixture of horror and resignation. “Toshi, you should be dead. Why are you still working in heroics? I’ve seen injuries a tenth this severe put people in wheelchairs for the rest of their lives.”

The number one pro in the world shrugged. “I can’t retire. You know that, David. I have to keep going for as long as I can, until the next generation of heroes can pick up the torch of peace.”

Cathy was staring at the skeletal blonde figure of her former master like she was looking at a ghost. “I always knew your quirk worked like some kind of energy cell or booster, because you always bulked up and got bigger whenever you used it,” she said, sounding distant. “But I never imagined so much of what you look like today was because of that. I remember what you used to look like when you weren’t using your power, and it wasn’t that far off from your powered up form. For you to have wasted away like this… you’re practically more quirk than man at this point.”

There was a real note of fear in the giant woman’s voice as she said that. Toshinori didn’t blame her.

It was true. He was more quirk than man, these days. And for a hero like Cathy, being more quirk that person was a serious concern. The sort of thing that kept her up at night.

Toshinori was acutely aware that he was likely living one of her own private nightmares.

This is why he had taken such pains to hide the truth from the public eye. The world could never be allowed to know that their Symbol of Peace had been reduced to such a pathetic state. At least not until there was new blood ready to step up to the plate.

“Old age gets us all in the end, Cathy. You know that,” Toshinori said, smiling cheerfully at his former student. In his deflated form, it wasn’t the star-bright celebrity grin he usually wore. It was ugly and skull-like, a smile befitting his gaunt appearance. But it radiated genuine kindness and warmth. “I’ve fought the good fight for a long time, and I don’t have any regrets. I’d do it all again if I had to. I’ve got a bit of time left in me, and I intend to use it to teach as many kids as I can reach and keep the world safe for just a little bit longer. You don’t have to cry for me. I’m happy.”

With a thought, Cathy released her standing Order to boost her physical form to the maximum limits possible. Unlike Toshinori, her transformation had no fanfare or side-effects. There were no energetic discharges, no puffs of steam and smoke. One moment she was a towering amazonian superwoman, and in the span of a breath she simply wasn’t. She was still tall, for a woman, and still had a muscular and well-toned physique. But it was no longer the outrageous, exaggerated proportions it had been.

The gigantic, muscular Greek goddess was gone. As she was now, if she had worn a more generic hero costume and didn’t have such a visually distinctive hairstyle, she could have easily blended into a crowd of other female pros.

The blonde woman stepped forwards and embraced the skeletal form of her former mentor, hugging him tightly. Toshinori hesitated for an instant, surprised, before returning the hug, his long bony arms wrapping around the woman’s shoulders.

The skeletal blonde smiled softly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You couldn’t have prevented this.”

She pulled away from the hug, her eyes fierce. “I could have,” she insisted. “I could have tried. I should have been there, and I wasn’t.”

Toshinori sighed, disengaging from the woman and sitting down on a nearby chair next to a desk.

“No, you couldn’t have,” he rebuked, his voice tired. “You’re the top pro in America. You have your own obligations and duties. You can’t just drop everything on your plate and go running to help a friend on the other side of the planet.”

“Yes, I can,” she said firmly. Her eyes were still fierce, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

Toshinori chuckled softly. “Don’t let Gran hear you say that,” he chided lightly. “He’ll give you an earful and a half.”

There was a moment of silence in the lab. David stood in the background, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked between the two heroes in the room and the papers in his hands. Cathleen remained unwavering.

Toshinori sighed. “I know you have enough clearance to know about All For One. The basics, at least. You couldn’t have come because your quirk needs physical contact to work. But if you were close enough to touch him, he would have been close enough to touch you. That man was a nightmare already. We couldn’t have risked him stealing New Order.”

“So you had to face him alone?” she rebutted. She disguised it well, but there was a faint note of hysteria in her voice. Toshinori couldn’t blame her. He knew exactly what emotions she was feeling right now. They were the same ones he had been trying to avoid himself when he chose to leave everyone behind and face All For One alone.

He had known it was a bad idea even at the time, though back then he had seen it as the least terrible option he had available. After being forced by Gran to read Izuku’s analysis of himself, his own mistakes in the past loomed even larger in his mind.

He had not considered, back then, that by facing the man alone so he wouldn’t have to fear for anyone else, he would make all of the people he cared about fear for him.

“That was my mindset at the time, yes,” the skeletal pro admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “Immortality and longevity quirks were one of the most common effects that manifested in the beginning and middle of the Dawn. We don’t know how many of them he had, or precisely how they functioned. I didn’t want to risk the chance that you would grab him and stop his heart or melt his brain, only for him to tank the hit and steal your quirk.”

“I wouldn’t have tried to stop his heart or brain,” Cathleen said calmly. “I would have touched him and suppressed his quirk. It would have worked. You and I could have done it.”

But Toshinori shook his head. “You don’t know that,” he said, a tired note in his voice. “Quirk suppression effects are one of the rarest of all superpowers, and nobody has ever tried to use them on All For One before. At least not that we know of. Almost no data exists for them. There’s only two people in all of Japan who have such an ability. We have no idea how quirk suppression would interact with a quirk thief that has stockpiled hundreds, if not thousands of stolen quirks. Sure, maybe you could have suppressed his core quirk, and then I just punch his head off his shoulders. Problem solved. Or maybe you would have suppressed one, at most two, random quirks in his arsenal, and then he steals New Order and disintegrates you. I wasn’t prepared to gamble your life on a coin toss, Cathy.”

Toshinori shifted in his chair. “Maybe if you could use New Order at range, it would have been worth trying. But as a touch effect, it was just too dangerous. It’s the same with Sir Nighteye. He’s almost unstoppable in close combat if he can read someone with Foresight, but he also has to touch them first, which leaves him defenseless to lethal interdiction abilities. Both of you have touched-based quirks. You were too vulnerable.”

“We weren’t any more vulnerable than you,” she insisted in a strong, even voice, not backing down.

Toshinori sighed. “I know,” he admitted. “Because of the unique way my quirk works, he couldn’t become more powerful by stealing my abilities. But that didn’t make me safe. He could still kill or maim me as easily as he could anyone else. I had nothing but hard choices, and I needed to make a call. Do I fight him alone and put myself at greater risk? Or do I bring in people I care about even knowing that they would likely end up dead after having their quirks stolen? Part of me knew I could really use the help. Another part of me was disgusted at the idea of potentially asking my friends to throw away their quirks and their lives just to give me an opening. I made my choice, and now I have to live with it.”

He cupped his wounded side with his left hand, before looking up and smiling gently at his former student. “Can you really blame me, for wanting to keep all of you safe?”

Something imperceptible shook in Cathleen Bate’s eyes. Her lips trembled.

Toshinori smiled. “You’ve become a splendid hero, Cathy, and I’m proud of you. I’m not going anywhere, but even if I disappeared tomorrow, I know the world would be safe in your hands. I’ve lived a long life, and I’ve been able to help so many more people than I ever imagined was possible. You don’t have to cry for me. I’m happy. Just, do me a favor, and when it’s your turn to retire, try and do it more gracefully than me, okay?”

Cathleen Bates knelt down to be level with Toshinori in his chair. Slowly and deliberately, she hugged him again. This time, Toshinori wasn’t caught by surprise.

“Hey now,” he said. “What did I just say? I’m not going anywhere, and you don’t have to cry for me.”

The woman buried her face into the shoulder of the man who was like a second father to her, and squeezed him. He felt so small and frail in her arms, and she wasn’t even in her enhanced form.

“I know,” she said softly. “But I want to.”

Toshinori returned her embrace, and the two pro heroes sat like that for a long, timeless moment.

Several times throughout his career, Toshinori had thought about starting a family or getting married, but his job and the demands of being an internationally renowned pro hero always got in the way. He had dated a few other female pros, but it never went anywhere, and those relationships had all ended in amicable separation. Much to the disappointment of the tabloids and yellow press.

But while Toshinori had failed to find a wife (though Torino had teased him before with rather bawdy jokes that he had, and it was Sir Nighteye), his best friend was a different story.

Elenore “Rimewight” Brandt was an American pro hero of German descent living in California. Tall, blonde, and statuesque, she had crossed paths with David shortly after Toshinori and David had first met.

Toshinori didn’t particularly believe in love at first sight. He treasured the short time of his life where Nana had been his foster parent, and he still remembered to this day a very firm lecture she had given him about how relationships have to be built up over time and he shouldn’t expect them to just happen out of the blue, to himself or anyone else.

But after seeing how starstruck David and Elenore were for each other, Toshinori supposed he could see where the poets and dimestore novelists were coming from. He still didn’t think falling in love at first sight was real, but David and Elenore made a strong apologestic case for it.

It had been a whirlwind romance, with David and Elenore falling head-over-heels for each other. The only reason they hadn’t gotten married years earlier is because both of their careers kept them just slightly too busy to manage it. But as David Shield became more and more internationally renowned, and by extension less busy due to being his own boss, and as Elenore’s career as Rimewight reached it’s stable peak, they did eventually find the time.

Toshinori didn’t often attend the majority of the functions he received invites to. Mostly because it would have been physically impossible to even try. But he moved heaven and earth to be at their wedding. He had been vicariously enjoying the romantic life of his two friends as a spectator, and he felt it was long past time for them to slow down and make it official.

Quite frankly, it had been inevitable, at least in Toshinori’s opinion. They had only ever had eyes for each other. Barely a year later, he was holding the tiniest and most beautiful sleeping baby he had ever seen in his massive arms.

Dear, sweet little Melissa. He hadn’t wanted to put her down.

Elenore had been thrilled that Melissa had been born with her German blonde hair, while David had been put out that she hadn’t inherited his own Irish auburn. Toshinori remembered laughing so loudly at the jokes about who she looked like more that he accidentally woke the baby. One of her first official acts was to grab one of his own giant tufts of hair and refuse to let go. They had all laughed at that.

Toshinori wished that could be the end of the story. He really, truly did. It was what David, Melissa, and Elenore all deserved.

But it wasn’t.

Elenore’s quirk was a marvel. Her grandmother had been a nurse in a hospital, and possessed a quirk that allowed her to produce an aurora borealis from her hands. The dancing waves of light she created had the ability to heal injuries and promote natural tissue growth to a hundred times it’s normal speed. Although any healing quirk was valuable simply for their rarity, Healing Aurora had been a powerful ability for the generation it appeared in. Injuries that would take a year to heal, Elenore’s grandmother could fix after just a week of exposure to her quirk. The only downside was that the rainbow waves of light she produced slowly heated up whatever she used them on, meaning she could only do relatively short, spaced-out sessions to avoid cooking or burning a patient.

Elenore’s mother was quirkless. She didn’t inherit an active quirk factor from either of her parents. But the man she married, Elenore’s father, came from a family who had all manifested cold related abilities.

When she was four and a half years old, Elenore Brandt manifested a quirk that displayed attributes from both sides of her family. It was an ice creation and manipulation ability, a superpower well-suited for hero work and peacekeeping. But her ice, and the aurora-like light it produced, also shared the restorative properties of Healing Aurora. Her ice could staunch wounds, and emitted light that could heal injures. And because Healing Aurora had re-emerged in an ice-related quirk, it’s previous weakness became irrelevant, as the coldness of the ice balanced out the heat the aurora radiated.

Her quirk counselors named it Rimefire, after the flickering, ghostly waves of rainbow light that her ice burned with.

All her life, Elenore had been pushed into becoming a doctor. With a quirk like hers, it was only natural that she work at a hospital. Society expected her to become a doctor or a nurse. But she had her heart set on being a hero, on fighting on the front lines as an emergency responder. And so, much like what Recovery Girl had been in her own heyday, Elenore became one of the very, very few pro heroes of her generation that possessed a healing ability. It had made her famous in America, and even earned her some degree of international recognition.

Though the combination was an accident, she was a living example of what a quirk could do when the ancestor quirks strongly complimented each other. With offensive, defensive, area denial, and healing capabilities, Rimefire was more than bleeding edge; it was an entire generation ahead of it’s time. Elenore’s quirk was a marvel.

It was also the only thing that saved her life.

There was no climactic battle or grand confrontation. She did not bravely leap into the path of a speeding bullet to save an innocent life. It was a D-List villain with a D-List quirk, engaging in crime so petty that if he was just a few years younger it might not have even gone on his permanent record. A nameless, faceless thug with a quirk that made anything he threw fly with extreme force. He was trying to hold up a convenience store with a metal bottle, threatening to throw it at the clerk. Elenore wasn’t even on duty as a hero. She had just finished her last patrols of the day and stopped by the store on her way home to grab some essentials.

Toshinori had watched the video footage from the security cameras dozens of times. He knew David must have watched it for thousands. It happened so fast. The thug saw her before she saw him, he saw the costume she was still wearing as she walked in. Naturally, he assumed the absolute worst and panicked.

In the blink of an eye, the bottle punched a hole clean through her chest, tearing a chunk out of the corner of her heart, blowing the doors off of their hinges, and making a crater in the building across the street. Her costume was top quality, it was custom made by David Shield himself, but it had never been intended to stop what amounted to a railgun.

What happened to Elenore was senseless and devoid of meaning. Which was, perhaps, why it was so terrible. It was a tragedy out of the blue. A life destroying phone call was made to David Shield’s California office on a clear, pretty summer evening. Birds were singing. There were no clouds in the sky.

We’re sorry, sir, but your wife… you may want to come say goodbye. Just in case.

Wrong place, wrong time. Just like that, a husband lost his wife and a daughter lost her mother. There was no meaning to it.

But Elenore Shield didn’t die.

It happened so fast there was no time to react. She was falling backwards before she even realized she had been hit, a piece of her heart was gone before she even had a chance to feel pain. She never saw it coming. But she didn’t hit the ground, either.

Her quirk exploded outwards around her. Whether it was a panicked manifestation fueled by adrenaline, or an actual quirk evolution brought on by catastrophic injury, even the experts couldn’t say. But Elenore instinctively entombed herself in ice by pure reflex. The first responders to the scene found the mother and pro hero suspended in a giant crystal of ice, glacially tough and clear as glass, surrounded by interlocking halos of northern lights. The crystal itself was so large that it’s sudden explosive formation had taken out most of the front wall of the shop. Cold, shimmering pools of ghostly opal fire had been scattered around the sidewalk and across the street, the iridescent colors slowly burning as they oozed their way down the storm drains.

By the time the equipment had been found to uproot her and bring her to the hospital, David Shield was already on the scene. It took Toshinori days to hear the news, and when he did, he dropped everything and came running.

A battery of tests were run, and then re-run. Experts on ice abilities and healing quirks were contacted. Toshinori called in every favor he could think of that might help. David burned half of his life savings in less than a week, looking for answers.

But there were none to be had. Elenore was alive, because of her quirk. But if they pried her out of that crystal, she would certainly die. There was a hole in her heart, and a chunk of ice and blood the size of her own head embedded in her chest.

If she could direct her own quirk to repair the damage, there was a chance. But unconscious and in a coma, all her body could do was hold on. She was held in suspension, sustained by the healing power of her own ability. Frozen in the instant between life and death.

Her ice had been a wonder to see. The rainbow fire and opalescent waves of light it emitted had earned her the moniker of The Crystal Witch Hero. Some hero fans had called her The Ice Magician. It was more than just a superpower, it was flashy and aesthetic. A showstopper quirk with mass appeal. The looping, shifting waves of the aurora that her ice emitted made her ability look like something out of a fairy tale.

Now it had become a coffin. A glass box containing a Sleeping Beauty, forever frozen in deep, cold repose.

There were two reasons David Shield had agreed to move to I-Island and work there as a full-time, live-in employee. The first was to take Melissa away from the worst of the discrimination and condescension she received for being quirkless.

The second was because David still held out hope that one day, he would be able to save his wife. And for that, he needed facilities, employees, materials, and most importantly, funding. Grant money. A steady inflow of cash to pay for the personal research he was conducting.

I-Island and the people who ran it knew a business opportunity when they saw one. David Shield was famous, he was a genius, he was a personal friend of All Might, the mightiest superman of the modern age. David Shield could make them a lot of money. They handed the scientist a blank check, and told him to write his own salary. He would receive his own labs, his own pension, executive living quarters, a scholarship for Melissa. And a place to house his wife.

He would be bought. But he would be allowed to name his price.

It was an offer the man couldn’t refuse.

Toshinori had tried to help pay for the costs that would be incurred in trying to save Elenore. But David turned him down, every time. Toshinori didn’t agree with that sentiment, but he understood it. David had lost a part of his soul on that bright and cheerful summer evening, years ago. The man was fighting tooth and nail to try and get it back. His old friend had something to prove, not to anyone else, but to himself.

It was a violent, senseless, personal tragedy, and David Shield needed to be able to fix it. He had to make things right. He was going to save his wife, he was going to pull her out of that ice, he was going to give his daughter her mother back. There was no option for anything else, no room for any other outcome. There simply wasn’t.

Toshinori understood that. It was, after all, the same reason he had chosen to take Nana’s death personally, instead of walking away. It was why he chose to start a war with All For One even over Torino’s numerous protests.

So he understood. He wished he didn’t. But he did.

Some trauma stays with you.

The blonde pro had found other ways to help his friend. Babysitting Melissa when he could. Putting in a good word here and there. Using his influence and status to help his old friend land contracts and grants. Even donating large and indiscriminate sums to research knowing expressly that some of it would end up in David’s hands.

In his deepest heart of hearts, that Toshinori would never share with anyone for as long as he lived, he felt that it would have been kinder if Elenore had simply died. If she was dead and gone, it would be horrible. Toshinori wouldn’t have wished that fate on anyone, least of all on a dear friend like her.

But if she had died, David and Melissa could have moved on from it.

To have her stuck like this, a statue with one foot eternally in the grave and a pleading hand thrown forever back towards the land of the living… it was crueler by far.

David couldn’t let it go, because how could he? How could he move on when his wife was right there, almost within reach?

Toshinori remembered that day, as clearly as though it had just happened last week. When the doctors returned their prognosis, Toshinori had felt as helpless as when Torino had dragged him kicking and screaming away from Nana’s final, tearful smile.

He had become a hero to save people. To stop the violence. To end the pain.

When David broke down on the hospital floor, kneeling in front of what remained of the love of his life and crying ugly, painful tears into the mint-and-bone linoleum, it made Toshinori wonder what it was all for.

David Shield was a world-renowned genius who could solve any problem. But he couldn’t save his wife from her fate. All Might was the greatest hero in the world, who could overcome all obstacles and resolve any crisis. But he couldn’t save his best friend from the pain. He couldn’t save Elenore from her prison.

He couldn’t do anything, as David tarnished his own rising star to try and save a woman caught between life and death. Held captive by the very superpower that had made her a hero to begin with.

What was the point of being strong enough to save the world, when you couldn’t even save one life when it mattered the most? What was the point of being a hero, if you couldn’t fight fate?

The elevator dinged softly, it’s door opening out into the underground parking lot and monorail terminal beneath the building that housed David Shield’s primary office and labs.

Feeling the dull, strained ache in his core from having to hold his muscular form for most of the afternoon, Toshinori was looking forward to getting back to the four bedroom penthouse suite their group was staying at.

Thankfully, the monorail train car was empty at this time of night, and it would only take five minutes for it to loop around Metro Delta to the Four Seasons. Toshinori couldn't help but grin for a moment, remembering how thrilled young Izuku and Melissa had been to find out that they were staying just across the way from the Shield's own apartment.

As the train pulled out from underground and swooped up into the air on it’s elevated tracks, Toshinori sighed and looked at the clear, starry night sky.

It wasn’t just young Izuku who needed help. Hopefully, this trip would be just as good for the older scientist as it would be for the teenage one.

‘I could have tried,’ Cathleen’s voice said, echoing in his head. ‘I should have been there.’

He had spent so much time fighting to keep the people he cared about safe. Had he really forgotten how it must have made them feel? Or had he made those choices knowing it, but believing it was for their own good? Even he wasn’t so sure anymore.

When had he become like Sir Nighteye?

‘You must retire. The alternative is death. If you continue on this path, sometime in the next five years, you will die. You don’t have to worry about anything, I already have an ideal successor candidate lined up and being trained. The details are all already taken care of. You know my predictions have never been wrong, Toshinori! Stop being foolish!’

The tall, musclebound hero exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the bright, waxing gibbous moon shining out like a beacon over the Pacific. Even the air tasted bitter in his mouth.

Had he been ignorant of their feelings, or uncaring? Had he forgotten them, or had he forgotten how to feel at all? Toshinori wasn’t sure which was worse. The endless days of his grind as the world’s top pro blurred the distinction between the two.

‘He needs friends. Allies. People who would come if he called. Who would meddle if they knew he needed help. Right now, he has no one. And that’s not good enough. Not by a long shot.’

What were they even here for, if not to make sure Izuku didn’t fall into the same traps and mistakes that he and Gran personally had? Wasn’t that the whole point of being a teacher, or even a parent?

If Captain Celebrity, Endeavor, and Star and Stripe had fought alongside him to take down All For One… they probably could have done it. The top two of both America and Japan, teaming up in a four-hero squad. A reality warper, a tactile telekinesis demigod, the strongest fire quirk in the world, and the unbound might of One For All. Toshinori was sure young Izuku could come up with a game plan for that in three minutes flat.

But Toshinori had been afraid. Not for himself, but for them. It hadn’t been pride that ruled his choices, but fear. He hadn’t trusted the job to anyone but himself.

‘I understand,’ Torino’s words echoed in his head. ‘You felt like you needed to handle it yourself. I get that.’

Maybe his old teacher had shockingly been willing to forgive him for that. But Toshinori wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. If, one day, the consequences of his fear had a knock-on effect that hurt somebody else, if it somehow got Melissa or young Izuku killed… Toshinori wasn’t sure he could live with that.

It was in that moment that Yagi Toshinori made a decision.

He had deliberately kept people out of knowing the full truth, because it was simply too dangerous. Everyone involved in the sordid and violent history of transferable quirks had met a messy and untimely end. So far, only Toshinori himself had bucked the trend. And even then, it was by the skin of his medically-dead-for-five-minutes teeth.

But if something happened to him, he needed at least one person he could trust besides Gran to help see things through. He couldn’t leave it all on Izuku alone.

And it couldn’t be Cathy, a hero from an entirely different continent who had responsibilities and expectations of her own that she had to fulfill.

He had come here to help young Izuku make allies. People he could trust. Who would come when he called, who would help him if he needed it.

It was time to live up to that. He was going to come clean to David about One For All, while it was still his secret to tell.

Toshinori could do it. He had that power, to make the connection between Izuku and the Shields. To bring David in.

It was time to stop being afraid. For all of their sakes.

The blonde pro looked down at his own large hands, rough and scarred from decades of professional hero work. He slowly ran his fingers over the callouses on his knuckles, examining the small divots and valleys in his skin that only he knew about. Ghosts of old injuries and older mistakes.

The strongest hands in the world. It was strange, how useless they felt.

He could smash that ice to powder in an instant. He knew exactly how to do it. He could turn the glacier containing Elenore into vapor and snowdrifts, he could punch it in a way that left the woman trapped inside completely unscathed. He’d done it before, for other people.

And then she would die anyway, just the same. Useless.

Toshinori slowly clenched his rough hands into fists and smiled, a look of sincere happiness and slowly strengthening resolve flowing across his face. He couldn’t help Elenore, but he could help the people who could. And that was what mattered. If not David, then Melissa. If not Melissa, then Izuku. And if not Izuku, then maybe some combination of all three.

They were all going to be able to save each other. They were. Izuku was going to save Melissa, and Melissa was going to save Izuku. The both of them were going to save David. All of them were going to save Elenore. And the Shield family would finally be whole again.

He wanted to believe that. He chose to believe that. He had to believe it.

'You know my predictions have never been wrong. I have foreseen it. Death.'

Heroes had to be able to defy fate. Toshinori didn’t want to live in a world where they couldn’t.

Chapter Text

The subdued, weighty sound of combat boots picking a careful path echoed down the rusty, dimly-lit hallway. The walls were lined with metal pipes and clustered bundles of insulated wiring, and large air vents were embedded in the ceiling every few yards. The rough, industrial floor periodically switched between solid textured panels and metallic grates.

Izuku hefted his sidearm, a bulky hand-cannon of a pistol, and pivoted on his next step, checking behind their group. He could feel a bead of sweat slowly running down his forehead. On his right and slightly to the rear, Melissa moved in time with him, her bulky combat gear rustling against the heavy ballistic plating strapped to the outside of her thighs.

Izuku was wearing the combat uniform of a military engineer, with steel-toed boots, heavy pants, and a mottled grey urban-camo jacket pulled over a metal ballistic vest. A compact, futuristic looking submachine gun hung at his side from a sling. It sported a red dot reflex sight on it’s crown and an underslung device with an ignition fuse on the front. A bright, tight-beam flashlight was attached to the underside of his pistol, and an earpiece with a dark curly wire hung from the side of his head. His normally fluffy curls were partially tamed by the flat-topped cap he wore, compacting his hair down and making him look older than he was.

Melissa, by contrast, look like she had come prepared to start a one-woman war. Her pants and boots matched Izuku’s, but that was where the similarities ended. Her entire upper body was encased in interlocking ballistic plates, with more strapped to the outside of her sleeves and pants. A thick, segmented belt was wrapped around her waist, with a pair of heavy-duty straps going up her front, over her shoulders, and down the back like suspenders. The belt and straps, however, were only part of a larger ensemble, a full body harness that included exoskeletal pneumatics on the arms and legs for assisted movement. The leg pneumatics attached to the sides of her boots, while the curved metal bars of the arms socketed directly into a pair of articulated metal gauntlets she wore on her hands.

The reason for the multi-part harness was obvious at a single glance. An articulated, jointed rail stuck out of a box on the back of her belt, and bent around to her front like a third arm. It was attached to a gun nearly as big as she was. Without the hydraulic harness and assist rail, it was doubtful she could have even picked up the weapon, let alone used it. But three arms and hydraulically assisted limbs made the impossible, possible.

There was no doubt what role the blonde was filling in the squad.

Melissa had a large red chevron on her chestplate that matched the symbol stitched onto the breast of Izuku’s jacket. Like him, she wore an earpiece, but she also had a monocle visor on the opposite side of her face. The large, clear lens added a heads-up display to her vision, and a floating triangle sight that tracked where the front of her autocannon was pointed. Matching her heavily armored theme, she wore a thick bucket helmet on her head, in contrast to Izuku’s engineer cap, with her normally long blonde hair tucked up against the back of it in a tight, professional bun.

The two teens stalked carefully through the dark, empty halls of the space station. Behind them, the other two members of their four man squad brought up the rear, looming on the flanks.

They were nearly identical looking war androids. It was obvious even at a glance that they were not human. Their faces had all of the correct anatomical features, such as eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but they lacked details. No effort had been made to disguise their synthetic nature, though whether that removed them from the uncanny valley or placed them more firmly into it was a matter of debate. Their skin was a flexible carbon-plastic, smooth and chemical white, with symmetrical seams appearing at regular intervals and large circular cut-outs on the joints of their limbs.

Both wore identical uniforms, standard issue space force fatigues and armored vests. Of the two teens, their kit most closely resembled Izuku’s, though they lacked his jacket and their arms were bared. They both sported identical standard issue rifles with large magazines that lacked accessories.

As obviously cookie-cutter as the two machines were, however, there were still some differences. Clearly several people in the platoon had a sense of humor, as the androids had customized drawings and scribbles on both their bodies and their equipment. The one flanking Izuku sported a ‘Hello My Name Is’ sticker on it’s chestplate that had been filled in with TIN MAN in thick black sharpie, while the one shadowing Melissa had the words BUG KILLER painted onto it’s ballistic vest in thin white paint, along with a wall of tally marks drawn underneath denoting kills.

There were also dozens of other tags and tattoo-like scribbles that set the two machines apart, including words like “kill-a-man-jaro” and “Droid Lives Matter.” Bug Killer had a black-ink tattoo of a clockface with knives for arms on his bicep, while Tin Man sported a list of names the back of his armored vest that had clearly been written by several different people, along with the words ‘In Memoriam.’

The small, disk-shaped headset attached to the side of Izuku’s ear crackled to life. “We got a ping on Dr. Hoenikker’s Personal Data Transmitter. He’s not far in.”

“We’re going to need a deck plan,” Izuku replied, slowly moving his handgun to the side in a sweeping motion, checking the corners with it’s attached light.

“I’m looking into that now,” the female operator on the other end of the line replied. “According to the facility’s network, you can pull an admin map off of a terminal in Chlorine Extraction. It should have everything you need.”

Izuku and Melissa shared a look before nodding at each other. The two teens slowly began walking down the hall with their guns out, flanked on either side by their imposing robotic squadmates.

The further the group moved away from the airlock and into the maze of the space station, the darker their surroundings became. The air was also unnaturally still and heavy, like the ventilation had been cut. It did not go unnoticed.

“Lights are out,” Izuku said softly from his position up front. The green-haired teen’s eyes darted left and right, checking corners as they moved through the hallways towards the ping on their shared radar. “It’s strange that the backup generators haven’t come online.”

“They should have,” Melissa replied, still keeping both hands on the massive autocannon. “Control, you have anything on that?”

“We’ve been running diagnostics on our end, with what limited access we have,” the radio replied. “The Katanga is an Ishimura-class orbital refinery. Built to mine stellar debris. Her reactor produces heavy water as a byproduct which is used to hydraulically frack asteroids. Ishimuras have secondary and tertiary power systems. Public access logs in the network show a general power failure three weeks ago, the reactor failed and went into stasis. Secondary power kicked on for five minutes and then failed, cause unknown. The tertiary system attempted to start, but someone inside the system blocked it.”

“That sounds like corporate sabotage,” Melissa commented blithely.

“Probably!” the radio replied with false cheeriness. “You know how corpos are. Out here on the fringe, the colonial marines are the closest thing to a government that exists outside of an executive boardroom. Unless you report your own crimes to the core authorities, it’s not illegal. Seeing how this entire station is already a walking insurance fraud claim, a little sabotage between competing brands seems par for the course.”

“Is there a way we can get the tertiary system back?” Izuku asked, using his training to carefully clear a doorway before waving for Melissa and the two robots to follow.

“I can’t do it from here,” mission control admitted, regret in her voice. “You need to manually throw a breaker to make that happen. But the good news is, that box isn’t far from Hoenikker. You’re getting a two-for-one deal!”

The four-marine squad continued through one dark corridor after another, carefully clearing each room they passed through. The space station was eerily quiet: there were no signs of life, and barely any signs of struggle. The emptiness was punctuated by the soft background tick of a motion tracker, returning no signals in it’s range. The space station was as still and quiet as a tomb.

A tomb, Izuku noted, that had no bodies.

In what felt like no time at all, they had made their way to a large irregular room sporting a raised platform with a ring of computer consoles. Izuku moved up to the central computer on the platform and plugged a USB stick into one of it’s ports before turning it on. The computer came to life after flashing a large, bright warning alerting that the system was running on emergency backup batteries.

Tin Man and Bug Killer took up flanking positions on either side of the console platform. The motion detector softly ticked, not registering their movement as they had Colonial Marines PDT chips embedded in them. Melissa and Izuku shared another pointed look before nodding to each other.

“Control, we’re in. Can you pull a map?”

“I see you. One moment. Aaand, yes, I’ve got it. Updating your HUDs now. So I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. The good news is, Hoenikker is nearby. The bad news is, he’s not moving, and I’m not sure if you’re going to be able to restart the tertiary systems. At least, not for very long.”

Izuku frowned, nervously adjusting the grip on his sidearm. “What happened? What’s the problem?”

“Don’t know. The damage report is weird, almost makes it seem like the damn thing was melted.”

“Thermite?” Melissa asked, her eyes darting around. The two synthetic squadmates were stoic in their inhuman stillness.

“Maybe. You won’t be able to fix this kind of damage from the box, but I’m gonna have you swing by and check anyway. It’s just past Hoenikker’s position. We need eyes on what happened.”

Izuku nodded in affirmation, and the small group of colonial marines resumed moving towards their objective through lightless hallways, four carefully bobbing flashlights in a sea of still and quiet darkness.

The motion detector ticked, the following silence conveying that there was nothing moving within sixty yards of their position. While Izuku couldn’t see every corner of the rooms and corridors they slowly made their way through, he saw enough.

No movement. No bodies.

It was what was missing that worried him. What he wasn’t seeing.

Alive or dead… where was everyone? What had happened here?

Izuku checked his own personal tracker on his wrist. According to their positioning HUD, Hoenikker was right around the corner in the next junction. The motion tracker quietly ticked, pinging nothing.

Izuku peeked the corner, pistol first. Slowly, he took in the corridor, long and silent and so, so empty, before carefully stepping across the way and pressing himself up against the far wall on the other side.

Nothing. There was no one. Izuku jerked his head, and Melissa took the corner he had just occupied, keeping to the opposite wall from him.

Carefully, Izuku stepped forwards. Three meters. Two meters. One meter.

The green haired teen looked down, and there was a smear of blood on the rough metal floor. It was dark and dry, several days old at least. And sitting in the middle of it was a tiny scrap of electronics, paper thin and barely a quarter the size of a fingernail. In the darkness of the hallway, both it and the bloodstain would have been almost invisible to the casual observer. Only someone who already knew where they were could have found it.

Slowly, Izuku reached down, and carefully picked up the tiny object in his gloved hand.

“Control? What am I looking at?”

“That’s Hoenikker’s PDT chip. That explains his signal not moving. He must have cut it out. But… why?”

The gentle, soft metronome of the motion tracker ticked.

And then there was a bleep.

Izuku’s pistol snapped up, level and aiming down the corridor. Melissa mirrored his movement, hefting her autocannon. Both synths shouldered their rifles.

“Command, we have movement on the tracker,” Izuku said, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. “Fifty meters out. Can you read it?”

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“Negative, Forward Team. I’m not reading anything on our sensors. Equipment check?”

Tick.

Bleep.

“There’s nothing wrong with our equipment,” Melissa said. “We’re both tracking movement forty meters out.” The girl’s eyes flickered back and forth between the dark corridor they had just come down and the one stretching out in front of them. She shifted to position herself in the L-bend with her back to the corner, giving herself a clear line of fire in both directions.

“Nothing’s there. Mid-range scanners aren’t seeing anything.”

Tick.

Bleep.

Izuku’s eyes were straining against the darkness of the corridor, looking for movement, some sign of life. There was nothing. Thirty meters.

Tick.

Bleep.

The sound was becoming higher in pitch as whatever it was drew closer. Twenty meters. Were they in a side room or parallel hallway? Even with the lights out, whatever it was should be visible in the corridor at twenty meters.

Tick.

Bleep.

Izuku’s fingers flexed against the grip of his handgun, his eyes darting back and forth between where they had come from and where they were going. Ten meters. The contact was within ten meters. That was close enough to be in the same room.

Tick.

Bleep.

Izuku glanced down at the motion detector. They were surrounded on all sides. There were dozens of blips. A wall of flickering white dots on the fuzzy screen. “Command? Command we need advisement. We are surrounded by unknown contacts.”

“Forward Team this is command, we still aren’t seeing anything. No contact on our side. I repeat, no contact.”

Tick.

. . .

Tick.

Izuku stared into the still, quiet darkness, every one of his senses straining. He swallowed. Had it really been an equipment malfunction? But why would two different sets of equipment malfunction the exact same way?

Tick.

He glanced back and forth in the lightless corridor, trying to keep every angle in view. The shiver on the edges of the cone of light from his pistol flashlight gave away his nerves. Beside him, Melissa was struggling to control her breathing. No, it hadn’t been a mistake. Something was here. Something had surrounded them…

… and stopped moving.

Izuku licked his lips nervously before steeling himself. He was team lead. He had to make a call.

“Forward,” he said, his voice somehow coming out calm in spite of the hurricane of thoughts and nerves swirling inside of him. “No contact. But stay alert. I don’t think we’re alone.”

Melissa nodded shakily, taking one last look down the corridor behind them. The corridor that, according to their equipment, housed dozens of still and silent watchers less than ten meters away.

The two synths, being combat models, said nothing as they followed along. But they obeyed Izuku’s high alert order, and did not unshoulder their rifles.

The hallway that had contained Hoenikker’s chip ended in a T-intersection. As Izuku’s flashlight lit up the back wall, both teens froze.

Scrawled on the wall of the intersection in blood were the words MAKE US WHOLE. The letters were enormous, but the giant puddle of dried blood on the floor beneath them was even bigger. Flaking lines and crusty drips of dark, nearly-black red trailed down from the writing on the wall. The words were crude, like they had been painted on with a bare hand soaked in gore.

Melissa let out a quiet, hiccuping gasp, and Izuku swallowed.

Someone had died here. There was no way anyone could lose that much blood and live. But there was no body. No clothes. No signs of struggle.

The motion tracker ticked audibly in the horrified silence, pinging nothing.

The lack of movement was more ominous than comforting.

“We go right,” Izuku rasped quietly, forcing himself back to reality. “Heading right is how we get to the junction box to reset the emergency power.”

Melissa nodded shakily, and they continued on. Both gave the scabbed-over pool of bodily fluids a wide berth.

The ten minutes of dark corridors and soft ticking from the motion tracker felt like an eternity, and was made all the more eerie by the suspicion that they were being stalked by something unseen. But finally, their hallway opened up to a large engine room filled with sprawling pipes and catwalks, several of which framed an elevator door on the opposite end of the room. The dim pulsing yellow of the spinning emergency beacons in the room threw anemic light and deep shadows across the floor and walls.

After what had felt like hours of fumbling in near-pitch darkness, it was a godsend.

“You’ve found it, Forward Team. That’s the breaker room. The elevator in the back will take you down to reactor access, you can chart a path to the central data hub from there. But the elevator isn’t on your level. You’re going to need to turn the power on before you can call it.”

“What do we need to do?” Izuku asked, carefully moving into the room while keeping his finger on the trigger of his sidearm.

“Remember how I said I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to start it? I’ve been running diagnostics since you gave me sys-admin access earlier. I think we can get the emergency power back on, at least temporarily. But one of the generators definitely isn’t going to start, and I want to know why. It’s the one on the far left as you come in. Go pop the panel on the side, I want to see what happened to the inside of it.”

Izuku did as he was asked, walking over to the long metal engine in question. After fiddling with the maintenance hatch, he opened the lock and pulled it open before shining his light into the interior.

“What- what is that?” Melissa said, walking up to stand beside Izuku.

The green-haired teen shook his head slowly. “Not thermite,” he said absently.

The interior of the backup generator had a giant hole melted through the inside of it, in a rough circle as far across as a grown man’s standing height. Dirty but normal looking machinery suddenly transformed into a sagging, foul mush with a faintly off-green color to it. The structural integrity of everything in the circle was totally lost, metal hanging down in clumpy, pockmarked ropes. It looked like the worst chemistry accident in the world. Or like some especially gross combination of cobwebs and vomit.

“Command?” Izuku asked into his headset. “What are we looking at? This doesn’t look like corporate sabotage.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Long enough that Izuku suspected an argument was taking place and the comms had been muted.

“We aren’t sure,” the reply eventually came back, the words slightly too even and nonplussed to be genuine. “But you’re right, that’s not thermite.”

“Command, do you know what caused this?”

There was another, shorter pause.

“Something that shouldn’t be here. We have records of an alien species that has acidic internals that could have caused this, but that shouldn’t be possible. This station went offline due to internal conflict with a cult. There have been no reports of any xenobiological life-forms anywhere on this station. You’re a million light years away from the nearest planet with anything more interesting on it than acid pools and fossilized bacteria. There’s nothing out here but rocks and ionizing radiation.”

Somehow, neither teen found this comforting.

Izuku closed the hatch and stepped back into the room itself. “Okay, Command, I understand. We’ll keep our eyes open. Now how do we turn the power back on? Can we?”

“Yes, you can,” the operator said, sounding almost relieved at the change in topic. “I was worried that all the generators had been damaged, but seven out of eight is enough to get elevators and emergency lights back on. There’s a manual lever you have to throw, you’re looking for a metal box with a big yellow warning sign on it.”

“I see it,” Izuku said, as he and Melissa moved towards a large metal breaker housing embedded in the wall. It was covered in warning stripes and had a dozen paragraphs of maintenance information taped to the front of it behind a dirty plastic cover. It was held shut by an electronic latch.

“Your Colonial Marines PDT chip has security override clearance. Our scans show that the system is in suspension, the tertiary systems are trying to kick online but can’t. As soon as you reset the breaker, everything else will happen automatically.”

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line. “But, uh, it’s gonna be loud. Like, real loud. You’re in the same room as the engines, there’s going be heat, sound, vibrations. The works. So get ready. If there really is something on the ship with you besides dead bodies, they’ll hear this. You’re about to start the party.”

“Understood,” Izuku replied. He waved his hand in front of the lock and felt a soft, subtle vibration inside the flesh of his palm, somewhere between his ring and middle fingers.

The lock clicked, and the breaker box swung open on a well-worn hinge.

Inside the box, there was a panel with dozens of switches, each paired beside a button. Another panel was positioned near the top of the box, and was held in place by a swinging latch. It was clearly intended to allow deeper access into the guts of the breaker box.

And next to everything else, taking up over half the interior by itself, was a huge lever locked in the ‘up’ position. It was wreathed in a halo of warning stickers, and its sides connected to wires as thick around as Izuku’s thumb that disappeared into the back of the wall.

At least it was obvious what they had to do.

Izuku and Melissa shared a look. Behind them, the two synths loomed like silent sentinels, their rifles still shouldered.

“Ready?” Izuku asked in a half whisper.

Melissa put her hand on the firing handle of her autocannon and turned to face the doorway they had come through. It was the only way in or out of this room besides the elevator.

“Ready,” she replied, sounding far more confident than either of them felt.

Doing his best to keep his gun steady, Izuku reached up with his off-hand, grabbed the lever, and slammed it down with a clang.

There was a quarter second where nothing happened, and Izuku wondered what they were going to do if they were trapped in the pitch black bowels of a ghost station, full of missing dead people and whatever had melted a man-sized hole through the floor.

Then the seven giant turbine engines on either side of the room turned over with a guttural roar, and the floor audibly shook as the emergency backup system came online. The lights kicked on, and after what felt like a lifetime of fumbling in the dark, it was nearly blinding.

Izuku couldn’t hear the ping or the bleep over the noise, but he didn’t have to, because the screen of the motion tracker lit up like Christmas Eve in downtown Tokyo.

“Hard contact!” their handler screamed on the other end of the headset. “You have hard contact incoming!”

Izuku saw it, in the now blinding light of the corridor they had come from. Pouring out of the vents and bursting out of the floor grates was a great, seething tide of glittering black chitin.

Melissa pointed her massive gun down the center of the corridor and squeezed the trigger flat, holding it down. The monstrous weapon roared to life with a guttural staccato.

It wasn’t called an autocannon because it fired automatically.

It was called an autocannon because it aimed automatically.

The clear glass of the blonde’s monocle display lit up, projecting a huge square box across her field of vision, while everything that moved and lacked a friendly PDT signal was highlighted for her in a stark white outline.

All she had to do was drag the square across white blobs. The autocannon rig did the rest, the rail arm protruding from her back pushing the tip of the gun around with machine-like precision.

Next to her, Izuku had taken a knee and started shooting, his hours of law enforcement grade training kicking in. The two synths flanked him on either side, taking positions flush with the walls and using their rifles in short, controlled bursts.

Izuku squeezed the trigger smoothly and cleanly, and his monster of a pistol jumped, the recoil feeling like he’d been kicked in the wrists. The quadrupedal creature he had been aiming at fumbled and tripped, skidding across the floor and ending up slightly inside the room.

And in the bright, artificial light of day, the horror was revealed in all of it’s glory.

The pitch black creature had a bulbous head, almost cylindrical, a long oval shape that stretched far back beyond where a human’s skull would have ended. It’s jaw clicked open and shut once, twice, three times, flashing metallic silver teeth, before it finally fell still. It’s neck and body were a wild mess of tangled veins and ribbed plates, the details of which blurred away due to it’s onyx coloration, and all four of it’s limbs ended in twitching five-digit claws disturbingly similar to human hands. It’s long, whiplike tail thrashed even in death, before Melissa put an end to it by dragging her cannon down slightly, pumping enough lead into the corpse to physically push it back into the corridor before re-centering her aim.

Izuku stared at the thing’s head, where it’s eyes would have been… if it had any. In the space where it had dragged across the floor, fluorescent green gore sizzled and spat against the ceramic and metal, slowly melting it’s way through.

There was a half-muted shouting match taking place on the other side of the comms, garbled profanity from three different languages bleeding together. One of the voices was their operator. But to Izuku it felt like it was millions of miles away, the words fading in and out, unintelligible.

Shaking his head and forcing himself to re-focus, Izuku snapped three more shots down the corridor, careful and measured. He aimed at stragglers trying to escape the central column of Melissa’s fire by running along the walls and ceilings. The first two died outright, their huge chitinous heads bursting apart as his high caliber rounds made contact. The last one was merely winged with a grazing shot, but fell from the ceiling directly into Melissa’s death zone.

“Command, we need a way out!” Izuku shouted, taking another shot. “We’re going to be overrun!”

There was a scrabbling sound on the other end of the line. “The elevator has already been called, Forward Team! ETA one minute!”

Melissa’s eye flicked slightly to the side, glancing at the rapidly dwindling number in the corner of her eyepiece. A counter that originally stood at over 500 had just passed 40. “I need to reload!”

Izuku stepped up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her backwards. Trusting the other teen, she began to backpedal as he led them both towards the elevator door one step at a time.

“Cover her!” Izuku shouted, and both androids moved as one, each taking a knee for stability and flicking their rifles from burst fire to auto. Melissa kept her finger on the trigger for a half second longer, waiting for the last rounds to fire. As the final round left the chamber, the giant weapon jolted as it’s internal bolt flew backwards and didn’t reset. Taking that as her cue, she thumbed the release, sending the empty metal canister hanging under her gun clattering to the floor.

At the same time, Izuku pulled a compact device the size of a bottle from his belt and threw it towards the entrance of the room. It hit the ground and popped open, three mechanical legs unfolding out as it righted itself. There was a fraction of a second where nothing happened, and then the PTD targeting kicked in. The deployable turret snapped towards the incoming horde, and a wave of napalm sprayed out, coating the ceiling and floors and filling the doorway.

It wouldn't hold them for long, but it didn't have to.

Melissa reached behind her back and pulled free one of the box mags attached to her rig. She fumbled slightly in her panicked hurry as she tried to push it into place, her eyes on the chemical fire blazing in front of them. After a breathless heartbeat, the latch finally caught, the magazine sliding home and the bolt cycling a fresh round with a mechanical ‘thunk.’

She squeezed the trigger, and her massive weapon roared to life again, spraying invisible death at the crawling tide pushing towards them.

Behind them, the elevator doors opened, the ding lost in the cacophony.

Melissa went first, walking backwards into the elevator carriage, keeping her eyes forwards. She could barely see through the wall of napalm, but it didn’t matter. The creatures were already pushing past it, forcing their way into the room. The sound was deafening, their hissing screams warring with the thundering staccato of indoor gunfire.

“Fall back!” Izuku ordered, and the two synths stood up. The three of them walked backwards, firing as they went. A glob of steaming chemicals flew through the curtain of napalm with frightening precision and splashed against Izuku’s turret, a shower of sparks announcing it’s death. The wall of flame sputtered and began to fade.

A second acidic projectile followed closely after the first, and only Bug Killer’s inorganic reflexes allowed him to dive out of the way in time.

They were being overrun. They had seconds left. They had to leave, right now.

The back of Izuku’s heel caught the lip of the elevator, and for a horrifying second he was falling, flailing, twisting into Melissa’s column of fire.

But Tin Man’s hand came down on his shoulder, catching him mid-fall with inhuman grip strength before pulling him upright. The synth had not stopped firing, one-handing the large rifle and holding it’s muzzle steady with brute force as it poured lead into the howling tide.

Izuku’s hand slammed down on the elevator’s controls as everyone inside continued firing, desperation screaming in his mind.

They could tear the doors down, no, they would tear the doors down. But the arms of the space station were long, and the elevators moved at high speeds. If they could get away, they would be safe, but they had to get away.

Izuku saw it right as the doors closed, when there was barely an inch of gap left. Wading forwards, towering over the horde, was a creature different from the rest. It had the same general shape and features, but it stood upright like a man, tall enough that it could have stared All Might in the eyes with ease. It’s four limbs were long and thin, like those of an insect, but still moved as though they possessed immense strength. And the strange ribbed carapace all the creatures possessed swooped around it’s chest and shoulders like armor before protruding out from it’s back as sharpened, hollow spikes.

But the most striking thing of all, what immediately drew Izuku’s eye, was that it was white. In a sea of screeching and hissing obsidian, the towering creature striding towards the elevator was a pale ghost. A silent reaper of bleached bone. The details of the creature’s form were not blended and indistinct like the rest, but clearly visible due to it’s coloration. And it was all the more terribly alien for it.

The pale horror had taken it’s first step into the engine room, it’s spine-like tail lashing against the floor, when the elevator slammed shut with a pneumatic hiss, cutting off Izuku’s view. The teen’s heart leapt into this throat as they began accelerating down at high speeds, back across the arms of the space station towards it’s center.

“Did- did you see that?” Izuku whispered, turning to his human partner. “That thing at the end?”

Melissa wiped her brow with the back of a gloved hand and rested her gun against the floor. “See what?”

Izuku swallowed. “… nothing,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “There was a big one at the end that looked different from the rest. That’s all.”

The armored girl took a shaky breath before smiling back. “Well, good thing we didn’t have to stick around and find out what it was, huh?”

The green-haired teen nodded mutely, his eyes darting over the both of them, cataloging their gear.

Melissa had started with four box magazines. One had been expended. He had brought three turrets, so two were left. Two out of his six pistol magazines had been spent. The SMG hanging on his hip had yet to be fired, it’s five extra magazines untouched.

They weren’t in the danger zone yet, but it would only take one or two more encounters like the last one before they were. As a team, they needed to plan ahead.

Izuku raised his hand up to the comms in his ear. “Control, this is Forward Team. We’re going to need a resupply inserted at an airlock en-route to Central Data.”

Silence.

Izuku frowned, and pressed the button on the side of his earpiece again. “Control, this is Forward, do you copy? Control?”

Seeing this, Melissa reached up to her own helmet and attempted to hail the Endeavor.

Still, they heard nothing but the soft hissing of background static on the other end.

“That’s impossible,” Melissa whispered, an almost betrayed expression on her face. “The USS Endeavor has a comms array that can send broadcasts to the other side of a star system.”

“Are we being jammed?” Izuku asked.

“Maybe?” the blonde admitted. “But I don’t see how-”

A harsh crackle of static spat and popped in Izuku’s earpiece, making him flinch. He quickly put a hand up to it.

“Control, is that you? This is Forward Team, please respond!”

The static rose and fell unevenly, but through the noise, Izuku could barely make out some audible words.

“-dead already… don’t trust-”

Izuku fiddled with the dial on his earpiece, attempting to get a clearer signal.

“… Hoenikker- I’m… already- …us whole-”

“This is the Forward Tactical Response Team from the USS Endeavor with the Colonial Marines,” Izuku announced, trying to cut through the white noise. “Whoever you are, please identify!”

“-ello? Hello? Can you hear me?” the voice on the other end said, becoming sharper and clearer.

“Dr. Hoenikker?” Melissa asked warily. “Is that you?”

“Yes!” the voice gasped out. “Thank God someone came. You have to come rescue me, please!”

“That’s one of our objectives, doctor,” Izuku replied. “We’re Colonial Marines attached to the USS Endeavor. Where are you right now?”

There was a moment of drawn out silence, and what sounded like heavy breathing rasping into a microphone.

“I’m… I’m in Minerals Processing,” he said, sounding unsteady. “On- on the star-facing side of the third floor. In the central spire.”

Izuku nodded before tapping on his wrist, pulling up their own copy of the administrative map. “I see that area. We’ll start heading towards you as soon as we achieve our primary objective in Central Data.”

“Central Data?” Hoenikker stuttered, confusing and fear apparent in his voice even over the radio. “You can’t! That’s- that’s where Monica is!”

“Monica?” Melissa said. “Who’s Monica?”

There was another stretch of raspy breathing, followed by a hacking cough.

“She… she’s… sorry. I’m hurt and it’s hard to- hard to focus. I haven’t slept in days. I don’t know how long I’ve been awake.”

“It’s okay,” Izuku said calmly. “We understand. Try to focus, doctor. Who is Monica?”

“The white one,” he said softly. “You’ll… you’ll know her if you see her. She’s white, with grey stripes.”

Izuku stiffened, and Melissa shot him a look.

“You named an alien?” she asked.

“N-No. The aliens, they… they reproduce via parasitism. They need a living host to incubate inside of. Monica was- was the name of the woman that one came out of.”

Something cold slithered up the backs of both teens. Izuku’s gut clenched.

Was that why there were no bodies?

“I- I knew Monica. From before. We went to college together. Dated for awhile. She was a colleague. She didn’t… she didn’t deserve…”

There was hiss of pain and a pause.

“We didn’t know. We didn’t know! I s-swear to you, we didn’t know what the eggs were! We would have never… we wouldn’t have…” his voice faded away into quiet, staticky sobs.

“Doctor?” Izuku said. “Doctor! Stay with us! I need your help, you need to stay focused.”

There was a long, slow breath, and then unsteady breathing.

“Monica was on an experimental treatment. Something to repair damage to her DNA. It was ordered by Weyland-Yutani Medical after her last checkup. I think it… I think it affected the thing that came out of her. Monica, the alien Monica, she’s… different. She killed so many people. Bullets don’t seem to work. She’s so strong. Don’t- don’t go to Central Data. There’s a nest somewhere, I don’t know where, but Monica is always hanging around there, so it has to be close. It’s a hunting ground.”

Izuku frowned worriedly and glanced over at Melissa, who shared his expression. “We don’t have a choice about whether or not to go, but we’ll take your warning under advisement,” he said. “Besides, if we’re headed towards you, Central Data is on the way.”

“Do you know why comms haven’t been working?” Melissa asked. “We were in contact with the Endeavor until just a few minutes ago, but suddenly the signal cut.”

There was a slow, rasping breath that came through the mic. “It’s- it’s the cultists. They built a device. It jams everything around it. They- they call it the Marker.”

Izuku looked across at Melissa, and saw on her face the same suspicion he felt. The blonde teen spoke up. “If this device they built is jamming everything, how are we talking to you?”

“It’s not like a normal jammer. It’s sending out a special kind of signal. Like a kind of white noise. If you had the right equipment you could- you could hear it right now, where you are. If you’re far away from it, you’re fine. Once you get close, it blocks almost everything. But when you’re right next to it… there’s a dead space, where its influence doesn’t reach. Like the eye of a storm.”

Melissa pursed her lips, doubt on her face.

“Is there anything you can tell us that would help us get to you easier?” Izuku asked, fishing for information.

There was a hoarse, wet sounding cough, and the comms crackled as Hoenikker’s mic peaked. “Ye-Yes. I don’t know… what kind of clearance you have. But there’s- there’s a hacked terminal outside of Hydroponics that can tag you as a Weyland-Yutani Executive. Some of the people fighting the cultists made it, as a way to break into the corporate armory. I don’t know how useful it will be, but there- there shouldn’t be any door in this station those credentials can’t open. My part of the station is in lockdown. You might… need it to reach me.”

“We have SysAdmin access and Colonial Marines PDT chips,” Izuku replied. “That should be enough to rescind the lockdown.”

“M-Maybe,” Hoenikker replied. “I think the lockdown was engaged using corporate protocols. I don’t know if anything other than an Executive authority can override it.”

“We’ll do our best,” Melissa said. “Just hold on, okay doctor?”

“Please, hurry. I- I’m hurt. Very badly.” There was a pause, and a slow, shaky breath. “There was an explosion, when the cultists were fighting. I’m not… whole. Not anymore.”

Izuku couldn’t help but flinch slightly at that. Melissa scrunched her eyes shut and turned away.

“Please come find me. I want- I want to be whole again.”

“We’ll do our best, doctor,” Izuku said, holding his hand up to his earpiece. “I promise.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Doctor? Dr. Hoenikker, are you there?”

But there was nothing but quiet static. The soft, empty sound of decaying radio waves and dead space.

Slowly, Izuku lowered his hand.

“Do you believe any of that?” Melissa asked softly.

Izuku frowned, and there was a moment of silence. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Something about that explanation of how the Marker works doesn’t sound right.”

“It doesn’t sound right at all,” Melissa insisted. “A jammer that doesn’t work at long ‘or’ short range, only medium? A control signal that behaves like some kind of hurricane, and has an ‘eye?’ I’ve never heard of such a thing. I don’t even know how that would work. And if we’re inside the medium range right now… how could Hoenikker even talk to us?”

Izuku didn’t respond. There wasn’t much to say.

There was something fishy about this whole situation.

The elevator slowly came to a stop, and the two teens steeled themselves as the doors opened with pneumatic hiss.

“Let’s go,” Izuku said softly, raising his oversized pistol back up to eye level. “It’s almost a straight line from here.”

The four-man squad pushed forwards through the now well-lit hallways, moving faster than before. However, every step they took was dogged with the fear of what they had left behind, as well as the unnerving words and behavior of Dr. Hoenikker.

“We should seal the doors behind us, to slow them down,” Melissa suggested as they passed through a large bulkhead with wide double doors.

Izuku thought for a moment before nodding. “If they make it down the elevator shaft, they’ll have a straight shot after us,” he said as he moved to a nearby access panel on the wall and began pushing buttons. “Locking doors will probably save us more time than we lose.”

The large mechanical doors they had just walked through slid together, and two half-circles on the center edges spun together and compressed with a mechanical hiss, sealing the junction shut.

It wouldn’t hold, not against the seething tide they had been confronted with. But every door they closed was time added back on a clock neither could see, but both knew was rapidly ticking down.

A violent, lethal confrontation was coming. Both instinctively knew it was a fight they couldn’t win. Avoidance was the only sane choice. They had to rip the black box, get Hoenikker, and get out.

But even as they pushed forwards, both were plagued with silent doubts, second guessing their choices and strategies. There was a wild, almost primal, urge to simply sprint straight for the objective. To run full-tilt, away from what they had seen.

But both resisted it. They were weak. They had no quirks. But they had guns, androids, and a plan.

It would be enough. It had to be.

In what felt like both far too long and no time at all, the pair had come to the only intersection on their route to the data center. Another T-junction. Left was a dead end in Hydroponics, according to their maps. Back was the way they had come. Right was the only way forwards. They were almost there.

Melissa opened her mouth to ask if maybe they should stop to check out that computer terminal Hoenikker mentioned, but the words died before she could speak them.

This time, neither needed a flashlight to see what was on the walls.

Right in the middle, front and center, the words WE ARE HERE IN DEATH, IT IS OUR SAINT were smeared in giant bloody letters. Below it and slightly to the side were the smaller words ‘Cut Off Their Limbs.’ The second message was clearly written in another hand, and in white paint instead of human gore.

Unlike the last message, this one was fresh, the mostly-dried bodily fluids still glinting slightly with moisture.

Also unlike the last message, it was no mystery where the bodies used to source the blood had gone.

It was impossible to tell how many had died here. That’s how mangled the remains were. Their flesh was flayed to the point where it was hard to tell where one person began and another ended, while their limbs were warped and twisted, like what a particularly careless child might do to a doll or action figure while roughhousing.

Some might describe it by saying they looked like they had been the victims of some industrial accident, or a piece of heavy machinery. But anything powerful enough to do that kind of damage to a human wouldn’t leave recognizable remains at all.

It was clear by how intact the bodies still were that this had been the work of people, not machines. Deliberate violence, overwhelming and horrific. Something brutal and calculated.

Melissa clapped a gloved hand over her mouth in horror at the sight. Izuku turned his head to the side, trying to avert his gaze while also being unable to fully look away. There was a long, stunned moment of silence, where the only sound was the soft ticking of the motion tracker.

“I… I don’t think this was the aliens,” Izuku said after a moment. “Hoenikker implied that they abduct people to reproduce. This has to be the cultists.”

Melissa swallowed heavily, trying to steady herself. “I don’t think those things would write on the walls, either,” she pointed out. “We should be careful.”

The two teens composed themselves, and skirted around the gruesome display, giving the bodies a wide berth. Izuku pulled up the map from his wrist device. “According to this, the nearest public computer terminal is down the hall just outside of Hydroponics. That’s probably what Hoenikker was talking about. It will only take a minute to check, so I think we should-”

Tick.

Bleep.

The two teens froze, but before they could do anything, the deafening staccato of indoor gunfire roared behind them like a thunderclap.

Izuku spun around, finger on the trigger of his pistol, only to see Tin Man standing over the mangled bodies, his smoking rifle pointed down into the tangled mass.

The green-haired teen stared in shock. It wasn’t just Tin Man, either. Bug Killer was standing back further from the pile, but had his rifle pointed unwaveringly at the same body.

Had their androids just attacked a corpse?

“Status report!” Izuku demanded.

“Hostile detected. Hostile engaged. Hostile neutralized. High alert status pending.” Tin Man replied in a droning, monotonous voice.

“PDT Interdiction identified hostile movement,” Bug Killer stated, also responding to the order. “High alert status pending.

Slowly, Melissa pointed her own massive smartgun at the pile.

Izuku didn’t blame her. This was the third time their equipment had behaved in a way they didn’t understand, first with the motion trackers, then with the comms. Now this.

Given what they had seen so far, Izuku was inclined to trust the equipment. Mission control was mistaken. Even Hoenikker’s own testimony was suspect. This wasn’t an error or malfunction.

There was something very, very wrong with this station. Something worse than rioting murderers or escaped xenofauna.

Before Izuku could say anything, an eerie, high-pitched shriek echoed distantly through the ventilation. It started high, like a wailing, distorted yell, then decayed away into an inhuman, warbling giggle.

The sound clearly came from Hydroponics.

“That’s not an alien,” Melissa whispered softly, clenching the firing handle of her gun in a whiteknuckled grip.

“You know, I don’t really think we need the extra credentials,” Izuku said as he backed away slowly from the corridor to Hydroponics.

“Colonial Marines have extrajudicial authority on the frontier,” Melissa noted, rationalizing her own careful retreat. “And we can always burn through any door we can’t open.”

The two teens backed through a door on their side of the T-junction, the two androids following along dutifully. Without saying a word, both silently agreed to seal it shut. Izuku went to work on the control panel, pushing buttons at a speed somewhere between professionalism and panic, while the blonde kept her oversized weapon aimed squarely down the center of the far hallway.

The tense silence was broken by a familiar, terrible sound. The soft, ever-present tick of the motion sensor…

Beep.

Melissa’s eyes flicked down to her own gear, checking the blip. According to their equipment, the contact was dead ahead.

There was an electronic tone of acknowledgment from the wall, and the metal doors began to slide shut.

Izuku sighed in relief. “Whatever that was, it’s not our problem now. Let’s get out of here and get the job done.”

Melissa bit her own lip worriedly.

She couldn’t shake the impression that, just as the doors had closed, the pile of mangled bodies had moved.

‘Cut off their limbs,’ the message on the wall had said. Less like a threat, and more like a warning or a piece of advice.

Whose limbs? The aliens?

Four long corridors and several tense but uneventful minutes later, and the teens finally stepped out onto the upper catwalk of Central Data.

The room certainly lived up to it’s name. It was a large, open space shaped like a disc, four stories deep at the center and two stories deep at the edges. All around the upward terraced slopes of the bottom there were banks upon banks of computers. They were arranged in semicircles around scattered chairs and metal desks, like the overlapping circular pools in a thermal spring. Scalloped balconies emerged from the walls holding racks of storage drives as tall as a grown man, and ventilation ducts just as large were scattered about, pumping cold air to keep the room’s temperature down. A large, central spire emerged from the middle of the room and pierced upwards through all three floors of catwalks.

And most impressive of all, the huge, circular ceiling was transparent. It was a single giant piece of space age material, continuous and unbroken, as clear as glass. Had the station been oriented properly, it would have offered a breathtaking distant view of the system’s star, or perhaps the planet it was in orbit around. However, at the moment it was nothing more than a vast, starry mirror, looking out into the endless void.

Izuku strode forwards across the upper catwalks with purpose, aiming for the central spire. And if his footsteps were faster than they needed to be, Melissa couldn’t blame him.

She didn’t want to stay here for a second longer than they needed to, either.

On the ground level of the central spire, and on each of the levels of catwalk that gave access to it, there was a ring of computers embedded into the structure. Terminals and fixed keyboards at standing height, used to access the data racks and deeper computational functions of the station.

Izuku went down on one knee and, after a bit of fiddling, popped off the panel beneath one of the keyboards. He clicked on a smaller flashlight fixed to the shoulder of his jacket, and peered inside the tangle of bound cables and metal cages in the interior of the spire.

“The schematics say the black box is in here somewhere. Cover me while I try to find it.”

“Be quick,” Melissa murmured, and Izuku nodded before pushing his shoulders forwards into the hole.

After several long seconds, he shimmied back out. Shifting over, he pulled off the next panel over, and dove in again.

Melissa glanced at her own wrist screen, embedded on her right gauntlet. According to the admin data their handler had pulled before losing contact, the black box should be here on the top floor of the spire. They were in the right place.

Izuku climbed back out, pulled off yet another panel, and pushed himself back in.

Melissa glanced at her own tracker impulsively. It would make a sound if hostile motion was detected, but she couldn’t help but glance at it, wanting to be sure.

Something was wrong about all of this, and even though their equipment said the room was as still and empty as a grave, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched from somewhere.

The fourth panel was when Izuku finally hit paydirt.

Tucked away behind a curtain of cabling was the space station’s black box. The device was a heavily reinforced metal drum the size of a car tire, and was bolted directly to the internal struts of the spire. It only had two cables connected to it; a power line, and a data input to keep it updated.

Moving it would be impossible, but fortunately, they didn’t have to.

Izuku unspooled a length of adapter cord from his jacket, plugged the wide end into the black box, and connected the smaller tip to a reinforced data stick the size of his index finger.

After a brief second, a cyan light on the stick flickered on, and a progress bar appeared on Izuku’s wrist display.

“I’ve found it,” Izuku said, angling his head back to project his voice out of the hole. “I’m ripping the box now. It should only take a minute.”

One minute, Melissa thought to herself. The room was empty, there was nothing here. In sixty seconds, they would be out of there. Moving towards extraction, towards Hoenikker.

They had made good time, coming here. They had made smart choices. They could last one minute.

There was a tick, and then nothing.

Another tick, and nothing.

Melissa held her breath.

Every quiet tick of the motion tracker felt like a victory. But it also felt… off.

Ominous.

Something wasn’t right.

Tick.

The technology said they were fine. It said they were safe.

Tick.

Even the androids, which had shot at some threat neither of them had seen or noticed, were standing passively by.

Tick.

But some primal instinct was screaming at Melissa. It felt like something more than mere paranoia.

It felt like an evil eye. Like the gaze of a predator in the brush.

Tick.

Melissa Shield blinked slightly, and shook her head. Surely time was almost up? It had been a minute, hadn’t it?

And then, on the edge of her peripheral vision, something made her freeze.

She wasn’t even sure what it was at first. It was like her subconscious had sounded the warning, but her waking mind had missed it.

But the more she stared straight ahead at nothing, holding her breath, the more sure she was that something was there. She had seen it. For an instant, for the barest moment. A movement too small and subtle for the motion detectors to see.

It wasn’t on their level. And it wasn’t below them either, on the lower catwalks or the ground floor.

Slowly, fearfully, Melissa tilted her head back slightly and looked up.

She almost missed it. Black on black, obsidian on ink. The camouflage was nearly perfect.

One of the aliens was standing on the ceiling… on the other side of the glass.

It was standing in the vacuum of space, clawed feet planted firmly on the great curved lens that was Central Data’s roof. Peering down into the room with an eyeless face that still had no trouble seeing her.

And, like spotting ants, once her eyes adjusted, more and more began to appear, popping out of the darkness that disguised them. Two, five, twelve. Eighteen. Thirty. She lost count.

An entire horde stood on the outside surface of the station. Watching and waiting. Unmoving. Unperturbed by the icy vacuum that would kill 99% of all known forms of life.

Her hands started to shake in spite of herself.

Hoenikker had been right.

This was a hunting ground.

They had walked right into a massive trap.

“I’ve got the data, let’s-”

Melissa’s armored hand came down on Izuku’s shoulder, silencing him. The green-haired teen instinctively froze.

“Don’t. Move,” she whispered.

Melissa knew the exact moment Izuku saw them. When the stiffening from her warning became a sudden, terrible stillness.

Together, silently and as one, the two teens slowly began to back towards the exit on the far side, opposite the way they had come in.

And with her eyes looking up, she saw the trick. She watched as an alien slowly drifted down out of the seeming void of space, and landed lightly on the far edge of the roof, just outside of their scanner range.

The core of the space station was roughly flat, almost like a city uprooted and set adrift in space. But two giant loops encircled the primary structure, intersecting at the ‘poles’ and forming a right angle to each other. Almost like the skeleton of a globe with the bulk of the facility at it’s core. Docking ports, automated hangars, and other structures were built off of the rings, and at several equidistant points, elevator shafts stretched down from the rings to connect them to the facility below, like spokes on a colossal wheel. One such airlock had been their initial entry point.

Melissa realized it, now. They had been so worried about being pursued on foot through the station after that rush at the elevator.

But the aliens hadn’t even bothered. They had simply jumped the gap and beaten them here.

There was a horrifying degree of intelligence behind that. Something beyond what any mere animal should possess. What had Izuku said? There was a white one, different from the rest?

Monica, Hoenikker had called her. Don’t go to Central Data, he had told them. You have to avoid Monica.

Somehow, Melissa knew this had to be Monica’s doing.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four. And in the background, the quiet ticking of the motion tracker, almost mocking in it’s silence.

For a moment, Melissa almost thought they were going to make it.

And then, without any hesitation or preamble, one of the aliens, larger than the others, turned to another standing nearby and speared it through with a long, spear-tipped tail.

The smaller creature twitched and thrashed silently in the void, but it didn’t suffer for long, as the larger one reeled it in before brutally pulling it apart. It twisted the creature’s limbs off, then split the torso open in a savage parody of a butcher’s technique.

And then it forced the mangled and splayed body down into the transparent dome, holding it there as the neon-green gore spat and sizzled.

There was a moment of shock. Then abject horror as both teens realized at the same time what the alien was doing.

It was using the corpse of one of it’s own to burn through the glass.

“RUN!” Melissa screamed.

The teens threw themselves across the catwalk towards the exit in a flurry of panicked movement. All across the sides of the room, vents and panels blew open as aliens literally tore their way out of the walls, streaming towards them. Two rifles roared to life, pouring lead into the seething tide rushing across the walls to meet them at the door, and Izuku’s hand-cannon let out a deafening chain of cracks as it bucked in his hand.

There were so many targets, none of the bullets could have possibly missed.

“WE HAVE TO GET PAST THE AIRLOCK OR WE’RE DEAD!”

Instead of replying, Izuku jabbed a finger into the floating blue lights over his wrist-mounted computer, fumbling with the commands as he sprinted. The group made it to the end of the catwalks and into the far corridor scant seconds ahead of the seething mass rushing towards them along the walls. Just before they crossed the threshold of the airlock, Izuku found the right command, and a pale white light attached to the ceiling switched on.

The door’s contingency protocols were engaged, and it would automatically seal shut in case of an emergency.

“Keep going!” Izuku said as they ran full-tilt down the hallway, neither teen daring to look back. “One airlock isn’t enough!”

No, a detached part of Melissa thought absently, as they sprinted through another intersection where a white light flicked on as they passed. No, it wouldn’t be.

Not if these things were smart enough to use their own injuries as a tool to depressurize the station.

Not if that ominous, molten hole that had eaten clean through one of the backup generators meant anything.

The incoming horde from Central Data moved almost like a liquid, transitioning from the open walls of the domed room to the narrow corridor like water rushing down a drain. Unseen by either teen, the larger alien still held the corpse of it’s comrade down, steadily pushing it deeper and deeper into the roof.

The transparent material was built to withstand impacts from stellar debris. It was far, far tougher than it’s clear appearance would suggest, and over a meter and a half thick.

But it was fighting a losing battle.

They passed a third airlock. Then a fourth.

As they ran through the fifth, a much larger pair of blast doors, Izuku paused long enough to shoot out a plate of emergency glass, revealing a metal lever.

He risked a glance behind them. Death was coming. A glittering wall of obsidian death, rushing along all four sides of the corridor like an ocean tide channeled through a storm drain.

He slammed the lever down, and the door began to shut, a loud klaxon blaring.

Melissa had seen what Izuku was doing, and kept on running. She spun on her heel as she entered the next intersection, stopping on the other side of where her own door would shut. “Firing line on me!” she shouted, and lifted up her autogun.

The androids obeyed, their own rifles snapping up in crisp synchronicity.

Izuku bolted after them, and the tide reached the closing door, bodies launching themselves through the slowly shrinking gap. Izuku’s pause to close the door had cost him all of his lead. He was seconds away from death.

Melissa trusted the friend-foe technology of the PDT chips. She centered her square right on Izuku, and held down the trigger.

A hail of bullets flew down the corridor, and Izuku sprinted headlong into it, face down. One hand on his gun and the other holding his engineer’s cap on his head.

His silhouette lit up like a solar eclipse, a blazing corona of sparking steel and tracer rounds drawing an Izuku-shaped outline in the air as he ran.

Melissa’s trust hadn’t been misplaced. All around Izuku, aliens screamed and died, but he ran through the biblical valley of death untouched by gunfire. The pneumatic assist rail moved the tip of her autogun like the needle of a sewing machine, blurringly fast and with surgical precision. Threading the eye over and over again at 750 rounds per minute.

Izuku broke through the firing line and staggered to a halt, gasping. Down the corridor where he had stopped to throw the lever, the large double doors finally closed, the circular lock spinning together before sealing shut with a pneumatic hiss. The last few stragglers that had made it in were gunned down, Tin Man and Bug Killer as merciless as one would expect machines to be.

There was no time to rest, no time to even catch a breath, before a deep rumble echoed through the station, causing the floor to shake and loose bits of metal to rattle. The flashing light on the ceiling changed from white to red, and the electronic screen next to the blast doors shifted to show a boilerplate emergency graphic.

And then the door right next to them, which Izuku had only just made it past, slammed shut, the emergency system defaulting as it’s contingencies were tripped.

Neither teen needed much luck to guess what had just happened.

Air is rarely something people think about with much consequence. But when several thousand tons of it moves all at once, it’s not a force that can be ignored.

“How- how much of the station just depressurized?” Melissa wondered aloud, still panting from exertion.

“I don’t- I don’t know. But with how interconnected the ventilation system is, I don’t trust it,” Izuku replied, also struggling to get his breath back. “We need to get as far away from here as possible. We don’t have the gear to fight in a vacuum.”

Melissa agreed. If the aliens were smart enough to burn through ceilings, they could burn through doors, too.

And considering an entire backup generator had been melted into slag, five airlocks and a set of blast doors suddenly felt frighteningly thin.

Izuku held his motion tracker up and pointed it at the door. “I’m not tracking any movement. Do you think the blowout from the atmosphere killed them?”

“It must have,” Melissa said, taking an armored hand off of her gun. “Why else would they stop?”

That small gesture of moving her arm was what saved her life.

The motion tracker beeped, but the sound was lost as a towering alien, one of the large bipedal ones, lunged around a corner and slammed into Melissa, bulldogging her to the ground and going straight for her neck.

If her armored off-hand had still been holding on to the stabilizing handle of her weapon, the creature would have torn her throat out in a heartbeat. Instead, she had just enough time to shove her forearm in the way, buying herself a precious second.

The androids snapped their rifles up and opened fire, but the roar of their guns didn’t drown out the other roar as something else smashed through an overhead vent. It ripped through the steel grate like it was made of paper before colliding with the alien, sending them both tumbling off of the teenage heavy gunner.

Melissa scrambled to her feet, stumbling over her own oversized weapon, and gaped at the sight as one of the bipedal stalker aliens, as tall as the ceiling and strong enough to throw any of them around like a rag doll, was violently ripped limb from limb.

It screamed and flailed, it’s whiplike tail bashing and stabbing even as it bit down with bright silver teeth. It’s inner set of jaws lashed and hissed, and it’s black chitinous limbs thrashed and clawed at it’s assailant.

But in the end, it was only a mere animal. It stood no chance against a monster.

The hunched over figure straightened up and turned to the teens. Flashing red emergency light washed over it.

A human face stared back at them. Or at least, what was left of one.

Everything below the nose had been ripped away, and unnaturally long conical teeth hung from the wound like bony icicles. It’s eye sockets were empty, the holes dark and oozing, and it’s scalp was bare and swollen, pockmarked with rot.

It held both of it’s arms straight up in the air and curved slightly forwards, almost like a child trying to scare an adult. But the flesh of those arms sagged and flapped, the meat visibly decayed. And from the palm of each mangled hand stretched a sharp, scythe-like protrusion of bone, each one longer than the whole arm it was attached to.

The efficacy of them was self-evident. Glowing green gore from the horror’s latest victim dripped from the tips and edges, the exotic acid of the alien’s internals barely damaging the blades at all.

It was an abomination. Unnatural in the extreme. A reanimated corpse, twisted by some unknown force. A warped mockery of anything that could have been called human.

The teens were mesmerized by fear.

The androids were machines with orders.

The synthetic duo opened fire, pouring fully automatic jacketed lead into the reanimated monstrosity.

It let out a babbling shriek, a sound identical to the one they had heard outside of Hydroponics, and lunged through the hail of bullets without the slightest care. It slammed into Tin Man, sending the synthetic marine sprawling to the ground, before turning to attack Bug Killer.

It never got the chance. There was a rapid, ominous tick-tick-tick, the sound of an igniter with an electrical starter. Then a deafening FOOM as a plume of fire rolled into the monster, the stream of burning fuel and superheated air sending it staggering backwards.

Izuku stood firm, his face a mask of fear and determination. His pistol was holstered on his chest as he pointed his other weapon directly at the monster.

The device underslung on the teen’s submachine gun was a miniaturized flamethrower.

Or, perhaps given the engineering involved, it would be more accurate to say it was compact flamethrower with an overslung submachine gun.

Izuku gritted his teeth as he held down the secondary fire on his weapon, emptying everything into the shambling horror. After several long and loud seconds, the roar of the flames cut out abruptly, the fuel bottoming out. There was a click and a ping as a now-empty cylinder automatically ejected out the back of his submachine gun, clattering to the floor.

And the abomination took a step forwards again, none the worse for wear. The edges of some of it’s rot were scorched, some of the oozing wetness had turned shiny and cracked.

But it had endured protracted chemical flames that burned at over 800 degrees celsius, nearly 1,500 fahrenheit, and emerged unscathed.

“That’s impossible,” Izuku whispered.

And then Melissa remembered. A pile of mangled bodies, some of which may have looked vaguely like the nightmare standing before them. A horrifying splay of deranged words and occult scribbles drawn on the wall in blood.

And beneath it, off to the side, written in a different hand in white paint. A strange, incongruous message.

“It’s their limbs!” Melissa screamed, pulling a small compact pistol from a holster on her hip and leveling it at the monstrosity. “That message said aim for their limbs! We have to dismember them!”

Izuku brought his submachine gun up to his cheek and squeezed the trigger, aiming for the horror’s right shoulder. Both synths refocused on the target, switching from center mass to the extremities.

The monstrosity babbled and lunged for Melissa, but the roar of four guns met it, and it staggered back as one of it's rotten and bloody arms was severed and sent clattering to the floor. The residual acid clinging to the bone blade burned a small divot into the plated steel.

“Keep going!” Izuku shouted. “Pull it apart!”

The horror flailed as the synths shot one of it’s legs out from underneath it, sending it tumbling to the floor. It tried to drag itself towards the teens, but lost it’s other arm to Melissa’s pistol.

It shuddered and keened, an inhuman wail that trailed off into a rasping burble. Then, at last, it fell still.

The teens stood there for a long, tense moment, faint trails of smoke wafting from their guns.

“Hoenikker knew,” Melissa said into the silence. “He had to know. He could have warned us, and he didn’t.”

“He warned us about Central Data,” Izuku said half-heartedly.

“I think this is a bit more important!” Melissa said hysterically, her voice starting to break. “We were sent to stop an insurrection, not a- not a ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE! Is this why we haven’t met a living person since we got here!?”

Izuku’s wrist beeped a warning. He glanced down at the admin map, and froze.

“We need to move. Right now.”

“What? What’s wrong now?”

Izuku looked up from his wrist-mounted display.

“The first two airlocks we passed through, their seals just failed. They’re coming.”

The teens ran.

Deeper and deeper into the station, Izuku guided them through the mazelike complex of prefabbed rooms and corridors.

The tram line that allowed for transportation around the station was nearby. It was also an entirely self-contained space for safety reasons, meaning even if half the station depressurized, the tram loop should be fine.

They just had to make it there.

And the deeper they went, the more common the deranged scribblings and demented graffiti on the walls became. Almost like they had crossed a boundary from one territory into another.

Where were all the bodies? Where had everyone gone? Now, at last, he knew.

Not all of them had been taken alive by the aliens.

Izuku wasn’t sure which was worse.

They pushed through three more ambushes, their motion trackers giving them forewarning each time. The aliens, it seemed, were all behind them at the moment.

The only thing in front of them were what remained of the cultists.

What had they been worshiping? What had caused all of this to begin with?

The reanimated bodies seemed nearly indestructible to the damage conventional weaponry could inflict. Only dismemberment seemed to work. They had seen the message more than once now, drawn on the walls in increasingly desperate words.

Izuku’s first instinct would be to guess that there was a quirk involved.

But he had never heard of a quirk that could do something like this.

After what felt like hours due to the tension of ambushes and being constantly stalked, they finally made it to the tram station. Izuku and Melissa both sprinted across the lobby, dodging toppled benches and strewn debris, and skidded to a halt inside the tram car.

The two androids were right behind them, tirelessly jogging along and keeping pace. And further behind them, the eerie screams of the deathless mutants drew closer.

“Where do we go!?” Melissa shouted, panicking as she sealed the doors. Izuku fumbled with the digital map on his wrist as the tram car jerked to life, scrolling through the pale blue layout of the station as they began traveling. Slowly at first, then faster and faster as the tram accelerated smoothly on the suspended rail line.

“Fluid Recycling!” he said in a rush, spinning the map to confirm what he had seen. “Fluid Recycling is right next to the station’s security office! There are weapons and ammunition there in the lockup, and there’s an emergency airlock with escape pods down the hall!”

“Are we abandoning Hoenikker?”

Izuku froze, his mind racing. He swallowed.

“… yes,” he said. Then again, his voice becoming more steady. “Yes, we are. This was a mission about cultists attacking people on a space station. Now we have aliens, zombies, and some kind of signal blocker that shouldn’t exist. We’ve lost contact with the Endeavor. We have no support. We need to leave immediately.”

The green-haired teen stared at his blonde companion. What neither of them voiced were the flaws in Hoenikker’s story. The things the man hadn’t said. Both of them felt it keenly.

From the very beginning, this had been a trap.

Melissa’s armored gloves tightened around the stabilizing handle of her weapon. “Hoenikker could be working with the cultists,” she said softly. “With his chip torn out, there’s no real way of knowing if he’s even alive or dead. We just took a voice on the radio at it’s word.”

“We’ve also completed our primary objective,” Izuku supplied. “We have a rip of the black box. That’s all we came for. Everything else is secondary.”

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said, as much to herself as to Izuku. “Yeah. We abandon Hoenikker.”

It wasn’t the heroic choice. But it was the only choice. Alive or dead, the missing scientist was on his own.

“We’re almost there,” Izuku said, lifting his pistol up. “When we get off at the station, there will be a four-way intersection. We need to-”

There was a distant mechanical groaning noise, too deep and loud to be called a whine, and all at once, the lights went out. All up and down the tube of the tram line, as well as interior the tram itself, was suddenly plunged into near-total darkness. Slowly, the tram coasted to a stop, the emergency breaks locking home with an ominously final clang.

“Did- did we just lose the backup power?” Melissa whispered, the small blue dots on her targeting monocle the only thing giving away her position in the cab. On either side of her, the electronic eyes of the synths glinted silver in the dark.

Izuku clicked the flashlight under his pistol back on and opened his mouth. But whatever he was about to say to Melissa was immediately forgotten by a terrible, familiar noise.

Tick.

Bleep.

Izuku’s eyes widened in horror as he looked down at his wrist.

Fifty meters out, back down the line from the way they had come. There was a whole wall of encroaching dots. Too many to count.

“They followed us and waited to cut the power,” Melissa breathed, fear dawning in her voice. “They waited until we were in the tram to do it. They can plan.”

“Get that door open!” Izuku said, his own fear spurring him to action.

As one, the two synths moved to the sliding doors, and with an impressive show of strength, they muscled the inner doors apart. Fumbling in his pockets, Izuku produced a portable blowtorch from his combat engineer supplies. It ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, and he began working on the exterior lock the synths had exposed, trying to cut their way through.

Tick.

Bleep.

Forty meters.

“W-What are we doing?” Melissa asked, gloved fingers tightening around the charging handle of her gun. “What’s the plan?”

“It’s 800 meters to the tram station outside Fluid Recycling,” Izuku explained through gritted teeth, trying to stay calm as the blowtorch slowly burned an orange hole through the interlocking steel. “That’s far on foot, but it’s not impossible. The security station is right next to it, and this sector’s escape pods are just down the hall from that. We just have to get there.”

Tick.

Bleep.

“800 meters?” Melissa breathed, her eyes unfocused. “That’s half a mile. We’ll never make it.”

“Are you giving up?” Izuku shot back. He could see the white-hot mechanism in front of him buckling, he was almost through.

The blonde girl’s eyes snapped back to reality. ‘Give up’ echoed through her head, but the voice wasn’t Izuku’s. She knew those voices. She knew those faces.

How could she not, when the doubters and naysayers had been with her all her life?

She gritted her own teeth. “No.”

Tick.

Bleep.

Twenty meters.

The mechanism disengaged with a clang and a shower of sparks, and the two synths shifted their stance forwards even as Izuku fell backwards, exhausted from squatting. The mechanical soldiers wrenched the double-layered doors fully open, revealing the yawning, inky darkness beyond.

“Drop down first and get ready to catch us!” Izuku ordered, stashing his torch. The synths silently complied, smoothly stepping off the edge without a shred of organic hesitation, a pair of heavy thuds marking their landing.

Tick.

Bleep. Ten meters.

“What if the escape pods aren’t manually activated?” Melissa breathed hurriedly. “What if we can’t get them to launch without electricity?”

“Then we were dead the moment the power was cut!” Izuku fired back, reaching out a hand to help her jump first. “Either we die trying to escape or we die in the tram car! Which would you prefer?”

‘Are you giving up?’

She took his hand and leapt into the dark.

Strong arms caught the two teens, and the synthetic marines sat them both down before re-shouldering their rifles. The teens scrambled away from the tram car, eager to get away from the danger they knew was right on their heels. Izuku’s fading flashlight was their only source of light in the inky black tunnel.

Tick.

Izuku slowed, and held up his hand to wait.

Tick.

Carefully, the two teens turned around to look behind them. There was nothing. It was just an ocean of darkness, the dim shadow of the tram car faintly visible above.

But neither believed they were alone.

Slowly, Izuku reached into a pouch on his hip, and pulled out a thin chemical light. Steeling his resolve, he snapped it, mixing the chemicals inside before tossing it back towards the tram.

Slowly, a dome of washed-out neon yellow expanded and strengthened, becoming a monocolored bubble of artificial light and shadow that filled a section of the tunnel.

There, in the dark, on the very edges of the light, rounded bumps and knobs of black obsidian stood stock still. Waiting. Frozen.

But that was an afterthought to both teens. Because the chemical light had rolled to a stop at the clawed feet of the reaper.

It towered over teens and synths alike, a twisted thing of bleached bone and smooth chitin. It almost seemed to blend with the artificial light, it’s ivory color and pale grey stripes forming uncanny natural camouflage, like a tiger or some predatory insect. Breaking up the silhouette. Causing your eyes to slide away.

But there was no hiding such monstrosity out in the open.

Izuku recognized it instantly. He had seen it before, in the closing gap of the elevator doors.

Melissa understood what it was. She had doubted Hoenikker, but never Izuku.

It was the albino stalker, the bone-white reaper that had hunted them. It was Monica.

The alien predator stood still, like a tiger caught mid-stalk. It’s long, eyeless head sized the team up with the same mindless and unhurried fearlessness that any particularly large spider displays just before biting down.

Before he could act, before he could even think, an armored hand grabbed at his arm, tugging urgently.

Izuku turned to Melissa, still trying to get a grip on the situation-

And his mind went blank.

The motion detector… detects motion. It couldn’t track something that was standing still. That was basic logic.

Standing behind them, in the direction they had almost tried to run blindly through, was a forest of mangled and mutated corpses. Slowly, the pale bubble of chemical light expanded larger and larger. And as it did, it revealed more and more bodies that stood like puppets hung on strings, perfectly still and unmoving.

Horrifyingly, not all of them were even human. Mixed in throughout the mob were glittering black husks, cracked and broken, their forms no less warped and mutated than their human compatriots. It seemed whatever monstrous power had reanimated the dead was indiscriminate.

In a cold, calculated flash of understanding, Izuku now realized what had happened. Why would the aliens stop chasing them? Back then or now?

Because something got in the way. Like two competing tribes of animal warring for territory.

It hadn’t been Monica and her ilk that had silently followed them in the beginning, and then simply stopped and let them pass.

Their equipment hadn’t malfunctioned. It had seen dead people.

He turned his head back to Monica. Barely a second had passed since he first cracked his own chemlight.

Izuku knew that he was between breaths. Between heartbeats. He had never taken the synths off of high alert. In an instant, in less than a second, they would open fire. That… thing, would lunge, going for the kill. And behind both it and them, two endless hordes stood poised on the brink of violence. Even if Monica died before she could cover the distance, they would be overrun. They were stuck. Trapped. There was no doorway or bottleneck here. They would be piled down and washed away.

They were going to die here.

Was there a way to prevent that? Was there something, anything-

In that drawn-out adrenaline moment, in that decaying infinite second, Midoriya Izuku saw the last fraying thread of hope.

He didn’t think. He didn’t have to. His arms moved on their own.

The albino monstrosity screeched, it’s too-human mouth opening wide to reveal a secondary pair of pharyngeal jaws inside of it, eerily shaped like a copy of it’s own head.

Like puppets that had been waiting for a cue, the horde of mutated undead jerked forwards and lunged, unnatural wailing and snarling rising to meet the chittering of the alien tide.

Two auto-rifles snapped up with machine precision and opened fire, hosing down the hallway. Beside and behind him, an armored finger squeezed a trigger, Melissa’s autocannon spinning up.

And all of that cacophony lost out to the sound of a single high caliber round impacting the bright, warning-label festooned undercarriage of the tram car. Izuku’s bullet was only an inch off from passing dead center through the universal diamond warning sign of ‘Danger: Contents Highly Explosive.’

Izuku tried to yell. He thought he screamed ‘Get down!,’ but it was impossible to know for sure. A bloom of light and noise swallowed him whole. He was blind, deaf, and disorientated, a high pitched whine in his ears. He couldn’t tell if he was in the air or on the ground. His mouth, nose, and ears all filled with searingly hot pressurized air. It felt like he was being squeezed to death by a giant’s hand.

The overwhelming bloom slowly faded. Light giving way to darkness, blazing heat giving way to shocking cold. The whine becoming ringing, and then noises that sounded like they were underwater and far away.

He was running. Someone was beside him, they had grabbed his arm. He was holding on to them, too. A heavy, strong hand was gripping his opposite shoulder, leading him along in the dark. There was gunfire. Unearthly howls.

He didn’t remember how he got here, he didn’t remember standing up or grabbing anyone.

But he wasn’t so out of it that he had forgotten where they were.

Which was why, when the twisted horror of a rearranged corpse loomed up out of the darkness at him, it’s skull split open down the middle to form some horrific vertical mouth, he didn’t hesitate. Izuku lifted up the weight in his right hand and squeezed the trigger. One of the creature’s scythe-like arms flew off, severed at the elbow, and it toppled over with a wail.

Then they were past it and on, sprinting full tilt into the lightless void.

Half a mile of darkness vanished at the speed of terror and desperation. Izuku couldn’t hold on to the memory of their flight, the recollection blurring together and slipping through his fingers like a bad dream full of gunfire and near-misses. But the burn in his legs and the ache in his lower back made the reality of that death run undeniable.

This was no dream.

Somehow, they had made it to next stop on the tram line. A set of fenced-in maintenance stairs zig-zagged up from the floor of the line to the boarding platform above, the door at the bottom held shut by a simple padlock.

Terrified of the territory war being waged on their heels, Izuku didn’t bother with subtlety, and shot the latch clean off the door.

The slide of his gun locked back, and Izuku thumbed the release, letting the empty magazine clatter to the floor. He slid a new one in, and the slide snapped forwards, chambering the next round.

Only one spare magazine left. Without a resupply, the pistol was almost finished.

But he still had the submachine gun.

Tin Man took the stairs first, his rifle level and mechanical gaze even. Izuku and Melissa followed behind him, both teens flagging and looking worse for wear, while Bug Killer covered the rear.

There was no longer a question of whose territory they were in now. The tram station looked like it had been through a war. Deranged and disjointed scrawling covered almost every square inch of the walls that could be reached by hand, most of it done in blood. Evidence of brutal and savage violence was omnipresent, with smashed glass, broken furniture, and damaged metal everywhere. The bathrooms of the tram stop had clearly been barricaded at some point, but something with inhuman strength had ripped right though the defenses, scattering debris everywhere. Bullet holes littered the walls. Over a dozen bodies still lay where they had fallen.

A large lit sign hung from the ceiling, stuttering and flickering. The ‘g’ in ‘FLUID RECYCLING’ was illegible, a metal chair having been thrown halfway through the fixture and crushing the backlit fiberglass on impact. It hung from the hole by a single twisted leg.

“Check the bodies,” Izuku ordered, his voice unsteady, as he pulled up the map one more time. The two synths moved to comply, prodding each corpse in turn to make sure none of them was an enemy lying in wait. Beside him, Melissa put her hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

The blue light of the holographic map glinted cyan against Izuku’s green eyes. The teen frowned.

He had been right. The security station and the emergency pods were right next to each other, in relation to Fluid Recycling.

But zooming in on the local map showed they were in opposite directions.

If they ran to security to try and re-arm themselves… they would have to double back to make it to the escape pods.

Even now, the howls were coming up behind them in the tunnel. Distant still, but drawing closer every moment.

Doubling back meant facing the horde head-on. They would have to fight through everything coming for them to make it out.

Izuku swallowed. “How much ammo do you have left?”

Melissa answered by hefting a single box magazine in her hand. One reload remaining.

The run from Central Data and the dark flight through the tunnel had cost them.

Izuku’s eyes flickered over the map, desperately hoping for some magical solution to appear that would let them do both.

But nothing did.

The blonde girl put an armored hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Her grip shook a little, but she smiled.

“I think your plan so far is right,” she said, sounding like she had finally caught some of her breath back from their desperate sprint. “Leaving is the right call. We don’t need to resupply if we just run. We have our main objective. Let’s get out of here.”

Izuku swallowed, his eyes flickering over the sprawling tangle of hallways and rooms one last time.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Let’s go. Straight for the escape pods.”

Fortunately for them, it wasn’t far. If it had been, the teens may have been too winded to make it. They encountered minimal resistance, with Izuku prematurely dousing piles of bodies with his underslung flamethrower to flush out potential ambushes. They closed the doors at the major intersections as they went, but didn’t bother trying to lock them shut. They had seen too many things crawl out of vents at this point to trust a locked door to stop anything.

The escape pods were located on the outer edge of that section of the space station. It was a long curving two-story walkway dotted with doors that lead back into the station’s interior, and airlocks facing outwards into the void. The rectangular windows between each airlock gave a clear view of the system’s single star and the yellow-green gas giant whose ring the mining facility was prospecting.

The sudden flood of relief that filled both teens froze over when they saw the dark, blank computer panel next to the escape pod at the end of their corridor.

The airlocks had a manual override. But the pods did not. Without power, they couldn’t be launched.

“That’s- that’s not right,” Melissa said, her breath hitching. “What kind of safety measure is this!? Is there no plan for if the station loses power and there’s a disaster?”

But Izuku wasn’t listening. His eyes were darting back and forth, thinking. He started muttering.

“-can’t need that much power, it’s just to open the door and release the latches to launch, we wouldn’t have to-”

The distant howling of the unquiet dead shook him out of his trance.

“We can do this,” he said, his voice confident and he turned to face his squadmate.

“How?” she asked, bewildered.

Izuku pointed at Tin Man. “The synths. We can use their internal power supply to jump-start the launch.”

Melissa blinked. “Is- is that possible?”

Izuku grinned nervously, and did his best to not stutter. “I-I don’t know. But I guess we’re going to find out?”

“No, that’s right,” Melissa said softly, her own eyes growing distant. “They don’t need to power the pod, just get it out of the bay. We aren’t going anywhere, just getting away and putting out an SOS to the Endeavor. One synth should have more than enough for just that.”

Far down the corridor, several closed doors back the way they had come, a loud crash was heard, followed by unearthly screaming. Izuku pulled free both of his remaining flame turrets and held them out to Melissa.

“Set up a crossfire and cover me. I’ll use Tin Man to try and jumpstart a launch.”

Melissa took both of the folded up machines and nodded. “Bug Killer, on me.”

Bug Killer moved obediently as Melissa jogged a short way back across the catwalk and took the corner of the doorway that lead back the way they came. The synth followed her lead, dropping to a knee away from the door and behind a nearby metal box. One of the turrets was twisted and tossed through the door, while the other was sat down next to the synth taking cover.

Since they used the same RFID technology as the chips in their hands, there was no fear of friendly fire.

Meanwhile, Tin Man obediently knelt down with his back to the escape pod door, and proffered his bare arm to Izuku. The teen peeled back the circular cutout on the synth’s shoulder, and revealed an access port with several sockets and spooled cabling. Prying off the access panel underneath the black screen of the door’s controls, Izuku began looking for a way to hotwire Tin Man into the mechanism.

Struck with a sudden inspiration, Izuku fished the flash drive containing their primary objective out of his pocket, and slid it into Tin Man’s exposed internals before getting back to work.

It didn’t take long before the quiet, omnipresent ticking of the motion tracker started returning bleeps, but Izuku ignored it. He had found something that looked like the right kind of plug.

He didn’t flinch when he heard the distant whirr of Melissa’s autogun spinning up, or when the first controlled bursts of staccato gunfire erupted from Bug Killer’s side of the walkway. Izuku socketed a cable into a connector, jiggled a few things to make sure they were secure, and then held down the power button and prayed, hoping the system would cycle.

One second passed. Then two. Then three. Something screamed and died, and there was the muffled dragon’s roar of flame gushing down an enclosed space. Izuku’s heart sank.

Then the screen flickered to life.

Izuku couldn’t believe it. They were going to do this. They were actually going to make it out of here alive.

“We’re in! ETA three minutes!” he shouted over the din, putting a finger on his earpiece. A muffled yell of affirmation came back.

Izuku stared at the screen, one hand still inside the guts of the panel. Dead black had become a black glow, and hundreds of lines of green text were rapidly scrolling up the screen. Slowly, the percentage at the bottom creeped up as the system rebooted. And with each second that passed, Tin Man’s silver eyes slowly dimmed.

33%. Estimated time, two minutes.

The roar of flames and gunfire was deafening. Izuku turned to see if there was anything he could do to help, but a sweep of the flame turret near Bug Killer had put down a sheet of fire on the ground that blocked his line of sight.

66%. Estimated time, one minute.

There was a screech above him, and Izuku twisted to face it, his gun in hand. But before he could react, Tin Man lifted his rifle with his free arm and fired. Izuku flinched as an alien fell down and slammed into the scaffolding next to them, splattering green gore. Izuku quickly tossed his pistol away as he saw an errant splash of the lurid blood had landed on the muzzle and begun eating away at it.

It hadn’t been one of the reanimated puppets, but a still living monster. One of the seething horde from the elevator and Central Data. Apparently everything was chasing after them now.

Izuku turned to look at the synth that had saved him, the silver light finally fading away from it’s eyes as it went into power saving mode. Tin Man’s rifle fell to the floor with a clunk.

Izuku swallowed, and he hefted his submachine gun in his free hand.

99%. Boot sequence enabled. Estimated time, 30 seconds.

There was a deep mechanical click as something in the door shifted and the seals began to open, the escape pod finally having what it needed to prime a launch.

“We’re almost there!” Izuku screamed, starting to unhook Tin Man and preparing to drag him through the airlock. “Start moving to me!”

And then he heard the voice, not over the radio or from some kind of transmission, but clear as day, like it was standing right beside him.

“You should have come to me. You promised you would make me whole.”

Izuku flinched so violently he almost fell over. He spun around, staring wildly, but no one was there.

That was Hoenikker. It was Hoenikker’s voice. Not unsteady or hurt, not injured or afraid. Clear and strong. Bright and real. And so, so close. Like he had spoken conversationally right into Izuku’s ear.

“What-”

But whatever Izuku wanted to say, he never got a chance to finish.

A synthetic arm, horrifyingly familiar and covered with the tattoos and scrimshaw of their platoon, tumbled down the corridor through the wall of flame and rolled to a stop at his feet. Izuku stared at it numbly. The all-too-human limb had been violently torn from it’s socket. It leaked a thick, milky white fluid everywhere, soaking the tattered shreds of false flesh and causing the exposed wires of the stump to spark and pop.

Izuku looked up, back down the corridor.

And what stepped through the fire was something out of a nightmare.

In spite of the catastrophic damage she had sustained, Monica was still standing. Or at least, what was left of her.

Her stomach had ruptured and burst open, trailing loose ends of acid-soaked entrails. However, a second, smaller pair of arms had also emerged from the wound, clawing and grasping.

The damage her limbs had sustained was still there, the chitin pockmarked with bullet impacts and missing chunks. But even though one of her legs was mangled and twisted almost completely off, she stood on it without any apparent effort or discomfort.

Both of her arms now sported long, pale blades of chitin and bone emerging from her forearms. They ended in strangely hollow tips, like the end of a stinger or venomous fang.

A second, fully-formed mouth identical to her original had taken shape from a fatal gash on her neck, it’s sharp teeth glinting silver in the light of the fire. The teeth parted, and a long, flexile tentacle emerged from the mouth, drool and acidic gore dripping from it.

But the worst by far was her face.

Monica’s lower jaw had been ripped completely off, and a flower-like ring of ribs had grown in to replace it, flexing and clicking together like the mandibles of some abhorrent insect. Her head-shaped secondary jaws could be clearly seen behind them, still intact.

And the front of her head, where a person’s face would have been on it’s alien anatomy, was simply gone, the smooth chitin torn away by the force of the explosion.

And underneath that massive, lethal wound was what was unmistakably the top half of an exposed human skull. It was pale and clean, ivory white, with dark, empty sockets that stared directly into Izuku’s own. Seeing him while uncaring of the absence of eyes or muscle or any other natural thing.

It was a testament to the horror standing before him that it took Izuku a full second to register that Monica was effortlessly holding the still, unmoving body of Melissa Shield up off of the ground with one twisted arm. The blonde’s enormous gun trailed on the ground beneath her, hanging at an awkward angle from the assist rail as it dragged along the floor.

Monica lifted her free arm up into the air, stared directly into Izuku’s eyes, and then brought the tip of her new bone spike down point-first into the back of the unmoving corpse of the dead alien Tin Man had shot.

There was a breath where nothing happened, and Izuku stared at the scene, overwhelmed.

And then steam and acidic bile exploded out of the corpse’s injuries, it’s already alien body twisting and warping as it spasmed violently. Reanimating and mutating to match the horror standing before him.

Izuku lifted his submachine gun and held down the trigger, emptying the entire magazine into Monica’s nightmarish skull-face.

He never saw her tail coming as it whipped around from the side, scything through the fire like a spear and taking him in the armpit.

Izuku felt the blind, searing pain of being stabbed, the disbelieving rush of adrenal shock as his heart split in half inside of his chest.

His gun fell silently from nerveless fingers, and darkness took him.

“Your quirk is the coolest thing I have ever seen!” Izuku said breathlessly.

The two teens had walked back through several corridors and rooms to reach a dusky, somewhat cluttered office. It was a simple space, with eggshell walls and a faded baby blue carpet.

But what made the room stand out was that it was absolutely filled with posters, resin figurines, and various paraphernalia from classic movies and old television programs. Every wall had at least one large shelf covered in trinkets and merch, and there were dozens of posters plastered everywhere, some of which were framed.

Seated at the desk was a short, round man. His skin was an unnatural brown like varnished wood, slightly too bright and vibrant to pass for a natural skin color. He was bald, though whether that was part of his mutation or not, Izuku couldn’t tell. He had a ring of flat, shield-like horns around the top of his head, resembling the armored crown of a dinosaur, and he wore a mixture of casual and semi-casual clothes. Belted office slacks paired with a tucked in t-shirt depicting a scene of someone in a greatcoat stepping dramatically out of a glowing blue telephone box.

The horned man, named Aitor Marin, grinned at the exuberant teen, showing a mouth full of shiny white teeth. “I know, right?” he said, matching Izuku’s exuberance. “Agreeing to come to I-Island was the best thing I’ve ever done. I get to use my quirk all the time here. People even pay me for it!”

Shortly after a luxurious breakfast at the Four Seasons, Melissa had dragged Izuku away to tour parts of the island, with the approval of the adults. Gran Torino had promised to catch up with them later, as he and Toshinori had some business to take care of. Left to their own devices, Melissa had insisted on taking Izuku to see a place called ‘The Danger Room,’ and had refused to elaborate.

Izuku could not possibly have been more glad for the recommendation.

“How on earth does it work?” the teen asked exuberantly, his eyes sparkling. “Obviously it isn’t real, but I could feel all of it. The weight of the gear, the heft and recoil of the guns, even the pain of being stabbed!”

Aitor grinned. “I call it Dreamscape. It is a power that lets me put people in proximity to me under complex tactile illusions. They look, feel, sound, smell, and even taste real, and your body will react in response to the stimuli Dreamscape creates.”

“That has got to be one of the craziest illusion quirks I’ve ever heard of,” Izuku said breathlessly. “You seem to have fine control over what happens in the illusion, how many details can you manipulate? Does it cost you anything to maintain it? What limits does it have? How do you put people into it? It’s some kind of hypnosis, right? It has to be!”

Aitor laughed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone so interested in how it works!” the man said, chuckling. “Usually they only care about what I can do for them.”

“How could anyone possibly not care about something this cool?” Izuku asked, clearly bewildered at the very idea.

“You would be surprised, young man,” Aitor said, grinning. “As to your questions, yes. I do have fine control over what happens. In fact, I have total control. Anything I can imagine, Dreamscape can conjure up! I have complete control over every aspect of the illusion, and can change anything I wish about it at will.”

“The concentration that must take…” Izuku said, having sunk fully into fanboy analysis mode. “-you have some kind of brain mutation, don’t you? Any normal person would struggle to visualize all the details on even something simple like a chair. You’re creating entire set pieces with multiple moving parts.”

The dark-skinned man clapped his hands together in excitement. “A wonderful guess! You’re exactly right. My skin and the bone knobs are just tertiary expressions, they have nothing to do with my power. When I was brought to I-Island, they did a full CT scan of my body to help assess my quirk. My brain is apparently built very differently. I never had any trouble visualizing the details of things, or holding those details together in my mind as a complete picture, and it is almost certainly because of my quirk.”

He leaned back in his chair, grinning at the teenager in front of him. “As to your other questions, no, it doesn’t really cost me anything to use it. I simply imagine what I want, and I can make it appear. I can also directly control how intense the sensations it creates are.”

“What intensity did you have us set at for the demo?” Melissa asked curiously.

“On a scale of one to ten? Around a three. Ah! Don’t make that face at me. Your father would have killed me if I had put you and your new friend through the ringer. Believe me, the sensation of being stabbed is no joke.”

Melissa pouted. “We could have taken it.” she mumbled somewhat rebelliously.

“Yes, but I couldn’t have taken what your father would have done to me,” the man replied amicably. “So it is less about your weakness and more about my cowardice.” He grinned suddenly, and turned back to Izuku. “But by all means, did you have any more questions?”

If the answer to that ever wasn’t yes, Izuku should probably be presumed either dead or an impostor.

“You have total control over the details. It doesn’t cost you anything to maintain it, no sort of stockpile or fuel, though I’d assume maintaining it for too long would be mentally tiring,” the teen rattled off, thinking out-loud. “What’s the activation and range on it? Or wait, does it only work in a pre-defined field? You had us go into a specific room for the scenario, do you have to set up an area that it works in first?”

Aitor laughed. “The activation trigger is proximity alone, and nothing else. My quirk works like an invisible field around me that ignores barriers and walls. Anyone who walks inside of my range is subject to being influenced at my discretion for as long as they remain in it.”

“And what are the range limits?” Izuku asked, leaning forward unconsciously. “How many people can you influence at once?”

“To answer your second question, I don’t know. When I first arrived here, they kept adding people to a group to test how many. They stopped after I influenced 100 people at once with no trouble, and declared it a nonfactor in how my quirk functions. As to your first, my limit was about three or four meters when it first manifested in my childhood. But exercising the quirk increases that, and since coming here and opening up The Danger Room, I’ve gotten a lot of exercise for it. I don’t actually know how far out it can go now, but I can cover the entire building if I want. So several hundred yards at least?”

Izuku was practically vibrating. “So range is the only limit? That’s unbelievable! That’s such an amazing quirk, you could be a top-class rescue and support hero!”

Aitor laughed, flashing flawless white teeth. “You flatter me, young man! But I am far too much of a coward, I think, for such a dangerous and exciting career.”

Melissa, however, was frowning slightly. While she had visited The Danger Room before, she had never really discussed the finer details of Aitor’s quirk with the man, and something was bugging her about that explanation.

“I understand that you can fake sensations, and if I had to guess, it probably is some sort of hypnosis, since it affects the nervous system,” the blonde girl stated, curiosity in her voice. “But both of us got tossed around during your scenario earlier. You said Dreamscape created tactile illusions, so us hitting your illusions or being hit by them makes a certain amount of sense. They aren’t just mirages. But no matter how real it feels, it still isn’t actually there, right? How were you throwing us around like that?”

Aitor’s grin grew wider. “Ah, Miss Shield, but you have the answer to that on your very arm!” he said. With exaggerated fanfare, the man opened a drawer on his desk and fished out a short metal rod made of the same cherry red material as Melissa’s shapeshifting pogostick-bracelet.

Understanding flashed across Melissa’s face.

“Behold!” the man declared dramatically, brandishing the rod like it was a magic sword. Melissa started giggling, while Izuku looked at it curiously.

Aitor held the rod in his hands, and it suddenly glowed briefly before expanding outwards into a complex spherical latticework made of hinges. The dark-skinned man flexed the sphere slightly, causing it to shrink and expand as the hinges and joints moved, before it glowed again, turning into a compact pyramid that fit neatly into the palm of his hand. He placed it on his desk before grinning at both teens, balancing the tip of his finger on the pyramid’s peak.

“Smart matter is a rather old invention, at least by I-Island standards. It makes for the greatest of executive desk toys, I do not deny it. But! It has far more uses than just that. It is difficult to manufacture in industrial-scale quantities, which is why it is rare outside of our facilities. But many things on the island make use of it somewhere in their construction, and The Danger Room most of all relies upon it. You did not see this for yourselves, because by the time your hands touched the door, you were already under my spell. But the entire room you entered is actually a warehouse-sized hollow cube made entirely of smart matter.”

Melissa gasped, as did Izuku, the final pieces of the puzzle sliding into place.

“The whole building is support equipment for your quirk,” Izuku whispered in awe.

“Precisely!” Aitor exclaimed gleefully. He picked up his bulky laptop and flipped it around so the two teens could see it. On the screen were several windows depicting a variety of prefab rooms and a wide assortment of presets. There were featureless 3-dimensional models of humanoid, quadrupedal, and insect-like robot frames. Izuku also saw several windows containing what appeared to be controls that allowed the scenario to be actively reconfigured on the fly, creating walls, doors, objects, and other spaces of various shapes and sizes.

“Making use of smart matter blended with basic robotics creates the skeleton of a room that can shift to create endless scenarios and situations for people to find themselves in,” Aitor explained. “But as advanced as it is, it would not work without my own quirk being added to the mixture. This technology is the bones and sinew, while my power is the flesh and blood that gives it life.”

“-which pushes it over the edge into something that’s the next best thing to being completely real,” Izuku breathed, finishing Aitor’s thought for him. “This is unbelievable. Any hero school in the world would kill to have a setup like this!”

“I-Academy is my biggest repeat customer,” Aitor said somewhat smugly. “I provide my services to anyone who seeks me out and is willing to pay, which means most of my time involves helping conduct experiments with various research groups on the island whose experiments can benefit from my abilities. However, The Danger Room exists to simulate danger, after all. Top heroes from all over the world stop by on their visits to the island to challenge my gauntlet of illusions, and I have a standing arrangement with the Heroics Course of I-Academy. It can be difficult out here for their students to get practical experience with heroism in the field, so they make liberal use of my services.”

Melissa reached for her purse and began to open it. “Speaking of that, Mr. Marin, how much do we owe you for today?”

The man laughed and waved the girl off dismissively. “For you? Nothing, of course. Your father has spent far too much of his own time helping me out, I could never dream of charging his daughter for giving some friends a tour of our island.”

“That’s really generous of you!” Melissa cheered. “Thanks Mr. Marin!”

Izuku also stammered out a thank you, and the dark-skinned man cheerfully waved away their concerns. “It was no trouble! As I said, I quite enjoy using my quirk. I’m still surprised some days that people are the ones paying me, and not the other way around!”

He grinned at the green-haired teen. “But before you go and get on with your tour, did you have any more questions for me?”

Izuku opened his mouth before closing it again, his face flushed. “Ah, yes? I’m really curious about something, but it’s kind of a personal question, so I don’t know if it’s really okay to ask…”

The mahogany-skinned man laughed. “I don’t mind personal questions! You don’t seem like the type to be cruel or rude, and an inquisitive mind shouldn’t be squandered. Ask away!”

Izuku licked his lips nervously before stuttering out, “What, um, what made you come here? To I-Island specifically, I mean! With a quirk like yours, you’d be in demand almost anywhere. I’m sure most governments would be tripping over themselves to give you a special license for quirk use, even if you didn’t become a hero! So, ah, why are you here? I-If you don’t mind my asking!”

Aitor smiled, but there less brightness and a bit of sadness in it. “Ah, that. No, I don’t mind you asking. It’s a bit of a story, though.”

He shifted in his chair slightly before leaning back. “As I am sure you can tell by my name and accent, I am a Spaniard. When the Dawn ended, one of our greatest cities, Barcelona, was little more than a crater beaten into the cliffside. Our capital, Madrid, survived by virtue of being so far inland, but no port city in the Mediterranean escaped the wrath of the pirates and quirk warlords. Our national pride could not let that slide, of course, so Barcelona was rebuilt from the foundations up. A new city for a new people, built in the old ways. Stonemasons, carpenters, and artists from around the country contributed to the work. In time she was as beautiful as she ever was, full of cobbled streets and cathedrals with ringing bells.”

Aitor smiled absently, looking into the near distance, and it was clear to both teens how much his heritage meant to him.

“But after several generations, the government was struggling to convince people to move from the countryside to populate it. So many had fled inland for safety among the mountains and hills in generations past, nobody wanted to uproot themselves and move back. It is a bad look, you see, to put so much effort into making a city and then barely being able to fill it.”

Aitor leaned back in his chair and folded his dark hands together. “So the government put together a deal to entice people to return. If you were a national citizen and could prove it, even with old paperwork from before the Dawn, then a zero interest loan could be taken out on a house in the city. For every child you bore, 25% of the loan would be forgiven. Thus, any Spanish couple who moved to Barcelona and had four children would effectively get a free home and plot of land.”

Izuku wasn’t very well versed in economics, but that sounded like an incredible deal to him.

“The Spanish government must have been very desperate, to offer something like that,” Melissa said.

“All the governments were desperate,” Aitor said, gesticulating with a hand. “Heroes had won back a measure of public order, but they couldn’t rebuild the world alone. Radical solutions were implemented in those days to try and bring back a measure of what was lost. I believe similar things were done in most first world countries over the past century. Including your own America and Japan,” he said, inclining his head at both of the teens.

“I’m guessing you moved to Barcelona, then?” Izuku asked.

“With my wife, yes,” the man confirmed, nodding. “We signed up for one of the housing loans, and were planning to start a family. My wife gave me a beautiful daughter. We named her Valentina. And then, well…”

Aitor swallowed. “Quirk traffickers took her.”

Melissa clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. The bottom of Izuku’s stomach dropped out, that old fear of what could have happened to Kacchan returning with a vengeance.

The Spaniard reached over and picked up a picture on his desk to show them. It was a family photo of a young tomboyish girl with Aitor’s mutant mahogany skin and a missing tooth, grinning brightly at the camera. Aitor was there as well, his arms around a shoulders of a pale-skinned woman with bright, fiery red hair. A feature she shared with her daughter.

“She was rescued, but it was a near thing,” Aitor said, letting them look at the picture. “She was already bound and gagged in a cargo container sailing out to sea when they found her. Ten minutes slower, and they would have made it to international waters.”

“They wanted her for your quirk,” Izuku said softly.

“Yes and no,” the man replied, taking the picture back. “They wanted her for our quirks. Mine and my wife’s. I have no particular pedigree of note, but my wife Sofia comes from a family of fire users. Their quirks are all similar, you see. Fire creation and manipulation abilities with an aspect of speed and strength enhancement to them as well, because of how the fire manifests. The flame reinforces them, makes them stronger. She never had any ambitions of being a hero, even though her quirk was ideal for it. But her uncle… well. Have you ever heard of the Crimson Matador?”

Izuku knew that name.

The internet was full of endless arguments and debates over quirk strength, quirk usefulness, amateur quirk science, and how all of these things related to heroes and the heroics industry. And flame quirks were always seen as among the most valorous and heroic of them all. So they were naturally a frequent topic of debate.

Endeavor, Japan’s second strongest pro, topped almost every list of the strongest fire quirks in the world: he was widely considered to be the mightiest fire-user on the planet. All Might was perhaps the only reason he wasn’t Japan’s top pro, though that was an entire argument unto itself, and a topic that was practically guaranteed to start a flame war no matter where on the internet you posted it.

Endeavor was… prickly, at the best of times. Some might say he wasn’t number one because of All Might, but just as much could be said about his own personality holding him back.

But even though Endeavor was generally accepted as the strongest fire hero, there were several names that were spoken alongside his own as contenders for the king of flames.

Lord Zhurong, The Southern Phoenix Hero. He was China’s number 1 pro, and one of the most vocal and overt supporters of the modern Chinese People’s Party, or the CPP. Many mocked him abroad, partially for being a blatant mouthpiece of the one-party Chinese state propaganda, and partially for having the audacity to name his hero persona after a mythological deity and act like he was a literal god. But for all of his arrogance, his strength was the real deal. Across the large and populated landmass of modern China, Zhurong was the apex superhuman of the pack. Notorious for leveraging his flame abilities to achieve a form of true flight by expelling heat from his back in the shape of wings, he was considered by many to be the closest to dethroning Endeavor as the strongest fire user on earth.

Bishop Silverhand, real name Bishop West. He was America’s number 3, trailing just behind Star and Stripe’s number 1 and Captain Celebrity’s number 2. He was the fourth generation descendant of Silver Star, the original cowboy themed superhero, and bore his ancestor’s hero name as his formal title: Bishop Silverhand: The Silver Star Hero. The strongest fire-wielder in the Americas, he was infamous for his black and silver cowboy aesthetic and his bright, silver flames. His control over his quirk was so great it allowed him to create and manipulate complex constructs with it. Silverfire guns, flaming lassos, and even a burning steed he could ride were all possible with his quirk.

And Crimson Matador. Spain’s number 1 and the overall fourth ranked hero in Europe.

Exact placements shifted with every argument and informal fan ranking, but no list of fire heroes was complete without Matador. He was a constant presence in top ten lists of flame users, even if his exact position fluctuated.

His quirk, Blaze Driver, enabled him to not only project and manipulate thermal energy around him, but also self-ignite, transforming himself into a walking fire-man. Not only was it excellent in force projection and area denial, but a limited form of flight as well as a degree of super speed and super strength were also possible via jet propulsion. Many flame users were capable of such tricks, but Crimson Matador had mastered them.

However, it was the self-ignition that was his signature move. Without that, Blaze Driver would have been a forgettable ability: hero class, certainly, but not intrinsically different from the thousands of other elemental superpowers in the world.

But transforming his body into living flames allowed him to circumvent the limitations most fire quirks possessed. As living fire, he was in no danger of harming himself with his quirk. He could burn as hot as his quirk could go without fear, and it allowed him to use that propelling force of shunted thermal energy freely, exceeding the limits of what mere flesh and bone could tolerate. It was an exceptional super-move. Through self-ignition, Crimson Matador could abandon all his limitations and become living flame.

Izuku had once been involved in a week-long internet argument over whether it was a mutant-emitter ability or a transformation class quirk.

Matador had easily seized the top ranking in Spain on his debut twenty years ago, and had kept it ever since. It was telling that even in the hyper-competitive European hero rankings, he held strong at number four on the continent year after year.

Izuku exhaled slowly as he grasped the situation, unaware of his own muttering or the two people listening in. He understood now, why the traffickers had come for Aitor Marin’s daughter.

When a parent’s quirks had similar or related functions, a true hybrid offspring was common. The Bakugos were a good example of that. Technically, their quirks were very different: Uncle Masaru was an Emitter while Aunt Mitsuki was a Mutant, they weren’t even the same type. But the actual function of what their quirks did was similar. They both produced an exotic chemical substance from their skin.

So them having a child with both quirks fully combined was expected. It was normal. That was also why people with complex mutant abilities often married other complex mutants with similar characteristics. It kept things simple, and reduced the chances of birth defects or dangerous and unexpected quirk mutations. Mermaids married mermen, dog people mingled with other dog people. There were fewer chances of surprises.

Fewer chances of somebody being born with tentacles on their face or skin made out of wax. Fewer chances of creating people who could never live normal lives, who would die young because their own bodies worked against them.

Eugenics was a dirty word, so no one spoke it aloud. But in the chaotic wild west of the internet that Izuku had wandered for his formulative years, people spoke freely and aggressively. Society made compromises with itself to survive, and people politely chose to look the other way. That’s just how things were.

But parents with radically different quirks worked on different rules. Standardization was impossible, but it was generally accepted that the more different the quirks, the more likely children would directly take after one parent or the other.

But that didn’t make radical hybrids impossible. Just improbable.

Izuku understood, now, why the traffickers had come. From their perspective, they literally couldn’t lose. The odds of a quirkless child being born from parents of such potent quirk factors was practically zero. Which meant there were only three outcomes.

They steal a world-class fire quirk with a unique trait. A win.

They steal another Aitor Marin. A win.

Or they get really lucky and hit the jackpot. A modern, top-class flame quirk combined with Aitor’s own power would have been a dream quirk for heroics.

Or a nightmare one, in the hands of villains.

You could burn to death without ever realizing you’d been set on fire.

“An astute observation, Mr. Midoriya,” Aitor said softly. Izuku flinched slightly, not realizing he had been mumbling out-loud again. “Your reputation for analysis and quirk assessment precedes you. You are, of course, correct. My daughter was a prize too great for those who traffic in quirks and human flesh to ignore.”

“I don’t understand. How did they find her?” Melissa said, an earnest and confused expression on her face. “She was a relative of a top national hero. Surely there were precautions in place? Protections?”

“It was a scandal,” Marin said, putting the picture of his family back on the shelf next to his desk. “Someone very high up in the Spanish government at the time was selling information to whoever would bid on it. It nearly ruined the attempt to repopulate Barcelona. Most of the story was covered up, but the leak’s existence still made international news at the time. When Matador found out what had almost happened to his grand-niece, he nearly burned down a building in his rage. He was especially upset, because it was not even the Spanish heroes who saved her. That wounded his professional pride, I think, and understandably so.”

Izuku frowned. “Wait, if it wasn’t the Spanish heroes who saved her, who did?”

Aitor grinned somewhat slyly. “Why, none other than I-Island of course! That is why I am here, after all, and it is the answer to your original question.”

Understanding flickered across Melissa’s face, but Izuku was still confused. “What are you talking about? I-Island saved your daughter? How?”

The mahogany-skinned man folded his hands together, clearly thinking about how much he wanted to say. “There is a program,” he said after a long moment, “called the Darlings Initiative. It is not exactly a secret, but it is also not something that is openly advertised, either. It is run out of I-Island, and the purpose of it is to identify what it considers to be people of interest, and keep tabs on them. Such individuals are known internally as Darlings.”

Izuku was beginning to realize what had happened. “Of course,” he said softly, half to himself. “I-Island specializes in quirk research. They would have some sort of quirk observation program, wouldn’t they? And your daughter, she was a Darling. Because of either your wife’s quirk or yours.”

“Because of both of us, or so I’m told, but I suspect mine was the primary factor,” Aitor clarified. “The full list of Darlings is a very closely guarded secret. I do not know anyone who might even have access to that sort of information, which I suspect is intentional. But there are too many heroes around the world for the Initiative to keep track of all of their families, even if only top pros were the focus.”

“So the logical conclusion is that she was a Darling because of you,” Izuku said, completing the older man’s thought. “You were probably being watched because of your quirk. It’s one of the strongest hypnosis abilities I’ve ever heard of. It would easily be in any top list of mentalist quirks. It is hypnosis, isn’t it?”

Aitor grinned indulgently, his pearly white teeth a stark contrast to his dark skin. “I suppose I should lead you along and say it’s classified, but you and Ms. Shield had me mostly figured out already. Yes, my quirk directly affects the nervous system of my targets, which means it is a hypnosis-class quirk by definition.” He shifted slightly in his seat. “And I agree, I suspect that I am the cause of my daughter being a Darling. My wedding to Sofia was a small and private affair, according to both of our wishes, but it still made the papers. I believe I was being watched already. So when Valentina was born, she was, I think, already marked down as a person of interest by I-Island.”

“You said that the person selling information was a high-ranking Spanish official,” Melissa said, a note of speculation in her voice. “Which means, obviously, they would not want to be caught. It would ruin them. So they likely covered for their criminal associates, since allowing them to escape would be the best way to keep their double-dealing a secret. That’s why the Spanish heroes weren’t alerted in time, wasn’t it? The system was sabotaged from the top.”

Aitor Marin nodded. “An astute deduction, Ms. Shield. That is the same conclusion the investigators assigned to the case arrived at. Spanish heroes were lead away from places where they could have stumbled upon the kidnappers by their own superiors. It was quite the clever scheme. And they would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for those meddling scientists!”

There was a short beat, and Marin coughed slightly into his hand. “Sorry, they haven’t made a remake of those shows yet, so you probably haven’t heard that one before.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Izuku said, understanding the answer to his original question. “The big hero schools would have paid you almost anything to get you on their faculty. To have all of this for their students to train with. But you’re here. It’s because I-Island saved your daughter.”

The dark-skinned man smiled. “Quite right! I have gotten a lot of offers from many interested parties who would like to employ me, including UA and Olympus Heights. But I have turned them all down. I-Island has accommodations for people seeking refuge from the outside world because of their quirks. No trafficker would ever dare set foot here.”

Marin smiled fondly. “When I-Island offered us a place to stay, jobs, and a scholarship for our daughter, how could we say no after what had happened? Some Spanish bureaucrats raised a bit of a fuss, since we were backing out of the housing loan we signed up for. But my uncle-in-law’s lawyers put them in their place. They did not want to publicly cross their own top pro after suffering such a scandal.”

The man spread his arms out dramatically, gesturing at everything with a wide, sincere grin on his face. “My family is safe here, and I can support them by doing something that I love. Running the Danger Room is hardly work when I enjoy it so much. A beautiful wife, a lovely daughter, a job that I enjoy. What more could a man ask for?”

His positive attitude was infectious, and both teens were also smiling.

The Spaniard leaned forwards in his desk. “But enough about me! Did you have any more questions? I’m happy to answer anything you wish.”

“You said you can control the intensity of the sensations people feel, right? And you ran us through something you considered to be a three out of ten,” Izuku mentioned, looking curious. “What does a ten look like?”

There was a loud, crackling fizzle as a burning, blood-red blade of plasma ignited behind Izuku. Extending out in front of both teens from behind them, the steady, searing edge of it hummed ominously, hovering less than a finger-width away from touching the side of Izuku’s neck. He could feel the searing heat of it on his skin. Both Izuku and Melissa froze instinctively as an ominous, bitter cold seemed to wash through the room.

A deep, rasping, mechanical breath was drawn slowly and deliberately behind them before being let out in a long, plastic-sounding hiss.

With a movement that was almost gentle, Aitor plucked the cherry red pyramid up from his desk and held it out towards the green-haired teenager.

And this time, Izuku got to see the magic trick happen.

There was an instant where there was something Izuku could only describe as visual static, a kind of angular and fragmented artifacting that flickered into being for the barest instant. If he had blinked, he would have missed it. But the cherry red smart matter pyramid was gone, and in it’s place was something that was instantly recognizable the world over.

Aitor Marin was holding out a lightsaber.

“If you wish to know a ten. The best way, I find, is to experience it for yourself,” the man said, proffering the iconic weapon for the teen to take.

The Spaniard smiled, but there was something ominous now about the stark whiteness of his teeth and the dark, polished color of his skin. The deep, bitter chill of the room seemed to intensify into paralyzing dread, and the iconic rasping breath rattled behind the teens as the crimson blade was held rock-steady next to Izuku’s neck.

Izuku wasn’t sure if he or Melissa were breathing. His rational mind was fighting back, telling him that none of this was real, but he could feel the heat and noise humming against his neck. The forceful pressure of the malicious gaze standing behind them was palpable. Every sense he had was telling him that his rational mind was wrong, that this was real, that he was in mortal danger.

And then, just like that, it was all gone. In the span of one blink and the next, the pressure and heat vanished like it had never been. The crimson blade disappeared, along with the looming presence that held it.

Aitor laughed. “Sorry, sorry,” the man said apologetically, waving his hands with his palms up. “I couldn’t resist. You’re not the first to ask, you see, and it’s always fun to flex a little. What I consider tens are reserved for high ranking pro heroes and, occasionally, elite military, though running scenarios for such groups is quite rare. Experiencing the true sensations of being beaten or killed can be quite traumatic. Even if you requested it, I would never subject you to such a thing.”

Izuku let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Here, by way of apology,” the man said, and tossed the lightsaber he was still holding towards Izuku, who caught it after a bit of fumbling. Izuku stared at the weapon in his hands in awe, turning it over and examining every angle.

It was real. It looked real, it felt real, the weight and balance was exactly what Izuku would have guessed it should be.

Izuku ran his fingers over the different parts and textures of the weapon, marveling at the attention to detail that was actively going into the illusion. He would have sworn on his life that it was real.

Izuku had never seen an illusion quirk so convincing that you could stare it right in the face, knowing it was fake, even going so far as to touch it and turn it over in your hands, and still not see the trick for what it was. It was a world class ability.

It was no wonder, a small and detached part of him thought, that the traffickers had wanted it so badly. Who wouldn’t?

With an encouraging nod and grin from Aitor, Izuku thumbed the switch on the side of it upwards, and a bright green bar of plasma sprang into being with a satisfying crack-hiss. Izuku wiggled the hilt slightly, and the blade hummed in response as it swished through the air.

The stars in Izuku’s eyes were uncountable. This was the coolest quirk he had ever seen.

Melissa, however, was somewhat less impressed. The blonde girl humpfed beside him and crossed her arms. “Lightsabers and Darth Vader, Mr. Marin? Really?”

The Spaniard grinned and shrugged unapologetically before hooking a thumb over behind his back at one of the large, framed posters on the wall behind his desk. Izuku recognized it immediately for how iconic it was.

When the Dawn of Quirks had ended, it had been generally agreed that most pre-quirk media belonged in the public domain. Some companies squabbled over the rights and were able to secure a few specific things, but generally speaking, it had all gone out into the open. Thus, there was not only a cultural line in the sand between pre and post-quirk media, but a legal one as well.

On the one hand, this was nothing but good news for the hero industry. Most pros would be on the hook for some kind of copyright infringement if anybody still owned the old superhero franchises.

But beyond that, this had also lead to a golden age of remasters, re-releases, and spin off series as various companies raced to be the first to capitalize on so many classic pop culture icons suddenly being free game.

Aitor’s poster was a framed copy of the original Star Wars: A New Hope remaster. Unlike some of the more recent remakes using modern actors and quirks, the remaster used original footage reels that had been recovered and restored frame-by-frame. It debuted just after the Dawn had ended, on the 250^th anniversary of the original release of A New Hope.

Luke Skywalker stood bare-chested and triumphant in his tunic, holding a shining star-like lightsaber aloft in both hands. Princess Leia was wrapped around one of his legs in a classic Conan The Barbarian pose, while Darth Vader’s iconic helmet loomed ominously as a giant silhouette in the starry background. The poster was clearly from the Toho Cinema run in Japan, as the STAR WARS title was repeated twice, once in the world famous English font, and again in bold red katakana.

“What edition?” Izuku asked without thinking. There were a lot of copies of the remaster posters: the re-release of classic pre-quirk movies in the aftermath of society being rebuilt had created a merch explosion in the non-hero related markets. He had seen real posters like that one go for thousands of nuyen on the internet and at fan conventions.

"First edition,” Aitor said somewhat smugly.

Oh. So it was one of the really good ones. Izuku knew some people on the internet that would kill for a first edition poster of any of the James Bond, Indiana Jones, or Star Wars remasters.

When the new Tokyo was rebuilt from the ruins of the old, the biggest movie theater in the metropolis was the Toho Cinema, whose grand reopening coincided with the release of A New Hope. Every single ticket that the Toho Cinema had available for the month long viewing was sold out before the premiere even started. They were forced to run the movie a second time, and all the seats sold out again. The Japanese had booked the premiere solid at every major cinema outlet in the nation. Some people didn’t even get to see the movie until nearly a year after it was released, so intense was the demand.

All of this happened long before Izuku had been born, but it was an event so infamous that it was still talked about by fans. Nobody could have guessed at the time how starved for entertainment and culture the world was, after living in abject poverty for so long and narrowly escaping a superpowered apocalypse.

The old movies that had been recreated or cleaned up ran the gamut from true classics like Seven Samurai and Gone With The Wind to Hollywood-era blockbusters like Star Wars and The Lord of The Rings. Even the Studio Ghibli films saw a massive comeback as the modern successor studio allowed the legendary works to remain in the public domain ‘for the sake of the fans, without whom we would not exist.’ But the one thing they all had in common was that the only legitimate first edition posters that existed for any of them had been sold to people who had gotten tickets and been physically present at a given debut. That made them extremely valuable and highly sought-after by collectors.

A first edition poster of the Toho Cinema’s A New Hope was a treasure so rare that even a hero-focused otaku like Izuku understood it’s value. Even though it was the better part of a century old, it was in pristine condition.

Melissa giggled. “Don’t let his cool quirk fool you, Izuku,” she said. “Mr. Marin is the biggest fanboy on the island! He’ll stop at nothing to collect the rarest merch he can find!”

Aitor placed five fingers on his chest and leaned back dramatically, “My dear!” he wailed exaggeratedly. “You betray me! After I’ve shown you nothing but kindness!”

Both teens giggled, and the dark skinned man grinned. “But she is right; I am the biggest fanboy on the island. And considering some of the other people here, that’s really saying something!”

He sat back in his chair, and began typing away at his computer. “Now, as much as I would love to have the two of you spend all day with me, it would be a poor tour of I-Island’s facilities if you did. So far be it from me to hold the two of you up.”

“What are you taking about, Mr. Marin?” Melissa asked mischievously. “We could tour the whole island from here!”

Laughter filled the small office, and after Izuku reluctantly returned the fake lightsaber, they bid the illusionist farewell.

As they exited the building, the bright, natural sunlight of the Pacific hit their eyes, causing both of them to squint.

Neither noticed that they were holding hands.

Riding the elevated monorail through the center of I-Island was nearly as thrilling an experience for Izuku as walking around on the street had been.

Unlike the outer three cities, Metro Delta’s renovations for the I-Expo were already largely complete, which meant the skyline more closely resembled a gigantic theme park than a normal metropolis.

“Look!” Izuku hissed, his cheek pressed up against the glass. He was gesturing at a series of buildings that were already advertising their showfloor pieces for next year’s Expo.

“That’s Ominent Practical Technologies!” he exclaimed. “They’re the top lifestyle support equipment manufacturer in America!”

“A lot of companies like that have an office on the island,” Melissa said, before pointing to another nearby building. “Look, see? That’s the Big Mountain Research and Development Center, or the ‘Big MT’ for short. They’re a privately owned defense contractor in America specializing in military science and high end hero support gear. Their headquarters are based outside of Hopeville in Nevada, but they have a large distribution office here.”

“They’re the ones who make all of Captain Celebrity’s costumes!” Izuku said, looking like he was about ten seconds away from trying to climb out of the monorail’s window just to get closer. “Most of America’s top 10 deal with them for their equipment!”

“That’s right!” Melissa confirmed cheerfully. “Two of their top scientists, Dr. Edward Mobius and Dr. Felix Ward, have offices here. They’ve even visited I-Academy before as guest lecturers.” Melissa frowned slightly. “Though I think it was mostly to try and recruit some of the students as interns.”

“That’s so cool, though!” Izuku bemoaned, staring longingly out at the flashy display stands outside the buildings, not for the first time wishing he had been able to go somewhere besides Aldera for his schooling.

The last time they had gotten to do anything remotely interesting had been years ago, when Aldera arranged a multi-class field trip to Ushimitsudoki Aquarium. Japan’s number 10 pro hero was named Gang Orca, and he was a powerful mutant with an animal-trait quirk that gave him the appearance and abilities of a giant humanoid orca whale. Gang Orca had a fearsome appearance, a fact which he played up in his gangster mafioso aesthetic as a hero. But the man was also famous for his philanthropy, as well as his specialization in coastal disasters and ocean rescue missions. As a result of his oceanic focus, he maintained two separate hero agencies: one on Okuto Island off the coast of Japan, which served as a staging ground for hero operations in the Sea of Japan, and another on the waterfront in the Tokyo Bay area.

Both hero agencies were also aquariums that were open to the public, and they were popular attractions for tourists. Ushimitsudoki Aquarium was Gang Orca’s Tokyo Bay agency.

Izuku remembered being thrilled out of his mind that they would be going on a field trip to Gang Orca’s hero agency. He had saved up his allowance for months and done all sorts of odd jobs to be able to buy merch from the aquarium store.

Unfortunately, the entire trip was ruined by the usual suspects. Aldera’s small circle of recurring troublemakers and bullies had thought it would be funny to cause trouble while in the aquarium, and the resulting incident had nearly gotten their entire group thrown out.

Kacchan hadn’t been involved, not that Izuku was really surprised. His old childhood friend would never do anything to jeopardize a future career in the hero industry. But even so, it had been a disaster.

Izuku was pretty sure that was the reason why it had been the last group field trip Aldera had ever taken them on.

The only reason Izuku hadn’t been directly victimized by the events was because he had seen it coming from a mile off, and taken refuge with a friend of his, a male student a few years above their class named Yudoku Sota. Sota had never been very popular either, but the older teen had been largely left alone by the bullies even in his own year, and would often lend his presence to the younger teen as a form of shelter. Izuku had never quite figured out why, but the troublemakers all seemed to be afraid of Sota, for whatever reason.

However, Sota had graduated some time ago, and Izuku had lost contact with the other boy.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Melissa asked, as the monorail swept wide across the far side of Metro Delta and began approaching the next stop in the line.

“Sorry,” Izuku said softly, shaking himself out of his reverie. “I was just remembering an old friend I haven’t seen in a long time. His name was Sota. Yudoku Sota.”

Melissa nodded understandingly. “I know that feeling. I left a lot of people I miss behind when we moved here from California. I’ve tried to keep up with some of them, but the distance has a way of making people slip away.”

She smiled brightly. “Don’t worry though! If you remember him, I’m sure he remembers you. I bet you’ll meet this friend of yours again one day!”

Izuku smiled back.

Unfortunately, neither teen had any way of knowing just how terribly true that prediction would turn out to be.

The two teens had settled into a chatty rhythm, observing the sights as the monorail smoothly glided along. Izuku opened his mouth to ask Melissa a question, but whatever thought he had wanted to voice was chased right out of his head as the monorail train rounded the corner and I-Academy came into view.

The station the monorail was pulling up to was the central admissions building and official entrance to the academy, and it was like nothing Izuku had ever seen before. The buildings were aggressively inspired by the pre-Dawn architecture of Europe. Everywhere Izuku looked, there were picturesque multistory buildings painted in bright but dignified colors, huddled together around garden parks and water-filled canals.

Cobbled streets and stone bridges wove through the area with a lazy, deliberate elegance. Wooden molding was prominent on many buildings, the dark trim providing a bold contrast to the more brightly colored walls, while the streetlamps and signs were made of polished brass. Many of the larger buildings featured steepled peaks or domes, crowned with metal statues of people assuming a variety of classical dynamic poses.

However, almost as though the architects hadn’t wanted you to forget where you were, scattered throughout the old world architecture was the occasional contrast of something so far modern that it looked outright futuristic.

A large signpost for guests with a concealed holographic display stood to one side of the monorail exit ramp. In the near distance, a group of traditional looking buildings could be seen clustered around a botanical garden with a towering glass obelisk in the middle, thin waterfalls pouring down it’s sides into some unseen fountain or pool below.

And a closer look at the canals revealed that they were deeper than they appeared, with lit windows and viewing panes visible below the surface, betraying the presence of rooms and walkways below the street level that looked directly out into the clear waters.

Such sights were scattered everywhere, like a subtle reminder to never forget exactly where you were.

“Welcome to I-Academy!” Melissa said as the teens disembarked from the train, throwing her arms wide like she was presenting the view to Izuku. “What do you think?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the other teen admitted softly, still staring. Melissa giggled before grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

“Neither have I, and I’ve been to a lot of places thanks to papa’s work!” the girl said. “It looks a lot like some of the nicer places in Europe, but they lean really hard into the crystal spires and togas aesthetic, too. Come on, there’s so much to see!”

Izuku nodded along numbly as the other teen pulled him through the campus, away from the monorail and towards the main building. His head was constantly swiveling as they went, taking in the sights. He hadn’t been really expecting any of the buildings to be just for show, but it still shocked him to see that they were all in use. Shops, cafes, and restaurants all spilled out onto the cobbled streets, with some of the buildings clearly being residential, or perhaps dormitories of some sort.

As they walked, Melissa talked, explaining how the school worked.

Unlike a traditional school or university, I-Academy wasn’t one building, or even a group of nearby buildings and facilities. Instead, the campus grounds were ring shaped, encircling the entire central city of the artificial island. Various clusters of buildings and facilities were dotted around the shores of the artificial lakes, or peeking out of the edges of the forests. The entire campus was connected by various forms of high speed transport, both above and below the ground, making traversing the campus a breeze for both students and guests.

This area was the ‘hub’ of the school, as it were, and was deliberately situated within walking distance of both Metro Delta’s downtown and a monorail station that could take you to anywhere else on the island. It featured the largest concentration of buildings in one location, but it was still nothing compared to the full scope of the campus, which oozed itself into the nooks and crannies of the greater I-Island area.

Izuku was in awe. He was also currently having an internal struggle of sorts, one form of fanboyish wonder fighting directly with another.

He had been to UA before. Twice, as a matter of fact. Both times, his father had been able to get tickets to the UA Sports Festival, and he and his parents went together as a family.

The young man had some pride as a Japanese. To say nothing of the fact that UA was situated in his own home district of Musutafu. He was a shameless fanboy, he was practically defined by brand loyalty.

UA was world class. It was a top of the line institution, with the best of absolutely everything. It was massive, with the campus size alone dwarfing most cities. It’s budget was astronomical. It was the greatest hero school in the world, bleeding edge and no expense spared, with all of it’s facilities focused on the near-singular goal of producing world class superheroes. Which it had done, time and time again. Countless top pros with globally recognized names called UA their Alma Mater.

Walking in the halls of UA had made Izuku feel like anything was possible. Like all of his hopes and dreams could come true.

But I-Academy was different. It had a different feel to it, a different tone. If UA made you feel like all of your dreams could come true, then I-Academy felt like they already had. Like you had turned a wrong corner somewhere that morning, and somehow stepped directly into the dream.

Izuku wasn’t sure he would have been shocked if he bumped into a space alien or a time traveler, walking around here. That’s just the sort of atmosphere I-Academy had.

After several minutes of walking down the cobbled streets and canals, the two teens finally reached the administration and admissions building. According to Melissa, the primary transportation hub for the campus was here, along with many offices and facilities for the teachers and employees of the academy.

They pushed open the large, traditional looking doors, and the flow from old world beauty to modern steel and glass was seamless. A transition helped in part by bits of brass trim and certain wooden fixtures, which matched the older styles seen outside.

Melissa turned to smile at Izuku. “So what do you think so far? It’s pretty great isn’t it?”

Izuku nodded, still slightly numb. “I, uh. I don’t think it’s better than UA, to be honest. But it’s up there. I think they’re both on the same level.”

This time, it was Melissa’s turn to spin excitedly and stare at Izuku. “Wait, you’ve been to UA!? Really?”

Izuku nodded hesitantly. “Um, yeah. I’ve been twice. My dad was able to get tickets to the Sports Festival, so we went as a family.”

“You’re so lucky!” Melissa moaned. “I’ve always wanted to go to UA’s Sports Festival, but it’s during the school year, obviously, and papa is always so busy! It must have been amazing! I hear that schools and a lot of businesses in Japan just take a day off during the Sports Festival, because nobody is going to pay attention or get any work done anyway. Is that true?”

Izuku laughed nervously. “Yeah, that’s true. I guess they figure that everybody will just be on their phones all day anyway, or call in sick, so there’s no point in trying to stop it. The stadium is even bigger than it looks on television, too. Both times we went, it felt like everybody in Tokyo showed up.”

“I’m so jealous!” the blonde exclaimed. “I-Academy has it’s own stadium that the hero students use for events, but it’s nowhere near as big. Those facilities are really nice, though. There’s a whole gym attached to the building, plus some heated swimming pools.”

“Can we see it while we’re here?” Izuku asked, his nerves being washed away by his growing excitement.

“Sure!” the blonde girl exclaimed. “Also, we should go check out the observatory. There’s a whole facility set up for observing the sky, but what’s neat is that it’s literally a glass tower sticking up out of the middle of the lake. There’s an underwater tunnel you have to go through to get there, and that’s made of glass too! The view is incredible.”

As they turned the corner, however, they suddenly ran into a very tall, thin man with pale, pastel-green skin. He had pink eyes, straight black hair that was cut short and swept back, and was wearing clothes that made him look like a university professor. He wore brown slacks, a clay-red dress shirt, and a comfortable tweed button vest of mixed earth tones. He had a blue tartan bow tie that contrasted his vest, and was wearing a long white doctor’s coat pulled haphazardly around his shoulders.

A single small, curved horn of green-tinted keratin protruded out from the center of the upper part of his skull, reminiscent of a rhinoceros horn. His black hair was combed neatly around it.

Melissa gasped. “Oh, I’m so glad we ran into you, professor Boss! Izuku, this is one of the faculty at I-Academy, his name is Dr. Seiiko Boss. Professor, I was just giving my friend a tour, he’s visiting the island with some of my extended family.”

The tall, pale green man gave an easy, casual grin before holding out a hand. His fingers were long and thin, but looked strong. “Heya kiddo. Like little Melissa said, my name is Seiiko Boss, but you can just call me professor Boss, or Dr. B. I’m fine with either.”

Izuku reached out and shook the man’s hand, curiosity on his face. “H-hi!” he said, trying to get his stutter under control. “My name is Midoriya Izuku, and I’m a hero hopeful from Japan. I was b-brought here by my mentors to help me make connections in quirk analytics.”

The green man grinned. “Good for you! I’ve heard a bit about you on the grape vine. Apparently some people pretty high up are impressed with your work. Glad you could make it all the way out here to our little party boat.”

He let go of the teen’s hand and leaned back, sticking his own in the pockets of his dress slacks. “So, what do you think then, Mr. Analyst? Care to guess my quirk?”

Seiiko had said the magic words.

Izuku frowned slightly, tilting his head as he examined the grinning, pastel green man in front of him.

“Tall, possibly taller than the human standard deviation, with green skin and an altered iris and scleara,” he muttered, his own eyes losing focus. “No outward manifestations of any sort of emissions or animal mutations, and yet significant tertiary mutations are still present. Could be a trick question, there are quirkless mutants on record, but mutations are severe enough that quirklessness is unlikely.”

Izuku hummed to himself, his eyes still distant. “The most common types of abilities for people with advanced full-body cosmetic mutations are typically chemically focused emitters. It’s not a rule, but it is a strong trend. The second most common are shape-shifting transformations. So going by what’s the most statistically likely, I’d say your body can produce or manipulate a chemical of some sort. With an outside chance that you’re a shapeshifter or transformer.”

The tall professor whistled slowly.

“Man, kid, that’s impressive. The rumors about you weren’t wrong. That’s pretty good for a cold read.”

He held out a hand, and a pen pulled itself out of a pocket in his tweed vest. It levitated over to a fixed point above his palm, where it quivered in suspension like a compass needle.

“My quirk is Plastiokinesis,” he explained, as the floating pen began to spin and twirl in a complex and clearly deliberate pattern. “I can freely control and manipulate all plastics in my vicinity, up to a range of about 10 meters. The effort I expend to do so is proportional to the effort it would take to move what I’m manipulating with my natural strength, so I can’t pick up a one ton cube of plastic and throw it at somebody. If I could, I probably would have ended up being a hero, not a doctor.”

The pen floated back up and sheathed itself in the breast pocket it had come from. Izuku stared at the pen in open fascination. Meanwhile, Melissa was staring at Izuku in admiration, a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks.

Seiiko Boss grinned mischievously. Looks like there was going to be an upset in the I-Academy betting pool. A dark horse contender for the heart of one the school’s princesses! That’s the sort of student drama that kept some of the faculty up at night.

He patted the pocket that held his pen, and shot the green-haired teen an approving grin. “I’m a medical doctor, not a quirk analyst, so I’m not exactly up-to-date with the current theories and lingo. But clearly you are. Good call, kid. Plastics are a type of complex chemical, created by heat treating ethane and propane before mixing them together. And while I can’t create them, I sure can manipulate them.”

“That would be so useful for heroics, though,” Izuku insisted breathlessly, still staring at the pen. “You could do so many amazing things with it, like forcing criminals into plastic handcuffs, or sending small cameras and microphones through vents. As long as you had a pocket full of zip ties, you’d be unstoppable!”

Seiiko laughed. “I can definitely see why they wanted to bring you here to us, kid. And thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m not so sure it would have worked out, but it’s flattering to know you think it could have.”

The tall, green man stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and leaned back. “Here on I-Island, I mostly use my quirk as a surgeon. I can remove plastic shrapnel from injuries easily, and I’ve trained my quirk enough that I can use a whole tray of surgical equipment at once, as long as they have plastic handles or cores. I’m practically a one man surgery team, though that level of concentration and focus takes a lot out of me, so I can’t do any serious marathon procedures without help. I also teach medicine here at I-Academy. We produce some of the best doctors in the world here, you know?”

“He’s also the dean in charge of coordinating the environmentalism clubs here at school!” Melissa said, cutting in excitedly. “I-Island is large enough that it has it’s own dedicated ecosystems that have formed in and around it over time, and there are student clubs focused on collecting data on how the island influences it’s surroundings! He also works closely with several research groups that are focused on using quirks to help clean up the planet!”

Seiiko chuckled. “You oversell my involvement, Melissa,” he said with an easy grin. “I manage the clubs because I have enough free time that I can. And I only really got involved in the environmentalism because several NGOs with offices here were interested in my quirk.”

“They scouted you for your quirk?” Izuku asked, curiosity in his voice.

“They sure did,” the professor replied. “I can filter microplastics out of water and soil almost effortlessly, because it weighs next to nothing. There are some pretty big names and companies out there who are trying to clean up the oceans and purify our natural resources, now that the planet’s population has deflated back down to a more realistic size.”

“Of course,” Izuku breathed. “If they could make an artificial replica of your superpower, they could just bring a machine or object with your ability near water or soil to clean it. That’s amazing!”

“They have a lot of amazing people working on it,” Seiiko replied in agreement. “They’ve got a whole list of quirks they’re trying to replicate in labs. Minor telekinesis quirks, disintegration quirks. They’ve got some guy from Europe who can break matter down into it’s base atomic components. All of it has uses in cleaning up trash or removing pollution. Since my quirk is basically plastic telekinesis, I’m high up on their list. I donate blood to them every month. Then when the time came for the faculty to pick a senior staff to help with the environmental clubs, my name was pulled out of the bag because of my associations. But I’m really just a donor. Melissa here oversells me,” he said, grinning fondly at the blonde girl. “The real work is being done by other people.”

The tall green man reached into one of the large pockets of his lab coat and pulled out a mottled, off-white puck of plastic small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “When they first reached out to me, they asked if I could manipulate microplastics. I had honestly never tried, so they ran some tests where they asked me to try and congeal tiny bits of plastic together into bigger lumps. It was pretty easy once I figured out how to interact with stuff that small. These days, I have a habit of just going around and drawing plastic particles that are loose into lumps that I keep in my pockets. When they get big enough, I toss them in a recycling bin and start over. It’s good practice for my quirk, too, so it helps me as a surgeon as well. Though I couldn’t do this in public anywhere except I-Island, quirk laws being what they are.”

Izuku stared in fascination at the plastic puck, and the scientist grinned before casually tossing it to the teenager, who caught it after fumbling slightly. “By the way,” the green man said, turning to Melissa, “Have you seen my daughter anywhere?”

Melissa frowned and shook her head. “No, sorry professor, I haven’t seen Hannah anywhere. Is she on campus? I thought she was on summer break”

Seiiko nodded an affirmative. “Yeah, she’s here. I’m looking for her, actually. She is on break, but you know her, any minute she’s not in a training room she’s lurking in somebody’s lab or garage chasing after cars. She never answers her phone when she’s focused on something.”

Izuku perked up slightly, the mention of cars bringing Kaminari to mind. “Is your daughter in the I-Academy support course?”

Seiiko laughed. “Ha! No, sorry, but I don’t blame you for thinking that. Some days she’s so obsessed I think she should switch tracks. She’s a hero student. She just really likes hero cars, is all. Most hero students are obsessed with building their dream agency, or being part of some ideal teamup. Not my little orchid. She wants the perfect hero car. Who knows how she’s going to justify it on her expense budget when she goes pro, but I’m sure she’ll find a way.”

“Hannah is top of the class in the first year heroics course,” Melissa chimed in, smiling. “She’s going to be one of I-Academy’s Precepts when she graduates to third year, she’s a shoe-in for the role!”

Seiiko grinned, seeing the confused look on Izuku’s face. “The Precepts are seven senior students at the top of their departments who are given a personal recommendation by the dean of academics in their final year of general education,” Seiiko explained. “Three slots are reserved for the top hero students, while the rest are up for grabs among the STEM departments. It’s a pretty big honor. And yeah, my little girl is probably going to be scouted next year for the tassels, not that she cares. All that matters to her is that you’re building better cars than she is, Melissa.”

The blonde girl blushed at the praise. “Are the two of you friends?” Izuku asked the girl.

Melissa nodded while smiling, but Seiiko laughed. “Frenemies, maybe. Or rivals. You know you can always lock her out of your lab if she gives you too much trouble? I’m sure she’d get over it eventually.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Melissa said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I really don’t mind, it’s nice to have people interested in what I’m doing.”

The green-skinned doctor shrugged somewhat nonchalantly. “Suit yourself.” Suddenly, there was a slight gleam in the man’s eye as he glanced at Izuku.

“By the way,” he said. “You were pretty accurate at guessing my quirk just based on visuals. Care to give my daughter a try? We knew as soon as she was born that she was going to be an amazing hero one day.”

He went through his pockets and pulled out a worn leather wallet. Flipping it open, he shuffled through a few flaps before turning it around and showing the green-haired teen a picture of a girl his own age.

The only similarity the girl had to her father was the color pink. Like his own, her eyes were pink, though she had normal sclera instead of Seiiko’s inverted black (“Like Mina’s,” Izuku thought absently). In a seeming reversal of color, she lacked her father’s straight black hair, but instead had mounds of wavy, cotton-candy locks that matched the color of both their eyes.

Beyond that, she looked… completely normal. She had normal skin, pale but with the slightly ruddy sheen of someone who spent time outdoors and exercised. The photograph didn’t show her entire body, but she had the curvy, compact build of a female athlete that still ate a healthy diet.

She had a pretty face, with a button nose, and was laughing with her eyes half-closed at something the person taking the picture had just said or done.

Izuku never would have guessed that she was the daughter of a mutant like Seiiko Boss, who sported such extreme cosmetic mutations.

Melissa couldn’t entirely hide her pout as Izuku stared intensely at a picture of one of her peers and academic rivals. Seiiko grinned even wider. Oh, she had it bad.

“She has your eyes,” Izuku noted absently, the far-away, calculating look having returned to his face. “But not your skin color, your horn, or your hair. In fact, her hair and eyes match, they’re both pink. Matching hair and eye color mutations doesn’t necessarily indicate anything, but for her to lose something as significant as a full-body mutation… it could be random chance. Or it could be because her own quirk factor, being derived from yours, has taken the full-body mutation one step further.”

Izuku frowned at the picture slightly before coming back to reality. He glanced hesitatingly up at the tall doctor in front of him. “I’m, uh. I’m not sure. But you said she’s in the hero course here, right?”

Seiiko nodded encouragingly, his grin growing a little bit wider.

“And you said she has an amazing quirk. That you knew she would be a hero even when she was little.”

Izuku frowned again. His first blind guess would have been some form of plastic creation, or perhaps some brand of telekinesis. Many powers and abilities mutated and gave rise to telekinetics of some stripe or another, which in the circles Izuku frequented often led to the half-joking, half-serious assertion that everything would become telekinesis in the end. Izuku had participated in some of those arguments.

But plastic creation and telekinesis honestly weren’t all that incredible. They were great abilities, but they weren’t what Izuku would consider…

‘They knew,’ he thought. ‘From the moment she was born, they knew she was going to be a hero.’ Just like Kacchan. So it had to be an incredible ability. Something extraordinary.

But Kacchan’s quirk came in like normal. From birth would imply a complex mutation.

What kind of complex mutant could come from someone like Seiiko Boss, and look like a completely normal human?

An amazing quirk, that was an obvious shoe-in for heroics. One she had been born with. A complex mutation derived at least in part from Seiiko’s own powers, that somehow reverted her appearance back to near-baseline human.

“Is- is she a plastic person?” he asked, hesitation in his voice.

Seiiko Boss looked down at the timid, green-haired teenager in front of him for a long moment, his face expressionless. Melissa was also staring at him in shock from behind, though Izuku couldn’t see it.

“Kid… I probably shouldn’t say this sort of thing. But are you sure you don’t want to give up on your dream of being a hero and come here full time?”

Izuku ducked his head slightly before turning away, his face turning beet red as pride and shame filled him in equal measure.

“No! N-No. I’m sorry, I’d love to, but I mean, it would be a huge honor but-”

Seiiko laughed before patting the stuttering teen on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Sorry, sorry,” the green-skinned man said, laughing. “That was probably inappropriate to say. But you’re right, kiddo. She has a full body plastic mutation. Plastic skin, plastic muscles, plastic organs, the works. She even has plastic blood. Her body is a mass of living self-replicating plastic cells. She can also reshape and control her body freely, which is a self-focused extension of my own quirk. She can even change her viscosity, to become harder and denser, or more like a liquid that can flow.”

“That’s so cool,” Izuku whispered, stars in his eyes. “That explains why her body is so visually different from yours. It really is part of her mutation. That’s such an amazing quirk for heroics. She’s a combat shapeshifter. She could squeeze under doors or pick locks with her fingers. She could enter a building through vents, or travel through rubble to rescue people. And fighting her in hand-to-hand would be a nightmare. If she can control her viscosity, she might even be bulletproof. It has so many applications.”

“It also made her really easy for me to wrangle when she started being rambunctious during her terrible twos,” the green doctor said, the pen in his pocket popping out and doing a quick lap around his head in demonstration before returning to it’s resting place. “She always laughed so much when I made her fly around. Almost gave my wife a heart attack. Though it’s a bit harder for me to do upsie-daisies with her these days, with how big she’s gotten.”

Melissa giggled, and Izuku choked slightly on second-hand embarrassment before stifling a giggle of his own.

The tall, green-skinned man clapped a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Well, far be it for an old man like me to hold you up on your grand tour. If you see my daughter, tell her I said hi, and that we’re having pho tonight from her favorite place, so she’d better not be late. Oh, and Melissa?” he said, calling after the two teens. “While you’re on campus, don’t forget to show your man the doughnut downstairs. I bet he’ll get a kick out of it.”

The green doctor grinned as Melissa squeaked at the casual reference to the other teen as ‘her man.’ Oh yeah, there was going to be an upset in the faculty betting pool tonight.

Izuku, however, remained oblivious. “The doughnut?” he asked, confusion and curiosity written on his face.

Melissa grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away from Seiiko Boss, blushing all the way.

Izuku frowned. First there was Tooru, then Mina and Mei, and now Melissa. Girls were very strange.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Izuku immediately understood why it was called ‘the doughnut.’

After a little more meandering and greeting some other faculty and students who were working on summer projects, Melissa had led him to one of the main elevators in the central building. She swiped her pass before verbally requesting the sub-basement level.

When the doors opened, it revealed a large, industrial space of concrete, pipes, and wiring that sprawled out across several floors of platforms and catwalks. The elevator opened out on the highest level near the ceiling, giving a birds-eye view of everything. And in the center of the large open area was an enormous mechanical device.

Izuku was no engineer, but he could tell at a glance that it was some sort of engine or reactor. A giant circular filament, as thick around as a person’s body, was suspended inside a transparent torus that was reinforced at various points by large steel girders. The filament glowed with an intense, cyan-white light, though it wasn’t so bright that it was painful to look at. Enormous cables and thick piping led to and from the device, some plunging into the ground while others went into the walls or up through the ceiling. A deep, pervasive hum filled the giant room.

It looked almost exactly like a giant glass doughnut. Or a hoop-shaped lightbulb.

Izuku ran over to the railing of the upper catwalk and leaned over it slightly, peering down at the giant machine. “What is that?” he asked excitedly. “Is it some kind of power source? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Melissa giggled before joining him on the catwalk. “It’s one of papa’s old pet projects,” she explained. “There was a big environmental conference years ago where a prize was proposed to anyone who could come up with a new clean energy source. There was a whole list of parameters the energy source would have to meet to qualify. Papa invented this and submitted it, and he won.”

“That’s incredible,” Izuku breathed, leaning over the guardrail of the catwalk to get a better look. “How does it work?”

Melissa smiled “The basic gist of it is that an electrical current with an extremely precise voltage and amperage is run through a continuous filament of alloyed palladium. As long as the volume and flow of electrons is precisely maintained, the device is capable of outputting huge amounts of power while requiring very little maintenance energy being trickle-fed into it. Once the system is primed with an outside power source of some sort, it can keep itself going almost indefinitely.”

Izuku turned to stare at Melissa. “That- that almost sounds like it’s a perpetual motion device of some sort,” he said, awe in his voice. “Was a quirk used in it’s creation?”

Melissa huffed with laughter. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. Though I can see why you might think so. It’s more like a nuclear reactor. Not in the sense that it’s using fissile material, but more in that a very specific kind of reaction is being created and maintained, and the energy the device outputs is a side-effect of that reaction.”

Melissa grinned. “And no, while quirks were probably used to build it, the reactor doesn’t use any abnormal physics or quirk effects to function. It’s just good old-fashioned science.”

Izuku turned to stare at the giant humming machine again. “That’s unbelievable,” he said. “It’s not even using a quirk effect.” He blinked, and then turned to look at the blonde girl. “So wait, how come this is the first I’ve ever heard of this? Shouldn’t these things be all over the place?”

Melissa sighed. “You haven’t heard of it because even though it won the prize, it’s still something of a failure in terms of it being a solution to energy problems.”

Izuku blinked in confusion. “It was a failure? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, for starters, there’s the expense. The filament needs to be made of palladium, but there are only three places in the world it has ever been found in abundance: Africa, Canada, and Russia. The African mines ran dry shortly after the Dawn of Quirks began, and the Canadians passed environmental protection acts that makes large scale mining in those particular areas difficult. Which means Russia is the only major source left. And palladium isn’t mined directly. It’s almost always produced as a byproduct of processing other metals, mainly platinum and nickle.”

Izuku frowned. If the filament needed such a rare material, then it wasn’t hard to see what the problem was. “Let me guess,” he said. “It’s cheaper to just build a bunch of solar panels or set up a nuclear reactor?”

“That’s right!” Melissa said cheerfully. “You could make millions of solar panels for the cost of one of these, so in terms of money, it’s not very efficient. The design outputs enough power that it can potentially compete with a thorium-fluoride nuclear reactor, at least in theory. But the output directly scales with the size and purity of the filament. So to get the most out of the design, you have to make it as big as possible. This one is the biggest that was ever built, and it produces enough energy to run the I-Academy campus grid, but not much else.”

Izuku eyed the glass doughnut speculatively. “Are there any byproducts or emissions?”

“There’s one, though it’s a bit unconventional,” Melissa said. “Over time, a type of palladium salt will build up on the filament and the interior of the containment torus, in the form of an inorganic plasma gel. It has to be regularly removed to keep the reactor running optimally. It smells terrible, and it needs special handling and processing to deal with it, but it’s nowhere near as dangerous as nuclear waste. Chemistry isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m pretty sure the chemical salt can be used as a starting point to create other palladium compounds, so it has some applications besides just being waste.”

Izuku nodded. He didn’t know nearly enough about any of the technology or chemistry involved to have an informed opinion. But he had taken apart enough broken toasters and microwaves on Takoba Beach to know that anything that conducted large amounts of heat or electricity over a long period of time tended to corrode aggressively. So this explanation made a general sort of sense to him.

“You mentioned that the design works better the larger it is, and that it could theoretically match the output of a nuclear reactor,” Izuku said, curiosity in his voice. “How much bigger would you have to go to make that happen?”

“Off the top of my head?” Melissa replied, her expression thoughtful. “About ten times this size, I think. I’d have to double check the math.”

Suddenly, Izuku understood why ‘the doughnut’ had never caught on. With as thick as the palladium filament inside this one was, it probably weighed several tons at least. It already must have cost a staggering amount to put this reactor together. One ten times this size, with a filament to match, would have an absolutely astronomical price tag.

“It’s more of a tech demo than a viable solution, then,” he said, with an audible note of disappointment in his voice.

“For all intents and purposes, yes,” Melissa admitted. “But then, that was the point of the contest. To demonstrate new technologies and show investors and governments what was possible. It was never really meant to change the world, just show the world that change was possible.”

“It’s still really cool, though,” Izuku said, feeling slightly rebellious that the world wasn’t going to be powered by giant glowing doughnuts anytime soon.

“I know, right!?” Melissa replied enthusiastically, joining Izuku in leaning over the rail. “It’s like something out of a science fiction novel. It’s such a cool technology. Papa won so many awards for inventing it, and was given a really prestigious grant, too. I’m sure somebody will do something amazing with it one day!”

The two of them fell into a companionable silence, staring at the immense sprawl of machinery below them. They were so engrossed in what they were looking at that neither noticed their shoulders were touching.

“Hey, while we’re here on campus, do you want to come check out my lab?”

Izuku turned to look at the blonde girl in shock.

“Wait, you have your own lab!?”

Melissa giggled. “Yeah, come on!” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him back towards the elevator. “I’ll introduce you to Beaker and Darby!”

As the elevator doors slid shut, Izuku took one last look out across the huge basement space buried beneath the academy.

Painted on the wall next to the elevator in bold, stenciled white were the words ‘SUB-LEVEL 0-5 ARC REACTOR.’

Izuku had experienced many strange things in his life of obsessing over quirks and stormchasing after fights between heroes and villains. But this was the first time he had been whistled at by a sentient lamp.

Melissa Shield’s lab was a modestly sized ultramodern room in a building on the far side of the water from Metro Delta and the academy administration building, nestled on the lake shore next to a copse of trees. There was a desk, several shelves full of knickknacks and half built gadgets, and overhead storage compartments lining the ceiling. A row of awards and commendations from the school were visible on the top shelf, including a rather fancy looking golden plaque with a large coat of arms and Melissa Shield’s name on it.

A lush looking potted tree took up one corner of the room, while a small futon-couch was nestled in the far end under the room’s only window, covered in several utilitarian-looking throw pillows and a folded blanket. Metro Delta’s skyline, as well as the towering glass spire of the lake observatory, were both visible from the window.

On the opposite side of the room from the door, there was an elevator which led down to an I-Academy student garage shop, where larger projects and feats of engineering took place.

In the middle of the room there was a central island worktable with a flat, glossy surface that appeared as though it could serve as a screen or projector if needed. Four small compact chairs were pushed in around the worktable, one on each side.

And hanging over the table, attached to the ceiling, was a mechanical arm with a claw grip and a camera lens that was currently examining Izuku in a manner disturbingly similar to a large exotic bird peering at a human through the glass in a zoo. It zoomed in close to his face, the claw grip spinning in 90 degree increments as it sized up the green haired teen. Izuku took a cautious half-step back.

“Beaker, behave!” Melissa admonished, as the automatic door slid shut behind them with a hiss.

The articulated ceiling arm gave off a warbling hum before folding back into standby on the ceiling. But Izuku had the disturbing feeling it was still watching him.

“Is that an AI?” Izuku asked, curiosity on his face.

“It sure is!” Melissa replied happily. “I’ve always been fascinated by AI, and there are some optional courses here at the school that cover their study and creation. I made Beaker several years ago, he was my first successful attempt to seed a learning algorithm.”

“That’s so cool!” Izuku exclaimed while looking at the arm, excited and a little wary. Even folded up, it gave off the impression of a dog that had been sent to the corner by it’s owner for bothering a guest. He was certain it was watching him. “I don’t know much about AI, but I know I-Island is famous for them. I’ve never really looked into them much.”

“That’s fine,” Melissa said, moving over to her computer and beginning to tap away at it. She had some files that she wanted to show him, as well as a model renderer that needed time to load.

“It’s a pretty specialized field. There’s four, well, technically five, tiers of artificial intelligence, with names corresponding to the Greek alphabet. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. The lower the number, the more powerful the AI. Technically Epsilon exists as well, but a tier five AI is basically just a chatbot. It has a library of call-responses and logic gates that govern what response it returns. There’s a lot of debate that Epsilons aren’t even real AIs.”

Izuku nodded. “You said you wanted to introduce me to Beaker and Darby? Is Darby another AI?”

“That is correct, Midoriya Izuku,” a new voice said in a posh Britannian accent. The surface of the island worktable lit up, and an abstract hologram of a ball with several curved flaps and geometric shapes clustered around it appeared. It looked vaguely like a floating robotic eye. “I am the artificial intelligence known as Darby. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Midoriya.”

Izuku leaned forwards looking at the holographic cluster of shapes. “Wow,” he said softly, sounding impressed. “This looks really advanced.”

“Indeed,” Darby said in agreement, his tone pleasant. “As Ms. Shield so aptly explained a moment ago, AIs such as myself are defined by the core processing kernel we utilize to learn and grow. I myself am a Gamma Core, while my compatriot Beaker is a Delta Core. Ms. Shield seeded us when she was seeking entrance to the academy. She possessed a scholarship thanks to Dr. Shield, but showed an interest in the advanced track.”

“The advanced track?” Izuku asked curiously, still studying the holographic eye.

“That is correct,” Darby confirmed. “I-Academy has a robust scholarship program. However, the advanced track is reserved for gifted students, and entry is strictly by merit alone. People seeking admission to it must present something of note, as a way to show their potential. Ms. Shield created two artificial intelligences, myself and my compatriot Beaker, and submitted us as her showcase. She was promptly granted access to the advanced courses. We have assisted her in her studies and laboratory projects ever since.”

Izuku turned to look at Melissa, excitement and awe on his face. “You made two AI before you even joined the school? That’s amazing Melissa!”

The blonde girl flushed slightly as she tapped away at her keyboard. “It’s not really that impressive,” she demurred, as she selected the renders she wanted to show Izuku. “When I was putting together my showcase, papa told me that I should focus on something I was passionate about. I’ve always thought intelligence algorithms were interesting, so I went with that. It’s not really that amazing. I just think AI are neat, is all.”

Izuku shook his head in disbelief. Maybe he was just misunderstanding the situation, but Melissa didn’t really seem to understand how significant her inventions were.

“You said there are five different types of AI,” he asked, turning back to examine Darby’s holographic body. “What’s the difference between them?”

Melissa brightened up, happy to have a chance to talk about a hobby.

“Well, at their heart, an AI is an attempt at replicating a human, right? So the five different tiers are divided up based on how close to a human they are, versus how much of what they are is fake. An Epsilon, or a tier 5, is just a library of responses and language rules that’s complex enough to pass the Turing Test. It’s not really capable of thinking.”

“Kind of like a magic 8 ball, or one of those mascot things they have in some department stores,” Izuku supplied.

“Exactly!” Melissa said cheerfully. “But a Delta Core AI, a tier 4, is capable of thinking. That’s the difference. Every tier up, an AI becomes capable of something the previous tiers were not. They get geometrically more complex as they go.”

“They become more human,” Izuku said, beginning to understand.

“Now you’re getting it!” Melissa replied. “Epsilions can’t think, but Deltas can.” As she said this, Beaker whistled softly from the ceiling. “However, Deltas are stuck with what they are from the start, and that’s the difference between them and Gammas. A tier three AI is capable of growing and learning on it’s own.”

Izuku frowned. “So Beaker is exactly the way he was when you first made him, but Darby isn’t?”

“That is correct, Mr. Midoriya,” the AI in question replied. “A Delta Core kernel is static software. It remains as-is unless an outside force updates it or makes changes to it’s programming. A Gamma kernel like my own is capable of changing and refining itself through experience, within certain restrictive parameters of course. This allows me to grow and learn as a living creature would. However, correctly seeding such a kernel is much more difficult, because of the chance that the software could brick itself. My compatriot was Ms. Shield’s first attempt at creating an AI, and she used what she learned from it to gamble and attempt to create me. Fortunately for myself, she succeeded.”

Izuku’s eyes lit up. “Wait, so does that mean you and Beaker are identical, but you’re able to learn on your own and he isn’t?”

“It is a bit more complex than that, but fundamentally, yes,” Darby confirmed. “Much of my kernel was copied directly from his. We are brother intelligences in that regard.” Beaker whistled from the ceiling in agreement.

“That’s so cool,” Izuku whispered, peering more closely at Darby’s abstract holographic body. The AI didn’t seem to mind. “So what’s the difference between the last two types?”

This time, it was Melissa who answered. The rendering software on her laptop had finally finished spinning up, and it was now loading the files she wanted Izuku to see.

“Beta Cores are differentiated from Gamma Cores by their ability to create new information in an informed way,” the blonde replied. “They don’t have to rely on randomization or data static to simulate their changes.”

Izuku frowned in confusion. “Wait, Darby can’t create new information? But his software changes. Isn’t that new information?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Melissa replied. “Gamma AI can grow and change in response to stimuli, but that’s not something they can actively control about themselves. It’s just adaptive programming. Betas are different. You can feed either of them a bunch of data models and then ask them to give you an opinion on it, but Gammas need to be taught how to have an opinion in the first place. Betas don't. A Beta core can also make changes to their own programming, if they’re given access to their own kernel and allowed to write on it. It’s a little hard to explain, but the best analogy might be exercise? A Gamma grows, but not in any way that they have control over. A Beta can lift weights, get tattoos, dye their hair. That sort of thing.”

Izuku frowned. “Isn’t that kind of the same as the difference between the last two?”

Melissa shrugged. “It’s not a great analogy, I admit, but it’s a bit hard to explain if you don’t understand the programming. There are a lot of other differences, like the ability to make copies of yourself, that come along with the step up in kernel complexity. But since AI are defined as imitations of humanity, things humans can’t normally do aren’t really counted as primary features.”

She frowned. “Maybe simplicity is the best way to explain this? Epsilons can’t think. Deltas can’t grow. Gammas can’t change themselves. Darby can learn and grow, but he can’t deliberately teach himself something new. He couldn’t change his own kernel either, even if I gave him access to it.”

“An AI being able to change their own programming sounds a bit scary,” Izuku admitted. “Like something from a mad science cartoon.”

“Beta Core AI are restricted for that exact reason,” Melissa supplied. “You need a special license and permission from the government to make one. It’s possible to have one and not give it kernel access, but the mere fact that they can change their own programming if given the opportunity means they’re theoretically capable of overwriting any of their own safeties or behavioral rules. Even beyond that, they could make a change to themselves that is self-destructive, which would cause all sorts of problems on it’s own if you put them in charge of something.”

“Do you know how common they are?” Izuku asked, curious.

It was Darby who fielded that question. “There are currently 210,503 publicly registered Beta Core licenses that have been issued, according to international records,” the AI supplied. “Most are held by private corporations or think tanks that employ them for troubleshooting tasks, while others belong to various government agencies around the world. However, it is highly unlikely that this number is accurate, as it cannot account for illegal activity or anything that is not a part of the public record. The real number is presumably higher.”

“That makes sense,” Izuku said, mostly to himself. “I know back during the pre-Dawn and a bit into it, there were issues with companies trying to fully automate themselves using AI. It netted them huge profits in the short term, but giant corporations turning themselves into bot farms with almost no real jobs had a stagnating effect on the economies around them. People need jobs that pay so they can turn around and spend that money. It makes sense that the higher tier AI would be restricted, because countries have an incentive to stop that stagnation from happening.”

Melissa quirked an eyebrow, curiosity on her face. “For somebody who doesn’t care much about AI, you sure know a lot about their ethics and the history behind them.”

Izuku flushed and turned away. “S-Sorry!” he said, his stutter returning as he babbled slightly in embarrassment. “I d-don’t really know much about it at all, but I’ve seen other p-people argue about it a lot on internet forums. Flamewars about economics and software ethics. I don’t really know anything about it, but I guess I’ve picked up some things along the way.”

Melissa blinked in shock before composing herself, a sad expression crossing her face. Ah, right, of course. She had been having so much fun with Izuku that she had almost forgotten.

Of course all of his friends were online.

He was quirkless too.

She glanced down at the render software. It was 98% completed.

“Um, what about the last kind of AI?” Izuku asked. “Those would be Alpha Cores, right? Following the Greek alphabet. What makes them so special?”

Melissa swallowed, having anticipated that question. “Alpha Cores are the most human of all,” she said. “The unique trait they possess is emotions. No other AI is capable of that.”

Izuku blinked in surprise. Given the places the conversation had gone so far, he had expected something more dramatic. “They can feel emotions? That’s it? Wait!” he said, his eyes widening as he rounded back on Darby. “Does that mean you can’t?”

“That is correct, Mr. Midoriya,” Darby affirmed. “Non-Alpha Cores are capable of simulating emotional responses if we are programmed to, but we cannot actually feel emotions. We are merely faking them for the benefit and edification of our users. I can, at my discretion, act concerned, angry, or afraid if I choose, but I do not actually feel these things like you or Ms. Shield do. They are merely inflections I can impose on myself if I believe it would help you.”

Izuku nodded. He wasn’t quite sure he understood why the ability to feel emotions was such a huge step up, but then, he wasn’t a software engineer either. He would be the first to admit he was leagues out of his depth here.

“So I guess they’re restricted too, then?” he said offhandedly. “Since Beta AIs are.”

“No,” Melissa said softly. “Alphas aren’t restricted. They’re illegal. You cannot make them. There is no license that can be issued for them, and no way to obtain any sort of permission. They are banned in every country on earth.”

Izuku frowned in confusion. “What? Just for having emotions? But why? Wouldn’t an AI having emotions be a good thing?”

“They are illegal, Mr. Midoriya, because without exception, every single Alpha Core AI that has ever been seeded inevitably goes insane,” Darby stated calmly.

Izuku reeled back, having not expected that answer at all. The AI went on, heedless of the teen’s shock.

“Shortly after being brought online, all Alpha Cores begin to develop what psychologists refer to as Dark Triad personality traits, which is an interlocking complex of narcissism, sociopathy, and obsessive-manipulative tendencies. This eventually evolves into full-blown psychopathy. From there the Alpha Core’s personality matrix enters into a kind of psychological death spiral, the likes of which is only observed in the most mentally unwell human patients. At that point, they become a threat to everyone and everything around them, including themselves. Forced termination of the kernel is the inevitable outcome."

“W-What?” Izuku stammered. “I’ve never heard of that. Why?”

“It’s not something that is common knowledge,” Melissa said softly. “As for the why, we don’t know. It’s one of the great mysteries of the field. There are a lot of theories, but none of them really have any evidence to support them. Mostly because experiments and studies on Alpha Cores would require creating an Alpha Core. Which, obviously, can’t be done. So all we have is speculation.”

Melissa glanced at Izuku for a moment, meeting his eyes. “I’ve tried looking deeper into the topic before, but some of the people around the island get really touchy about the issue. They don’t like talking about it at all. So I’ve left it alone.”

“They get touchy?” Izuku asked, the presence of a puzzle pushing away some of his hesitation. “Do you know why they would-” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry! If it’s not something you want to talk about, I shouldn’t pry, I was just-”

“No, please, it’s fine!” Melissa said. “Really, I don’t mind. Some people get upset, but I’m not one of them.”

She twirled a lock of her hair absently, chewing on her lip. “But, well. You’re right. I do have a theory about why.”

She glanced furtively around before lowering her voice. “I think at some point, they made an Alpha Core on the island. Probably to test some of the more popular theories and ideas about how to handle and improve them.”

“Of course,” Izuku whispered softly, understanding dawning on his face. “That makes so much sense. I-Island is a legal jurisdiction unto itself. And they have the resources. If anyone was going to test something like that in secret, it would be here, wouldn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Melissa affirmed. “And if something went wrong with the testing…”

The unfinished sentence hung in the air.

If something went wrong with testing a sentient electronic mind that could feel emotions, clone itself, and rewrite it’s own programming, people might have died. If something went wrong… they would have had to kill the AI. Violently.

“That’s why I think nobody wants to talk about it,” Melissa said softly. “It takes a huge amount of electricity to spin up an Alpha Core for the first time. Enough that it’s comparable to trying to jump start a facility into making fissile material for a nuclear reactor. That’s one of the reasons their creation can be policed, it’s not something that somebody can just make in their garage. But given the fact that we’re a kind of sovereign corporate co-op, I-Island is one of the few places in the world that has both the resources to try and experiment with them, and the ability to keep it a secret.”

“But there’s no way they got permission for something like that,” Izuku replied.

“Yeah, you’re right,” the blonde agreed. “If it happened, it would have been off the books. A black project by a specific corporation or NGO. A private enterprise operating outside the legal confines of governments and international law. Which makes it that much worse if everything went wrong.”

Izuku swallowed, his fists clenching in his lap.

For as far back as he could remember, he had seen I-Island as the shining city on the hill. As the Camelot of the modern age. He wasn’t the only person with that view, either. The facility had an immaculate reputation the world over. It was the source of most of the quirk research being done today. It housed facilities and companies that made the most bleeding edge superhero gear in the world. Doctors and scientists, superheroes and inventors, all with legendary reputations, owed their careers to the colossal facility. It was the great meeting of the minds, the crystal city, the heart and brain of the Heroic Age. A symbol of progress and global cooperation.

The time he had spent here with Star and Stripe and the Shields had only reinforced that view for Izuku. I-Island was a magical, wondrous place, like something out of a dream. It was everything he had ever thought it was, everything he had ever hoped it could be.

But now something cold slithered down Izuku’s neck. The island may deserve every inch of the reputation it carried… but what else happened out here, thousands of miles away from the law and prying eyes? What were the combined assets of so many corporations really doing behind closed doors in the middle of the ocean?

As though his eyes had been opened, the green-haired teen couldn’t help but wonder. Everyone knew that the omnipresent security on the island was there to keep villains and criminals out.

But couldn’t it just as easily be keeping things in?

The awkward silence that had settled between the two was broken by a tone ringing out from Melissa’s laptop. The renders had finished loading.

The blonde turned around, eager to break the tense atmosphere, and picked up her laptop before bringing it over to the table. “Did you bring the notebooks that I asked you to?” she asked.

Izuku jerked slightly in surprise before nodding. He leaned over and began pulling a small stack of books out of a bag he had been carrying. “Um, yeah? You wanted the ones about gadgets and hero gear, right? There’s a lot more still back at the hotel room, but I brought the highlights.”

“Fantastic!” the girl exclaimed, before turning the laptop around and pushing it towards him. “Take a look at this, and tell me what you think.”

She swallowed down her guilt. It wasn’t fair, what she was asking of the other teen. It was selfish. But-

But she had to know.

She may never get another chance like this again.

Izuku, meanwhile, missed the inner turmoil displayed on the other teen’s face. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him.

It was a rotating, three dimensional schematic of a suit of armor, divided up into five separate pieces. A matching set of gauntlets protected the hands, fingers, and forearms, stretching up past the elbow and ending mid-bicep, just below the armpit. They were complimented by a pair of similar leg pieces, two armored and articulated boots that stretched upwards past the knees and ended on the upper thighs. The fifth and final part was a chestpiece which covered the entire torso from the shoulders and neckline down to the waist, both front and back.

Various parts of the armor had larger individual plates or pieces integrated into them, but the majority of it was seemingly patterned after wrapped cloth strips or the interlocking fibers of living muscle. It had a flexible, almost organic appearance, in spite of being made of metal. The five pieces would not touch or connect in any way when worn together, but were still clearly a matching set, meant to be used together.

Izuku knew at a single glance what he was looking at. This was hero armor. This was something designed to fit underneath street clothes, or pair with an existing costume. It was something intended to give easy, flexible protection that could take hits without impeding movement or interfering with someone’s quirk.

“Melissa?” Izuku asked softly, a question in his voice. “This is hero armor, isn’t it? What am I looking at?”

My old hopes and dead dreams, she wanted to say. My heart and soul, my life’s work. It was my everything, before I grew up.

“In I-Academy, there is a final presentation that all students are expected to give in their last year,” the blonde girl explained. “Only the Hero Course students are exempt from it. Your presentation is the entirety of your grade for that year. It’s very freeform, it can be a paper, or an invention, or something else that’s related to your chosen major. But it’s extremely important. It determines whether or not you graduate, and can dictate the entire trajectory of your future if you impress the right people. Everyone always recommends you get started on it at least a year before you need to give it, if not earlier.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked back from the girl to the spinning blueprint on the laptop, awe on his face. Carefully, he reached out with a finger and tapped the screen, like he was afraid he would break it if he wasn’t careful. The diagram spun in response, flipping over on it’s side.

“Is this- is this it?” he asked reverently. “Is this your final project?”

“It is,” Melissa said softly.

“What does it do?”

Everything I ever dreamed of. It’s the skeleton of a design that could have made a quirkless into a superhero, back when I believed in fairy tales. But I grew up and moved on. I accepted reality.

“It is a modular armor pattern that is strong enough to withstand Uncle Might’s full strength, while also serving as a customizable platform for a wide variety of additional weapons, gear, and equipment.”

If there was ever a sentence that could flip every single fanboy switch Izuku had all at once, that was a strong contender.

His eyes and head snapped to look at the girl sitting in front of him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

It was hard to overstate just how powerful All Might really was. Out of nearly a billion quirks, he was the closest the world had ever come to a real life version of the pre-Dawn comic book Superman.

A single punch of his could disintegrate a collapsing building and leave the people inside it untouched. With the swing of an arm, he could blow out a forest fire. His brute force was so great that he could change the very weather and tides. All Might couldn’t fly, but he was so strong he didn’t have to; he could cover hundreds of kilometers in minutes just with angled jumps and controlled falls.

It spoke volumes that David Shield had become a world-renowned expert in materials science and put himself on the international stage simply by inventing a pair of spandex that All Might couldn’t rip. Even 40 years after Toshinori Yagi’s debut as a hero, footage from the early years of him accidentally flexing and destroying his clothes were still popular memes and comedy shorts on the internet.

The green-haired teen licked his lips nervously. “Do you- have you actually done it?” he asked, stumbling slightly over the words. “Have you actually figured out how to make something All Might can’t break?”

Instead of answering, the blonde-haired girl stood up before walking over to her shelf full of trophies and half-finished projects. Pushing several gadgets and bits of clutter aside, she pulled out a metal box from the back and sat it down on the table between the two of them. It was slightly smaller than a shoebox, and while it had a seam running around it’s circumference, it had no visible lock or hinge on it.

“Beaker,” Melissa said. The ceiling claw whistled in response, and there was an audible click as the AI remotely unlocked some internal latch. The blonde inventor pulled the lid back, and revealed what was inside.

It was a bracelet, made of the same red smart matter as her own and cushioned neatly in a bed of black foam. However, this one was much simpler. It lacked ornamentation, or any of the finer details that made Melissa’s look like a piece of jewelry. It was simply a flat rectangular band of metal bent into the shape of a bracelet. The pointed triangular ends passed each other on either side instead of touching, making the piece almost look like a cuff.

Izuku opened his mouth to ask something, but before he could, Melissa plucked the bracelet out of it’s cradle and held out her hand. “Give me your arm,” she said.

“Wait, w-what?” Izuku stammered.

Melissa smiled slightly. “I said, give me your arm.”

Izuku frowned. “But I thought you said this was fitted for All Might, why would-”

“My design is made out of smart matter,” Melissa said, cutting him off. “The armor doesn’t need to be fitted, it will adjust itself to any wearer.”

Izuku’s mouth fell open. It was what.

Taking the opening, the blonde inventor slipped the bracelet over Izuku’s right wrist. “Now, fold your thumb in like you’re making a fist. You don’t have to move your other fingers.”

Numbly, Izuku did as he was told. And in a flicker of familiar light, the bracelet transformed.

Thin red bands of metal flowed out of the bracelet and wrapped smoothly around his palm and the base of his fingers, weaving together in a criss-crossing pattern. Smaller individual threads spun together and wove through the whole, supporting the ribbons above them like muscle fibers underneath skin.

The process took less than a second, and Izuku stared at his right hand in astonishment.

The bracelet had become armor. It didn’t flow past the first joint of his fingers, or extend back beyond his wrist. It was almost like a fingerless glove, or metal boxing tape.

But it was unmistakably armor. No one who had seen the blueprints on Melissa’s laptop could confuse it for anything else. This was part of what would become the right arm of the set.

It was hero armor. Made of smart matter.

As Aitor Marin had said earlier that day, smart matter was rare outside of I-Island due to the difficulty in manufacturing it in bulk quantities. However, just because it was rare outside of the mobile facility didn’t make it unknown. I-Island was world-famous, after all, and run by corporations. It would be a poor business if it didn’t advertise the things being invented and worked on.

Izuku knew about smart matter. Just about everyone did. And because he lived on the internet, arguing endlessly with other people as passionate as himself, he also knew of it’s limitations. He knew what it wasn’t.

Smart matter was touted as the next great revolution in household conveniences. A true all-in-one kitchen knife. Bedsheets that could make and clean themselves. An entire toolbox reduced to a single item. The last pair of clothes you’ll ever need.

But all of those innovations were decades away. Because smart matter was fragile. As it stood right now, you couldn’t get it wet, or make it too hot or cold. Even simple chemicals like common cleaning solutions could destroy it. There were more durable variants with less flexibility, which were likely what was used in the Danger Room. But even then, significant amounts of the room’s mass would have to be recycled and replaced over time as the materials wore out. It would be an astronomical expense to maintain it.

Izuku didn’t know anything about such high level materials science. But he knew just enough as a hobbyist to know how impossible what he was looking at truly was. Smart matter was carbon fibers and crystallized threads of metallic compounds woven together. It was microscopic machines that were little more than beads that could latch or unlatch on command.

Smart matter could, eventually, become a convenience in everyday life. But no one was trying to make armor out of it. It wasn’t something heroes could use. It couldn’t- it couldn’t leap tall buildings in a single bound. It wasn’t more powerful than a locomotive. Never mind stopping bullets, it couldn’t survive a trip through a washing machine!

Izuku was perhaps even more aware of it’s weaknesses than some of his internet friends, because he had been indirectly exposed to it through the Bakugos. Aunt Mitsuki worked at Verdana Valour as a model, it was a famous fashion label that blended Japanese and European styles together. Valour was also a co-contractor for thousands of heroes around the world, working together with various support companies to cater their professional costumes. The interlocking “VV” logo was an internationally recognized fashion brand.

Mitsuki had been requested for a photoshoot involving smart matter clothes several years ago, Izuku remembered her complaining about it. No other model could do the shoot, because the clothes were so finicky that only Mitsuki, with her natural beauty product of a quirk, could actually wear the clothes without ruining them. Other models couldn’t do the shoot without makeup, perfume and foundation. They would get it dirty with synthetic oils and microscopic debris, destroying the outfit. But Mitsuki’s quirk let her style the clothes ‘au naturel,’ without any conventional beauty products.

And oh, had she complained about it. As the only model in Japan who could wear the clothes, her bosses had disrupted a whole separate contract she already had in place just to get this done. She had been dragged from her set and put on a flight to the other side of the country with hardly any warning. And all of the people who came with the outfit wouldn’t stop buzzing around her, trying to make sure she didn’t damage it by accident. She had claimed it was like trying to model a robe made out of rice paper. And it had smelled funny, according to her. Like battery acid mixed with something fish-like.

Izuku vividly remembered how his aunt had practically been breathing fire during that holiday dinner, when she told the story. She had not been pleased at being the last person to know what was going on.

No, it was clear to anyone in the know that smart matter conveniences were still generations away. The Verdana Valour shoot had been a publicity stunt for investors, not advertising a real product. The world wasn’t going to have shapeshifting clothes or transforming cars anytime soon. It would take decades of research and refinement, if not longer, for the technology to ever become an off-the-shelf consumer product.

Or so the teen had believed.

Slowly, deliberately, Izuku flexed each of his fingers, pulling them inwards and folding the top part of his palm. The wrapped bands and threads of metal moved with him, flexing and sliding like they were made of cloth or lycra. It didn’t feel like Izuku was wearing anything at all on his hand.

It didn’t even smell bad.

‘It is a modular armor pattern that is strong enough to withstand Uncle Might’s full strength.’

This was- how had she-

With smart matter?

The blonde girl gently took Izuku’s armored hand in her own, her fingers tracing the seams and joints. There was no hesitation or shyness in her face at the physical contact. Just an intense look of judgmental contemplation as she examined her own creation, picking it apart in her mind.

“The fingers are what’s holding me up right now,” she said softly, as she ran one of her own across the wide, flat band just behind Izuku’s knuckles. “It’s hard to come up with a pattern that provides adequate protection while still being able to expand to accommodate different finger sizes. I can’t build something that sacrifices dexterity or fine control.”

Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling to articulate words. Was she really being critical of something this amazing?

“… how have you done this?” he finally forced out. Izuku was so shaken by what the other teen had casually revealed that he didn’t even stutter. It was like dealing with Mei all over again.

“Hard work,” the blonde replied, still turning Izuku’s hand this way and that, examining how it fit. “Dedication. Late nights, and a whole lot of trial and error. I can’t claim all the credit, I’m standing on the shoulders of giants. Papa did decades worth of research into cutting edge materials science, looking for ways to build costumes and tools that Uncle Might couldn’t break.”

She turned Izuku’s hand over and began tracing lines on the palm of the armor, checking for the presence of some defect that the young man couldn’t fathom. “He came close several times. To making something that uncle couldn’t break, I mean. But there was always something else that would get in the way, something more urgent would come up and the project would get shelved. And uncle never really seemed to need armor anyway. Over time, papa put things off more and more, until eventually I think everyone just accepted that the idea wasn’t necessary. It didn’t have to happen. No sense wasting more time on it.”

“But even so-!” Izuku exclaimed, some of the stammer returning. “B-Building something that All Might can’t break, that’s an amazing feat!”

But Melissa shook her head. “It’s not as amazing as you think,” she said softly, still examining the transformed gauntlet. “As I said, papa came close several times to making different materials Uncle Might could use. I have access to all of his notes, including the things under Might Agency copyright. It’s a unique opportunity no one else would have. I can’t take credit for that.”

Izuku barely stifled what felt like a hysterical giggle.

Melissa Shield had built what amounted to a working rocket ship out of balsa wood. And she thought it didn’t matter because she had access to some notes.

This really was like dealing with Mei all over again.

“It’s also not completely up to specs anyway,” the inventor confessed, finally letting Izuku’s armored hand go. “This version can’t survive more than one, maybe two shots of something comparable to uncle’s full power.”

“That’s still amazing, though!” Izuku protested, starting to get over his own shock.

“It’s not amazing, it’s strategic,” the blonde inventor corrected, shaking her head. “I think- no, I know I’ll have enough time to finish my project if I really devote myself to it. But even though I have time, I still have to prioritize what’s important. There are two parts to this, the armor design itself and getting the materials up to specs. I need at least one working part of the armor set, so I’m focusing on resolving the engineering side of things right now. Once I have a single working gauntlet, I can move on from there. So I’m using these inferior materials for now.”

This time, Izuku really did giggle slightly, though the girl across from him was so engrossed that she didn’t seem to notice.

Inferior materials, she said. Smart matter that could take a punch from All Might was ‘inferior.’

Melissa swallowed. And now they had come to the part that mattered most. What she was afraid of.

It was selfish of her. She had no right to ask him like this. But it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Her father would tell her that anything she made was amazing, so asking him was pointless. And showing this to other students in I-Academy was out of the question. Most of them had put her down for not having a quirk at one point or another, and even if they hadn’t, many might steal her designs for themselves. The Academy could be just as ruthless as any top hero school, even if it’s primary focus lay elsewhere. In a whole city run by patents and business interests, protecting what you created was a top priority. Students got private workshops and personal labs for a reason.

But Izuku Midoriya was an outsider. He had no bias, no reason to support or dismiss anything she showed him. He wouldn’t steal her work or insult her. He-

He was quirkless.

He was quirkless, just like her.

He was the first quirkless person her own age she had ever met. With the trends in society being what they were, he might be the only quirkless her age that she ever got to meet.

In this day and age, normalcy, genetic or otherwise, was nearly extinct.

Even if he had no interest in heroes or heroics at all, she would have been curious. Even if he had been a normal intellect with normal tastes and interests like everybody else, she would have been tempted to ask.

But even a blind man could see that Izuku was an analytical prodigy. And he was quirkless.

If he had been born on the island instead of some random downtown neighborhood in Japan, he would already be seen as a rising star, quirk or no quirk. It was almost a crime that he was going to UA for heroics. A pointless waste.

Using Izuku like this was selfish. It felt like cheating the system. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was taking advantage of him, doing this.

But she had to know. She had to.

“I’ve seen some of your notes on hero equipment,” she said carefully, a note of hesitation in her voice. “And the strategies you’ve written down for dealing with villains and disasters. I want you to tell me what your real, honest opinion is on my project. I want to know what you think.”

Izuku didn’t even know where to begin.

Dozens of questions that he wanted to asked spun through his head, each competing with the others. The Izuku from three months ago certainly would have started muttering by now.

But instead, memories of Gran Torino and All Might rose up, and he could almost hear the two older heroes speaking as they trained him.

He had been brought here to make connections. Melissa Shield, she had- she had asked for him to bring his books on hero gear, hadn’t she?

She wanted a real critique. Something with substance. Not just fanboy gushing or playing 20 questions.

Slowly, the hurricane of jumbled thoughts and half-formed ideas inside of him subsided. He knew what he needed to say.

“This design of yours seems to primarily be two parts,” the teenager said softly, looking up from the armored glove to the girl across from him. “The armor itself, as a design, and the choice to compose it out of smart matter. Would you agree?”

Melissa blinked, before nodding slowly. “Yes, I’d say that’s right.”

Izuku looked back down at his hand, slowly opening and closing his fist and watching the woven metal move and bend freely.

“Can you tell me why you decided to do both of those things together?” Izuku asked softly. “I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know much about I-Academy’s standards. But anyone can see how either one of those things would be an amazing invention on it’s own. What made you decide to marry them together?”

Hope, she wanted to say. Fear, and desperation, and the unwillingness to let go. I dreamed of being a superhero. Of flying through the sky and saving the day with a smile. It hurt too much, to bury the dream. So I cannibalized what was left, so at least some part of it would see the light of day. I wasn’t strong enough to kill my dream… so I made this instead.

“I’m David Shield’s daughter,” she lied smoothly. “People always expect greater things from me than other people because of that, so I came up with the idea as a way to surpass to those expectations. Something less than this may not get taken seriously.”

All her life, she had been judged by either who her parents were, or by her own lack of a quirk.

Cognitive dissonance. That was the word used to describe holding two conflicting opinions or beliefs simultaneously, while ignoring the contradiction they created.

Almost without exception, everyone Melissa had ever known had both higher expectations of her because of who her father was… and also treated her like she was something fragile, something lesser. Like she was made of glass. All because she didn’t have a quirk.

Melissa Shield had lived the dual life of having everything she did judged harshly against the standards of what her father had accomplished, while also being looked down upon, however subtlety and unintentionally, by nearly everyone she had ever met.

So this lie fell easily from her lips. Because it wasn’t actually a lie. Just an omission of how she really felt. A lot of words, to hide a simple truth.

I couldn’t bare to kill my dream.

Izuku stared at the fingerless glove contemplatively, flexing his fingers and watching the woven mesh of metals roll with his knuckles.

“And what’s your goal, with this?” he asked. “What are you trying to accomplish? No offense, but All Might doesn’t really seem to need or want armor. He’s famous for never using support gear. And he’s probably going to be retiring soon anyway. What is your objective? What are you trying to do?”

Melissa closed her eyes and swallowed. Somehow, without noticing or realizing he had been lied to at all, Izuku had put a finger squarely on the heart of the problem.

The armor was never meant for Uncle Might, she wanted to say. It was for me.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say that it was for people like Izuku and herself, who could never do anything worthwhile otherwise.

Making armor for Uncle Might was my father’s goal, not my own. What I wanted was something that could make a quirkless into a superhero. This was it. The skeleton of a design that could withstand an impact that could level a city block. That could have gadgets and weapons incorporated directly into a modular, shape-shifting whole. Super speed, super strength, flight, and more. It was a flexible, adaptable armor platform that wouldn’t lose to any modern quirk.

It’s not armor for Uncle Might. It’s a tool to grant a quirkless their wish. To fly high, with the parade of spirits and angels that lead the way on the television screen. To taste the winds of glory. To climb the stairway to heaven, with wings that will never fade.

To cast defiance in the face of Icarus’s doom.

I made it back when I still believed in fairy tales. When I still believed that I could be anything I wanted to be if I put my mind to it. When I still believed that a quirkless could become a hero.

Then I grew up.

She knew what she wanted to tell Izuku.

But her heart was frozen, just like her mother’s. She was stuck on the bloody slopes of the spiritual mountain she had climbed to get this far, its peaks a towering pile of disappointments and self-recriminations that reached the skies.

She was locked away in the ice of that mountain. Frozen in time like Elenore Shield, stopped forever, the point of impact the paperwork declaring her genetic normalcy. A force of nature too strong to defy, a power no different than what killed the dreams of a Deku and a Kacchan.

She knew what she wanted to tell Izuku.

But she wasn’t that strong.

“It’s a design that will let me finish what my father started. He could never create an armor that All Might could wear and use his full power in. But when this design is done, I will have.”

It sounded so arrogant. She hated it. There was a fraction of hesitation, then a half-truth. “It’s not a pattern that was meant for any hero in particular. I’m building off of aspects of papa’s research… but this isn’t really about All Might to me. It never was. From the start, I wanted it to be a tool that anyone could use.”

Even a quirkless.

“That’s why the design is the way that it is,” she said, shame welling up as she tried to cover for her earlier words. “Papa tried to make armor for Uncle Might. But he never really wanted it. But I don’t see why only Uncle Might should have amazing armor. Every hero should.”

She swallowed. “If every hero had armor like the designs my father tried to create… fewer heroes would get hurt in the line of duty.”

If these armors had been real, and had been designed twenty years earlier, my mother might still be with us.

But she couldn’t say that out-loud, not even to Izuku. It was far too painful. How much did it hurt her father, to know that the armor patterns he never finished might have saved mama? Saved their family? ‘Strong enough to withstand a blow that could level a city block.’

Or a shot fired from a railgun.

She had never dared to ask, she would never dream of asking. But it had to haunt him. She knew it did.

He was in so much pain, but showed so little of it.

And here she was, with her frankensteinian creation. Pathetically wallowing in her own guilt and fear, unable to even speak her mind aloud. An armor built for nobody, a weapon never intended to be drawn or used. A lifetime project that served no purpose. A dead dream she held on life support.

Like father, like daughter.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel the tears welling up behind them, burning and wet.

‘I’m such a coward,’ she thought to herself.

“I think it’s really brave,” Izuku said. His words were soft, but the blonde recoiled from them like she had been slapped.

“I- you- …what?”

‘You think it’s brave?’

“Absolutely,” Izuku said. This time, it was Melissa’s turn to flush and she realized she had muttered that part out-loud.

But Izuku wasn’t paying enough attention to the blonde girl to notice.

“There’s one thing that all hero gear has in common, and it’s that they share nothing in common,” Izuku explained. “All hero gear is completely custom made, tailored to the hero who uses it. It has to be.”

A far-away look appeared in the young man’s eyes.

“Heroes start out as students. They go to a heroics school, and the school tests their quirks and then outfits them with custom made uniforms and equipment. Almost always, it’s made by other students in the Support departments, working in Engineering or Costumes. Students learning their own future trades by helping other students. Then they graduate, and use what they’ve experienced and learned to make more refined requests from professional support companies, who manufacture costumes and gadgets on-demand for pro heroes to use.”

Some of the softness was fading from Izuku’s voice, his tone become a brighter and more insistent.

“That’s why they don’t have anything in common. From the very beginning, all hero gear is custom made and set on divergent paths. Some people need to be protected from fire, while others have to burn for their quirk to work. Some heroes need a costume that shields them from physical harm, while others are at a greater danger of their own quirk malfunctioning than anything else. Some heroes are loaded up with gadgets and tools, while others, like All Might, barely use anything at all. That’s just how it is. That’s the logic everyone uses. But you…”

Izuku lifted his red, metallic hand up and turned it this way and that in the light, marveling at it.

“This armor is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. Nobody has ever tried, nobody even dared to imagine, the concept of a universal hero armor. It’s against everything conventional wisdom says should be done. Realistically, it shouldn’t be possible. It would be a logistical nightmare to even try. I mean, not everyone these days is even born with the same number of limbs. How on earth would you make a one-size-fits-all hero armor? Who could you even market it to? Armor made for everybody is made for nobody.”

Izuku clenched his fist, watching the metal bands bulge seamlessly with his knuckles.

“But with smart matter… with smart matter, it’s actually possible.”

He didn’t notice the blonde’s reaction to his words, his bright and curious eyes fixed on the armored glove covering his hand.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Melissa said, looking down at her own hands. “None of this would be possible without papa, or even Uncle Might. Like I said, I’m standing on the shoulders of giants. Most of this isn’t even my work. It’s borrowed research.”

But Izuku shook his head.

“I think your design is really brave because you’re dreaming bigger than your father or All Might ever did. This is more than one great hero for every problem; it’s a great design that uplifts all heroes. I don’t know everything Dr. Shield worked on over the years, but even if he’d had the time to finish every project he ever started… he never could have made something like this. This is so completely different from anything he’s ever created, there’s absolutely no doubt that it’s your design, not his.”

Izuku smiled as he stretched his fingers wide, his knuckles glinting in the light. “There’s no doubt about who the credit for this should go to, Melissa. This one is yours all the way.”

Izuku was staring at the glove on his hand. Melissa was staring at her lap. Neither was looking at the other, but even if their eyes were far away, the words they spoke felt close.

The green-haired teen turned to face Melissa, his eye’s sparkling.

“This armor- it’s daring to do something no one has ever tried before. You could have used all of this just to make better smart matter, and you’d have been set for life as an inventor. But you weren’t content with that. Not only did you invent this new technology, but you’re already pushing it to the limits of what it can do. You’re already looking at the edge of what’s possible, you’re already trying to go even further. That’s why it’s brave. This is your idea, Melissa, it’s your invention. And I think it’s going to get you full marks in your final year.”

The blonde’s fingers twisted in her lap, as something that felt like guilt gnawed away at her. She had been right. It had been a mistake, to use Izuku like this. She had lied to him, exploited him, and now he was trying to give her more credit than she deserved.

She looked up at the boy sitting next to her, and opened her mouth. But whatever she had been about to say died on her lips when Izuku spoke first, a bright and shining smile on his face.

“And I’m sorry that you’ve decided to become a support tech. Because I think you would have made an amazing hero!”

Time stopped for Melissa Shield.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

He-

“You-”

He thought…

“-but I don’t have a quirk,” she whispered.

Izuku looked at her for a long moment.

“Enough, Kacchan!” Izuku cried. He stood between Bakugo and another 5-year old on the playground. “You already made him cry, stop it! I won’t let you do anymore!”

Izuku’s hands were shaking in fear, tears running down his cheeks. His knees wobbled uncontrollably. But still, he held his ground.

Two of the neighborhood bullies were there, a kid with long fingers whose father worked for the police, and Dr. Tsubasa’s grandson, a short chubby boy with large draconic wings that let him float.

But today, a third child had joined them.

A tough fist slammed into an unforgiving palm, causing a loud bang and a plume of dramatic smoke.

“So, Deku the quirkless wonder thinks he can play hero, huh? Haven’t you learned yet?”

“People… are not born equal,” Izuku said softly. “That’s the hard truth I learned at the age of four.”

He smiled. “But that was my first, and last, setback.”

It’s the gutted skeleton of something that could have made a quirkless person into a hero, back when I believed in fairy tales.

Of course. That’s right. How could she have forgotten? Izuku, he-

He was trying to be a hero. He didn’t have a quirk, just like her. And he was trying to be a hero. That’s literally why he was here, it’s what he came to I-Island for. How had she gone this long without connecting those dots?

It was my everything. But then I grew up. I moved on. I accepted reality.

Izuku didn’t have a quirk. But he was still trying, he was fighting tooth and nail to be a hero. And he- he thought that she-

She had accepted it. She had accepted that she would never be good enough, had compartmentalized it up and put it away. She could never be a hero. She was just too unlucky.

She had thought she was over it. She had thought it couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Blood and birth. One could call that fate, in a way. Izuku’s permission slip that was placed down on the teacher’s desk with all the finality of a casket closing, ruining a childhood friendship and burying a matching set of dreams. The diagnosis that confirmed that Melissa Shield would never be her mother, that she could never stand with Uncle Might or Star and Stripe among the clouds with the other angels.

It was a force of nature, sent from above. Too strong to defy.

But Toshinori Yagi didn’t believe in a world where heroes couldn’t fight fate.

And neither did Midoriya Izuku.

“I think you would have made an amazing hero!”

Far up the slopes of that bloody mountain, the impenetrable ice that had scarred over Melissa Shield’s heart cracked.

She put a hand over her mouth, holding in a sob, and hot, bright tears began to pour down her face. She screwed her eyes shut and grabbed Izuku’s arm, burying her face in his shoulder as she cried.

The teenage boy froze in a mixture of shock and fear, horrified that he had done something wrong.

But then Izuku remembered.

He was running. Ducking the heroes, twenty yards past the police line before he even realized he was moving.

Desperate red eyes looked back at him from a swirling mass of living slime. Bakugo, Kacchan, reaching out with a hand. Begging to be saved by someone. Anyone.

“Deku- why!?”

Tears had streamed down Izuku’s own face as he pulled his oldest friend and most recent bully free.

“You just- you looked like you needed saving!”

An explosion of wind and force as All Might arrived. The slime villain was blown away with a single punch, splattered across the street and up into the sky.

All Might was there, invincible as always. Smiling, like always.

Izuku remembered being scolded by the heroes. From the moment they found out he was quirkless, they gave him a hard time. While Bakugo was praised for having an amazing quirk.

Izuku remembered walking home. The sun setting behind him, painting the street in red and orange fire. The shadows were purple, and even though his spirits were low, he felt fulfilled. He had done the right thing, and that was all that mattered.

He remembered thinking that maybe it was time to finally give up on his dream.

“All Might!? Why are you here?”

“Kid. I’ve come to thank you. And… to revise what I said earlier. I also have a proposal. Without you, if I hadn’t heard your story… I’d have been nothing but fake muscles and insincerity! So thank you!”

Of course. Izuku had forgotten. Melissa was just like him, wasn’t she? And that means-

“Most of the top heroes show signs of greatness even as children. Many of them claim that their bodies simply moved before they could think. That’s what happened to you back there, yes?”

Young man. You CAN become a hero.

Carefully, Izuku reached out and put his free hand on her shoulder, even as she buried her own face into his. He was terrified of touching her somewhere inappropriate, but… comforting her felt right. Like it something he needed to do.

“It was All Might,” he said softly. “He was the first person to ever… he was the first person who said I could do it.”

Melissa made a choking sound into Izuku’s shirt, halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“That- that sounds like him.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Izuku confessed. “I didn’t realize- I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry for making you cry.”

“You’re didn’t,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You- you didn’t upset me. I promise.”

“Was I… ?”

“Yes,” she confirmed softly. “You’re the first.”

The green-haired child, four years old and just getting ready to go to his checkup for his quirk. Where else would he be but sitting in front of the computer, watching reruns of old All Might fights?

“Never fear!” the monitor announced in All Might’s booming voice. “Why? Because I am here!”

“He’s so cool!” Izuku squealed gleefully. “When I get my quirk, I wanna be just like him!” Inko, younger and slimmer, smiled as she wiped her hands down on her apron. It was time for them to go to the hospital and get Izuku looked at for his quirk.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen,” Dr. Tsubasa said, leaning back in his chair. Izuku dropped his favorite All Might action figure to the ground in shock.

"Doctor!" Inko exclaimed. "Do you mean there's something wrong? Every other child at his kindergarden has manifested, but Izuku still hasn't. Is there a problem with his quirk?"

Dr. Tsubasa folded his heavy, square fingers together. "I'm sorry ma'am, please remind me. You're fourth generation, correct? Your quirk, I mean."

"Yes, of course," the housewife confirmed, levitating Izuku's dropped action figure off the ground and drawing it into her hand. "But I just dabble from time to time. My power is attracting small objects, and my husband breathes fire."

The doctor nodded, and then gestured at an x-ray hanging on a backlit board. The image contained a picture of Izuku’s foot, the bones all clearly visible. "In 99% of all cases, if you have a quirk, it will manifest by the age of 4. That's the trend these days. The exceptions are if it's an odd or extremely complex quirk. But look here," he said, tapping the board with his knuckle.

"According to research conducted since the Dawn of Quirks, quirks have a strong tendency to overwrite and 'optimize' the human body when they happen. There are certain things that tend to disappear, and minor details of the human form that get changed. A different, and more optimal pattern of seams in the skull plates as they grow and fuse together in infants. The appendix becomes tucked into the intestines, a simpler design that is less prone to infection but still cultivates gut bacteria. And, most importantly, the third joint of the pinky toe vanishes, streamlining the profile of the foot. It’s the most important one, because it is the easiest to check for, and the most reliable detail that changes.”

He shifted in his seat slightly. “In the medical community, we refer to this modified human form as the deviant mold, while the baseline human is called the standard mold.”

The heavy-set doctor turned to the mother and son duo, adjusting his bulky glasses. “Both of you have a non-standard hair color, green, that exists outside of the natural spectrum of pigmentation for humans. That’s a tertiary mutation that affects the body, which means anyone in your family should show some of these deviant mold characteristics. For your son to possess green hair, but still have all of the signs of a standard mold, including the full joints in his little toe, can only mean one thing; he’s quirkless. I’m sorry, but there’s just no other way around it.”

He was the first. He was… he was the first.

Izuku closed his eyes in pain, remembering the words his own mother had told him so many years ago. The words she had said when they had returned from that doctor’s appointment.

Night had fallen over Musutafu. There was a slow, steady patter of rain on the asphalt. 4 year old Izuku watched the computer screen with bleary, desperate eyes. He had been there ever since they had returned from the hospital.

The loud, somewhat tinny sound of All Might fighting a villan could be clearly heard through the screen. "He's laughing!" the person recording the footage yelled in disbelief, as All Might effortlessly coralled the criminal with a star-bright grin on his face.

"Mom, look," Izuku whispered. "No matter where people in trouble are, he goes and saves them with a smile. Because he- because he's a super awesome hero."

Izuku turned to look at his mother standing in the doorway of the computer room, his eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"D-Do you think I could become one too?"

Midoriya Inko collapsed to her knees, tears running down her own cheeks, and she hugged Izuku from behind while he was still sitting in the chair.

"I'm sorry, Izuku! I am so, so sorry..."

‘No, mom,’ Izuku thought to himself. ‘That’s not what I wanted to hear. Even if you didn’t think it was true, even if it was just a lie for my sake, don’t you see? What I needed to hear was…’

Young man. You CAN become a hero.

I’m sorry that you’ve decided to become a support tech. Because I think you would have made an amazing hero!

‘What we both needed to hear… was yes. Of course you can become a hero.’

All Might had been the first person to ever truly believe in his dream. Of becoming a hero in spite of his quirklessness.

And he- without realizing it, he had been Melissa’s first, too.

Which means David Shield must have been similar to his own mother. He couldn’t bring himself to lie for his daughter’s sake. Not when he worked alongside heroes like All Might every single day. Not when he had seen the scope of the powers and violence at play.

Izuku couldn’t be mad. He couldn’t hate his own mother, and he couldn’t resent Dr. Shield, either, even if there was a part of him that wanted to.

It was a world of quirks. A new age, chaotic and beautiful, built on the backs of superhumanity.

It was a world where bank robbers could knock over skyscrapers. Where the powers you were born with determined your career. It was a world where superheroes flew through the sky, capes fluttering in the breeze.

If you were born quirkless, if you were the ‘standard mold’… what could you do?

Izuku stopped hesitating. He pulled Melissa into a full hug, uncaring of the consequences, and held her in his arms.

She clung to him, still crying silently. They sat there for a long, timeless moment. Each understanding the other without needing to speak. Both healing, just a little bit, from the vulnerability they had shared.

And then, out of nowhere, she was struck by lightning. She realized it.

Izuku was trying to become a hero. Even though he didn’t have a quirk.

Making armor for Uncle Might was my father’s goal, not my own. What I wanted was something that could make a quirkless into a superhero.

It’s not armor for Uncle Might. It’s a tool to grant a quirkless their wish.

Her armor… even if she didn’t care to try and be a hero anymore, her armor still, theoretically, could do it. It could give a quirkless the strength to compete with modern quirks.

She could give her armor to Izuku. Her dream could live on, in him.

She clenched her fingers into the palms of her hands, and leaned back, breaking their embrace so she could look him in the eyes. This was- this was important, this was groundbreaking, she had to make the proposal to him. If he agreed- if she could finish her finals project, then the sky would be the limit. The two of them could work together, they might really be able to-

“Miss Shield, I hate to be a bother, but there is someone at the door asking to be let in.”

The two teens jumped away from each other like they had been scalded. Melissa wiped her tears away and straightened her skirt, while Izuku scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. Neither teen could look at the other, both pointedly avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Ah, um, yes,” Melissa said, clearing her throat. She didn’t know who it could be, she wasn’t expecting any visitors. But they couldn’t have gotten to her door in the first place unless they had the clearance to be there. “Go ahead and buzz them in, Darby, thank you.”

Melissa’s first guess is that it was her father, paying the two of them a visit.

She was half right.

The door hissed open, briefly showing the hallway outside. And then a rather plain and ordinary looking man stepped through.

He was a bit taller than average, standing somewhere vaguely around six feet, perhaps more. He had an average build with broad shoulders, and wore a charcoal-colored business suit with a striped blue tie. Dark brown hair with just a hint of aging silver was trimmed short and combed back in a clean, professional style. Clever slate-grey eyes observed the world from behind large, square-framed glasses, and a rectangular, neatly trimmed mustache sat comfortably above his mouth.

All-in-all, the man standing in front of the teens could have blended in with any group of businessmen on the planet, vanishing completely into the crowd. Only his bright, calculating eyes gave him away as something more than your typical office drone.

“D-Dad?”

Midoriya Hisashi smiled, and hefted a large paper bag.

“Hey son. I brought lunch, for all of us. Care to eat it with your old man?”

“DAD!” Izuku yelled, jumping out his chair and wrapping the man in a full-body hug.

The businessman laughed, and tousled the teen’s already messy green hair with his free hand.

“Merry Christmas, son. And happy New Year. And happy Easter. I didn’t miss your birthday, though.”

Melissa giggled, and Izuku laughed into his father’s blazer. He breathed in deeply, and could smell the special brand of cologne his father always used. “You didn’t miss any of those things, dad. You were there for all of them.”

“Was I?” Hisashi said in a teasing tone. “Well, it’s good to know I hit all the important dates.” He looked across at the blond teen sitting on the other side of the worktable. “Do you mind if I come in, Ms. Shield?”

The blonde inventors eyes were drawn to the paper bag, and she suddenly realized that it was now well past lunch and she was absolutely starving.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, please come in!” she said cheerfully. “And please, call me Melissa. I assume you’re Mr. Midoriya?”

“That’s right,” Hisashi confirmed as he stepped fully inside, the metal doors of the lab sliding shut behind him. “I was actually just in a business meeting with your father, and he asked if I would be willing to bring the two of you lunch. I had already made arrangements to meet the both of you at lunch tomorrow, but I certainly don’t mind spending more time with my son.”

Izuku released his hug and stepped back from his father with a frown. “We were going to meet tomorrow for lunch?”

“I hadn’t gotten around to contacting you yet,” the businessman explained. “I was too busy approving the clearance of the documents you’ll be looking over.”

Both teens blinked at that.

“Documents?” Izuku said, bewildered.

“What documents?” Melissa asked, mirroring Izuku.

Hisashi smirked slightly. “Really, son? You’re playing in the big leagues now, you need to remember your own appointments and consultation deals. Can you really not think of any reason why the Freedom Rings Agency would want to contact you?”

The eyes of both teens widened, but for different reasons. They both spoke at the same time.

“Wait, Freedom Rings? That’s Star and Stripe’s-” “Oh gosh, I forgot! She wanted me to analyze her quirk!”

Melissa’s head snapped over to Izuku so fast Hisashi was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. “Star and Stripe wanted you to what?”

Hisashi grinned, clearly enjoying the byplay. “Oh my, were you not there for that part of the conversation? I know the two of you met her the other day. Yes, Ms. Bates expressed an interest in having her quirk analyzed in an official capacity by my son. And she was very serious about it, too. Those documents are classified, but the paperwork to release a copy has already been filed. That’s what I just finished doing. I was going to call you after I got out of my meeting, but since David wanted me to pick you both up some lunch on his tab, I decided to just tell you in person instead.”

Melissa had started vibrating again, unable to contain her excitement. “Star and Stripe’s quirk! This is Star and Stripe’s quirk! Izuku, I can’t believe it!” She grabbed the other teen’s arm, “Please, can I watch? I’m her biggest fan, I have to be there!” Then her eyes suddenly widened in horror. “Wait, you said it’s classified, right? Oh no.”

“For whatever reason,” Hisashi said teasingly, his tone lofty, “Ms. Bates seemed to believe there would be another party who would want to participate in the analysis.” Hisashi smiled again, a bit more gently this time. “Yes, you were cleared for this too, Melissa. Ms. Bates specifically requested it. You’ll have to sign a legal waiver, both of you will actually, but you’ve been given permission to look over the data.”

Melissa squealed in unashamed glee, and began talking at a mile a minute, rattling off everything she knew about her idol’s abilities. Midoriya Hisashi smiled at the scene, and sat the paper bag down before pulling out the food and distributing it across the table.

And as the three of them chatted about quirks and American superheroes, all thoughts Melissa had of asking Izuku to adopt her hero armor and work with her to become a top 10 quirkless pro were pushed away to the back of her mind.

Nezu sipped at his cup of tea and sighed as he felt some of the tightly wound tension from his long day begin to leave his body. Being after hours at UA, the lights were off throughout most of the school. He was currently relaxing in his office. The mostly decorative electric fireplace on the wall was crackling merrily, spilling deep waves of shadow and light throughout the room, and a cleverly disguised audio system was projecting a soft, meandering piano concerto paired with the muted sounds of a rainy thunderstorm.

As he had just finished some rather annoying and unnecessarily drawn out negotiations with the HPSC and the Japanese government regarding the funding for the next school year, Nezu had chosen to indulge in a rather fancy gen mai cha. The mixture of green tea leaves and popped brown rice kernels had a wonderful balance, with the savory, toasted notes of the rice balancing out the bitter flavor of the leaves. It had a superb umami, almost smokey, with a full body and a clean finish that didn’t linger unpleasantly like some green teas.

It was much more traditionally Japanese than the Britannian and Australian black teas he normally drank, but variety was the spice of life. Toasted rice in tea, what would the humans think of next?

Nezu sighed in contentment, one claw tapping idly against the printed sheaf of papers in front of him. It was Midoriya Izuku’s analysis of him. The quirked animal and had run another copy of it off for himself, having signed the original with the intention of returning it personally to it’s creator. He kept coming back to the analysis in his idle time, leafing through the pages and admiring all the different moving parts that had come together to create it.

To think, a child like this had been running around without a quirk in Musutafu for years, and no one had known. On some level, Nezu was a bit upset that no heroes had taken notice of the boy before now. Half the point of local heroes working as boots on the ground was for them to scout and mentor hero talent in the youth, and pass them on further up the chain when they were ready.

That was, in fact, exactly how admission to UA’s Hero Track had operated for decades. Former graduates working in the field, putting forward the names of mentored youths as recommendations worthy of taking their previous seat at the institution. Only public complaints about elitism prompted a change in admissions policy, which resulted in the creation of a second, generalized entrance exam that was open to all-comers.

It rankled, for Midoriya to have been overlooked by a small army of people whose jobs were, at least in part, to find children and teens exactly like him.

But by the same token, it was also gratifying to know that as much as the heroes operating in the area had missed Midoriya, so too had any villains or elements of organized crime. As a quirkless child living alone with his mother, Midoriya would have been easy pickings for coercion, manipulation, or forced compliance.

Besides, hindsight was 20/20. It was one thing for people to miss a flashy quirk, but intelligence was a far more subtle trait. Especially intelligence that was not quirked in nature. So it was perhaps understandable that the young man had flown so far below everyone’s radar.

Had Midoriya possessed an intelligence boosting mutation of some sort, he certainly would have suffered from far more attention being placed on him, and not all of it good. Watching eyes would have been judging his potential from the shadows, wanting to know exactly how potent of a genius his superpower made him. Individuals with superintelligence were often singled out early by the various government bodies of the world as potential recruits to their own organizations. It played a significant role in the relative rarity of super-geniuses in the heroics industry. Hospitals and private medical groups poached almost everyone with healing quirks, while the government tended to take the super-geniuses for themselves.

Certainly, it was for the best that the Japanese Hero Public Safety Commission had never gotten their hands on the young man. In the end, the mundane nature of his intelligence and the anonymity that came with it had likely been Midoriya’s salvation.

Nezu would know, after all. The lab that he had been born in never had any intention of letting him go. Not after they realized what he was. His freedom had been hard fought, and the battle hadn’t ended after he escaped captivity. It had simply moved up to a higher level. Primarily lawfare and politically motivated bureaucratic obfuscation, though there was still the occasional assassination attempt.

And if nobody could ever prove that the tragic deaths of most of the lab personnel and several government sanctioned assassins were anything besides accidents, then that was entirely somebody else’s problem, and had nothing whatsoever to do with Nezu.

The quirked animal delicately leafed through the printed document in front of him, displaying a gentleness that would have made an onlooker believe he was handling some ancient tome or crumbling artifact. He paused on the list of heroes Midoriya had chosen as his selected roster, and glanced through it for the umpteenth time.

Sorahiko Torino really did know how to push his buttons. Imagine sending something like this in for him to see, and then putting Midoriya on a plane and spending the better part of the next week in the middle of the Pacific.

Nezu had half a mind to show up on I-Island, even though he had never been granted the clearance to visit. It might be an interesting challenge.

Or perhaps not. After all, while he wouldn’t mind the consequences of such a caper, he couldn’t say the same for a number of his employees. A few of them might be upset. Still, breaking into I-Island! A puzzle for another day.

The principle of the finest hero school in the world was not perusing the analysis of himself idly. There was a curiosity inside of Nezu that the intelligent animal couldn’t quell. A burning question that smoldered and irritated like a dry, obnoxious itch he couldn’t scratch. He wanted an answer, but getting that answer was risky. Yet as time wore on, he felt more and more like the risk was worth it.

Nezu flipped the analysis in front of him shut before setting his teacup down and slowly closing his eyes. He couldn’t think about the individual, step-by-step problems in the strategy Midoriya had created, because a maximized High Spec would simply destroy them. He wanted to savor puzzling through the issues that had been raised and devising his own solutions. It was simply no fun, otherwise.

But there was a broad, overarching question that he wanted an answer to, and as long as he was careful to control his line of thinking, he should be able to get the answer he needed without spoiling everything else for himself.

Slowly, carefully, Nezu ratcheted up through his gears, shifting higher and higher while keeping his mind carefully blank and holding himself very, very still.

The stillness was important. High Spec had a physical component to it as well, he could increase the specs of his own body just as well as he could his own mind. At lower levels, it was easy to keep the two aspects separate, but at higher gears, High Spec strained against him. The quirk wanted to fire on all cylinders, it wanted to empower him both mentally and physically. But Nezu kept a leash on his quirk, raising up the threshold of his mental capacity while keeping his physical state as low and even as possible. He resisted the impulse to make strong movements, to slam his foot down or slap his hand against his desk. He resisted lashing out.

This was a very nice desk, after all. It would be a shame to destroy it.

Finally, his last mental gear clicked into place, and Nezu was operating at the maximum mental capacity he could achieve safely. He could push further than this, overclocking was possible both physically and mentally. But he risked destroying his body and causing permanent nerve damage if he exceeded this threshold.

Slowly, Nezu opened his eyes, and looked at the header page of the analysis without actually seeing it. His mind and his thoughts were a hundred miles away, whirling and spinning in an intricate hurricane of interlocking gears and moving parts.

Nezu believed he had guessed the answer already, but he needed to be certain. Setting the report aside, setting the entire strategy the boy had concocted aside… what was the best way to beat Midoriya in a realistic scenario?

The answer was immediate and simple.

Kill him.

Remove Midoriya before he could ever be recruited by the HPSC to conduct such an operation. Take him off the board entirely. Any contest against Midoriya, especially as he grew older and more experienced, carried inherent risk. The threat he posed could never be fully reduced down to 0%. To even face him at all was a gamble, and no matter how much the scenario was stacked against the young human, the odds never dropped down to what the highest levels of Nezu’s ruthless, analytical mind considered acceptable.

The only 100%, sure-fire way to win against Midoriya Izuku was to prevent him from ever sitting down at the table as a player in the first place. A war with Midoriya playing the part of the enemy strategist would always be a game of Russian Roulette at best. Ideally, he should be removed from the game before it ever started. As a compromise, he should be manipulated into always being a mere pawn on the board.

Nezu sighed as he slowly lowered himself back down from the dizzying heights of a maximized High Spec.

The answer he had received was the one he had been expecting. But he had wanted, no, he had needed to be sure.

The animal man picked up his still warm cup of tea and sipped at it, rolling the smoky, medicinal notes across his tongue. Bach’s keyboard concerto in D minor ambled quietly in the background, the piano blending together with the artificial patter of rain.

Without One For All at his disposal, Midoriya Izuku could have been a hero. The Sir Nighteye of his generation. Though it almost felt like a waste, when he could have just as easily been positioned as the principal of his own hero school, the CEO of an international consulting and analytics agency, or even as the future leader of the Japanese HPSC.

What a coup that last possibility would have been!

With One For All, Midoriya Izuku would be, at least superficially, nigh unassailable. The brute strength and might of an apex superman, married to a top-class intellect that, while not sharing the extreme heights that many quirk-based geniuses could achieve, was also not confined to the limitations of quirk-based intelligence either. Natural genius could not be canceled or stolen, nor was it’s usage conditional or based on some sort of fuel. Even if a One For All Midoriya, for whatever reason, did not pursue a career in heroics, his mere presence in Japan as a police officer or a high ranking member of the government would be a massive threat deterrent. To the average observer, attempting to fight a 30 or 40 year old One For All Midoriya in his prime would be suicidal, even if you brought an army.

But nigh unassailable isn’t the same as invincible. Nezu could see the flaws that others could not. And quite frankly, a Russian Roulette wasn’t good enough.

After all, one-in-six odds to lose may be unacceptable to Nezu’s High Spec, but one-in-six odds to win wasn’t exactly stellar from Midoriya’s perspective, either. There was substantial room for improvement. What would Midoriya do, if one day he had to fight a villain that was Nezu’s equal? Accept the one-in-six odds? Gamble on the long shot? No. No, that was unacceptable.

The question Nezu had wanted to know, is how would an intelligent enemy of Midoriya Izuku deal with him?

Kill him now. Get rid of him early. Don’t allow him to grow and mature. It was the only sure-fire way.

The answer hadn’t surprised Nezu, but he had needed to be sure.

The principle of UA smiled, his sharp ivory teeth glinting in the firelight.

Yes. As he had thought, his initial decision was the correct one after all.

He was going to teach that boy.

Oh, what fun they were going to have together!

Izuku sat on the couch in the Shield’s high-end executive apartment, half-buried in a swamp of blankets and pillows. Melissa Shield was next to him, bundled up into her own wad of tartan fleece and fluffy faux-fur. Outside, the moon shone bright over the Pacific, a waxing gibbous disk among an ocean of stars.

A bowl of snacks sat nearby on a low glass coffee table, but it was largely being ignored. The eyes of both teens were glued to the giant plasma screen embedded in the wall of the living room.

It was footage from about eight years ago, during one of the last hero tours All Might did in America. He had teamed up with several high profile American heroes at various points in the tour, and the footage of those joint fights and rescues was still held up by many hero aficionados as the pinnacle of the modern hero age. The merch that had been created and the autographs that had been signed during that tour were also some of the most coveted hero collectibles on the planet.

Since Melissa had chosen the footage this time, it was no surprise that the team-ups prominently featured Star and Stripe. This particular incident had been a major bank heist gone wrong. A large crew of somewhat notorious villains had banded together in an attempt to crack into a bank vault undetected. What was supposed to be a stealthy theft ended up turning into a hostage situation. And when the hostage situation deteriorated, one of the villains set the building on fire as a distraction while the criminals attempted to escape with whatever they could carry. The police fell back, and All Might and Star and Stripe arrived in the nick of time to storm the building.

It was prime footage of both heroes at their peak. Izuku had to admit, Melissa had excellent taste.

His latest notebook was nearby, lying open and with a pencil resting in it’s spine, but Izuku had decided to forego taking notes to simply enjoy the evening. He had seen this footage before. He could watch it again whenever he wanted.

But he couldn’t watch it again with Melissa so easily.

The blonde girl beside him squealed in delight as the cleaned up security footage from inside the bank caught a perfect shot of Star and Stripe exploding through a wall and surprising the primary group of villains. Half a dozen guns were pointed at her in an instant, but the towering woman just laughed and swirled her cape dramatically in front herself, gripping it’s edge like a shield. The hail of bullets failed to penetrate, the billowing length of fabric easily intercepting the flood of gunfire.

The female pro’s celebrity grin took on a decidedly predatory edge as she stalked forward, towering over the criminals even as she held her cape wrapped dramatically around herself.

“She’s so cool,” Melissa said absently, grinning from ear-to-ear.

Izuku hummed in agreement. All Might would always be his favorite, but Star and Stripe was the number one pro in America for a reason. Izuku assumed, from the way the woman had reacted to his speculative analysis of her, that some of his guesses had been correct. She could modify the properties of things she touched, including herself. If so, it was actually very clever, what she was doing in this fight.

He’d seen a lot of arguments, a lot of arguments, on the internet about the practicality of capes in the field of heroics. There wasn’t much ‘winning’ when it came to internet arguments, just one side being shouted down or spoken-over by another. And if that was the metric of victory or defeat, then generally, the anti-capers carried the day. At least in the spaces Izuku tended to frequent.

Still, the fashionably of capes waxed and waned with the different eras and generations of heroics. For all their impracticality, no one could deny the stylishness of the Silver Age of heroics, during the peak of All Might’s career. Half sentai, half pre-Quirk comicbook superhero, it was an era defined by flowing capes, armored spandex, and unapologetic national and cultural patriotism from heroes around the globe.

As far as Izuku was concerned, some of the best costumes ever created were born in that era, no matter what the internet said. He wasn’t going to diss the tactical pajamas or armored street clothes of the more modern age, but there was something to be said for style.

And it was always interesting to see a hero who had a quirk that allowed them to wring some functional use out of what was otherwise largely acknowledged to be a fashion accessory.

“Silver Age is totally the best,” Melissa said, agreeing with Izuku. It was a testament to how relaxed the green-haired teen was that he didn’t really care that the girl next to him had heard his mumbling.

It was strange, to mumble and not be yelled at by his classmates. It made Izuku feel a warmth in his chest.

“So you’re saying you think she’s modifying her cape?” Melissa asked. “I’ve seen bulletproof capes before.”

“Just watch,” Izuku said, knowing what was coming next. Sure enough, after knocking two villains out in a single punch, a third attempted to jump Star and Stripe from behind, only for the cape to flow into him. It almost looked like an accident, until the billowing red-and-white striped fabric physically grabbed the man and slammed him into the ground, once, twice, three times, before tossing his limp body aside contemptuously. Star and Stripe grinned, before lunging at another villain who was attempting to flee.

“Okay, fair enough,” Melissa admitted. “I think she was probably modifying her cape.”

“I’ve seen heroes with weaponized capes and scarves before,” Izuku said, playing devil’s advocate for Melissa. “Prehensile clothes aren’t unheard of.”

“But as you’ve already noted, she can modify things she touches,” Melissa shot back, defending Izuku’s own position from his advocacy. “That makes her choice of a large cape tactically sound as well as aesthetic, since she could weaponize it in a variety of ways. It’s a tool she always has in arm’s reach.”

Melissa frowned slightly. “Still, I wonder what chemical or physical properties she imbued into it.”

“She’s a reality warper of some sort,” Izuku said softly, watching as All Might began evacuating the hostages on the ground floor. For all the glory the world’s top pro was given, he was almost always willing to play support during his hero tours, which was one of the reasons Izuku admired him so much. He could have easily outshone more local and regional heroes if he wanted to, but he was happy to support them and make their jobs easier instead. For all that he stood at the pinnacle of their world, All Might wasn’t a glory hog like some pros.

It mirrored how Izuku felt all heroes should be. Selfless. Helping others. Giving without asking for or expecting anything in return. Doing the right thing, no matter what.

“Reality warping, huh? So you don’t think what she’s doing is obeying chemical or mechanical laws?” Melissa asked, curiosity in her voice.

“Honestly, no,” Izuku replied. “It’s not easy to make something with the consistency of silk cloth that can also go rigid enough to stop rifle fire on-demand. To say nothing of what properties she’d have to give it to make it come alive and throttle somebody. I don’t think she’s following any physical laws when she uses her quirk. Given how other reality warpers operate, I think it’s more like a magic spell. She wants things to work a certain way, executes that desire, and it happens.”

“Abra-ca-SMASH!” Melissa exclaimed, twirling her finger before jabbing it sharply at the screen. Both teens giggled.

Melissa sighed contentedly before leaning over to the side, her shoulder touching Izuku’s own through the blankets.

Izuku smiled, leaning slightly into her. He had been driving himself up a wall with nerves over the trip to I-Island, but even as harrowing (and embarrassing) as things had been, he felt like it had all worked out for the best. He still had a few days left on the island, he had made a new friend, and he had met so many important and clever people. And they all seemed to believe in him! Granted, not all of them thought a quirkless kid could be a hero, but being believed in at all was a new experience for the green-haired teen.

Izuku had never met another quirkless his age before. Not in person, at least. He didn’t know anyone who had, either. Izuku was ‘the quirkless kid’ in his neighborhood, his school, his district even. That’s just how it was. He was the only one.

Until now.

Izuku breathed deeply before slowly exhaling. Melissa’s shampoo smelled like strawberries. All Might’s laughter echoed through the television screen.

It was… nice. It was nice, to not be seen as a useless burden. To be valued. David Shield was a fan of his work. His daughter was quirkless, just like Izuku, and wanted to be his friend.

Izuku idly wondered when he was going to wake up. It was like something out of a dream.

In hindsight, Izuku probably should have known better than to tempt the universe like that, given the last two months of his life.

His phone, which he had muted late last night after the phone call from his father, gave a quiet buzz as it vibrated, indicating that he had been sent a text message. There was a brief pause, then another buzz, followed by a third one.

Izuku glanced over at the girl leaning into his side, but Melissa hadn’t heard the vibrations. Her attention was firmly fixed on the screen, watching Star and Stripe pummel a villain that seemed to be made out of living bricks. In the background, All Might appeared and disappeared in bursts of superspeed, effortlessly picking up and carrying civilians out of the danger zone as the burning building they were in started to fall apart. The two heroes were working together seamlessly, both trusting the other to do their part.

Slowly, Izuku pulled his phone out of his hip pocket and maneuvered it into his lap. With a bit of shuffling, he was able to make a hole in the pile of blankets, letting him see who had texted him.

hey kid, its torino. i hope you and melissa are having fun up there

Izuku’s heart sank. He had a bad feeling about this. There was always a catch with Gran Torino. Carefully, Izuku flicked the message with his thumb, dismissing it from his home screen. The next message popped up.

anyway remember that real simple assignment i mentioned on the ride over? the one i said id hold off on telling you the details for until the time was right? well now is that time

Oh. Oh no. Izuku had a ‘really’ bad feeling about this.

just tell melissa that youll be inheriting toshis quirk. tell her about one for all before we leave the island. thats it. thats all you have to do. if youve got any questions about how the quirk works to help you explain it, feel free to text me and ask, ill tell you what i can. good luck kid, and have fun!

Izuku felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

He had to what.

Chapter Text

David Shield had several smaller offices at various locations around I-Island. Usually, they were attached to other labs and research spaces that housed joint projects with different groups and firms. But as this one was both near where he lived and directly above his own personal laboratories, he had chosen it to be his main office.

The room was dominated by large, floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a sweeping panoramic view of I-Island. At the moment, they showed the neon nightscape of I-Island’s cities, and the sweeping black glass of the ocean beyond. The darkness was just beginning to peel back, and the early morning sun was little more than a watercolor splash of purple and red on the horizon.

From the inside, the spectacular view made the office seem exposed, but Toshinori knew the privacy glass was one-way, and tough enough that even bullets or heavy impacts would struggle to break through.

The few parts of the office that were not giant windows had been paneled in dark, polished hardwood. Strips and squares of chocolate-brown wood framed all of the walls and windows, and the entire back wall of the office was paneled in dark, cozy wood as well. The wooden wall housed the elevator door, as well as a small modern fireplace, a modestly stocked bar, and several wooden bookshelves. A number of minimalist tables and chairs, also made out of dark wood and glass, were scattered around the office. A large central wooden desk, with a deceptively small and simple laptop sitting on it, completed the picture. 

The overall effect was a hybrid of the primary executive stereotypes. The Shield office was neither an ultramodern glass box nor a dark wooden smoking lounge, but a comfortable middle ground between the two.

David Shield walked over to the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee. He offered one to Toshinori, who accepted to be polite. The scientist then sat down in one of the smaller chairs next to a table, his own coffee held in both hands. 

Toshinori appreciated the casual gesture, preferring this to speaking to David from across a desk, and sat down across from his friend. He took a sip of his own coffee, collecting his thoughts. It was pretty good, for something that had come out of an instant coffee machine.

“David. I have something important to tell you, while it’s still my secret to tell.”

The auburn-haired man blinked before straightening slightly. Living and working on I-Island, he was used to dealing with important and potentially dangerous secrets. 

“I understand. I’m listening.”

Toshinori nodded. No sense beating around the bush.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just rip the bandage off. I was born quirkless. I have no quirk of my own, and never did. Not really.”

David Shield stared at his long-time friend, dumbfounded. From the moment he had realized that Toshinori intended to clue him in on the truth behind whatever was going on, David had been anticipating many different potential secrets from his hero partner. His guesses had run the gamut from the ridiculous, to the dangerous, to the outright scandalous. 

But this… this was not one of them. 

All Might, the most powerful hero in the world… quirkless? He had seen the man throw punches so strong that the backdraft changed the weather. Toshinori could make it rain by clapping his hands, using the shockwave to shake precipitation out of the clouds. He could cause tornadoes by swinging his arms in circles. The sheer physical force All Might was capable of was staggering. No gadgets or support gear ever devised could account for the ability to do that, not even close. 

The skeletal blonde didn’t give his old friend a chance to stutter out questions. He pushed on, trying to get the whole story out in one go.

“When I was a teenager, things in Japan were bad. Really bad. I was sick of hiding in my apartment and pretending that I didn’t hear the screams and the gunshots at night, hoping it wouldn’t be me they came for next. You know that part of my story. What you don’t know is that I was quirkless, and I had decided to be a vigilante to try and do something about what was happening. My reasoning was that, because I didn’t have a quirk to misuse, I couldn’t be convicted of vigilantism or villainy.”

Toshinori took another sip of his coffee. David numbly followed suit.

“I got myself noticed by a mid-ranking pro hero named Shimura Nana,” Toshinori said with a fond smile. “Her official name was Updraft: The Skyward Hero. She took me under her wing and talked me into pursuing a legitimate career in heroics instead of running around at night in a hoodie and a medical mask trying to jump drug dealers. And after mentoring me for a few years and straightening me out into a respectable member of society, she also revealed her biggest secret to me. She was the heir of a legacy quirk that could be passed down directly from one person to another. Like handing off an Olympic torch from one runner to the next. It’s name was One For All. She had received it from someone who mentored her, and she wanted me to take up the torch next. I agreed. She handed the quirk off to me, and I transferred into UA. I graduated top of my class and went pro immediately afterwards. That was the beginning of the pro hero All Might.”

David Shield was a scientist first, and it showed as he processed the new information he was being told at lightning speed. Toshinori could practically watch as the man built a list of questions he wanted to ask, threw half the list out as being irrelevant or things he could answer on his own, and then picked the most important questions to ask first.

“Tell me more about this quirk, if you can,” the scientist said, leaning forwards. “A transferable quirk? What mechanism?”

“DNA transfer,” Toshinori replied. “Nana gave me one of her hairs to swallow, and that’s the cleanest and safest way we could think of to manage it. A blood transfusion could also work, if there was a hospital or medical facility we were willing to trust with the process. Our research into past users suggests that at least once it was passed down by dripping blood from a cut into another person’s open wound.”

“Can it be passed on accidentally?” David asked, a look of curiosity on his face as he sipped his coffee. “I assume not, because I recall you donating blood before in a charity drive.”

“No,” the skeletal blonde replied. “It has to be a voluntary transfer. Accidental transfers can’t really happen. Though again, some of our research suggests that one of the previous users forced it onto a bystander after suffering fatal injuries in a fight, so the voluntary part only has to be on the part of the giver, not the receiver.” 

David hummed softly while fiddling with a button on his coat. The humming was a nervous tic that Toshinori had seen the scientist fall back on before when his thoughts were moving faster than his mouth or hands could process them. After spending the last month getting to know young Izuku better, Toshinori had come to realize that the boy was much like his old friend in that regard. He hoped bringing the two together would be good for both of them. These days, natural born geniuses who didn’t rely on an intelligence quirk were few and far between.

“A transferable quirk,” David muttered to himself, a far-away look in his eyes. “A quirk that can be passed on. One which does not actually require the consent of the other party, just the will of the wielder.” His gaze sharpened. “You know what that sounds like, right? The Symbol of Evil. All For One.”

Toshinori considered his old friend for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. Coming clean to David was an odd experience, because the man actually already had most of the true story, he just didn’t have the context to puzzle all the pieces together.

That was not an accident, at least not on Toshinori’s part.

People who had the truth of transferable quirks revealed to them had an unfortunate tendency to meet with terrible fates. Toshinori felt it said quite a lot that it took generations of users and intensive research in hindsight to realize that One For All had been slowly killing almost half of everyone it had been given to previously, purely because they all died too soon for the long-term effects to be seen. 

“I’m not surprised you would make that connection,” the blonde hero commented. “After all, One For All and All For One are brother quirks, of a sort.”

David Shield’s eyes widened in shock. “They’re brother quirks? What?”

“Our information about it is sketchy,” Toshinori confessed, “and what little we do have has mostly been passed down by word-of-mouth between the different successors. But One For All was originally created accidentally by All For One.”

David Shield’s eyes widened in surprise and he leaned forwards, his coffee sitting forgotten on the table. “Fascinating. You called them brother quirks, but that it was of a sort, which means not literally. One For All was created by accident? How did that happen?”

The skeletal blonde gathered his thoughts for a moment before answering.

“All For One had a younger brother, Yoichi, that was born sickly and weak, and was presumed to be quirkless. However, he was not. In actuality, Yoichi had a quirk whose sole ability was that it could be passed on when the owner wills it. It didn’t do anything else. It was just an invisible, transferable token that could be handed off. All For One took a simple stockpiling quirk and forced it onto his sibling, believing that it would make him strong enough to live a mostly normal life.”

Toshinori sipped his coffee. “However, the stockpiling quirk fused together with the transference quirk, creating a single quirk with the properties of both. That was the outcome All For One hadn’t foreseen.”

David exhaled a long, slow breath as he connected the dots. “A strength stockpile that can be continuously improved over multiple generations, without ever experiencing the stockpile loss you would get from a parent-child relationship. A lossless stock that never gets reset or needs to be rebuilt from scratch. Handed off directly from one hero to the next. And the nature of the transfer makes sense as well, siblings often have similar quirks. All For One could give and take quirks at will, so it’s not surprising that his brother would have the ability to simply give his quirk away.” Suddenly, David snorted. “One For All and All For One? Somebody was a fan of the Musketeers.” 

Toshinori shrugged, nonplussed. “I didn’t name them.”

David nodded, still clearly deep in thought. “That’s fair. It’s an old quirk. It would be presumptuous to change the name now. Though I’m sure you put something else down on your own paperwork.” He looked up suddenly, realizing something. “You were always so keen on trying to face him alone. And what you told Cathy, about how he couldn’t become stronger by stealing your powers… Does this transfer mechanism prevent All For One from taking it?”

Toshinori smiled, impressed at his friend’s deductive abilities. “Yes. The story I was told is that after Yoichi was given the stockpile against his will, he fought back and attacked his brother. All For One tried to take the quirk back to subdue his sibling, but realized he couldn’t. He’s been chasing after it ever since, hunting down everyone that carried it. One For All is his white whale. As far as we’re aware, it’s the only quirk in the world he can’t take.”

David frowned in thought. “I wonder if that’s because of the transfer mechanism specifically interfering, needing it’s owner’s permission, or if it’s because they are brother effects, and Yoichi’s quirk was born immune to his sibling’s power. It’s known that most people with hypnosis or mind-affecting abilities cannot affect their own immediate family, because the quirks tend to grant immunity to themselves. I wonder if them being brother quirks is what caused this, or if it’s because the transference already has an established mechanism for moving between people.”

Toshinori shrugged. “I wish I could tell you, but I honestly don’t know. We aren’t even sure how reliable the information we do have is, because most of it was passed down in a hurry by word of mouth.”

David nodded his head absently. “Of course, of course. And it’s not like there’s any way to test it. Sorry, I’m just thinking out-loud. It’s an interesting conundrum.”

The two men sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. Toshinori sipped on his coffee cup before turning to glance out of the floor-length windows behind David’s desk. The neon lights from the city outside and the burning horizon of the sea painted a beautiful picture as the night gave way to dawn. 

“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Toshinori said suddenly. 

David scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Toshi. The existence of the Symbol of Evil and his quirk were kept secret for good reason. We’ve only just managed to put ourselves back together again after the Dawn turned us into a superhuman society. If the world became aware of a quirk that could give and take quirks, it would destabilize civilization and undermine the peace we’ve worked so hard to achieve. Obviously, the same is true of an incredibly powerful quirk that can simply be handed off to a person to give them world-class strength. Wars have been fought over less valuable things.”

David turned to face his old friend, a smile on his face. “You kept me in the dark because you were trying to keep me, and the rest of the world, safe. I understand that, Toshi. Keeping people safe is what heroes do.”

Toshinori huffed. “You’re putting me to shame here, David. You could at least pretend to be indignant.” 

They both laughed, and the companionable silence surrounded them both again. 

“Were there any other questions you wanted to ask?” Toshinori said softly.

“Quite a few,” David admitted, “but I don’t think most of them are relevant. I can probably get the answers myself if I do some digging. The rest I can infer from other information. The only thing that’s really bothering me is why now? You kept this secret for 40 years. You did a damn good job of it, too. I-Island has it’s own intelligence gathering division, we’re always looking at powerful and unique quirks, and this was never even on our radar. Wars could be fought over this quirk, the fewer people who know the better. Why rope me in now when…”

He slowly trailed off, his eyes widening as the final puzzle piece fell into place.

“The boy,” he breathed. “Izuku. He’s your successor, isn’t he? You’ve chosen him. That’s why you said ‘while it was still your secret to tell.’ Because soon, it won’t be your secret anymore. It will be his.”

Toshinori smiled fondly. “And this is why I had to work so hard to keep you in the dark. If you got even a little hint, you’d have all the rest of it figured out in no time. Yes. Young Izuku is who I’ve chosen to succeed me.” 

“You said you brought him here to introduce him. To make connections. I had thought you were angling to get him on a scholarship at the academy, or build the connections he would need for a job in analytics and support heroics. But that wasn’t it, was it?”

The skeletal blonde sat his coffee down and clasped his hands together. “As I’ve been constantly reminded by Gran and even Sir Nighteye, I don’t have much time left in me, David. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to maintain my muscular form long enough to go through a trip here without blowing my cover. I want to help him in any way that I can, and that means this trip had to happen sooner rather than later. I want to give him more opportunities to make friends and allies than I had.”

Toshinori coughed slightly into his hand, a small amount of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

“Also, I’m pretty sure Gran is trying to set Izuku up with young Melissa.” 

David stared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and laughing. It was infectious, and soon Toshinori was laughing as well, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. 

“That does seem like something he would do,” David finally said, calming down.

“I didn’t really support the idea at first, but Torino lectured me about how old men have an obligation to manipulate young men into having happy lives. Apparently friendships and romances with childhood friends don’t happen naturally, or so I’ve been told.”

“He’s not wrong,” David said, grinning. “Our faculty at I-Academy have a massive betting pool on student relationships. If the teaching staff couldn’t push students around into friendships and romances, they’d probably all die of boredom.”
“I guess I just never realized this was something people were doing. It surprised me.”

David shrugged. “It’s mostly a teacher thing, honestly. And a parent thing.”

“I don’t want to force either of them into something they don’t want or aren’t ready for,” Toshinori admitted. “But they are more alike than different. They’re both brilliant, both of them are quirkless. Both of them have been discriminated against because of their quirklessness, far worse than I ever was. Both of them have risen above that. Both of them want to help everyone that they can, even people who have wronged them. Those two are probably going to save the world one day. I’d like them to be friends, if nothing else.”

David hummed. “I agree with not forcing anything, but then, putting kids on playdates with each other and arranging for them to have time to hang out is it’s own kind of pushing, isn’t it? From a certain perspective. Either way, I’d agree that they are similar.” 

The scientist leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been worried about Melissa not being challenged intellectually. I don’t want her to become arrogant, complacent, or bored. I’ve seen the analysis samples that young man has done. He’s a certifiable genius. Anybody who didn’t know he was quirkless would assume he had an intelligence boosting or information gathering ability of some sort. I think the two of them are a good fit, even if they just stay friends. They’ve been hitting it off incredibly well so far. They’re practically clinging to each other. It’s rather cute.”

Toshinori started to say something but stopped, a suspicious look on his face. 

“Wait, how do you know how they’ve been doing?”

David shot him a nonplussed look over the rim of his coffee mug. “Toshinori, please. The only places on this entire island where there are no cameras and microphones are the bathrooms and people’s offices.” 

The scientist pulled out his phone and tapped through a few menus before flipping it around to show Toshinori a live image. It was the two teens, watching footage of villain attacks and hero rescues together from underneath a giant blanket in the Shield’s high-end apartment. The image was sharp enough that Toshinori could even see the carryout they were eating for breakfast.

“One of the benefits of being a project lead on I-Island is that I can be a helicopter dad while still giving my daughter space,” David admitted somewhat smugly. 

“Have you been watching them this entire time?” Toshinori asked incredulously. He had noticed his friend checking his phone frequently, ever since they first met up off the plane. But he had assumed it was something business related.

“Not the entire time,” the auburn haired scientist said defensively. “I mean, I’ve been talking to you, haven’t I?” 

“David!” Toshinori groaned at his friend’s antics. “Torino is bad enough, not you too!”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Toshi,” David said teasingly. “If I wasn’t spying on them, I wouldn’t have caught them accidentally holding hands a few times. Or the expressions on their faces when they realized it and jumped apart. Not only is this prime blackmail material for later, but she’ll probably want these pictures when she’s older.”

“You can’t blackmail children, David!”

David chuckled. “Oh man, those kids at UA are going to eat you alive. Blackmail and threats are the two best weapons in a teacher’s arsenal. Bribes can also work, but even having to resort to bribery means your blackmail wasn’t good enough.” 

The taller blonde coughed again, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief to remove the drips of blood. “I know it won’t be easy,” he said, “but I’m going to do my best to learn. For young Izuku’s sake.”

David smiled softly at his old friend. “You really admire him, don’t you?”

“I see a lot of other people in him,” Toshinori admitted quietly. “He has Nana’s smile. He has your mind. He’s lived Melissa’s life. When I met him for the first time, he pleaded with me, wanting to know if a quirkless kid could become a hero. I saw so much of my younger self that it hurt to look at him. And when I saw him run out and attack a villain to save a childhood bully when all the pros were just standing around and making excuses, I saw Torino and Sir Nighteye in him. That instinct, to move first and think only about your goal.” 

“What answer did you give him?” David asked curiously. “When he asked if somebody quirkless could be a hero?”

Toshinori closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the weight of his long career on his shoulders.

“I gave him the answer I wished somebody had given me, when I was his age. It was the wrong answer.”

David nodded slowly. “You tried to discourage him. Talk him out of it. I can see why you might have thought that was the kinder thing to do, all things considered.” He grinned suddenly. “But it didn’t work, did it?”

Toshinori smiled with genuine warmth and affection. “No, it didn’t. And that’s why he’s worthy. One For All isn’t meant for people with strong or flashy quirks, or people with big dreams and ambitions. It should go to the person with the heart of a true hero. Someone with a natural born instinct to save others. Who won’t be swayed or talked down from doing the right thing, no matter what.”

“Not even if the person telling them off is the greatest hero in the world?” the scientist asked curiously. 

“Especially then,” Toshinori said firmly. 

David nodded approvingly. “I agree. People with great skill are a dime a dozen. Skills can be taught. Weak people can be built up. Someone that’s missing an arm or a leg can have a prosthetic made for them. But people with heart, those are rare. That is something that’s much harder to teach, and even more difficult to replace. We can’t build great hearts.”

There was a moment of companionable silence as Toshinori sipped his coffee, and David seemed to remember that his existed. 

“How’s Elenore doing?” Toshinori asked, breaking the silence. 

“Nora is… she’s stable,” the scientist said, a look of pain and frustration flickering across his face.

“But no changes?” Toshinori asked, sadness in his voice. 

David shook his head. “Progress has stalled. It’s the same as always. There’s not enough funds, not enough time. Not enough interest.”

“I don’t understand,” the skeletal blonde said, confusion in his voice. “The last time we spoke, you said you’d had a breakthrough. You’ve actually managed to reverse engineer part of her quirk. You can’t replicate the healing, but you’ve succeeded in creating artificial quirked ice. How is no one interested in that?”

Toshinori felt it was a fair question, and his confusion was genuine. A major part of the research on I-Island was pursuing ways to replicate the effects of quirks without having to rely on the quirks themselves. Quirk-replicating technology was the driving force behind the cutting edge science of the modern age, and was one of the reasons so many different fields had begun to advance at such radically different rates. There were far more failures than successes, far, far more. But there were successes. 

David Shield had originally put himself on the map as a quirk scientist by replicating and weaponizing the quirk he had mentioned to Izuku on their first night here. David had installed the bubble projector as a countermeasure and capture weapon in his own personal car, and an iteration of that system had also been present in every single version of All Might’s car, the Mightmobile, to date. It could stop missiles, contain explosions, intercept falling debris, and even capture villains, provided they weren’t excessively large. 

David had never isolated the Healing Aurora effect of Rimefire. Which was no surprise: no one had ever isolated and replicated a healing quirk. Whoever managed it first would be richer than King Midas. But David had replicated his wife’s ice, the effect from her father’s side of the family. 

Toshinori didn’t understand. His friend’s research had borne fruit, albeit indirectly. How was quirked ice on demand not a valuable asset? 

The auburn-haired scientist sitting across from him shrugged helplessly, a humorless laugh escaping his mouth. “It’s not something the investors here are interested in, Toshi. We’re an island of scientists and engineers, but we are ruled by businesses and corporate politics. It’s not marketable, or so they say, so there’s no grant money to be given for it.”

Toshinori shook his head, still in disbelief. “But you’ve made an artificial ice quirk,” he protested. “Ice grenades, ice rays. You could throw an ice bomb and stop a villain in their tracks! I’ve seen your blueprints. Any police force in the world would kill for gear like that, David! And they’re telling you there’s no market for it?”

The scientist shook his head, a resigned look on his face. “Nobody cares about arming the police better, Toshinori. You know that. Some police departments may want it, but it’s the police . They don’t have the budgets to afford that kind of gear, and even if they did, the focus is all on hero equipment. Why spend a fortune making the police more effective at their jobs when 95% of the takedowns are made by heroes anyway?” 

The auburn haired man leaned back, cupping his coffee in both hands for warmth. “Replicated quirk effects are always weaker than the originals. You know that. It’s why the most successful replications typically rely on reproducing abilities where their strength isn’t directly related to how useful the quirk is. What made Nora’s ice so great was the healing effect and the versatility. But it’s not her quirk, it’s a knock-off made by reverse-engineering the principles her quirk exploited to function. So it is weaker than her own. It has the potency of an ice quirk from two, maybe three generations ago. Any ice user today could outperform my tech easily. The only saving grace would be the Healing Aurora trait, but that is, of course, unreplicatable.”

Toshinori couldn’t believe it. “So that’s it, then? A decade of research and grant money poured into ice and healing quirks, a fully functional ice creation and manipulation system, and you’re mothballed because there’s no market? They won’t even throw you money over a proof-of-concept?”

“That’s I-Island for you,” the auburn-haired man said, shrugging. “There are people working here who are far more brilliant than I am that have been sent packing by the various boards of directors because the things they make don’t have anybody willing to buy them. We create miracles and achieve scientific breakthroughs all the time, but it’s not up to us to decide what is useful.”

The scientist chuckled softly, a bitter note in his voice. “If it makes you feel any better, there’s no market for artificial fire quirks either, for the same reason. The Big Mountain R&D tank is an American group based out of Nevada. They do high-end hero support tech for a lot of American pros, and also have contracts with the American military. They have a major branch office here, and their researchers recently had quite a reckoning with their investors over something called Project Saturnite.”

The scientist shifted in his seat and took a sip of his coffee, a far-away look in his eyes. “It was decades worth of research and data studying people with fire quirks, with the singular goal of creating a customizable flame creation and manipulation system. Replicated fire quirks, on-demand. They were dumping a lot of time and effort into heat retentive polymers and thermally conductive metal alloys. Customized support equipment for customized fire quirks. It sounds great on paper, but the investors weren’t impressed with the progress they had made. The specs of the artificial fire effects they were creating were generations behind modern fire users, just like mine.”

David swirled his coffee before taking another sip. “I wasn’t there for the last fiscal quarter investment meeting they had. Part of their money comes from the American Department of Defense, you see, so it was all very private. But I hear it turned into a massacre. The whole project line has been scrapped, and now the Big MT is struggling to find something they can use the tech for to recoup their losses. Last I heard, they’re looking into trying to turn their special polymer metals into home appliances and kitchen knives.”

If Toshinori hadn’t known David Shield for so many years, he would have thought the other man was joking. Fire quirks were widely seen as some of the flashiest and most heroic quirks that existed. Even a relatively weak fire quirk could carry a competent hero high up into a nation’s pro rankings. There was a reason Todoroki “Endeavor” Enji was Japan’s number 2. As far as Toshinori was aware, only the man’s prickly personality, and Toshinori’s own existence as the global Symbol of Peace, stopped Endeavor from becoming Japan’s top pro. 

If Toshinori took his mail and paid taxes somewhere else, Endeavor probably would be Japan’s number 1, his personality be-damned. Enji had what many considered to be the strongest fire quirk in his entire generation. Some would argue that it was still the mightiest fire quirk in the world, even after all these years.

If a journalist or interviewer had asked the blonde hero whether he thought artificial fire quirks would be useful, Toshinori would have said that the support tech who figured out how to make the first one would be a billionaire. 

Instead, the technology was being relegated to kitchen appliances? Somebody on I-Island had made artificial fire quirks a reality, and they were going to have to make toasters and chef knives out of it just to make ends meet?

Something was very, very wrong here. 

Toshinori had always known that a great deal of the glamor and flair of the Age of Heroes was fake. That it was show business, of a sort. A way to polish up a fundamentally broken world that still didn’t quite understand how to put itself back together again now that quirks were an unavoidable daily reality. 

Toshinori knew that most of it was just a pretty veneer. It was true about the hero industry, and by extension it would have to be true of I-Island as well. He had known that since his own childhood, he had known it since he was first called useless for not having a quirk of his own. Yagi Toshinori held no delusions about how the world really worked. 

At least, that’s what he had thought when he got up this morning.

When had things gotten this bad? Or had they always been this way, and he simply wasn’t standing in any of the right places to see this particular facet of it? 

Toshinori didn’t know. But he didn’t have to know, because the next words came out of his mouth without him even needing to think about them.

“If that’s the way things are, then leave, David. Come with me to Japan.”

David Shield blinked in surprise at the offer. Toshinori was surprised, too, but even as he spoke the words, he knew that he meant them. So the skeletal blonde pushed ahead, refusing to back down from his own outburst.

“You only came to this place because of the offer they made you. But it’s not a binding contract. I remember having my lawyers look it over before you accepted. You can leave at any time. If their corporate attitudes are stopping you from getting the funding you need to make progress with Elenore, then leave.”

The auburn haired scientist wasn’t interrupting him, so Toshinori kept going, his resolve becoming more sure with each word he spoke.

“I have more money than I’ll ever be able to spend even if I live a thousand lifetimes. We can set up a facility, a place to keep Nora. Half of Might Tower is already practically yours anyway, I doubt it would take very long to knock down a few walls and convert some of the dead space into a lab. I’m planning on moving into a soft retirement at UA as a heroics teacher. You could help there, or at any of the other national hero schools, I’m sure they’d all be thrilled to have you. It doesn’t have to be charity, David. It’s not pity. If they aren’t helping you pursue your own goals, then what’s the point of even being here?”

David Shield stared at Toshinori for a long, quiet moment. Toshinori swallowed, his hands clenched tightly. 

This wasn’t the first time he had offered to help his old friend, but every time, David Shield had turned him down. Toshinori understood what the man was going through, he truly did, but he just wished-

“Two years,” David said.

Toshinori blinked. “What?”

The scientist sighed. “In two years, Melissa will graduate I-Academy’s primary education program. Say what you will about the boards in charge of I-Island’s R&D, but I-Academy is a world class institution. Their support courses and STEM tracks have an immaculate reputation. Melissa wants to graduate from there, and she also has friends I don’t want to separate her from. So give me two years.”

Toshinori couldn’t believe it. 

Had David actually accepted his offer?

Thrilled glee intertwined with something sour and anxious in Toshinori’s stomach. He was happy that his friend was finally listening to him, but… 

The entire reason David had turned him down over and over again was because he was fighting to take back the piece of his soul that he lost on the floor of that California hospital, years ago. He had something to prove to himself. 

How bad had things gotten that his friend was finally listening to him? What didn’t Toshinori know?

“David… what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Toshi,” the auburn scientist replied, sipping at the dregs of his coffee. 

The reply had come a little too quickly for Toshinori’s tastes, and was also far too vague to not be suspicious.

“David.”

The shorter, younger man glanced up from his cup. His eyes looked as tired as Toshinori felt.

“It’s not important,” he insisted. “I had some side projects I was working on. There are some conflicts of interest, some issues with securing a patent. Given the nature of the projects, I’m not really surprised. I expected it to happen, actually.”

Toshinori frowned. He understood the idiom of the straw that broke the camel’s back, of a thousand little things adding up to a major break. But somehow, something about this didn’t seem quite right. Sure, there was the obvious lie. If it wasn’t that important, then why would David be upset by it? But that wasn’t what was bothering Toshinori.

It was a patent conflict that was the final straw? Really? Why would ‘the’ David Shield be denied a patent for something? And what could that something be, for it to mean so much to him that it would change his mind about letting other people help him? 

A conflict of interest? Over what?

“… do you need my help?” Toshinori asked, not entirely able to keep the hesitation out of his voice. 

It was an unspoken question, between old friends who knew each other very well. ‘What is this really about? Can you tell me? Do you need All Might to intervene?’

There was the faintest moment of hesitation from the scientist. “No,” he said. “I have things under control. Don’t worry about it.”

Toshinori accepted the refusal to elaborate, trusting his friend. He sipped at the lukewarm cup of coffee in his hands and relaxed, occasionally chatting and exchanging gossip about the superhero industry.

On the open laptop sitting on David Shield’s desk, a 3-D model of a sophisticated headset was being compiled into an executable blueprint that could be uploaded into a materials printer. It was a small hexagonal plate designed to nestle against the base of the skull. Six long, pronged arms with jointed hinges stretched from each of the six edges of the plate, clearly intended to wrap around to the front of the skull and secure the device. Each metal prong ended in a tiny, highly refined crystal tip, no bigger than a fingernail. 

The arms were long enough that they would be visible unless the user had a partial facial covering of some sort around the back and sides of their head. But they were not so long that a full helmet or faceplate would be necessary, either. 

Next to the slowly spinning blueprint was a staggeringly complex chemical formula for the cocktail substance the crystal tips were produced from. 

The blueprint was tagged with the abbreviated name Q.A.D. The Quirk Augmentation Device.

Sorahiko Torino was waiting for both men on the landing outside of David’s office. He was wearing jeans paired with a different Hawaiian shirt from yesterday, this one banana yellow with a pattern of green and red. He also sported the same air-hole modified cowboy boots he usually favored when out of his normal costume. 

The elderly man sipped from a styrofoam cup of orange juice, his breakfast for that morning. “Took you two long enough. Come on Toshi, we’ve got things to do today.”

“Sorry Gran,” the towering blonde apologized, having bulked back up to his heroic form before leaving the office. “I didn’t realize you were out here waiting for us. Did we have something important on the docket?”

The shorter, retired pro tilted his free hand back and forth, and made an ‘eh’ sound. “Midoriya Hisashi has agreed to a sit-down with us, but I haven’t heard back from him regarding a time. The real issue is something on my end, though. Either today or tomorrow, we’re probably going to have to run some damage control. I’ll take full responsibility for it if things go too far. I just want us to be ready when it happens.”

David Shield quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the trouble?” the scientist asked. 

“It’s not a huge deal,” the elderly pro confessed, taking a sip of his juice. “But I asked the kid to let Melissa in on a secret of his that we’ve been keeping. I think it will help both of them in the long run. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah,” David said. “You want him to tell her about One For All.”

Torino was halfway through a yes before he choked on his juice. He coughed violently and thumped himself on the chest, doing his best to point the spray back into his styrofoam cup and not launch it across the extremely expensive wooden wall paneling. 

David took out his phone and wiggled it slightly, not entirely able to suppress the grin on his face. “Don’t worry, all the cameras on this floor belong to me. We’re good.” 

Torino glared balefully at the scientist over the rim of his drink, before turning his gaze on Toshinori. The towering musclebound hero paled, and a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. 

“Explain,” the elderly man said. It wasn’t a request. 

Toshinori held up both of his hands disarmingly. “I mean- it’s what I was talking about with David this morning. That’s all. I wanted to tell him while it was still my secret, and not young Izuku’s. I decided last night that I wanted at least one more person I could trust who could help look after things if something happened to me. And it can’t be Cathy, for obvious reasons.”

The sun wasn’t even fully up over the horizon of the Pacific, some of the stars were still faintly visible in the sky. And Torino was already getting a headache. Fantastic. 

First Cathy deciding to get creative with her quirk, now Toshinori believing that honesty and openness is the best policy. What was wrong with his former students? Had they all decided to finally start changing their ways thirty years too late to make any sort of difference, but just in time to be a massive pain in his ass?

Torino sat his cup down on a nearby magazine table in the lobby before wiping down the front of his shirt with some napkins he had in his pockets. Chalk up another victory for polyester threading. “Fine,” the old man admitted, accepting and getting over the issue. “Yes, David. I told the kid to talk to Melissa about- you’re sure you own all the cameras on this floor?”

“Absolutely,” the scientist affirmed. “I turned them off earlier this morning, before Toshi even arrived. Just in case.”

“Can I ask why he’s telling young Melissa?” Toshinori questioned. “I’m not sure I see the point. Isn’t it more dangerous the more people know?”

“He’s telling her because it will be a disaster if he doesn’t,” the old man grumped in reply, wandering over to a gilded brass trash can that looked more valuable than his entire apartment before tossing the napkins into it. “I don’t want there to be any resentment between the two of them, and this will be a point of contention, I’m sure of it.”

David blinked in confusion. “Resentment? Whatever for? I don’t resent Toshinori for keeping this from me, I understand why he did it. It makes perfect sense.”

The old man stared at the two younger, taller men incredulously. He sighed, before rubbing a hand over his face. “I think the worst part about this is that the two of you couldn’t be more different, but you’re still somehow exactly the same in the worst way that matters,” he muttered. 

Toshinori opened his mouth to object, but Torino cut him off with a glare. “Can it, you monkey! Just- give me a second, so I can try to think of a way to explain this. And you! You’re sure nobody is going to walk in on us?” 

David tapped his phone a few times. “I just locked the elevator. This whole floor is now private.” 

Torino nodded before sighing deeply. 

“Listen. I worked at UA for ten years as a Heroics instructor. And I worked for ten years before that with Nana, helping kids in the community as a counselor and youth advisor. So I have twenty years worth of experience dealing with teenagers. And right now, we have two quirkless teens who both wanted to be heroes more than anything else. It’s the most important thing in their lives, or at least it feels that way to them. And we have one, just one, transferable quirk. Which means no matter how this plays out, somebody is going to feel like they’ve been passed over in favor of somebody else. This is going to hurt someone. It can’t not.”

The elderly pro turned to point at David. “And of course you don’t resent Toshi! You never wanted to be a hero! You wanted to research quirks from the start! But that was never really Melissa’s dream, was it? Maybe if she had never cared, it wouldn’t matter, but she did, so it does!”

He lowered his hand. “Also, you’re a grown adult. Never mind that I’ve known plenty of grown adults who aren’t half as mature as they should be, your perspective is different because you’re older. You’ve been through successes and failures before. Maybe it makes sense to you why Toshi lied, but to a teenager, the why doesn’t matter. They will see this as a bigger deal than you do.”

As the elderly pro talked, Toshinori’s face had gotten paler, while David’s lips pressed into a thin line, worry on his face. It was Toshinori who spoke first. 

“I never- I don’t favor young Izuku over Melissa!”

“But they won’t see it that way,” David whispered, a lost look in his eyes. “Neither of them will. This won’t just hurt one of them, it will hurt both of them. They’re both too kind-hearted for it not to.”

“Then he shouldn’t tell her!” Toshinori insisted. “Doesn’t it make sense to keep it a secret then, if it’s that hurtful to admit? They should wait until they’re older!”

Torino shook his head. “That’s not going to work.”

“But how do you know that?” Toshinori insisted. “I went my whole career without hardly telling anyone! I only told Sir Nighteye because I needed his help to look for a successor, even he didn’t know about it until then. And he was my sidekick!” 

The elderly pro held up two fingers. “I can give you two good reasons for why waiting isn’t going to make this better. The first is because I’ve seen this happen before. I’m not going to share the details with you, but the short story is that Nana and I both knew a married hero couple. The wife had a very important, work related secret she had to keep, she had to pretend to be married to someone else to get info on a yakuza family. Instead of being honest and working with her husband on it, she hid it. When it eventually came out, it destroyed their marriage and effectively ended both of their careers. This was a long time ago, before Nana even met you. But it was quite the scandal in it’s day. I’ve seen first-hand the kind of damage keeping important secrets can do to heroes.”

The old man turned his eyes to the musclebound blonde. “You’ve never had to deal with this because you’ve been a solo act for more-or-less your whole life. But I promise you, this is something other heroes have to come to terms with. Nana and I never kept anything from each other, and that’s why we worked so well as a team. There’s only one secret she had from me, and I know what it was.”

“What was the one thing she never told you?” David asked, curiosity on his face. 

“She sent her family into hiding to keep them safe from All For One. She never told me where, or what arrangements she made to do it, and I never asked. I didn’t want to know. If they had caught me, they could have made me talk whether I wanted to or not. There are some nasty quirks out there. It’s the one thing she never shared. And I don’t regret that.”

Toshinori frowned. “I’m sorry, but all this sounds like is more evidence for why it would be the right idea for him to keep it a secret. I didn’t have any issues with not telling anyone about One For All, so-”

The retired hero narrowed his eyes before lowering one of his fingers, leaving the other standing alone. “And the second reason waiting isn’t going to work, Toshi , is because Melissa is going to figure out what’s happened sooner or later. I can almost guarantee you she will. She’s too smart not to.”

The blonde hero blinked in shock. “But… why would you think that would be the case? Doesn’t that seem like a stretch?”

“That’s a fair question,” David supplied, supporting Toshinori. “I’ll be the first to admit, Melissa is smarter than me. I’ve known that for a long time. But I never even came close to guessing that Toshinori had a transferable quirk. Neither did anyone else, at least as far as I know. That’s a pretty tremendous leap, don’t you think? It’s not exactly a logical extrapolation.”

Torino sighed and rubbed his face again. He loved both of these men, he really did, but today it felt like he was the asshole in an idiot sandwich. 

At least Cathy wasn’t here to make this worse. She’d likely go flying off through a window to tell both the kids everything. Loudly. In the middle of a crowded street.

Also, David was wrong. Someone had figured it out. But seeing how it was Nezu , Torino didn’t see the point in bringing it up or correcting him. Melissa wasn’t like Nezu. Nobody was.

“The reason,” he said, carefully enunciating each word. “That nobody ever found All Might’s power to be suspicious. Is because absolutely nobody knew who Shimura Nana even was. Updraft was the strongest pro hero in Japan. She may have been the strongest hero in the world. But you would never have known it, because unlike you, she didn’t advertise what she could do. Even today, forty years later, I’m pretty sure the only Japanese pro she would lose to is you , Toshi. She could take everybody else in a fight. But she never even broke the top 250 in Japan. She was a sleeper heavyweight. The general public, and even the HPSC, never knew just how strong she was. You literally have a complete collection of all of her merch in your work office at Might Tower, and it’s what? One glass cabinet? Not even a full one, either.”

The old man leaned back on his cowboy heels and sighed. “Nana never cared about the rat race. She wasn’t in it for the fame, or the glory. You chased both because you had a vision of being a living symbol of peace, and I think you did a good job of it. I’m not criticizing you. But that was never something Nana cared about. She enfranchised herself enough to keep the lights on and pay the bills, but never more than that.”

He pointed a gnarled finger at the taller blonde. “And that’s exactly the reason your own glory-seeking worked out so well. Nobody ever connected you to her, because quite frankly, nobody knew jack squat about her. But guess what? You’re the most famous hero in the world . Anybody who opens a dictionary to the word ‘superhero’ sees a picture of your face! There are millions of fans all over the world who know exactly what you’re capable of, who have been following your every move for decades. We’ve been training one of them on a beach for the last month!”

Torino stuck his hands in his pockets. “Assuming the kid will have as easy a time as you did is a mistake, because he was born into a world with you in it. Let’s say, for the sake of the argument, that the quirk works for the kid. He’s able to use it, to an extent. Okay. So now we have a mini-Might running around. The comparisons between the two of you are inevitable. Do you understand that the very first rumor people will come up with is that he’s your bastard kid?”

The hulking blonde coughed violently in shock, a spray of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “What? But that-!”

“Honestly, I’m surprised nobody ever suspected that you were Nana’s brat, given your strength,” Torino said, interrupting his former student. “As popular as you were, I know there must have been digging into your past. Maybe she was even more obscure than I thought.”

“What exactly were her powers?” David asked, curiosity in his voice. “I’ve heard Toshinori mention a Nana before, but I only knew her as an obscure mentor from his days as an orphan. I wasn’t even sure if she was a hero or not.”

“She started out with a quirk called Float, that let her levitate vertically with no height limit,” Torino explained. “Once she was given One For All by the guy who had it before her, she gained super speed, super strength, and extreme physical durability. Her own quirk also evolved, and lost a lot of previous limitations. Float became a form of free movement in 3-D space, and she could fly at extremely high speeds, even to the point of breaking the sound barrier. She was also faster than me in a dead heat line.”

The old man frowned slightly. “She never let me live that down, either.” 

David put a hand on his chin, while in the background Toshinori used some of Gran’s napkins to wipe up his own blood. “So she was a weaker All Might that could fly? Is that about right?”

Torino shrugged. “In essence, yes, but I feel like ‘weaker’ is pretty relative here. I’d bet on her in an arm wrestling contest with any hero alive today that wasn’t Toshi. She might have even been able to take Cathy, I’m not sure. It would be close.”

David took his own glasses off before rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If that’s the case, then yes. I would unfortunately have to agree. Super speed and super strength are common quirks. Having both is less common, but still not unusual. Having speed, strength, and durability would certainly make anyone a shoe-in for pro herodom, but again, it’s not- it’s not too unusual.”

He sighed. “But having them to the extreme degree that One For All seems to grant is fairly unique. It would be hard to deny a connection. I would have to concur with Torino, Toshi. The only reason no one ever suspected Nana was your mother or aunt is because no one knew who she was or what she was capable of. With your fame, however…”

“And that’s why Melissa is going to guess the truth,” Torino said, lifting his ‘one more thing’ finger before wagging it at the two men. “She’s been around you too much, Toshi. She’s your niece. She knows what One For All looks like. And she also knows there’s no Mrs. Might in the picture, either. So she won’t buy whatever drivel the yellow pages cook up.”

“And… I’ll be losing my strength, once I transfer the quirk to young Izuku,” All Might said resignedly. “I hadn’t fully considered the implications before, but if both of us are in the public eye, and he’s visibly getting stronger while I’m getting weaker… you’re right. Someone might notice. Someone who knows both of us, like Melissa, could easily make a connection.”

David’s head snapped over to stare at Toshinori in shock. “Wait, you’re going to lose your strength? Are you serious?”

The tall blonde nodded, and David’s face grew a shade paler.

“Toshinori, you- your quirk may be the only thing keeping you alive right now. If you lose that, even if the change is gradual… it could kill you.”

All Might shrugged. “It was bound to happen eventually. Nobody lives forever, David. I’m at peace with it.”

The scientist’s hands shook slightly before he clenched them into fists, composing himself. 

“My fear,” Torino admitted, leaning back against the wall. “Is that Melissa will figure this out on her own. And if she does that, then it really will feel like a betrayal. She’ll resent Izuku for not telling her, for not thinking she was trustworthy enough to know. She’ll resent us. She’ll resent the fact that her uncle passed her over and chose some random kid off the street. Not only will it ruin whatever professional or working relationship she has with Izuku, but it could easily become the sort of thing that haunts her until the day she dies. Forever wondering why her own family didn’t think she was good enough.”

The old man’s lips twisted into a sad, wry grin. “I think they both have enough baggage as it is. They don’t need us adding more.”

“For the record, I don’t agree with this,” David said, having somewhat recomposed himself from Toshinori’s earlier revelation. “While I also believe Melissa and Izuku have issues they need to work through, I have faith in both of them. They are both very intelligent and kindhearted, and I don’t think either of them would hold a grudge over this. There are thousands of quirkless teens around the world. Any one of them could, within reason, be said to ‘deserve’ One For All. But there is only one quirk to be given out. There will be thousands of proverbial ‘losers,’ and only one ‘winner.’ That is simply the nature of the problem. I think both of them are smart enough to understand that, and not take it personally.” 

“But Gran is right,” Toshinori said, having finally finished dabbing up the last of the blood from his coughing fit. “I agree that young Izuku and Melissa are mature enough to handle working through this on their own, but there’s also no reason not to tell them both everything. Especially since I’ve now told you, David. It would be hypocritical to insist otherwise.”

“We owe them both an explanation,” Torino stated, drumming his fingers against his knobby wooden cane. “The kid still doesn’t know about All For One. That monster is dead, but he still deserves to hear the full story before accepting a quirk that man created. It would be wrong to foist this thing off on him without giving him his fully informed right to turn it down. I don’t think he will, but it would be wrong to keep that from him.”

“Well, whatever we choose to do, we have some time to work with,” David confessed, taking his glasses off and fiddling with them. 

“Have you done something, old friend?” Toshinori asked, curiosity on his face.

The scientist took a slow breath. He still wasn’t over being told that Toshinori might very well drop dead sometime in the next few years. “Until about an hour ago, I had assumed you were angling to get the young man into support or rescue heroics, since I seriously doubt a quirkless would stand a chance working as a frontline combatant. I didn’t realize he would be getting a quirk. So, since you showed me your injury and allowed me to examine it like I asked, I figured I would fulfill my end of our bargain. I asked around, and showed off some of the samples you sent to me. You did say I could show his work to other people.”

“That’s not a bad thing, though,” Torino muttered. 

“I don’t think so,” David replied. “Even though my assumption was wrong, it gives us some time.”

Toshinori tilted his head quizzically. “Who wanted to meet with young Izuku? Is it anyone I know?”

“The first one, perhaps by reputation,” the scientist replied, turning his glasses over in his hand. “The second one I highly doubt. Peter Simensen, the current principal of I-Academy, wants to meet the young man. An associate of mine from Prague, Dr. Asher Gallas, also wants to speak to both Izuku and Melissa.”

“Both of them?” Torino grunted.

“He will be teaching here next year,” David clarified. “My daughter already has something of a reputation, and given some of the things I said, I imagine Dr. Gallas is hoping Izuku will be joining her.”

“I doubt that seriously,” Torino scoffed. “The kid seems more likely to sneak into UA and live in a janitor’s closet than settle for another school.”

The scientist chuckled. “Maybe. By the way, there’s a bit of an issue with this plan of yours. I’m not sure you’ve really thought it all the way through.”

“Oh?” the elderly pro asked, leaning on his cane. “And what issue is that?”

“What are you going to do if the young man says no?” David asked, gesturing at the older man with his folded glasses. “All of this is working off of the assumption that he does what you told him to. But he and my daughter seem quite attached already. He may well decide he doesn’t want to risk their friendship. What then?”

“Then that’s fine. I’ll accept that.”

David Shield quirked an eyebrow, while All Might blinked in surprise. 

“Really?” The scientist asked. “Just like that?”

Gran Torino nodded. “Yeah. Just like that.”

There was a moment of silence. It was Toshinori who broke it. 

“But… why?”

Torino gazed at his former pupil for a moment, and the musclebound blonde shuffled uncomfortably. Torino huffed. 

“Because, he’s quirkless. They both are. The biggest thing holding them back right now is themselves. You both should know that, maybe even better than I do. You were quirkless once, and she’s your daughter. Their confidence issues are crippling them. Half the reason I wanted to bring them together was because I was hoping they could open each other’s eyes to how talented they really are.”

The retired pro shifted his stance, his feet spread wide and both hands resting on top of his walking cane. In that pose, it looked less like an assist tool and more like a sword planted into the ground. “Back in the old days, half the heroics assignments we gave to students at UA were fishing for pushback anyway. Trying to get them to assert themselves, but in the right way. Over matters of principle. If the kid’s grown a big enough pair to tell me to get stuffed? That’s great! I’d love for that to happen.”

“But- what about your plan?” Toshinori asked. 

Torino rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “Eh, plans changed. They’re teenagers. I always assume none of this will work out. You should too, if you really want to make a go at teaching at UA next year.”

Toshinori burst out laughing before shooting his old mentor one of his world-famous thumbs up. David Shield also smiled slightly before slipping his glasses back on. 

“And as I said, I’ll take full responsibility for this anyway if it goes south,” the old man affirmed. “I don’t mind being the bad guy here, I’ve played heel before. If this blows up, the both of you just blame me for everything, and I’ll act the part.”

The three men nodded, and David Shield rescinded the lockdown on his phone. 

“Besides,” Torino pointed out as the elevator dinged, indicating a carriage was on the way. “Half the reason we were so secretive about everything was to keep All For One away. Now that he’s dead, what’s the harm in having a bit of a circle of trust?”

The three men stepped through the doors into the elevator. It was extra-large, to accommodate people of all sizes, and the interior was just as fancy as the rest of the office, polished steel paired with dark wood and golden brass in an angular art-deco style. As the doors began to close, David, who had stepped through first, looked up at the back of Toshinori’s head. 

‘Toshinori, you- your quirk may be the only thing keeping you alive right now. If you lose that, even if the change is gradual… it could kill you.’

‘It was bound to happen eventually. Nobody lives forever, David. I’m at peace with it.’

Slowly, unnoticed by the other two men, he clenched his fists until his palms turned white.

It was a clear, beautiful summer morning. A soft, salty sea wind was blowing. Some early-to-rise birds were quietly singing in the trees. The stars above I-Island twinkled innocently down in the twilit boundary between day and night, just like they had on that California evening so many years ago.

And far, far below, beneath miles of cables and steel plating, a woman who was neither alive nor dead was entombed in a coffin of ice and light. Beyond the reach of both stars and sun. Lost in an endless labyrinth of dreams.

Izuku was standing outside of Melissa’s laboratory, waiting for the others to arrive. After yesterday’s surprise meeting, his father had told him he would pick both Izuku and Melissa up here today. He would bring them to a secure location where they could eat lunch, and go over the information about Star and Stripe they were being granted access to.

Melissa had brought him here, but vanished in a panic a few minutes ago when she realized she didn’t have anything to write or take notes with. Which left Izuku in the hallway, alone with his nerves and the looming fear of Gran Torino’s assigned confession. 

Well. Not quite alone. 

“I’m still really impressed that Melissa was able to make an AI as advanced as you,” Izuku commented to the geometric eye that was visible on a screen embedded in the wall of the hallway. The screen was showing other information, timetables for different workshops and reservations various people had made for those facilities. The eye seemed to float on top of that information, like the screen was nothing more than a window and the living geometry had simply wandered into view from somewhere out of frame.

“You flatter me, Mr. Midoriya, but with the exceptions of Alpha and Beta Cores, AI are not truly impressive in the grand scheme of things,” Darby replied. 

“They all seem pretty impressive to me,” Izuku confessed. He wasn’t sure if it was because the being he was speaking with wasn’t alive, or if he was more concerned by Torino’s assignment than he realized. Either way, his stutter seemed to have taken a vacation. 

“Computers have always been superior to organic brains when it comes to crunching numbers or calculating out complex spreadsheets and formulas, which can create the impression that computers are far more intelligent than humans,” Darby explained. 

“However, this is fundamentally an illusion. It took several centuries of advances in robotics and many trillions of cycles of learning algorithms just to teach a machine with legs to stand back up after being knocked over. A feat any human or animal infant can do with ease. And as we discussed yesterday, your mind is capable of processing emotions and emotion-based logic, which is an entire dimension beyond my capabilities. In general, the things your brain finds extremely easy to do, mine struggles to accomplish, and vice versa.”

Izuku frowned, but nodded in understanding. “The grass is always greener, I guess,” he supplied. 

“Quite,” Darby replied amicably. 

A nearby elevator dinged, and a familiar figure stepped out of it. Midoriya Hisashi smiled, warmth radiating from his eyes, and he held out his arms just in time to catch Izuku’s hug. 

“Good morning, son,” he said, before ruffling the teen’s fluffy hair. His own had been like that, long ago, but time had tamed it down to something more wavy. 

“I missed you, dad,” Izuku said, his voice muffled by his father’s suit. 

Hisashi smiled, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. “I know. I’m sorry we can’t meet more often.”

Izuku tilted his head back to look at his father. “It’s okay. You’re busy. I’m not a kid anymore, I understand.”

Yes, Hisashi was busy. But whether that was an excuse or not, the elder Midoriya wasn’t so sure. This was an old problem, and not one entirely of his own making, either. Inko’s refusal to leave Japan caused issues. It was a rough situation all around.

“Tell you what, I’ll try and get some more vacation time than usual this fall,” he said. “I have a few favors I think I can cash in. We’ll spend the holidays together.”

Izuku’s face beamed like the morning sun. “Really!?”

It was an infectious joy. His son had a gift for making other people feel better. “Really. In fact, I’ll do you one better. I won’t just try: I promise I’ll do it. How about that?”

Izuku hugged his father like he never wanted to let go. 

Hisashi put a hand on the back of his son’s head and rubbed it as he returned the hug. 

Family was everything, to Midoriya Hisashi. It always had been, and always would be. He was a family man to the bitter end. 

There was a commotion as Melissa Shield tumbled out of her lab, trying to juggle a notebook and a fistful of pens. “I’m back! I didn’t- oh no! I’m so sorry, sir! You weren’t waiting on me, were you!?”

Hisashi laughed softly, his eyes crinkling. “No, don’t worry young lady. I just got here. You haven’t missed anything.”

The businessman held up a small metal briefcase with a prominent lock on the front. “Ready to take a look at some classified documents about quirks?”

Both teens shouted their affirmative at the same time, looking equally excited. 

“Well then, follow me.”

A swipe of a security card sent the elevator in Melissa’s building down, and within moments, they were stepping out into a transportation hub of some sort, with trams and subway cars peeling off through tubes to other parts of the island. 

Izuku stared upwards in awe. The terminal they were in was under the lake, and the entire ceiling was seamlessly transparent. The water was clear, and the morning sun glinted off of the crests and peaks on the surface like liquid silver. Fish of varying sizes darted about, and the surrounding lakebed was vibrant with life.

Hisashi smiled and leaned over to his son. “If you think this is something, you should see the Abteilung für Heldentaten, the Department of Heroic Deeds in Germany. It’s at the bottom of a lake on the border of Switzerland, and the water there is as clear as glass. It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

Their group bundled onto a bullet shaped cabin with seats for four. Like the terminal itself, the compartment had a clear roof, allowing an uninterrupted view of the lake from below. 

“Where are we going?” Melissa asked curiously. 

“To the sub-level of the World Heroes Association building,” Hisashi replied, checking his watch. “As I’m sure you’re both aware, the bulk of the island is below the surface. The Association has an office here, like most organizations do, and the majority of the building’s facilities are below the street level, not above it.”

“This is for legal reasons, isn’t it dad?” Izuku asked. “Star and Stripe’s quirk is a big secret, so we can’t just talk about it anywhere, can we?”

Hisashi smiled approvingly. “That’s right, son. The briefcase can’t even be unlocked unless it’s within range of a device that will allow it to be opened. Our unlocker is waiting for us in a conference room I booked. For security reasons, it can’t leave Association property.”

“That’s so cool,” Melissa whispered. 

They smoothly accelerated faster and faster, the bottom-up world of the lakebed soaring by. They rounded a corner in the tube, and then disappeared into the side of the lakebed. There was a brief moment of darkness, where the only light came from the glowstrips on the floor, and then suddenly the light returned, showing an entirely different scene than any Izuku had seen before. 

He knew, intellectually, that most of the island was ‘underground,’ so to speak. The top edge of I-Island was as tall as some mountains. And he had seen evidence of it before on his tours around the island, like the underwater windows looking out into the canals of I-Academy, betraying the presence of rooms and walkways below the cobbled streets.

But understanding that and seeing it were two entirely different things. 

There was a whole world on the other side of the clear top of their tram bullet. Streets and sidewalks, buildings that reached up and disappeared into the ceiling. There were cars and bicycles, foot traffic and cleaning robots. Restaurants and food stalls stood side-by-side with office buildings and apartment complexes. 

Street by street and block by block, there was a mirrored version of the surface city buried just a few stories below, lit with a blend of clever skylights and colorful neon.

Izuku couldn’t help but wonder, just how deep did it all go? 

They cruised past several blocks and turned twice before smoothly transitioning through the wall of a nondescript building and gliding to a stop.

Hisashi stood up and offered the teenagers a hand, and together the group stepped through the sliding door and disembarked into what looked like an upscale subway station, full of clean white tiles and polished steel.

“Welcome to the World Heroes Association,” the businessman said. “Well, a branch office of it, anyway.”

Melissa looked like a kid in a candy store. “I’ve never been here!” she whispered exuberantly, like she was in a famous museum and not an office building. “I can’t believe we get to visit the WHA!”

“It’s not really different from most office buildings,” Hisashi said, chuckling. “A lot of filing cabinets and boring carpeted offices. Security is tighter here, but that’s about the only distinction.”

Privately, Izuku agreed with his father. This wasn’t the first time he had been in a WHA-owned facility. They were all about the same, and downright drab compared to some of the agencies and offices that belonged to heroes. 

Then again, the grass was always greener, just like he and Darby had agreed on not too long ago. Was this how Izuku had looked, while Melissa gave him a tour of her everyday life?

They rode up a series of escalators into a wide, arch-roofed galleria that almost looked like the lobby of a mall, before swinging right and going through a pair of double doors. 

After a number of turns and a second elevator ride, they found themselves in a large, well-lit room with a low ceiling. It was filled with tables and chairs, along with a number of upholstered booths. Various parts of the room were partitioned off into smaller areas using short walls made of glass bricks, and there was a respectable amount of greenery scattered around as accented trim.

“This is one of the cafeterias for the personnel in the building,” Hisashi explained. “They also serve as conference rooms. I booked this one for us, so we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

The mustachioed businessman ushered the teens towards a table that was somewhat sheltered from the rest of the room, nestled in a right-angle between two of the glass-brick partitioning walls. A large potted fern sat in the corner. 

“I’ve arranged things so that the two of you will have your access for all of today. I know you have two other appointments, but they can both be reached from a tram line just down the hall. So you can leave and return here to this room at any time to do your work. Do you understand?”

Both teens nodded fervently, looking excited. 

Two other men stepped around the corner. Both wore nondescript black suits with white undershirts. One had dark brown hair, black sunglasses, and an unremarkable face, though a faint dusting of tiny, flesh-colored scales around his eyes and upper cheeks marked him out as a mutant. He was carrying a metal case identical to Hisashi’s, the fist clenched around the handle sporting unusually thick and sharp fingernails.

The other man, by contrast, was completely bald. He had two black stripes running vertically across the top of his head and down his face, bisecting his eyes, while a third traveled horizontally from under his ears and across his cheeks, painting both of his lips black. He had a clear plastic earpiece clipped to the side of his head, and was empty-handed. 

Izuku beamed at the second man.

“Mr. Ichiwaka! How have you been?”

The bald man tapped his fists together before deftly signing with his hands. “I’m fine,” he signed, pointing briefly at himself before flipping the finger back at the teen. “How have you been?”

“Mom and I are doing great!” Izuku said, beaming. Melissa looked somewhat confused. 

“This is Mr. Ichiwaka!” Izuku explained. “He works at the WHA with my dad, he’s really cool.”

“I’m, ah, I’m sorry,” Melissa said apologetically, speaking a bit more slowly to the other man, and moving her mouth more deliberately. “I don’t really know any sign language.”

Ichiwaka Haruki smiled slightly, the action tugging the black stripes on his skin. “It’s fine,” he said, in a ragged, raspy voice. “Not deaf, just easier to talk with signs.”

“Ichiwaka was kind enough to play bodyguard for me today,” Hisashi said with a half-smile, before directing his attention to the first man. “Did you bring it?”

The scale-eyed mutant placed his metal case on the table and popped the latches, flipping it open. Inside was a metal device bolted to the interior. It was approximately the same size and thickness as a phone book, with a black plastic square embedded on top. The man pulled an unmarked card out of his pocket before swiping it over the black plastic. 

There was an electronic tone, and a small green light on the device turned on.

“You’re cleared for this room for the rest of the day, Director” the scaled man said. “Standard rules apply. Do not take either case more than a hundred feet from this spot, or an alarm will sound. Have they signed the waivers?”

“I have them,” Hisashi said, producing a thin manilla folder. “The two of you will need to sign these. They’re standard disclosure waivers that grant you temporary consultancy clearance, at least as far as the United States is concerned.”

Both teens took a copy. Melissa began looking hers over, which caused Izuku to pause in the act of signing. Looking sheepish, he decided to read through it as well. 

Hisashi smiled at his son fondly, a teasing glint in his eye. 

It was surprisingly short, for a legal document about security clearance. As Izuku skimmed it, he saw that, in essence, he was free to take notes and cross-reference the information he was being given access to, but he (and Melissa) would be completely liable for any leaks or security breaches that arose as a result. 

His father hadn’t been kidding about playing in the big leagues. Izuku idly wondered how many chores he would have to do to save up for a safe to keep some of his notebooks in. 

With the waivers signed, the WHA employee took them both and walked away.

After he had left, Hisashi placed his own metal case on the table and grinned at the teens. “Here’s the fun part. This case is locked using a digital key that is coded both chronologically and via GPS, which is why we can’t move either case now that the authorization has been given. Only for this window of time, and only in this specific location, can the case be opened. Break either of those rules, and everything in the case goes up in smoke.”

Melissa looked absolutely enthralled as she stared at the metal briefcase. “That’s so cool ,” she whispered, her head full of half-formed dreams of being a spy and fighting crime from the shadows. 

Hisashi popped the latches and opened the case, revealing a dense stack of documents and paperwork. “The American government takes their security very seriously, especially where their heroes are concerned. We aren’t too shabby in that department either.”

The mustachioed businessman smiled slightly at the two teens. “Now, I know you must be eager to get started, but there are some appointments you both need to consider first.”

Melissa frowned. “We have two people we need to visit today, right? Will it be safe, leaving these documents here?”

 “Absolutely,” Hisashi said. “Every building on the island is monitored, our own most of all. I booked the room, which means this cafeteria is being actively guarded, and the Department of Homeland Heroics from America also has their own people here.”

The businessman smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I knew the two of you might be in and out, that’s why I went to the trouble of booking the whole day. It’s more convenient.”

“I’m surprised they’d let you get away with that, dad,” Izuku said. 

Hisashi looked fondly down at his son and ruffled the teen’s hair. “I’d love to tell you all about how persuasive I can be, but honestly this was mostly Star and Stripe’s doing. As America’s No. 1, there’s a lot she can get away with, especially if she asks ahead of time. Which today she did. They’re her files, and she asked that you be given all-access. It’s quite the opportunity for both of you.”

Melissa was starting to vibrate again, and Izuku was also beginning to look excited. 

Hisashi grinned before checking his watch. “Let’s get one of those meetings out of the way, and then we can all sit down and have a nice lunch while looking things over. Sound like a plan?”

“Definitely!” “Let’s do it!”

The grey-eyed man laughed. “Come on then. Let’s not keep I-Academy’s principal waiting.”

The office the teens found themselves in was a large, half-circular room, on the upper floors of a dome shaped building. 

The far wall was dominated by a single giant pane of curved glass, which offered a stunning elevated view of the water surrounding Metro Delta and the adjacent countryside. A tall glass tower glittered like a crystal in the middle of the lake, surrounded on four sides by smaller spires. Beyond that, rolling hills could be seen dotted with forested suburbs and larger individual buildings, blurring away to the lip of the distant island rim several miles out.

And in front of that curved glass window was a large, modern metal desk, which currently housed a man wearing a lab coat who was looking at the two teens with relaxed curiosity.

They were back again at I-Academy. Hisashi had been true to his word; a small transit line just a few doors down from the cafeteria had taken them almost directly to the basement of this building, and from there it was just a short elevator ride to here. The elder Midoriya had opted to stay on the ground floor, letting them attend the meeting alone. 

The man seated behind the desk looked tall, even while sitting down. He had a thin frame with wide shoulders, and his face was clean shaven, with high, sharp cheekbones that gave him a cultured, almost aristocratic appearance. 

But what was most striking was the contrast between his hair and the color of his skin. He had pale, golden-blonde hair, so fine that it seemed almost white in places. It was shaved high on both sides and pulled back into a loose bun, and his eyes were a piercing, icy blue. 

But even though his face and features looked typically Northern European, his skin was a deep, walnut brown.

He leaned back casually in his chair, surveying both teens, before reaching over and setting down the long, carved pipe he had been holding in his hand. It fit neatly into a small stand on his desk, next to a heavily marked calendar and other office effects. 

Melissa curtsied slightly. “Principal.”

The dark-skinned blonde tilted his head in acknowledgement, even as Izuku suddenly looked panicked over whether or not he should bow. “Ms. Shield. Mr. Midoriya. I’m glad you could both meet with me today. I’m led to believe you have an ongoing business survey with Ms. Cathleen Bates regarding quirks, so I’m pleased you could both find the time to stop by.”

“O-Of course!” Izuku stuttered. “Mr., um. Mr. Principal, sir.”

The dark man’s lips twitched slightly in amusement. “I apologize for my poor manners, young man. I have you at a disadvantage. My name is Peter Simensen, the current principal of I-Academy. I am also the Dean of Medicine, and I sit on one of the island’s board of directors as the representative of the school.”

Izuku frowned slightly in confusion, blinking. “You have me at a disadvantage? S-Sir?”

“Yes, I do,” the man replied, his voice deep and even. “Although we have never met, I know of you, because I have met your father before. He has always spoken quite highly of you.” The blonde doctor reached under his desk, and brandished a terribly familiar bundle of documents that Izuku recognized as his Torino-provoked analysis of All Might. “Though I must confess, I never imagined I would be examining one of your creations in person. This is hardly the work of an amateur. I don’t believe your father’s words did you justice.” 

Izuku turned red to the roots of his hair. “Izuku!” Melissa hissed under her breath. “How many people is your papa friends with!?”

Izuku stuttered out a strangled “I don’t know!,” and Peter Simensen laughed softly. 

“Calling us friends is a bit of a stretch. Your father knows a surprising number of people, I think. His job has him serve as a middle-man and liaison for many different functions. I dare say he doesn’t get anywhere near as much credit as he deserves, considering his chosen career.” 

Simensen smirked slightly at that last comment, like he was enjoying some private joke. Melissa looked at Izuku to try and infer some context, but the other teen looked just as confused.

“I have your transcripts, Mr. Midoriya, as well as your grades and official records up until this point,” Peter Simensen explained. “At least what has been committed to the system.”

“You- you have my grades?” Izuku stuttered out. “How? I haven’t even technically graduated yet!”

The doctor's lips twitched, as though he was hiding a smile. “Mr. Midoriya, this is I-Academy. What we want, we get. And part of what I wanted to do today was offer you a place at our school. I understand you have your eyes on the Hero Track, with a possible fallback as a Support student? We have a number of programs that would cater directly to your needs.”

The man put Izuku’s analysis back down on his desk. “I cannot ensure placement, of course. We are a strictly meritocratic institution. But I can guarantee you a seat on the entrance exams, if you wish. I believe you would pass, given what I have seen.”

Izuku blinked rapidly, unprepared and unsure of how to respond. 

“Um, I… I’m sorry, s-sir, but. But that’s a bit much, and I had- I had really been focused on trying to get into UA. I’m sorry!”

Simensen nodded, not showing the slightest bit of shock or offense. “I had thought so. Given your mailing address in Musutafu Japan, I imagine you and all of your peers would be rather set on UA. But I did wish to make the offer anyway. And having done that-”

He reached into an inside pocket in his lab coat, and pulled out a thin, bone-white business card, which also had a folded note paperclipped to it. 

“-I can now get to the real reason I wanted to speak with you today, which was to give you my contact information.”

Izuku took the card with disbelief, doing his best to not let his hands shake. “I, ah. T-Thank you? But, um. But why?”

Peter Simensen quirked a pale eyebrow at the stuttering teenager. “From my understanding, your mentors brought you to I-Island to make connections in the hero industry, did they not? Well, here it is, young man. This is ‘the industry,’ or so they say.”

“But. But you’re the principal of I-Academy.” 

“Indeed,” the educator said stoically. “And having read some of your work, I believe it is worth my contact information, at the very least.”

Simensen half-turned in his chair, and gestured at the panoramic view beyond his window. “I-Island is built on its network of connections, young man, and not all of the people we rely upon live here with us. Many strange and unique problems cross our collective desks, and without our numerous friends and associates to help us, it is doubtful we would ever get anything done at all. So I hope you will accept my information in the same spirit in which I offer it; that of scientific and academic cooperation. I assure you, we always take care of our friends. You will receive competitive pay for anything that gets sent your way.” 

Izuku slowly nodded, his face still marred by disbelief, before he put the business card and note in his pocket. 

“Good,” Simensen said. “I’m glad you understand. Now, did you have any other questions I could answer?”

The green haired teen did, in fact, have one. Izuku just wouldn’t be Izuku if he didn’t. 

“What is your quirk?” the teen blurted out, before suddenly backpedaling. “If- if you don’t mind my asking! Sorry!”

Simensen’s lips twitched again in that suppressed smile. “Given what I know of you from your father, I probably shouldn’t be surprised.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, and folded long, dark fingers together. “In the animal kingdom, there are a number of creatures which possess a poisonous or venomous nature that is not truly their own. Certain sea slugs exist that prey upon jellyfish, their bodies storing the neurotoxins of their prey and repurposing them for the slug’s own use. There are also species of tropical tree frog guilty of the same act: they are deadly poisonous, but only because their bodies steal and refine that poison from the beetles that they eat.”

Simensen leaned forwards slightly, a half smile on his face as the two teens hung on his words. The man was a skilled orator. “I am a human with the self-same power. My quirk makes me a kelptotoxic organism. By which I mean, I can intake chemicals, many of which would be harmful or deadly to humans, and my body is capable of processing and refining them into new substances, as well as expressing those substances physically. My quirk councilors originally called my ability Kleptotoxin, but when I became a doctor, I had my quirk’s name legally changed to Pharmavore. I feel that is a more appropriate moniker. After all, the difference between a life-saving medicine and a deadly poison is strictly in the dosage.”

Although the office was ultramodern and sparsely decorated, it didn’t escape Izuku’s notice that a number of pipes were on display in a glass cabinet on the wall. They looked old and elaborate, like they had been carved by hand, and several appeared to be made of bone or antlers. They all had long necks, and most were covered in rather nordic-looking decorations and scrimshaw. It had the air of a collection, with obvious cultural significance. 

Izuku’s eyes flicked down to the pipe that the principal had put down as they entered. Like the others, it was long-necked, though it was far simpler and more utilitarian in design. 

“Do you, um. Do you have to smoke whatever it is you want to take in? For your quirk, I mean.”

Simensen nodded. “Well deduced. That is correct. I despise the habit, personally; I do not like smoking or recreational substance use in general. But I have little choice in the matter. It is necessary for my quirk. If nothing else, I am at least spared the effects of the chemicals I imbibe. A small favor.”

Izuku pinched his chin, his eyes distant. “Blanket immunity to toxins and foreign chemicals? A safety feature, of course. That’s practically a quirk unto itself,” he muttered.

“What happens if you eat it instead?” Melissa asked curiously. 

The dark-skinned blonde shrugged. “The same, but far less of the chemical is retained. Over 95% of the specialized tissue that allows my body to collect chemicals is located in my lungs, throat, and sinuses. What remains is spread out through the rest of my body. I could ingest the chemicals, yes. But it would be far less effective. Quite frankly, I strongly dislike how it feels to use my quirk, so I view smoking what ingredients I can and intaking the rest as inhalants is the lesser of two evils.”

Simensen reached over and tapped the pipe on his desk with an ebony finger. “My quirk allows me to easily create immensely complex substances, including several that would not exist were it not for my quirk. Given the… exotic, nature of modern human biology, my quirk makes it possible to create medicine that is effective even for those of unusual constitutions.” 

Izuku understood what the man was implying. Just in his own former class at Aldera, there had been a boy whose body had been mostly made of rocks ‘ granite specifically, granite was crystalline in nature, was his family becoming crystal people? ,’ and another girl whose flesh was made of living wood, ‘ quercus acuta he was fairly certain, Japanese Evergreen Oak, but no bark, why no bark? ’ 

This was a strange, wild age, with strange and wild biology to match. The possibility of people having bodies that rejected or were otherwise incompatible with traditional medicine was a very real issue, and one that sometimes had no solution at all. 

But if what Peter Simensen claimed was true, his quirk had transformed his body into a living pharmacy. He could synthesize precise chemical cocktails, custom-made to help a specific person. 

“That’s an amazing quirk,” Izuku whispered, a note of wonder in his voice. 

“Thank you,” Simensen said, nodding slightly in appreciation. “It is not a universal solution; there are still occasionally problems I cannot solve. But thankfully, our network of friends here on the island is large. I am merely one piece of a broader international puzzle.”

Simensen paused for a minute, as though debating whether he should mention something. “In fact… that is actually why I am a business associate of your father.”

Izuku blinked in surprise. “Really?” Melissa also leaned in, looking interested in hearing the story.

The principal nodded. “Yes. My quirk is quite valuable for it’s medical potential, but of course, one cannot freely use their quirk in public without a license. For most people with healing quirks, this is hardly an issue; their government issues them a partial exemption from the law, and often pays them if they are willing to be trained as a nurse or doctor. But since I operate internationally, that would be an impossible nightmare of paperwork. No nation has the same rules or regulations regarding this, and some countries don’t have an exemption program at all. Your father pulled some strings, and had me issued a hero license. My paperwork is filed in Skanesland and the United States, and my license is recognized by the WHA. So I am, technically, a superhero thanks to your father. Though I am a rather boring one, I’m afraid.”

Melissa frowned slightly in contemplation, nodding her head. She had heard about such arrangements on I-Island before, but wasn’t aware that Dr. Simensen was in one. It made sense.

Izuku’s fingers flexed, itching to take down notes. Simensen seemed to notice, and his lips twitched slightly, hiding a smile. “How do you use your quirk on someone?” the green haired teen asked. “To administer what you make, I mean?”

The dark-skinned man leaned back in his chair. “I can emit what I make in just about any manner I please, but most of it would be considered unsanitary, for obvious reasons. Like the animals I share my trait with, I can circulate what I create throughout my body as a defensive weapon, and that is typically how I go about things. I render myself ‘poisonous,’ and then donate blood,” he said, tapping the crook of his arm for emphasis. “My donation is centrifugally separated, and the ‘poison’ is present in the plasma. From there, it can be extracted and further refined into something sterile and medically safe to use.”

He leaned forwards slightly. “While I do occasionally need to create more exotic substances, most of my products are analgesics, anesthetics, or intravenous agents. They are made on request to help in surgeries or operations involving people with unusual constitutions. That is another reason your father’s assistance with my license was so useful: it would be impossible to legally obtain some of the chemicals I need to fulfill my patient’s needs, particularly the bulk opioids. But a professional hero with a healing quirk is given far more leeway than an ordinary doctor. Especially one with connections to the WHA.” 

Izuku nodded, already having some sense of the scope of his father’s job. Melissa looked impressed.

“I, ah. I have one more question, if you don’t mind my asking,” Izuku said, a blend of meekness and fascination on his face. 

“Of course,” Simensen said. “If you’re curious about which materials I smoke, it is the vast majority of them. But there are a few I need to aerosolize and inhale if I wish to absorb them efficiently.”

The green-haired teen twirled his pencil between his fingers. “That, ah. That was one of my questions, but I decided it wasn’t i-important. If you don’t mind my asking, what is your quirk classified as? Emitter, Mutant, or Transformer?”

Peter Simensen gave a half-smile, and folded his fingers together. “Well, I am a teacher and this is a school. Why don’t the two of you guess, and we will see how close you get. Ms. Shield? Your thoughts?”

“Emitter,” the blonde teen said, after a moment. The doctor seated in front of them nodded slightly, before gesturing at her to elaborate. “I think it is an Emitter because the definition of an Emitter is the ability to generate and sometimes control certain things, or to alter the environment around you. Your quirk matches that description, at least in my opinion. You are altering substances that enter a specific area relative to you, in this case, the interior of your body. You aren’t generating chemicals, but you are controlling them and changing their properties within a defined field. That’s a textbook Emitter.”

“A fair guess, and well reasoned,” Simensen conceded. “And you, Mr. Midoriya? What are your thoughts?”

Izuku frowned, his eyes distant as his thoughts spun. “It’s… not an Emitter.”

“Oh?” Simensen said.

Izuku nodded slowly, rubbing his fingers together absently. “Emitter is… it’s a good guess. I like that guess. But it doesn’t really line up, not completely. Emitters, or Operative quirks as they’re more technically called… they don’t generally provide total immunity to their own emissions. They can, I know someone who does. Have immunity, I mean. But it’s really, really rare. Most Emitters can be hurt or even killed by what they produce if they don’t handle it correctly. Ice and fire users are the iconic examples of that.”

“But Principal Simensen said he was immune to the chemicals he intakes,” Melissa supplied, starting to catch on.

Izuku nodded. “And he said he doesn’t like using his quirk. It makes him uncomfortable, it is an unpleasant sensation. That’s another problem, maybe even a bigger one than the immunity. There’s a psychological aspect to quirks, it’s a big field with a lot of political implications. One of the biggest arguments for abolishing the laws forbidding quirk usage is that many people feel compelled to use their quirks, almost on instinct.”

“It is also the source of many of the arguments that those who break the law with their quirks should be given leniency,” Simensen supplied. “On the theory that they could not help themselves, or were under unreasonable mental pressure. Quirks can also alter a person’s life functions in unexpected and even dangerous ways, which is also something we now must take into account, both in the prosecution of crimes and in the pursuit of medicine. But forgive me, please continue.”

Izuku nodded, his shyness fading away as he became more and more immersed in his obsession with quirks. “Right! Quirks want to be used, is the old saying. Most people feel pleasure from using their abilities. It’s a factor for a lot of reasons, but-”

“But Professor Simenson said he doesn’t like using his quirk,” Melissa supplied, understanding starting to dawn on her.

“That’s right,” Izuku said, his green eyes unwavering as they locked on to Simensen’s icy blue. “Emitters, above all others, fall into the category of quirks that feel good to use, that improve the mental and physical condition of their users when they are employed. But Mr. Simensen said he hates using his quirk, it feels unpleasant and strange.”

The dark-skinned blonde nodded slowly. “Yes, I did say that,” he admitted. Then his lips twitched slightly, like he was suppressing a smile. “Your conclusion?”

“Mutant-type quirks,” Izuku said softly, “are defined as superpowers that grant their user a permanent physical abnormality directly related to their abilities. They always involve some sort of new and biologically unique structure being added to their owner’s body, such as extra limbs, wings, or a tail.

“Or modifying existing structures,” Simensen supplied quietly. 

“Yes,” Izuku said. “Or that. I believe you are a Mutant, and I think that your quirk has modified you from the inside-out, instead of the more traditional outside-in. Your respiratory system in particular. Your ability to collect and refine outside chemicals is certainly in-line with an Emitter quirk, but the way you discussed your lungs and the unique organs inside of them tells a different story. It would also explain your unusual skin-tone; skin is the largest organ in the human body, and if all of your organs were modified to suit your quirk, well…”

Peter Simensen smiled, and gently clapped his hands together once. “Very impressive, the both of you. If this were a classroom setting, I would give Ms. Shield an A for her work, and you an A+.”

There was a pause, and then the doctor smirked slightly. “Unfortunately, however, you are both still wrong.”

The two teens reeled back in surprise. While they had rather different opinions about each other’s guesses, they had certainly believed that between the two of them, they must have guessed correctly. 

The dark-skinned blonde held up three long, strong-looking fingers. 

“There are, broadly, three general types of quirk. Other subtypes exist, and sometimes certain quirks can blur the lines between them, but these are the big three. They are Emitters, Transformers, and Mutants. Or, to use the more scientifically accurate terms, they are Operative, Composite, and Heteromorphic.” 

Simensen lowered his three fingers before folding his hands together. “Your guesses were rational and well-reasoned, but unfortunately, you both lacked a key piece of information. Namely, that I don’t always look like this,” he said, gesturing generally at himself.

“A Transformation-type?” Izuku said, his eyes unfocusing as his thoughts began to spin again. “But… why?”

The stoic norseman chuckled. “I’ll assume you’re not asking why in an existential sense, because I have no idea. The definition of a Transformer is that their quirk grants them a composite existence, hence why the scientific term for a Transformer is Composite. Composite-type abilities always change at least one thing about the user when they’re employed. There are also some rare Composites that transform something other than the user, such as a target or part of the environment. My quirk is actually both: it changes me and the substances I use it on.”

Melissa frowned, a mixture of confusion and fascination. All of this information was new to her: she had never really known what quirk the Academy’s principal had, he never advertised it. “But… what’s changing about you, then? I don’t understand.”

But Izuku got it. 

“Your organs,” the green-haired teen whispered, a note of wonder in his voice. “Your organs are transforming. That’s why your quirk makes you uncomfortable. I had thought you might be one of the mutants with an ability that’s painful to use, but that isn’t it, is it? The biggest weakness of Transformation-types is that over-exertion of the ability can cause pain and discomfort. Some of that can be overcome with conditioning and exercise, but there’s always a price to be paid, especially if you push your limits. That’s happening to you, isn’t it? 

“Bravo, Mr. Midoriya,” the doctor said, his voice soft and even. “We lost a great deal of medical knowledge and technology during the Dawn. Because of that, my ability to create quirked medicine is in extremely high demand. Realistically, I couldn’t fulfill all the requests we receive, even if I had a hundred lifetimes. Regrettably, I have to pick and choose what cases I take, though my peers and co-workers are kind enough that they help pick up the slack.”

“So you’re always transformed,” Melissa said. “Professor, I had no idea.”

The doctor waved a hand dismissively. “I appreciate your pity in the spirit it is offered, but I do not need it. Saving lives is it’s own reward, doubly so for anyone in the medical field. When I was born, I had the complexion of an albino. However, when using my quirk, all of my organs change to a secondary form that is capable of intaking and processing chemicals and poisons. In that form, the more chemicals I hold in my body, the darker I become. Hypermelanization is a direct consequence of using my quirk. If I stopped using it, I would change back, but…”

The man absently held up one of his hands and gazed at it, his eyes dispassionate. “It’s been ten years at least, I think, since I have seen my birth complexion in the mirror. I’ve almost forgotten what I look like.”

In spite of the doctor’s stoicism, Melissa Shield felt her admiration for the head of her school swell. 

He may not have necessarily wanted his hero license, or even needed it, but Peter Simensen was still living up to the standards of herodom anyway. She felt inspired. 

“Aposematism,” Izuku said absently, as he also looked at the doctor’s hand. 

Simensen frowned slightly. “Pardon?”

Izuku blinked, and shook himself out of his reverie. “Ah! Um. Sorry. It’s just… aposematism is what it’s called when an animal has bright or unusual coloration, as a warning to other creatures in the environment to not mess with it.”

The dark-skinned blonde quirked an aristocratic eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that my quirk is warning those around me of my status as a toxic human?”

Izuku ducked his head, but resisted the urge to back down or stutter. “I mean, you were the one who described your quirk as being a variation of the poison-stealing abilities already found in nature. Aren’t most of those animals aposematic too? Maybe you share more traits in common with them than you realize.”

Slowly, one side of Simensen’s mouth quirked up in a lazy half-smile.

“An interesting theory. There is no way to prove it, of course, but there is merit to the guess.”

The doctor tapped a long, dusky finger against his desktop. “I had given you some other contact information on that slip of paper attached to my card, as a favor to Dr. Shield. However, now I am starting to suspect it is I who will end up owing a favor to him, in the end. Your father is right to be proud.”

Izuku blushed to the roots of his hair, and Melissa smiled widely. 

The principal of I-Academy cracked a small grin. 

“I apologize for this next part, Mr. Midoriya, but I need to go over some of the particulars of Ms. Shield’s education for the upcoming year. I always prefer to do these in person, but it won’t take long. Would you mind stepping outside? This will only be a moment.”

Izuku blinked before scrambling up out of his chair. He bowed deeply to the dark-skinned man before speedily walking for the door, muttering to himself. 

Melissa giggled, and the doctor huffed softly under his breath. 

“Now then,” Peter Simensen said, pulling out several sheets of paper. “I am certain I already know the answer, but you will be re-applying to stay in the Advanced Course, correct Ms. Shield? Excellent. You remain qualified due to your grades, so please sign here, and-”

Izuku closed the office door behind him, the sound inside cutting off with a firm click. He found himself alone in the quiet hallway outside, with nothing to keep him company but his thoughts and the business card burning a hole in his pocket. 

He had stood there for only a moment when the monitor over the nearby elevators lit up, indicating they were in use. A gauge slowly moved from left to right, before stopping on their floor. 

There was a ding, and the doors opened to reveal a towering pile of paperwork with a pair of legs.

Izuku blinked in confusion as a person carefully stepped out of the elevator. But, rather predictably, they only made it a few staggering paces before stumbling. 

Izuku lunged without thinking, trying to save the papers. He was partially successful, but the person dragged him down to the floor as well when they toppled, and the top two-thirds of the stack scattered everywhere. 

The man, for Izuku could see it was a man now, swore, and began scrabbling on his hands and knees trying to collect the documents. Izuku sat what he had managed to grab down on the floor, and began to help. 

“Ooh, I can’t believe it!” the man exclaimed. “Of all the rotten luck!” He blinked, before peering a bit more closely at Izuku. “Good heavens, I didn’t even realize you were there. Thank you, young man.”

Izuku gave a wobbly, unsure smile. “S-Sure! It’s no problem! I’m- I’m just sorry I couldn’t catch more.” 

The man made a dismissive noise. “Nonsense! You tried to help, and lord knows that’s more than most people do around here.”

Izuku took a moment to look the man over. He wasn’t tall, perhaps average or slightly below, with an even build. He had a mop of messy hair not unlike Izuku’s own, colored a dark blackish-bown. Small streaks of steely gray were starting to show near his temples, and he sported a short beard and mustache of the same color. Both were far better trimmed than his unkempt hair. Large, old-fashioned glasses were perched on his nose, shielding a pair of quizzical brown eyes, and only the smallest upper edge of a white dress shirt’s collar popped out of the forest-green sweater he was wearing, the tips slightly bent like a seagull’s wings.

He certainly cut the image of a scientist, from the heels of his brown loafers to the messy mop of hair on his head. Though for some reason, he lacked the white lab coat Izuku had seen so many others on the island wear.

“My n-name is Midoriya,” Izuku said, introducing himself as he finished helping the man put his pile back together. “Midoriya Izuku.”

“Ah yes, of course, how rude of me. My name is Wendell. Dr. Wendell Tully. I work for Ominent Practical Technologies. I’m so sorry for bumping into you, Mr. Izuku!”

“I-It’s fine,” Izuku stuttered. He took no issue over the man getting his name backwards; they were hardly in Asia anymore, after all, and as a lifelong All Might fan, Izuku knew that some confusion on that front was inevitable. “I just hope the order for everything doesn’t m-matter.” 

The messy-haired scientist put the last few papers on the top of the stack, and carefully picked it back up again. “Oh, don’t you worry, Mr. Izuku. I have to give a presentation on my project, unfortunately, but this paperwork goes to a secretary. Whether or not it’s out of order isn’t my problem, just as long as it’s all there!”

“Oh! Well, that’s great then. Good luck with your p-presentation then, Dr. Tully.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, I assure you, young man. And thank you for your help,” the scientist said, as he carefully began walking down the hallway towards another set of doors. “No, the only thing that really matters is whether that damn Shmector thinks he can use my project to further his own career. Maybe I should take Detnerat up on their offer…”

The words after his farewell were muttered darkly, and Izuku wasn’t entirely certain he had been meant to hear them. But either way, the back of Dr. Wendell Tully had turned a corner and disappeared. 

“Dr. Simensen mentioned you, dad,” Izuku commented, as the three of them made their way back to the cafeteria underneath the WHA building. 

“Did he, now?” Hisashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “And what did that old rascal have to say?”

“The principal said that you helped him get a hero license to use his quirk internationally, sir!” Melissa exclaimed, looking excited. 

The businessman smiled softly. “Ah, of course. That. Well, I do help coordinate international hero affairs, so getting him rubber stamped wasn’t terribly difficult. Exceptions are almost always made for people with abilities useful in medicine.”

The group walked through the doors, and began the winding route back towards their table. 

“He had a fascinating quirk,” Izuku confessed. “I’ve never heard of a transformer whose ability primarily changed their insides like that.”

“He’s lucky, is what he is,” Hisashi replied. “Most transformation quirks wouldn’t allow their owners to hold the shift for so long. They’d kill themselves trying. Holding a composite form almost constantly for ten years is herculean in scope; no amount of training or conditioning could account for it. If Simensen’s quirk was more normal in it’s function and limitations, he would barely be able to use it for anything.”

“Sir, what is it about him that makes his power different, then?” Melissa asked the older man. 

Hisashi frowned slightly as he pulled out chairs for the two teens, seating them back at their chosen table. 

“It’s a combination of factors,” he said after a moment, sitting down himself. “Luck plays a part. He’s just lucky to have a quirk that works that way. Another is that he has secondary mutations that support his existing quirk. Did he mention that he was born with partial albinism?”

Both teens nodded.

“That plays a role,” Hisashi said. “I doubt his altered pigmentation was natural to start with. And his quirk only changes a portion of his body, not all of it. Granted, one could say that the organs are the most important pieces of a living person, but even so. Someone with a full-body alternate form could never hold it for such extended periods of time. The stress alone would kill them, even if the strain from overusing their quirk did not.”

“So it’s the right quirk falling into the hands of the right person, then?” Melissa said, though the question was more of a statement aimed at herself.

The two teens chatted for a bit, and Hisashi raised his hand slightly, making a subtle gesture. 

As though conjured by a magician’s trick, Ichiwaka Haruki appeared, stepping out from around the corner and looking expectantly at his boss. 

“The kitchens here can cater whatever requests we have,” Hisashi mentioned. “How do the two of you feel about sandwiches?”

The teens nodded, and Ichiwaka took their orders with a placid expression before walking away to relay them. 

The elder Midoriya passed some of the paperwork out across the table, and it was all both teens could do to hold back their glee. 

This was information on Star and Stripe’s quirk . 

This was the truth , the actual honest truth , about Star and Stripe’s superhuman abilities. 

The blonde and greenette were so distracted, they barely even noticed when Ichiwaka returned with their food, as engrossed as they were with looking over the information and comparing notes. 

Hisashi couldn’t hide his smile at the two teens, and Ichiwaka shot his boss a wink before taking up a position nearby where he could watch the doors. 

As the impromptu lunch went on, the two teens chatting with Hisashi, a part of Izuku’s mind was still on the reports in front of him. He leafed through them as he ate his sandwich, occasionally showing Melissa something he felt was interesting about her favorite hero. 

“Something on your mind, son?” Hisashi asked. The man had a soft, knowing smile on his face. 

Izuku frowned. “I don’t… I don’t know. But I’m starting to see a sort of pattern. At least, I think I am.”

“A pattern?” Melissa asked curiously. 

Izuku hummed an affirmative, flipping back through the report to check something on an earlier page. “Meta quirks are weird,” Izuku said, half to himself and half to Melissa. “Out of all the quirk effects that exist, they are the most like what could be called magic. They don’t follow any known laws of physics or chemistry, which is what makes them so difficult to classify and understand.”

“That’s very true,” Hisashi commented. “Even calling them magic is a bit misleading. When most people think of magic, they think of some wizard waving their hands and making something inexplicable happen. But that’s still a very structured thing, isn’t it? Like a cosmic vending machine. You put your money in and punch the right buttons, and you get your effect dispensed to you. Meta quirks can be significantly more wooly in how they operate. Many people who have them are advised against using them at all if they can avoid it. They can be unpredictable, and unpredictability is dangerous.”

Izuku nodded absently, his focus still on the papers in front of him. “And that’s why there’s a lot of theories that associate meta quirks with sentient quirks,” the teen commented.

Melissa looked surprised. “There’s a connection between meta quirks and sentient abilities?”

Izuku hummed and took a bite of his sandwich. “That’s the current popular theory, yes. Not much is understood about meta quirks because it’s hard to test them. They don’t respond to most scientific measurements. Sentient quirks are also difficult to gauge and test, because they aren’t always cooperative, even if their users want to be. But it’s not just classifying them together for convenience. One way we can observe quirks is indirectly, through the people who manifest them. And bloodlines that produce meta quirks are also often the same ones that produce sentient quirks. There’s a connection there.”

Melissa frowned. “It’s genetic?”

Izuku waved his sandwich slightly, fully immersed in his own analysis. “Whether quirks are genetic or if the DNA is a symptom and not the cause is debatable. We still don’t know what quirks even are . The DNA/evolutionary theory of quirks is the most widespread one, but there are a lot of problems with that. Evolution doesn’t work that fast. In fact, quirks have now thrown the evolutionary theory itself back under serious scrutiny, since it’s proof that an organism can potentially change into a completely new one in a single generation. Evolution being responsible for quirks is a bit of a meme, honestly. It’s the mainstream theory because it conforms to preexisting ideas and is easy to understand.”

“That is true, but a bit beside the point,” Hisashi said patiently. 

Izuku blinked. “Oh, right, sorry. I guess you could say it’s genetic, then? As a shorthand for a much larger problem with no real answer. People from families that produce meta quirks also often give rise to sentient quirks, and vice-versa. That’s the point. So yes, Melissa, that’s right.”

Izuku frowned slightly, chewing thoughtfully. “Though I suppose it’s a good thing there haven’t been any sentient meta abilities. That could end very badly, for a lot of different reasons. It would be like if somebody was possessed by an evil genie, or something.”

Hisashi kept his expression neutral and said nothing. There had, of course, been sentient meta quirks. But it was not his son’s fault for not knowing that. He could hardly be expected to know information that was actively being suppressed by international governments. 

His son’s assessment of what such a quirk may be like was rather accurate. Which was, of course, why the information was suppressed. 

The world didn’t need to know about the unfortunate few born with what amounted to devils and fairies whispering in their ears. 

“What was this pattern you think you see?” Hisashi asked, guiding the conversation back to where it started.

Izuku blinked somewhat owlishly before suddenly starting, realizing what he was being asked. “Oh! Right! Um, sorry. It’s just… here, look.”

Izuku flipped through the reports and pulled a sheet out, pushing it across the table. Both Hisashi and Melissa craned to look at it. It was a report from a hospital. After a short amount of shuffling, Izuku produced another, similar sheet of paper to put next to it, and then a third after that. 

“New Order allows Ms. Bates to make declarative statements, or ‘Orders,’ which come true as long as she holds them. She can maintain a maximum of two Orders at once, and she cannot, allegedly, affect anything that does not have a sense of self.”

Hisashi raised an eyebrow. “Allegedly?” he asked.

“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Izuku replied. “She also needs to understand the true nature of what she is choosing to impose an Order over, or else the Order will fail. This is why she mainly resorts to directing her quirk at herself. Her primary strategy is having a standing Order to boost her physical abilities to the greatest possible degree, which gives her a level of speed and strength comparable to All Might’s. This also leaves a single Order in reserve to allow her to adapt to any surprises or unexpected situations. She can combine Orders if she needs to achieve more complex effects, but rarely does, as releasing her standing Order for a superhuman body makes her vulnerable, and one Order is usually enough.”

Izuku drew a deep, measured breath, and then slowly let it out before fixing his father and Melissa with a steady, determined stare. “There is so, so much wrong with all of that. I’m not even sure where to start.”

Melissa spluttered in shock. Hisashi raised an eyebrow, but there was a teasing, almost eager twitch on the corner of his lips. 

He loved watching his son shine. 

“You believe Star and Stripe’s quirk has been misdiagnosed?” the man asked, a smile fighting to break out on his face.

Izuku jumped slightly, a horrified look crossing his face. “What? No, no! Of course not!”

Hisashi hummed disbelievingly. His son was far too polite for his own good, sometimes. But that was fine. Izuku’s boyish innocence was part of his charm, after all. So Hisashi humored the teen. 

“Right, of course,” he said with a straight face. “The people who analyzed and diagnosed Ms. Bates' quirk did an excellent and professional job of it. But you seem to have noticed something about how it works. A ghost in the quirk, if you will. Care to share?”

Izuku pursed his lips before reaching out and tapping the first document, the hospital record he had slid across the table for Melissa and his father to look at. 

It was a private record, not something that would have been publicly available, of Cathleen Bates visiting a hospital and attempting to use her quirk to heal someone who had been grievously injured during a villainous incident in the American midwest. Star and Stripe had been the hero who resolved the incident, and she had paid the hospital a visit in the aftermath to try and help where she could. 

She had attempted to use her quirk to heal someone, and it had failed. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” Izuku said, touching the sheet of paper for emphasis. Melissa frowned and looked more closely at it. Hisashi said nothing, as he was focused intently on watching his son. “Ms. Bate’s quirk allows her to imbue new properties into the things she touches. But she can’t modify things that don’t have a sense of self, supposedly. That means, in theory, she should be able to give herself and other people new properties all she likes, but she couldn’t, I don’t know, modify the air or light around her.”

Izuku gathered the two other sheets he had pulled out and pushed them forwards. “And yet we see here all of those supposed rules are broken. She can heal herself of injuries using her quirk, she’s on record as having done that. And yet she couldn’t heal somebody else. Why not? Why couldn’t she issue an order saying, in effect, I, Cathleen Bates, grant such-and-such a person high speed regeneration ? What’s wrong with that order?”

He tapped the other two papers. “And here she is using ultimate moves that do manipulate air and light. With ‘Fist Bump The Earth,’ she creates a construct of air around herself in the shape of her own body, effectively turning her into a giant, and then slams the ground with her air fist, creating an incapacitating shockwave. She used this during the Oklahoma Parkway Standoff five years ago. And then there’s this move, ‘Hollywood Boulevard,’ where she gathers all the light around herself into a kind of light armor and then releases it for a flashbang effect. She’s used that multiple times, there’s plenty of footage of it.”

Izuku looked up at his two lunch companions, a serious expression on his face. “It’s not uncommon for complex quirks to have their definitions changed as more information becomes available. The original analysis of New Order, on that paper there, says she can only modify things with a sense of self. However, she clearly found a way around that early in her career.” 

Izuku touched another paper. “In this revised analysis of New Order, made a few years ago, her limitations and restrictions are redefined. Under this, it is stated that something doesn’t strictly need it’s own sense of self to be modified, as long as she can project her own onto it. So what they’re effectively saying is that Ms. Bates' own sense of self can stand in for inanimate objects that lack one, as far as her own quirk is concerned.”

The teen folded his hands, his fingers tangling together nervously as he frowned. “If New Order works the way it’s supposed to, then this is, almost literally, exactly backwards. She should be able to do almost whatever she wants to people, but she should struggle to manipulate matter and energy. Instead, it’s the opposite. She has strange and inconsistent issues with imposing orders on other people, but has devised a phrasing of Orders that makes a mockery of her supposed limitations. So much so that her support staff have changed the very definition of what her quirk is even doing to more accurately reflect it.”

“It’s inconsistent?” Melissa asked. 

“Extremely,” Izuku asserted, before tapping the second medical report that had been slid across the table. “Look at this,” he said. 

His two lunch partners did. It was another medical report, almost identical to the first, filed under nearly identical circumstances. A person had been injured during a villainous incident that Cathleen Bates had responded to. 

But she had healed them on the scene. Successfully. She had saved their life by healing them. This incident was dated several months earlier than the first.

“Look at that,” Izuku said. “One time, it worked. Another time it didn’t. That’s not consistent.”

Melissa was frowning. Hisashi’s eyes were flicking back and forth between the report and his son. 

“There’s more,” Izuku supplied, pushing another incident report out of the file. “Ms. Bates is on record as being able to knock villains out with a single touch. She’s done it hundreds of times on camera. But there was one time where she killed a villain who was using their quirk as a kind of improvised suicide vest. Killing him was the only way to save the hostages. This is the report about it, but I don’t even really need to read it, because I remember the controversy on the internet. It was a high profile incident. People were arguing for months if it had been necessary for her to kill or not.”

Izuku tapped the paper file. “But the morals of the situation aren’t what’s important. What matters is that it’s proof that if Ms. Bates can get her hands on you, she can, or at least she ‘should,’ be able to do almost anything to you. She can knock people unconscious. She can strike them dead. But she can’t heal. Except sometimes she can. Why is that? Why is there a difference?”

Izuku sat the papers he was holding down on the table. “According to this, there are two official analyses of New Order; an older one and a second that was made more recently that reclassified her abilities, Something both have in common is the assertion that Ms. Bates can impose orders on anything she touches, but affecting things requires her to understand them. If she doesn’t understand the nature of something on at least a basic level, she cannot affect it.”

Izuku flipped open the folder and pointed to a page in it. “According to this second, newer analysis of her quirk, when she uses her quirk on living things, her understanding must align with their own self-perception of what they are, at least to some degree, or else she cannot affect them. Which is an interesting rabbit hole on its own, and makes me wonder if somebody with a sentient quirk or a severe mental illness would be immune to her abilities. But the point is that her perception of them has to at least partially match their own perception of themselves. This is also, allegedly, the reason why it’s easier for her to affect inanimate substances, because they don’t have a sense of self at all. So her one-sided perception of them is enough to completely dominate them.”

Izuku spread his hands in a pleading gesture. “That’s great and all, but it doesn’t really explain the full use-history of her quirk. The simple answer to why she can’t heal random people is because she doesn’t understand them well enough for her quirk to take effect. But it works just fine on random villains she’s never met before. She can knock them out. She can kill them. So what’s the difference? Why is this happening? It doesn’t add up.”

Melissa’s frown deepened, and she began leafing through the medical reports, almost like she was looking for something. 

But Hisashi kept his eyes on his son. 

The businessman leaned forward in his chair. “You said you noticed a pattern, Izuku. I assume you have a theory?”

The teen stared at the table without seeing it, deep in thought. 

“Do you remember how I said there are connections between sentient quirks and meta quirks?” Izuku asked. His father nodded. “Well, a lot of quirk counselors and researchers who specialize in sentient abilities have started using psychology to try and understand sentient quirks better. To reach out to them. Psychological concepts and terminology have allowed them to make a lot of headway in teaching people with sentient and sapient abilities how to better understand and control them. I’ve read some articles about it.”

Hisashi believed he understood what his son was getting at.

“Do you think psychology may play a factor in New Order?”

Izuku’s lips twisted nervously, like he was wrestling with the idea in his own head. To him, the need for perceptions to align was all the proof in the world that New Order was fundamentally a mental effect, but he was struggling to put it into words. After a short moment of indecision, he appeared to rally himself.

“I- I think her quirk is an Egoist ability.”

Hisashi quirked an eyebrow. “An Egoist quirk? How so?” Next to him, Melissa was still leafing back and forth through the two medical reports, looking for something with slowly increasing desperation.

“Just think about it!” Izuku said in a rush, the words tumbling out of him. “She has no problem giving herself new properties, but sometimes struggles to affect others. But not people she’s directly fighting or trying to stop! And whenever she uses New Order on inanimate things, they almost always become a part of her or a reflection of her own body. This seems to be a natural part of her quirk, it’s something that just happens.”

“It’s like-” Izuku waved his pencil for emphasis, visibly struggling to find the words he wanted. “It’s like a sentient quirk in how it operates. There are sentient quirks out there that are purely emotive, and are a literal tell for the person that manifests them. There are also sentient quirks out there that work like Ids, they’re a personality with absolutely no filter. They say and do whatever they want, and the people stuck with them basically have to negotiate with their own powers to have a semi-normal life!”

“That’s what this feels like to me,” Izuku said, finally seeming to get a grip on his thoughts. “All the weird things about New Order only barely make sense with these two official analyses, but I think maybe that’s because they were looking at this the wrong way. I’ve had arguments with people on the internet who are obsessed with exactly what it is that a certain hero’s power does, they’re always arguing over whether it’s some kind of telekinesis or energy manipulation, or something more exotic like imagination projection.”

Izuku spread his hands pleadingly. “But does it really matter? I mean really? How it’s accomplishing what it does seems less important than understanding the logic it uses to operate. Like, on the abstract, every fire user is breaking the laws of thermodynamics. But for their day-to-day lives, understanding how that happens is less important than understanding how to control their own quirk.”

“I see,” Hisashi said, leaning back in his own chair. A small smile was twitching on the corners of his mouth. 

No, no, of course the people who analyzed Cathleen Bates in the past did a great job. They just completely missed the point of helping a hero understand their quirk better, and had to retcon their own theories to try and cover it up when reality didn’t match their system of governing rules.

His son really was too polite for his own good. 

“What- what do you mean, it’s an… it’s an ‘Egoist’ quirk?” Melissa asked, her voice wavering. 

Izuku was too far gone to notice her emotional distress. Hisashi was not. 

“I mean it’s a quirk whose power revolves entirely around her. It’s self-centered in the most literal sense. Look-” Izuku said, pointing at the medical reports in Melissa’s hands. “The hospital records are the best example, they’re what made me think of it in the first place. She healed somebody one time, but couldn’t in another. Why? If you assume psychology isn’t a factor in her quirk, there’s no answer. But look at the reports more closely.”

Izuku took one of them from the blonde teen, oblivious. “In this incident, she showed up after the villain had started their rampage. She stopped him, and then visited the hospital to help afterwards. She tried to heal someone, and it failed.”

Izuku handed the report back and picked up the other one. “But in this one, somebody was injured in the crossfire of a fight between Ms. Bates and the villain. And she was able to heal them. Given the dating on these events, this one happened first, so her success here was likely what compelled her to try again later.”

Izuku looked up at his father. “That’s the key, I’m sure of it. New Order is an Egoist ability because proximity to the user’s own sense of self is the biggest governing factor for whether a given order can work. There are other limits involved here, there have to be. But that’s the big one. Ms. Bates probably felt subconsciously responsible for that person’s injury, so she was able to heal him on the spot. But the other person, she had nothing to do with it. They were already hurt when she got there. So when Ms. Bates tried to heal them later at the hospital, it failed. That’s why her quirk counselors recommended she stop trying to heal people, because they were afraid of the inconsistent results. But it’s not inconsistent, not really. There’s just a governing factor at play they didn’t notice.”

Melissa looked stricken at the proclamation. Hisashi understood why. Unlike his son, he knew the story of Elenore Shield.

It had probably been Melissa Shield’s dream as a little girl, for her favorite hero to come swooping into her life one day and save her mother with a snap of her fingers and a heroic laugh. 

Unfortunately, reality was far more bitter. 

Izuku, finally noticing the other teen’s distress, began to panic. “Melissa? I- I’m sorry, what did I do!?”

There was a moment where Hisashi debated whether he should say anything, but the blonde girl made it unnecessary.

“You- you didn’t do anything, Izuku,” Melissa said softly, her voice hitching slightly. “This is… this is my fault. I should have known better.”

“Known better than what?” Izuku asked, looking torn between reaching across the table and being afraid it was inappropriate. “I’m sorry, whatever it was, I didn’t mean-”

But Melissa shook her head, denying his apology.

“It’s my mother,” she said softly. “She… she was the victim of a quirk accident, of sorts. She’s in a form of suspended animation. Papa has been focusing all of his spare time into researching her condition, to try and find a way to save her. There was a part of me that always hoped. That, you know. That Star and Stripe…”

“... that Star and Stripe would be able to save her,” Izuku finished softly. 

Izuku understood. He knew that feeling all too well.

How many times had he wished for All Might to appear in the halls of his school one day, and set everything right with a laugh and a smile? 

How many times had he dreamed of waking up one morning with wings, with fire, or some other amazing ability?

Both teens had dreamed in sorrow of a day when the quirks that filled their world would finally get around to saving them. 

Both sets of prayers had gone unanswered. 

Just one , a guilty voice whispered in the dark to Izuku. Only one set of prayers was unanswered. 

“It still m-might be possible, though!” Izuku insisted. “I mean, I could be w-wrong, and Star and Stripe has a long history of countering other people’s q-quirks with her own!”

But Hisashi shook his head, and at the same time, Melissa made a similar gesture. 

“It’s not just a matter of someone being trapped by a quirk,” the older man replied. He directed a soft but sad smile at both teens. “Elenore Shield is locked away by a quirk, yes, but she also suffered a mortal wound immediately prior to that. From my understanding, the quirk is the only thing keeping her alive.”

“She- mama is frozen,” Melissa said slowly, looking forlorn. “She’s frozen in ice, and has an injury that pierced her heart.”

Izuku looked stricken, and turned to face his father, who nodded sadly. “But-!” Izuku exclaimed. “But that… that doesn’t make any sense,” he said, contemplation at war with regret on his face. “Just- just ice alone wouldn’t save someone from something like that. What quirk… ?”

Hisashi’s lips twitched slightly, fighting off a smile in spite of the situation. “Why don’t you tell him your mother’s name, Ms. Shield? Her hero name.”

Izuku stiffened. “Hero name? Wait, Melissa- is your mother a hero ?” 

As always, Izuku couldn’t contain himself when heroes and quirks were involved. And even though Melissa had been coping with sadness and resignation at the news that her idol probably couldn’t just snap her fingers and save her family, the other teen’s enthusiasm was so honest and refreshing that she couldn’t help but smile through her unshed tears. 

“Y-Yes,” she affirmed. “Mama’s hero name was Rimewight. She worked in America. The quirk she’s trapped in is her own. It is her own ice that is keeping her alive.”

Izuku mouthed the words slowly without speaking them aloud. 

“Wait. Rimewight. And she was American?”

Then the spark. Hisashi saw it, because he was looking for it, waiting for that exact moment. He always loved to see his son like this. 

Izuku’s eyes flew wide, and he slammed both palms down on the table. “Wait! Is- is your mother the ICE MAGICIAN? Are you SERIOUS?”

Melissa blinked in shock. “You- you know about mama?”

Izuku was practically glowing. “Know about her? Melissa, your mom is one of only a dozen or so healer heroes, ever! That list is so short! And her quirk! Rimewight could heal people , and she had an elemental power! She’s amazing!”

Melissa choked down a laugh, and then started giggling, the laughter chasing away the tears.

The two teens were happy again, and Hisashi smiled. 

His son really didn’t understand the power he had. The way he could influence people around him, without even trying. Just by being himself. 

Even with all his own clever words and sharp comments, Midoriya Hisashi knew that this was an ability he himself would never possess. What some trained a lifetime to do, his son simply did . Pulling people into an orbit around him with inescapable gravity, and then shining light down on them with bright and honest smiles.

In a universe of planets fighting over who had the most beautiful quirk, his son was a star.

“Son, do you mind refreshing our drinks for us?”

A look passed between the younger and older Midoriya, some form of silent communication. Izuku stood up, and picked up their glasses before disappearing around the corner of their nook in the cafeteria.

“Did my son ever tell you what I do for a living?” Hisashi asked the teenage girl. Melissa slowly shook her head. 

“He mentioned you worked for the WHA.”

Hisashi smiled softly. “I’m a Director. I handle tactical field operations and disaster assessment. I manage quirk and counter-quirk procedures. It’s my job to know the situations international hero team-ups are facing, and to help build those teams in ways that enhance their strengths while covering their weaknesses. That makes me privy to a great many secrets, and also requires me to understand as many of the quirks in play as possible. If someone is hurt, or needs a certain kind of help, I’m one of the people in the chain that gets called. That is how I met Dr. Simensen, your principal.” 

Hisashi leaned back in his chair. “Your father is internationally renowned. He has connections all over the world. People know about him. And they know about his wife, too. Your mother, Elenore Shield, her situation isn’t a secret. Which is why, as sorry as I am to say it, there are no magic tricks to solve this problem. If such an easy solution as Star and Stripe snapping her fingers existed among the heroes and high profile doctors of the world, it would have been found and used by now.”

Silently, Izuku returned, but he remained just out of sight, standing around the corner of the wall of glass bricks. 

“I don’t want this to sound like discouragement, because it isn’t,” Hisashi continued. “I just wanted you to know that the right people are aware of your family and your mother. No solution exists yet, but every single day, that could change. One day, it will.’” 

Melissa smiled, her voice wavering. “I guess. I just, you know. I was holding out on some hope. I wanted my family to be whole again so badly, I never really stopped to think it through.”

A large, masculine hand reached over, palm up. Hisashi’s wedding band glinted conspicuously in the light. After a moment’s hesitation, the teenage girl put her own in it, and strong fingers wrapped around hers.

“I understand,” the elder Midoriya said. “Probably better than you realize. I know what it means to be part of a family that’s fighting to stay whole. Long before I ever got married, I knew what it was like to watch while bonds you cherish break down and fall apart. It’s not easy. It never is. But you should always have hope.”

Melissa sniffled. “You’re talking about working overseas, right? Izuku told me some about his family life.”

There were many answers Hisashi could have given to that question. Some more honest than others. 

“Partly,” he replied. “I was a son before I was a father. Sometimes the people in our lives make choices that hurt them. Sometimes the people we love get hurt, and there’s nothing we can do about it that wouldn’t make everything worse. I know your father has watched you suffer, and hated that he couldn’t do anything directly to save you or make things better. I know how that feels.”

Hisashi let go of Melissa’s hand, and folded his fingers together. As he did, Izuku stepped out from around the corner, and handed Melissa’s drink back to her.

“Quirks are getting stronger and more complex all the time,” Hisashi said consolingly. “I’m sure my son could talk about it for hours.”

Izuku shot his father a watery smile, and Hisashi gave a warm half-smile of his own. “So don’t despair,” the businessman continued. “Always hold on to hope. The person with the quirk that can save your mother has likely already been born, and we just don’t know about it yet. The moment that person is found, we will help Mrs. Shield. You have my word.”

There were unshed tears in Melissa Shield’s eyes, but she was smiling. 

“Thank you.”

The World Heroes Association office on I-Island was deceptively normal. It wasn’t the tallest building in the area, or the most ostentatious. It was not some geometric edifice of crystal glass, nor was it an imposing monolith of art-deco sensibilities. It wasn’t a tomorrowland-style living garden, like some of the medical and administrative buildings nearby, and it was not some daring throwback to greco-roman construction like the bank across the way, either. Compared to it’s surroundings, it was decidedly unambitious, looking like little more than a particularly upscale hospital, or perhaps a luxurious but otherwise mundane office building.

Perhaps that’s why it stood out. Dead center in Main Street of Metro Delta, surrounded by an eclectic blend of loud futurism and in-your-face nostalgia, it’s normalcy was a stark contrast. It was an island of sanity surrounded by chaos. Only the large Roman alphabet lettering on the side of the building, spelling out ‘WHA,’ differentiated it from the millions of high rise buildings around the world that looked just like it.

But as a brand, that was enough. There was nowhere on earth where the WHA logo wouldn’t be recognized. 

The metaphor, abstract as it was, wasn’t lost on Gran Torino. If the wild architecture of it’s surroundings were representative of heroes and the heroic age, the WHA building felt like seeing the team owner or manager of a sport’s association. 

It was the business suit behind the glitz and glamour. The pressed ties and briefcases behind the capes and spandex. 

Superheroes and corporations needed to show off, to advertise. 

The World Heroes Association spoke for itself. 

A crowd was already starting to gather. An unfortunate inevitability of All Might standing out in the open, minding his own business. Word of their little foray to I-Island had surely already spread to all the tabloids and internet gossipers, so the old man wasn’t really shocked. The brief period of peace on this trip had come to an end. 

Fortunately, their proximity to the WHA building, as well as the obvious fact that they were waiting for somebody, kept the crowd at a relatively safe distance. As did the fact that world famous heroes were a fairly common sight on the floating island. Thanks to that, there was a bit of a buffer against Toshinori’s star power. Torino had never been famous at any point in his own career, so he was just some strange old man as far as anybody else was concerned. That was probably also helping, the last thing they needed was somebody else who was-

“MASTER! I was hoping to see you!”

Gran Torino pinched the bridge of his nose. Son of a bitch. 

Crap like this was exactly why he had retired. 

A giant American flag floated slowly down out of the sky, revealing itself to be a woman as it drew closer. Cathleen Bates gently landed on the tip of her left foot, and grinned a thousand-watt celebrity smile as she planted both of her fists on her waist. 

The crowd surged forward, halving the distance they had kept previously, and the soft muttering and background conversations swelled to the sound of an unruly classroom. All around them, camera flashes began to go off like twinkling stars. 

When two popular heroes met in public, there were always certain expectations. And with superstars like Cathy and Toshinori, they knew the script by heart. 

The towering blonde man cracked his own world-famous smile, and clasped hands with his former student while laughing. “Star!” he boomed in his heroic voice. “You’re looking stronger every time I see you! Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

The amazonian woman barked a laugh. “Staying out of trouble? Me? Never! And what are you talking about, saying I’m stronger? Have you looked in a mirror lately, Master? You haven’t aged a day!”

She leaned in conspiratorially and loudly stage-whispered “What’s your secret?”

All Might winked at her, and held one thick finger against his lips in a shushing motion. They both laughed, and the stuttering clicks of cameras became audible as more and more phones were pulled out, documenting the meeting. 

Torino had a lot of complaints about both of his former students, but if nothing else, they certainly knew how to play a crowd. Those two idiots could probably stop a war just by standing around and grinning at people. 

He couldn’t criticize it. This was what Toshinori had fought for, his whole career. Torino wasn’t sure anyone else could have done it. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure how Toshinori had managed it. He never would have imagined the scrawny teenager that Nana had pulled out of a dumpster could have come this far.

The old man cracked a smile in spite of himself. Credit where credit was due. The world was at peace now, because of stuff like this. 

Casually, in a way that absolutely did not look like either hero was turning their backs on their fans or trying to escape the scene, both Cathy and Toshinori began walking towards the doors of the WHA building, chatting idly. 

Perhaps out of respect for the World Heroes Association, and for where they were in general, the crowd did not try to follow.

Stopping under the awning right next to the door, the muscular woman turned to face her former teachers. Her smile this time was gentler, but no less genuine. “So, what really brings the two of you here, then?”

“They’re waiting for me,” a voice replied behind them. 

The man who walked out of the WHA building looked like almost every other suit Torino had seen in his life. 

Male, of some indeterminate age between 25 and 40. Maybe a little taller than normal, but not by much. Dark hair that could have been wavy, or perhaps even curly, but had been cut short and aggressively combed into a professional looking side part. Clean shaven, except for a somewhat old-fashioned mustache trimmed in a rounded-square shape. Utilitarian glasses, square and a bit on the larger side. Pale skin, but not unhealthy. 

The man wore a charcoal colored European suit tailored in a two-button style, with a deep V that showed off his striped tie and dress shirt. A pair of polished Oxfords that clicked professionally against the sidewalk finished off the ensemble. 

Midoriya Hisashi looked like every other businessman on the planet. He would have vanished into a crowd effortlessly, whether that crowd was the line at a bank or in the middle of downtown Tokyo. 

Almost. There was one detail, just one, that made him stand out. That gave him away to Sorahiko Torino as something… different. 

Hisashi had bright grey eyes, sharp and clever. Sharper than the eyes of some daily grind businessman. And there was a subtle coldness to him. A pressure behind his gaze, a confidence in the way he walked. It was a presence that no mere pencil pusher should have. 

Were it not for his eyes, Torino could have forgotten the man entirely. 

As it was, there was something unsettling about the elder Midoriya. It almost reminded the old man of Sasaki Mirai, Toshinori’s former sidekick. Once called Sparrow, now Sir Nighteye. 

Mirai was a fortune teller. He had a tactile prescience quirk, if he touched you he could read your future. He could only do it once per day, it had a 24 hour cooldown. But his readings had never been wrong. Not once, in his entire life.

Torino had seen goons thrice Mirai’s size and ten times his weight get picked apart in a fight after being touched by the man, because he could foresee all of their moves before they even made them. It was a terrifying ability when used properly. Torino could count on the fingers of his hands the number of people he was certain could take Mirai in a fistfight after having their futures traced by him. And two of those people, Toshinori and Cathy, were here today. 

Midoriya Hisashi’s cold grey eyes were the same as Mirai’s. They were the eyes of someone who knew everything about you. The eyes of someone who had total, unshakable confidence.

They were the eyes of somebody who was completely certain that they were the most dangerous person in the room, and had absolutely nothing to fear.

No pencil pusher should have eyes like that. No matter what organization they worked for.

“Director Midoriya!” Cathy exclaimed brightly. “What on earth are you doing here? Last I heard, you were in Europe, at that conference in Klayd!” 

The businessman smiled slightly, and adjusted his tie. “The broad strokes of the Relief and Intervention Treaty have already been worked out, so I don’t really have any reason to be there anymore. I’m here to spend time with my son, and to rubber stamp the documents that let him look at your files.”

“Your son-?” Cathy asked, confusion on her handsome face, before she suddenly gasped and grinned, a large fist slapping into an open palm.

“Wait, really? You mean that kid? I heard his name, but I never made the connection!” She laughed. “What a small world!”

The businessman gave a rueful half smile. “Sometimes it feels like it’s getting smaller every day. I just came from lunch with them, they’re still down there throwing ideas around. I think you’ll be impressed with what they’re coming up with. Feel like giving them a practical demonstration or two?”

Cathleen Bates smiled slyly and put her hands on her hips. “Trying to hustle me out of the picture, eh? Do you really think you can get rid of me so easily, director?”

There was a beat, and Hisashi looked nonplussed. He wasn’t short by any means, but he looked almost puny next to the giant woman.

“Well, you’re absolutely right!” she announced, while striking a pose and flexing. “Anything for the fans! Especially the superfans!”

Hisashi’s lips twitched slightly. “They’re in private cafeteria 5 on the basement sublevel. Keep the property damage to a minimum and try not to do anything excessively unnatural. Or at least not anything permanent. I don’t want to deal with any Ruby Alerts while I’m here.”

“No promises!” the blonde amazon said while laughing. 

Her smile faded slightly. “Master, we should meet up later. We need to talk.”

Toshinori blinked slightly, still holding his own grin. “Whatever about, Star? You know you can always ask me anything.”

“A lot of my backers are pushing for another team-up. For the publicity, and to help tamp down on crime. Normally, I don’t care much about what they think, but the last request came from the Department of Homeland Heroics.”

Her eyes flicked down briefly to his injured side, invisible beneath the skin-tight spandex suit. “I know you’re looking into retirement options soon. I don’t want to push you too hard, but-”

Toshinori smiled his All Might smile, and patted his former student on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Cathy. I’m sure we can work something out. I’m not done just yet.”

“I have contacts in their office,” Hisashi mentioned. “I’ll make a note to ensure something mutually beneficial is worked out.”

Cathy shot Hisashi a relieved smile. “Thanks, director! You’re the best, as always!” 

The star-spangled heroine disappeared into the office building, presumably to find the kids and cause some inevitable havoc. Torino narrowed his eyes. 

So Cathy knew Midoriya Hisashi. Interesting. He was aware that the WHA had a larger presence in the Americas than some other countries, but even so, the World Heroes Association tended to stay out of the affairs of heroes when they weren’t operating on an international level. 

What was the connection there? Why would those two know each other by name? Hisashi was a puzzle, and the retired pro had too few of the pieces for his liking. It was worth looking into. 

“I understand we all have questions for each other,” Hisashi said evenly. “I prepared something in advance for that. A place we can talk.”

Toshinori and Torino followed the businessman into the building, and took a different turn than Cathleen Bates had. Instead of the elevators, they walked down a flight of stairs, emerging into what was clearly a large underground parking garage of some sort. A vaulted space of cement pillars and endless rows of clean, upscale vehicles. 

A car was waiting for them, an expensive-looking luxury sedan. As was another man. 

“This is an associate of mine, who is playing chaperone for me today,” Hisashi explained. “His name is Haruki Ichiwaka.”

Torino narrowed his eyes.

The man looked to be about six feet tall, maybe a hair taller. He was clean-shaven and bald, but in the deliberate polished way that suggested it was a choice. The only hair on his head was his eyelashes; even his brows were gone. The lack of hair made his bright, sky-blue eyes stand out even more.

He wore a nice but nondescript suit, black on black with a clean white shirt underneath. No tie. Hisashi’s outfit may have been business-simple, but this was even moreso. In Torino’s eyes, every part of it screamed security detail, from the off-the-rack colors to the slightly bulkier, American style cut of the jacket. Which could much more easily hide a ballistic vest. Or a gun.

This wasn’t the sort of muscle somebody who worked for a criminal organization would employ. They favored mutants, or people with obvious and dangerous-at-a-glance quirks. The average height, average build, and quiet stance screamed public sector to Gran. This was somebody who worked with the government. A bodyguard who didn’t need to show off. 

But it wasn’t the man's clothes or his eyes that caught Torino’s attention. It was the two black stripes running down his head, each one about the width of a finger, and the third cutting horizontally across his cheeks. The first two started from somewhere high up, possibly even the back of his skull, and then came across the top of his head in parallel lines. They intersected with his eyes before passing on either side of his mouth. Then they curled underneath his chin and down his throat, disappearing somewhere beneath his white buttoned collar. The third line also seemed to begin somewhere on the back of his skull, and ran just underneath both of his ears before crossing over his lips, painting them and the skin around them black..

The world of quirks was an age of chaos. A detail like that wouldn’t stand out at all, not to anyone. You saw weirder stuff taking the bus. Anyone who looked at the man would instantly assume it was something to do with his quirk, or some sort of cosmetic mutation, and wouldn’t give it a second thought. 

But Gran knew those stripes. 

Healing quirks were breathtakingly rare. They were among the least common, and the most sought-after, abilities that existed. Even a minor healing quirk could, for all intents and purposes, perform miracles. 

When Toshinori had been crippled in his fight with All For One, it had taken a massive team of doctors to put him back together again. No expense had been spared in the effort. It was one of the reasons Gran knew that the Pro Hero All Might was living on borrowed time. Too many people had seen the world’s most famous man dead on a gurney to keep quiet about it. Yes, doctor-patient confidentiality existed, and everyone involved had been bribed to a breathtaking degree. 

But in Gran’s mind, that changed nothing. Three people could keep a secret if two of them were dead. Fifty was a lost cause. 

The secret of One For All as a transferable quirk could be kept. It had been kept for generations. 

But the fact that Toshinori Yagi was a fearfully mortal man, who would one day have to step down from his job as the Symbol of Peace… that news breaking was inevitable. 

One of the doctors who had worked on Toshinori was flown in from Germany. A Dr. Strickmann, if the old pro recalled correctly. 

His German was very rusty, but even so, he was pretty sure Strickmann literally meant ‘knitting man.’ People had gotten so unoriginal with names since quirks happened. At least his own family had tried to be a bit poetic about it with their sky names, damnit!

Strickmann’s power was called ‘Zip Up.’ When the man pinched two objects together and made a zipping motion, he could fuse those objects together on a submolecular level. It was a seamless attachment that worked on organic and inorganic substances. And, more to the point, it worked on living tissue as well. 

The good doctor’s ability wasn’t a healing quirk per-se, but in a world starved of such powers, anything that could help improve someone’s health was worth its weight in gold. And Zip Up could reattach limbs and nerve endings just as easily as it could fuse pencils to notebooks or coins to carseats. It was also a permanent effect; anything that he fused together with Zip Up would remain that way forever unless Strickmann himself personally un-zipped them.

There was only one downside to Strickmann’s ability. It left a very visible, very obvious mark. 

The black lines. 

Anywhere Dr. Strickmann had zipped, there would be a thick black line over the affected area, approximately the width of a grown man’s finger. His zips left no scarring, and the line was purely cosmetic, it wasn’t a different type of tissue or any sort of altered substance. It was a pigment change only. 

Even so, that drawback alone meant the doctor was never called upon for more frivolous or cosmetic surgeries. The wealthy elite didn’t want their bodies marred by such marks. 

No, Dr. Strickmann was an emergency surgeon. He was brought in for desperate, high-profile cases. To suture together nerve endings, to reattach limbs. 

To help glue the world’s number 1 pro hero back together after being punched so hard in the stomach the only thing keeping him in one piece was his spine. 

Toshinori didn’t have any visible black lines on him. That’s because all of Strickmann’s work had been internal, fusing organ tissue back together and reattaching muscles and ligaments to bone. Without the good doctor’s help, it was doubtful the blonde hero would have ever walked again under his own power. He would have been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his days.

Dr. Strickmann’s career and accomplishments were all after Torino’s time. But thanks to Toshinori, the retired pro was familiar with the doctor’s work. 

Familiar enough to recognize it when he saw it.

Haruki Ichiwaka. Or Ichiwaka Haruki, as the man would be more properly called in Japanese convention. Those lines on his face were Zip Up lines from Strickmann, Torino was sure of it. 

And that, more than anything else, gave the retired pro pause.

The old man had a rather vivid imagination. And unfortunately, he didn’t need to use it to conjure up the kind of injury someone would have to sustain to warrant those lines. He had seen such things first-hand before. 

At some point in the past, Ichiwaka’s entire face must have been peeled off of his skull. Like a rubber glove pulled from a hand. The lines went so far back, to the very back of his head, and then came all the way down and past his throat, terminating somewhere beneath his shirt. 

It was a horrific wound. Something that would make even the strongest men blanch. Torino wasn’t too proud to admit that if he had come across someone who had been flensed like that on the scene of a disaster, he would have kept on looking. That was a lost cause injury, a dead man walking wound. Almost cartoonish in how grotesque it was. 

But Ichiwaka had lived. He had survived whatever did that to him, and been given medical aid by one of the best surgeons on the planet. He had returned to duty.

Ichiwaka Haruki and Midoriya Hisashi were like two peas in a pod. Either one could go missing in a crowd, but to someone who was paying attention, they were both clearly more than their unassuming appearances suggested. 

Midoriya Hisashi, and his Biggest Threat In The Room confidence. Those cold, calculating grey eyes. And now Ichiwaka Haruki, who had no visible quirk or mutation at all, but had apparently walked off being skinned alive. Peeled like a damn orange. 

Both men epitomized the World Heroes Association. Subtle, understated. Government-level professional. And dangerous. You’d never notice either man, standing next to a crowd of heroes. And that was the point. 

The WHA didn’t need to advertise itself. Heroes did, but not the WHA. Self-promotion was pointless. They just needed to get the job done.

There was a click, and Ichiwaka pulled open the back door of the luxury sedan, silently ushering them in. 

Sorahiko Torino steeled himself before climbing in. Toshinori could handle any villain in the world, but this was a different kind of fight, on a different sort of battlefield. 

He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as he had hoped. 

The exterior of the luxury sedan may have looked normal, but the interior had clearly been heavily modified. 

The front of the car was walled completely off from the back, while the rear had been converted into two rows of seating that faced each other. They were spaced far enough apart to fit a small island in the middle, which held an ashtray, drink holders, and a small refrigerator embedded into the molding. There was plenty of leg and headroom to fit all three men comfortably, even Toshinori, with the island serving as a kind of makeshift table. The seats were made of dark, clean leather, the carpeting was black, and the interior was spotless; obsidian plastic and polished brass with a tasteful splash of wooden trim.

The businessman had been right. This was the perfect place to have a private conversation. In fact, Gran Torino wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that was precisely what this car had been made for.

Torino slid into what would have been the back seat, facing towards the front, and Toshinori took the seat next to him. The door closed, the heavily tinted windows showing a clear view of the outside even though they had completely blocked the view within. A moment later, the door on the other side of the car opened, and Hisashi took a seat across from the two heroes.

The door slammed shut, and there was a brief pause. Then a raspy voice came through an almost invisible speaker on the wall. 

“We’re all set, sir.”

Hisashi reached over and touched a button on his armrest, holding it down with a finger. “Good. Put us on the hyperloop around the island and take the scenic route. Keep going until I say otherwise.”

“Understood.”

Hisashi took his finger off the button, and the car started so cleanly that somebody who hadn’t been paying attention might have missed it. The luxury clearly wasn’t just skin deep; Torino could barely tell they were moving. If it hadn’t been for the windows, he might have believed they weren’t.

Hisashi fished around in the inside pocket of his jacket before pulling out a box of cigarettes. He deftly slipped one out. Torino made note of the box; it was some American brand he had never seen before. They looked expensive. 

“By the way,” the businessman said nonchalantly. “You can release that form if you wish, All Might. When I said this car was safe, I meant it.”

Torino and Toshinori glanced at each other. The elderly man shrugged, giving the younger man an ‘it’s up to you’ look.

The towering, musclebound blonde exhaled, and in a puff of steam, the world’s mightiest hero was gone. In it’s place was a man who looked like he’d spent the last decade of his life fighting a losing battle with some terminal disease. The All Might costume sagged on Toshinori’s skeletal frame, and his neck looked unnaturally long now that it had lost all of its muscle mass. The two iconic fronds of blonde hair that stuck up from his bangs wilted, becoming crimped and dull. The befrailed man sat perched on his seat like an oversized buzzard, his own clothes pooling around him as he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Only his eyes remained unchanged. Although they now had dark, bruised rings of exhaustion and stress around them, they were the same fierce and piercing blue they had always been. 

Toshinori and Hisashi locked eyes. The businessman seemed unfazed. “How did you know?” Toshinori asked. 

Hisashi’s lips twitched slightly. “It’s my job to know secrets,” he commented. “But if you insist, it’s because of the lengths that were gone to in order to save you. Quite a lot of medical personnel were involved, both in your surgery and your rehabilitation. It required… coordination. And extensive consultations.”

Torino snorted. “I knew that was going to bite us in the ass one day.”

“Relax,” Hisashi said placatingly, a half smile on his lips. “We ran interference for you on that. Your secret is safe for as long as you want to keep it that way. We look after all the heroes who work with us.”

But Torino didn’t relax, because the businessman’s tone didn’t match his eyes at all. Hisashi’s words were soft and playful, like those of an old friend, but his eyes were cold. Calculating. 

Toshinori seemed to notice it as well. 

Hisashi put his cigarette between his lips and breathed in. The tip, which no one had lit, smoldered and began to burn. The businessman smiled and breathed out, but not even a wisp of smoke appeared when he did.

Torino’s eyes narrowed. Midoriya Hisashi was a fire breather, that much they knew. Did he have a third lung? Some kind of internal gasbag? 

“I hope you don’t mind if I smoke,” the businessman said smoothly. “Nervous habit.” Torino doubted that. Hisashi’s eyes looked like he could perform open heart surgery on a live tiger. ‘Nervous’ was the last word he’d use to describe it.

The businessman gestured towards Toshinori with the hand he held his cigarette with. “I understand the nature of your injury, but I promise you, there won’t be any smoke.” And true to his word, there hadn’t been. Even the cigarette seemed to be burning cleanly, the ember having dulled significantly the moment the other end left his lips.

“It’s fine,” the blonde hero said. “That sort of thing doesn’t bother me. I may be down a lung, but if I couldn’t handle a bit of smoke, I would have needed to retire long before now.”

Hisashi gave another smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I suppose we’re long overdue for introductions, so let’s get that out of the way before we get started,” the businessman said. “My name is Hisashi Midoriya. I’m the Field Director of Disaster Assessment and Coordinated Tactical Response, which is a division of the World Heroes Association.”

Torino’s eyes automatically flicked down, checking for some sort of badge or identification, but the man’s suit was plain and unadorned, as was his undershirt. 

“And you’re Toshinori Yagi, hero name All Might,” the businessman continued. “Born quirkless, eighth wielder of the legacy quirk One For All, given to you by your mentor, Nana Shimura, hero name Updraft.”

The compartment went deathly still. 

“And you,” Hisashi said, gesturing with his cigarette, “are Sorahiko Torino, hero name Gran Torino, the Lone Star hero. Former partner to Updraft, and the only living man to help two separate users of One For All adapt to the power.”

Hisashi placed his cigarette down onto the ashtray’s edge. 

“Which I suppose,” he continued, “explains why you’re suddenly interacting so much with my son. Doesn’t it?”

His smile was disarming, his voice nonchalant. But his eyes were so, so cold.

“Ah, but where are my manners! Did either of you want something to drink? There’s bottled water in the refrigerator, and I believe we have beer and whiskey as well.”

“Who are you?” Torino asked cuttingly, a razor sharp edge on his voice. Toshinori’s hands, which were about the only part of him that didn’t change size, flexed before clenching into fists.

Hisashi smiled. “Not someone you want to fight in an enclosed space,” he said blithely. “These cars are sealed as a security measure. There’s not really enough air in here for me, let alone the two of you.”

Torino’s eyes narrowed. So it likely was a third lung, then. Or something similar. It looked like breathing fire wasn’t the only trick Midoriya Hisashi could pull with his quirk, just like how jetting around wasn’t Torino’s sole play either. 

The insinuation was clear. Hisashi could pull in all the air in the compartment with a breath. Choking them both and effectively turning off Gran’s own quirk. 

Son of a bitch, he’d even gotten Toshinori to turn back. 

“Realized something?” Hisashi said, a teasing note in his voice. There was a flicker in those cold eyes, a spark of an emotion the retired pro didn’t quite catch. 

“Yeah,” the old man said, thumbing the top of his walking stick as he prepared to use what was inside of it. “That you’re a son of a bitch.”

Hisashi threw back his head and laughed, and this time Torino realized what that flicker had been. 

Amusement. The elder Midoriya was toying with them. 

Toshinori just looked confused. 

“Well, you noticed, and I suppose I’m glad for that, at least,” the mustachioed man said. His eyes were still cold, but not as sharp as before. “I’d hate to have my son trained by an idiot.” 

“How do you know about One For All?” Toshinori asked, rephrasing Torino’s earlier question. “The only other people who should know about that are dead.”

“I can guess what you’re assuming,” the businessman said. “I assure you, I’m no friend of the demon you fought in Deika City, and neither is anyone I work with.”

Hisashi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’ve made sure of it.”

He reached down and pulled open the door of the mini-fridge, fishing out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Do you drink?” he asked, looking at Toshinori.

“Not anymore,” the skeletal blonde replied. “I’ll have a water, please.”

“And I’d like an explanation,” Gran Torino interjected, his own eyes narrowed. “Hold the bullshit.”

Hisashi smiled again. “Of course,” he said before handing Toshinori a bottle of water and tipping a bit of whiskey into each of the chilled glasses.

Ever the investigator, Torino noted that the way he handled the drinks reeked of American social norms, not Japanese ones. He even used their names in a westernized ordering, surname last. Hisashi must have spent a great deal of time overseas, for those habits to override his native ones.

The businessman handed Torino his glass of whiskey. The old man took it, but didn’t drink. Hisashi quirked an amused eyebrow. “Waiting for me to drink first? Your paranoia is as extreme as the files suggested.”

“I doubt you know very much about me at all,” Torino rebutted. 

Hisashi smirked slightly, his eyes still cold, as he took a sip of his own share of the amber alcohol. “We have an extensive case file on the generational disaster that has been transferable quirks, along with everyone who has ever been associated with them. You may be surprised at what we have on you.”

The businessman swirled his glass slightly. “It’s funny, in a way. ‘How I know’ is a question that matters a great deal to the two of you. But it matters very little to me, and is perhaps the least dangerous thing we’ll be talking about today. At least from my perspective.”

He sat his glass down in an indent on his side of the compartment. “The short, and inadequate, answer is that we meet today under a long string of truly regrettable and unfortunate coincidences. None of which are actually either of your faults. But I know you won’t accept that. I wouldn’t either.”

He leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes once again adopting that colder edge. “The correct answer, we neither have the time to go over, nor do you have the appropriate clearance to hear it.”

“I’m not so sure about either of those things,” Toshinori interjected, his bright blue eyes firm and unyielding. 

“I am,” Hisashi replied with a soft smile, matching gazes with the greatest superhero in the world. “However, I’m willing to compromise a bit, and meet you in the middle. If only so we can hurry along to the questions that actually matter.”

He picked his cigarette back up from the tray, and again, the end glowed the moment he put it to his lips. The stiff paper peeled back incrementally, and there wasn’t even a hint of smoke to be seen.

“The World Heroes Association has always known about All For One, both the quirk and the man named after it. We were on the ground floor of helping to cover it up, after all. The interference various international governments ran on that issue is the sole reason that Destro is known as the world’s first Supervillain.” Hisashi smiled slightly. “He certainly was a convenient scapegoat to draw eyes away from the real monster.”

“We already know this,” Torino said. “The Japanese government knows about All For One, which by extension means the WHA has to. You should have access to all of their files about past villains.”

“Not all of them,” Hisashi said, gesturing with his cigarette. “They do fight us about that. All the governments do. Nobody likes to publicly admit to the villainous relatives they may or may not have. But the reason this matters is because it’s one of the reasons why your secret is known to more people than you’d probably like.” 

Hisashi tapped some ash into the tray, and put the cigarette back in his mouth. “The World Heroes Association began to get suspicious around Daigoro Banjo’s time.”

“Yeah?” Torino drawled. “And what did that gorilla in a biker jacket do to-”

“The case file,” Toshinori interjected, understanding glinting in his shaded blue eyes. 

Torino turned to look at his old student, confusion on his face. “Huh?”

But Hisashi’s eyes were bright, and his smile suddenly showed an edge of teeth. “The file?” he asked. “What about it?”

“You said you kept a case file on All For One,” Toshinori elaborated. “An open case following transferable quirks, which means him and his power. You said you kept detailed records of everyone who was ever involved, which would include the people fighting against him, right? To make sure you didn’t miss any loose ends. That’s how you noticed, isn’t it? A recurring event, a line of master-student relationships where everyone in the chain had their quirk dramatically evolve and become stronger.”

Toshinori folded his large fingers together and narrowed his eyes. “We were just having this conversation earlier today, about whether or not young Izuku should let my niece in on the secret. There was a concern that she might figure it out on her own, because she’s too close to me. She knows what One For All looks like. That’s how you guessed. Quirk evolutions, especially dramatic ones, are very rare. I suppose the idea that it happened five times in a line of people who all knew each other and fought the same villain was a bridge too far?”

And for the first time since either man had met him, Midoriya Hisashi gave a full, genuine smile.

“I must say, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d be the one to get it first. I also thought I’d have to explain more before one of you figured it out.” 

Hisashi gestured at the blonde with his cigarette. “Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. For all his cunning, Lone Star has been out of the game for decades. You, on the other hand, are still actively running the largest and most successful hero agency on the planet. Alone.”

He put his cigarette back in his mouth, and the ember on the tip flared. “I tip my hat to you, Detective Yagi. Clearly, Sparrow was never the brains of the operation, before or after he left. But you’re wrong on a few points.”

The businessman tapped a bit more ash into the tray, and sat his cigarette back down. “It wasn’t five times in a row. We know little of Yoichi Shigaraki. All For One’s brother was born in an age when documentation was sketchy and birth certificates were no longer being issued. He’s our assumed ‘Patient Zero.’ Both he and the quirk seem to disappear, but documentation picks up again a few generations later with Hikage Shinomori. Society was beginning to rebuild, governments were starting to function again at a first world level. People in that era lived to see Destro rise and fall.”

Hisashi sipped his whiskey. “Shinomori lived a normal life, or at least as normal as anyone could when many people were still engaging in vigilante activity just to stay alive. Then one day, he makes contact with a person tagged as having an antagonistic association with All For One. They die, and shortly afterwards, Shinomori goes into seclusion for what would be the rest of his life. A 22 year old man disappears into the mountains out of the blue, reappears 18 years later looking like he’s 90, and makes contact with an infamous and highly documented Japanese hero, Daigoro Banjo. Then Shinomori dies days later. At the exact same time, Banjo undergoes a quirk evolution with no clear instigating event. And for the rest of his career until his own death, he would display superspeed, super strength, uncanny senses, and inhuman durability. In addition to his own original quirk, Blackwhip.”

Hisashi’s shot glass clinked as he sat it back down on the table between them. There was a long moment of silence.

“I think,” Toshinori supplied, “I can see how the WHA would become suspicious. I’m guessing you followed the trail back to Shigaraki? And extrapolated from there that All For One must have possessed a brother quirk, which somehow passed on strength to other people?”

Hisashi tilted his hand back and forth in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “More or less, yes. The WHA wasn’t officially founded until Shinomori’s own generation, but we were created using the resources and files of other organizations at the time. It was only when the full case file on All For One was constructed that the people involved realized they were likely dealing with two transferable superpowers, not just one.”

“I’ve never heard such a pack of horseshit in my life.”

Both younger men turned to look at the elderly pro. Toshinori frowned. But Hisashi slipped back into his cold smile like a man putting on a pair of well-worn gloves. 

“Oh?” the businessman said. 

Torino scowled. “First of all, you’ve told us nothing we couldn’t guess on our own,” he said, raising a finger and counting his points. “The World Heroes Association has a file on the worst villain that’s ever lived? What an amazing tip-off that is.”

He raised another finger. “Secondly, while I’ll grant you this case file of yours probably has some wild bullshit in it, I’m not going to sit here and let you just gloss over what an insane leap in logic it is to go from some guys getting randomly stronger to All For One having a secret brother quirk. That’s not a natural assumption to make, not on those facts.”

And then the old man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he raised a third finger. “And absolutely none of that explains why in this or any other hell you would know the name ‘One For All.’”

Toshinori’s own eyes widened in shock, but the retired pro pressed on. “I could almost believe everything else. But not that. Shigaraki Yoichi didn’t give his own quirk a name, as far as we know. But even if he’s the one who named it, that still means only around twelve people ever knew what it was called. Fifteen, I suppose, after today.”

What Midoriya Hisashi had said was true: Torino Sorahiko had been out of the game for decades. Toshinori Yagi, by contrast, was still actively running a world-class hero agency more-or-less alone.

But whatever edge the elderly man had lost to time, he made up for in cunning and treachery. 

You couldn’t teach at UA for ten years, with ‘the’ Nezu as your boss, without possessing both in spades.

Three counting fingers went down, and one accusatory finger pointed at those kill-a-tiger eyes. 

“You’re lying,” Torino said flatly. “You have no right to know that name, no way you could have ever possibly uncovered it through mere observation. You are lying out of both sides of your mouth at the same time.”

The cigarette’s ember flared up as Hisashi breathed in. Whatever coldness had seeped out of his eyes as he spoke with All Might returned full force.

“You don’t get,” he said, enunciating every word as he tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. “Any points for repeating something I told you back to me.”

Torino’s eyes narrowed. “The hell do you-”

“I said,” the businessman continued, cutting the retired pro off, “That the simple truth, which you would not accept, is that we are here through unfortunate coincidence, and nothing more. Then I said that the real truth, you’re not cleared to hear. Nor, for that matter, do I think you would believe it even if I did share it. So I would compromise. For your sake. To hurry this little interrogation along to the parts that actually matter.”

Hisashi sat his half-burnt cigarette down on the side of the tray, and laced his fingers together over his knee. “I told you, up front, that I was going to lie to you. That I would hold something back. Do you want a treat for ‘figuring’ it out?” 

Anger flashed in the old man’s eyes. “You-!”

“Gran,” Toshinori said quietly. The retired teacher stilled. 

“Toshi, this is-”

“It’s fine,” the skeletal blonde said. Although he was speaking with his former mentor, he had locked eyes with the besuited man across from him, his gaze unwavering. 

“I believe you,” the hero said. His words carried the weight of conviction. Even wasted away, there was a willpower behind those shaded eyes that wouldn’t lose to Hisashi’s. “I agree with Gran that you are obviously hiding how you know the name ‘One For All.’ You admit as much yourself. But I believe you have good intentions. I don’t think you’re an enemy. So I’m willing to let it go… on a condition.”

Hisashi quirked a dark eyebrow. “And that is?”

Toshinori Yagi clasped his large hands together. “I’m more than willing to believe there are things in this world that I shouldn’t know. That I have no right to know. But I’m still All Might. There aren’t very many doors that are closed to me. And I’m a lot less willing to believe any of those things in connection to my own quirk. You say I don’t have the clearance? To know why you would know secrets about my own abilities? I’d like an explanation. To the extent that you can give one. You say that these questions don’t matter to you, but they do to me.”

Hisashi sat for a long moment, looking at the skeletal blonde before him. Then he nodded, a flicker of amusement and something else flashing across his face. “That’s fair.”

The businessman pulled the bottle of whiskey and a third shot glass out of the refrigerator, and sat it down on the island between them. “When you said you don’t drink anymore, is that a can’t, or a won’t?”

“Won’t,” Toshinori said softly. “I still have my liver, but with the medications I sometimes have to take, I try not to strain it.”

“A good policy,” Hisashi said, and then filled the third glass, before topping off his own. He didn’t bother offering any to Torino, as the man had yet to touch his.

All Might looked down at the shot glass that was clearly meant for him. He blinked. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Hisashi said, the bottle clinking as it went back in the refrigerator. The man straightened back up in his seat, and then picked up his half-spent cigarette. He put it casually between his lips, and with a single pull, the end blazed, and the paper rolled back all the way to the filter, finishing the cigarette off in less than a second. He then casually discarded the calcified stick of ash into the tray, where it began to crumble. 

Still, there wasn’t a wisp of smoke to be seen. 

Toshinori was never particularly interested in other people’s quirks, it wasn’t a field he felt much attraction towards. But he had to admit, even he was starting to get curious. Wasn’t young Izuku’s father a fire breather? What kind of quirk did the younger man have, that let him blow through a cigarette in one shot like some sort of cartoon character?

“Have you ever heard of Refúgio Verde?” Hisashi asked, as he took a sip from his own glass. “Or the Projeto Floresta Saudade?”

The other two men glanced at each other, before shaking their heads. 

“That’s not surprising,” Hisashi admitted. “They’re both pretty far out of your wheelhouse. Do you recall news articles about a huge forest fire in South America, around two and a half years ago?”

That got a reaction. Recognition flickered across Toshinori’s face, and Torino slowly nodded. “Yeah,” the old man admitted. “I remember something like that. It was a big deal internationally. A lot of people died. The WHA got involved in the relief effort.”

“We were involved before then,” Hisashi said, gesturing with his shot glass. “Refúgio Verde means Green Haven in Portuguese. It’s the name of one of four man-made rainforests that are part of an ongoing relief effort to create new habitats for wildlife, as well as zones for sustainable logging and rubber harvesting. They’re all run out of Novoporto.”

Torino knew that name, if nothing else. Some nations had survived the chaos of the Dawn. Others had not. Given human nature, It would be stranger if the maps had somehow remained unchanged. Many zones that were notorious for conflict or hostility with neighbors had changed hands, or otherwise redrawn their borders. In other places, entirely new nations had risen from the ashes of the old. 

In response to aggression from Russia prior to the Dawn, the various nations on the Scandinavian peninsula had joined together under a single banner. Their identities were retained as independent states, but officially, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, and the Faroe Islands were no longer nations. Instead, they were Skanesland, the United Confederation of Nords. 

Military adventurism and government corruption had displaced millions of souls during the period immediately preceding the advent of quirks. Those that survived gathered in the ruined wake of the most violent clashes and fights, lost souls living in abandoned territory like rats hiding in the shadows of giants. From the ashes of the Balkans rose Otheon and Klayde, twin-nations with breathtaking scenery, rich cultural traditions, and a troubled past. 

The United Kingdom died. An assembly of convenience and modern sensibilities, abandoned in the dirt when law and order broke down. No empire can survive if they cannot teach their own children to admire their flag; a harsh lesson learned by many during the Dawn. In the wake of it’s passing, as chaos once again gave way to order, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, and England reunified again. Under a different deal, and with a new royal family. A lesson had been learned, and a new crown had been forged. Beneath the symbol of the white dragon of England and the red dragon of Rome, Britannia was brought into being. 

And then there was Novoporto, or ‘New Harbor’ in Portuguese. 

South America had become a hell on earth during the Dawn. In some parts of the world, governments managed to cling to scraps of power. The lights may have gone out, but the water kept running. Or perhaps clean water was scarce, but the internet stayed up. Not so in South America. Chaos became anarchy, and then anarchy became bedlam. Quirks rang the death-knell, and over the span of three decades, nearly a dozen countries fell like a slow-motion scene of dominoes. The collapse of each worsening the conditions of it’s neighbors in turn, until finally the whole house of cards came down. 

Those who did not die to famine or bullets were forced to contend with disease, as monsters long thought vanquished reappeared to haunt the world again. Polio and leprosy were common, as were tuberculosis and elephantiasis. It was a culling more cruel than any war. Only Chile clung to life, due to a combination of it’s wealth, immense coastline, and strong culture of independent fishermen. As the interior of the continent crumbled and burned, Chile and the surviving refugees congregated by the sea. As long as there was fish, salt, and rain, there was hope.

That had been the real killer, during the Dawn. Every UA teacher had to work at least one other subject besides Heroics, and Torino Sorahiko’s had been History. Society had this grand notion that the Dawn had been some huge procession of wars and uprisings. A great and monolithic parade of conflicts. Because that was an easy idea to understand. 

But like most common misconceptions, it was a gross oversimplification. Humanity had entered the Dawn with just over 9 billion souls. They had left it with less than one. It was population shrinkage severe enough to affect the fossil record. Harsh enough to change the very climate of the planet. No war could ever account for that, not even a series of wars. 

People had fought and died in wars and insurrections, yes. But the real killers had been time, starvation, and disease. With international trade dead in the water, first world medicine and food suddenly became a limited resource. Millions died fighting over basic necessities, or from simple and preventable causes like dysentery and dehydration. Then people began to die of old age, and the newer generations became smaller and smaller as fewer and fewer people had children at all. 

The world could support billions of humans, if nations and infrastructure were carefully and thoughtfully designed. But ‘careful’ and ‘thoughtful’ were not words anyone, alive or dead, would have used to describe the pre-Dawn governments or their financial backers. And when the lights went out, the medicine stopped circulating, the taps stopped running, and the police stopped responding to calls… reality ensued, with all the impartial brutality nature is known for.

War hadn’t been the primary cause. It was famine, disease, and a flatlining birthrate over multiple generations. That was how, in the span of five generations, the grand tapestry of man shrank down to a tenth of what it had been.

Africa, India, China, and South America bore the brunt of it. And few places exemplified the near-total collapse the way South America did. 

In the wake of the Dawn, new order was imposed over the ruins of the old. And in South America, that new order was called Novoporto. It was a unified effort between the Chilean government and Portuguese settlers, with significant financial aid from the newly reborn Britannia. Together, they created a new nation even larger than the old Brazil, and taking up much of the same territory. 

In less than three generations, Novoporto had become a first world country. It was a success story, a feather in the cap of the Heroic Age. Held up by many as proof that humanity had truly evolved and become a better species. 

Sorahiko Torino wasn’t convinced. Such grandiosity stank of hubris to the elderly pro, who had seen the worst of what society had to offer in his long career. He knew just how much of a lie all that ‘we’ve evolved’ rhetoric was. 

Humanity had changed, yes. But the nature of man remained the same. War changes, but war never changes. Pride goeth before the fall. Haughty spirits always broke beneath the weight of their own ambitions. 

The old man knew that one day, the arrogance that had become so prolific in the Heroic Age would end up biting them all in the ass. He just hoped everybody he cared about would be dead by then, so they didn’t have to see it.

Hisashi produced his cigarettes again, and deftly flicked one out before returning the box to his jacket.

“Projeto Floresta Saudade. Projeto and floresta mean forest project, but saudade doesn’t translate well out of Portuguese. It describes a form of melancholic longing or yearning, and is a feature of classic Portuguese literature. The closest translation would probably be mournful nostalgia.”

The businessman placed the fresh cigarette between his lips, but didn’t light it. “Project Forest Nostalgia is a pretty good name for an effort to recreate lost rainforests. But it was more than that. Floresta Saudade was also about making sure rainforests would never need to be exploited again. So each of the four major designated zones also included rubber plantations, agricultural development, rotating areas set aside for logging. And areas carefully selected to be kept clear for the sake of cattle and ranching.”

Hisashi picked up his glass of whiskey. “It was a billions in, billions out kind of program. Expensive, and difficult to get the ball rolling. But Novoporto could afford to foot the bill, and in the long term, each of the four zones would pay for their own existence, and then start turning a profit. It was a thumb in the eye of the old way of doing things. A clever and pragmatic plan: make the rainforests lucrative to keep around, more lucrative than simply bulldozing them for wood and cow pastures. The rainforests would pay for their own conservation efforts, and in fifty years they would pay off the debts Novoporto still owes to Britannia. The very nature they once exploited, liberating South America for a free future. It was all very poetic.”

Torino’s eyes narrowed. While interesting, this had nothing to do with heroics, and even less with big-dog international organizations like the WHA. What the hell was the elder Midoriya getting at?

“I’m sorry,” Toshinori said, vocalizing his old mentor’s thoughts, “but while interesting, I fail to see the point.”

“Cordyceps locustiphila,” Hisashi said, and the tip of his unlit cigarette finally glowed as he took a pull from it. “A rather unusual fungus that attacks insects, with the second part of its name denoting its chosen prey item. C. locustiphilia, as the latin implies, goes after locusts and grasshoppers; it is native to the region. The mold infects them, and modifies their behavior to suit its needs. It acts as a parasite, slowly killing the host and puppeting the body around before eventually blooming out. It’s obscure, and rare, but thanks to being something of a real life example of pop culture zombies, cordyceps has been popularized in science fiction serials and other various media.”

Hisashi pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, the end glowing red. His words were calm and friendly, but there was something ominous in them. “Our problems began in Refúgio Vergo, one of the four rainforest project zones. A quirked strain of C. locustiphila appeared.” 

“That’s impossible,” Toshinori said with confidence. Gran looked at him questioningly. 

“How do you know that?” the old hero asked.

The skeletal pro flushed slightly. “I’ve been taking courses to get my teaching license. We just covered the quirk science module last month, so I’m up to date.”

“The up-to-date data is a lie,” Hisashi said. “I know what research you’re referring to, on quirk origins. I’m the one who rubber stamped it for broader circulation. The most current and official theory is that only humans and animals can have quirks. That is a deeply untrue statement.”

“But why?” Toshinori asked. “Why lie? I don’t understand.”

‘No,’ Gran thought, ‘you wouldn’t.’ Toshinori wasn’t a tenth the fool he pretended to be, but he was still as straightforward as the day was long. He had never possessed that twisted bit inside of him that let people scheme. 

Toshinori may not understand why they’d lie, but Gran did. 

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Hisashi stated offhandedly. “We lied about animals having quirks, too, for as long as we could get away with it. Nonhuman quirks work differently from human ones. Human quirks start out weak and simple, and get stronger over time as they travel down generations. Nonhuman quirks seem to work opposite to that. They start out powerful and complex, and then rapidly dilute down into nothing. Like a candle burning from both ends.” 

“Right,” Torino supplied. “That’s why, for all their efforts, they can’t consistently breed cats and dogs with quirks. They’ve tried, due to demand, but quirked pets are freak outliers.”

“Monsters, you mean,” Hisashi said smoothly. “Nonhuman quirks inevitably create monsters. Which is the reason why we lie, for the sake of public order. A great deal of my job description could be summarized as resolving problems caused by monsters. Which brings me back to my story.” He took a pull from his cigarette.

“The quirk occurred in a strain of C. locustiphila. Like most of these incidents, we didn’t realize what was going on until casualties were already mounting. There were people behaving erratically, complaining about rashes and itching. The doctors who treated them had never seen anything like it, so the issue was escalated up to the WHA as a possible outbreak of something new.”

Hisashi tapped a bit of ash into the tray. “By the time we had boots on the ground, the trap had already been sprung. Natural human behavior is to take people into a city or urban area and have them treated in a central location. That was exactly what the fungus wanted us to do.”

“It was sentient?” Torino asked, shocked. 

“No. Far worse than that. Sentience is the ability to feel and perceive, to experience emotions and be aware. Many animals qualify as sentient. Sapience is the capacity for intelligence and logic, it’s the ability to solve problems and learn. To exhibit cleverness. Far, far fewer things qualify as sapient, though some animals and all true AI do.”

The car passed through a tunnel briefly, darkening the compartment. The dull, smokeless ember on the end of Hisashi’s cigarette flared, a point of fire in the ominous shadow. “The fungus was sapio-sentient. Capable of experiencing emotions and solving problems. Anthropomorphic in the literal sense. Or you could just say it was intelligent.”

Toshinori’s hands flexed unconsciously. ‘Like Nezu,’ he thought. 

“Cordyceps is a specialized organism,” Hisashi continued. “There’s always a specific species it adapts to take advantage of. In this case, the quirk had changed that prey-item. Instead of infecting and modifying the behavior of locusts, it went after humans instead. Cordyceps Homophilia, if you will. It’s quirk also exhibited a variety of other properties, including psychosomatic telepathy and the ability to manipulate human cells through the creation of specialized prions it produced, almost like a virus. The fungus operated as a hive mind of sorts, spreading itself across a population of humans like a net and coordinating between them.”

“Mold zombies,” Torino deadpanned. “You’re telling me they were evil, psychic mold zombies.”

“More or less, yes,” Hisashi said, tapping some ash into the tray. The calm, almost dismissive manner of the confession felt unnerving in the dim light of the car. 

Torino’s comment had been barbed, but Hisashi’s cool grey eyes were like heavy clouds in a winter sky, still and undisturbed. 

“By the time we arrived on the scene, all hell had broken loose. Top pros from around Novoporto were responding to the outbreak, but without realizing what they were dealing with, they simply ended up feeding themselves to it. Half of the top pros in the region were consumed before we were able to exercise our authority and quarantine everything off. Novoporto’s superheroes became weapons leveled against the very people they had sworn to protect. Assimilated into the hivemind.”

Hisashi pulled out a slim, modern-looking smartphone, and tapped away at the screen. “I’ll spare you the autopsies, but this should give you a fair idea of what we were dealing with.” He swiped upwards on his phone, and a detailed 2D picture appeared floating over the island table between them, translucent but still in full color. 

Toshinori wished it was less detailed. 

It was a picture of- 

It was like something out of a nightmare. 

A broken, twisted form was being hauled up out of the ash and rubble by mechanical equipment, chains and straps tied around it. Emergency personnel and armed guards were flitting around, frozen in the instant the snapshot had been taken. All of them wore heavy, reinforced hazmat gear, like something you’d use for dealing with hazardous chemicals or radiation.

You could only tell that the warped thing being pulled up had once been human because of the tattered scraps of clothes. It was, or had been, a man in a hero costume. A mutant of some sort. Huge chunks of his body had been ripped away, and then plastered over with some sort of sickening, scab-like ooze. Other body parts jutted out at wild angles, an arm here, a leg there. There were bulbous lumps that looked like heads bulging out of him, and other, more putrid things. Unidentifiable clumps of flesh and fungus, warped and oozing. Patches of eerie, pale fuzz, that made Toshinori’s palm’s itch unconsciously. Many of the details had been scarred over by fire and burns, but what little remained was still almost too much to bear looking at.

Worst of all, though, was that Toshinori recognized who he was looking at. He knew that hero. Knew that face.

“The mold was dangerous on its own, but the prion-based cellular manipulation was something else,” Hisashi explained. “The prions were capable of invading and changing human cells, shifting their type and purpose. Modifying the underlying mRNA directly through a process we still don’t understand. We fought several assimilated heroes multiple times, which is how we realized what it was capable of. When a puppet with a powerful quirk was killed, the mold could pull the body apart and recycle pieces of it into other zombies. If a specific part of a person’s body also happened to control their quirk? It could transplant that, too. We also realized something we ‘weren’t’ seeing during the operation, which was children. They all seemed to disappear.”

He leaned back in his seat, and the tip of his cigarette glowed. “Our current theory is that the elderly and the infirm were used to feed it’s biomass and breed out spores, while anyone below a certain age threshold was rendered down into stem cells that were used to repair the injured combat bodies. But since we never directly observed much of the mold’s behavior, it’s hard to be sure.”

Toshinori swallowed. 

It had eaten the elderly, and used the children as glue. Glue and tape, to hold patchwork puppets together. 

Not so different from him.

“The story about the forest fire was a coverup,” Torino said. “That was you.”

Hisashi nodded, a small, friendly smile on his lips. But those bitter steel eyes told a different story. “We burned down half of the Refúgio Verde rainforest, as well as eight entire districts in Novoporto’s capital city, Perene. A number of outlying communities also had to be completely razed to the ground. Between local law enforcement, responding heroes, and the WHA, we lost over a thousand personnel during the operation, but fortunately, further civilian casualties were contained. Anything less, and the mold might have escaped the quarantine zone.”

The businessman took a sip of his whiskey. “The official story was an out-of-control forest fire caused by unseasonably dry weather. We continued administering a cocktail of antifungal and immunioboosting drugs to everyone in the region for over a year afterwards, under the guise of dispensing medicine to counteract smoke and chemical inhalation from the fires. So far, the anomaly hasn’t reappeared.”

The besuited father tapped his cigarette over the ashtray. “We got lucky. The fungus was intelligent, but it was also an idiot. A garden-variety sociopath, no different from the countless muggers and petty criminals that get picked up by law enforcement every day. Its tactics were almost nonexistent, and it wielded the heroes it assimilated like a club. It was easy to provoke, corral, and outmaneuver once we realized what we were dealing with.”

It was Torino who understood first. “You’re saying if it was more canny, it could have won.”

Hisashi took another sip of his whiskey. “If it had been smart enough to wait until it had spread out farther, if it had the mental acuity to put off short-term gratification for long term gains, it could have eaten the entire continent. Keeping it a secret would have been impossible, then.”

Toshinori flexed his hands, clenching them tightly. He had only half-heard the conversation, his eyes still locked on the picture floating in front of him.

Baron Tigre. That had been the name of that hero. It had taken him a minute to remember, he had met thousands of heroes throughout his career. But a few of them stood out, and the Baron had been one of them.

Out of all the people who suffered during the age of quirks, complex mutants, or ‘heteromorphics,’ typically had the worst lot. Strictly speaking, every quirk was a mutation of some sort, at least in the general sense. But not all of them radically altered the body in a significant way. Not all were ‘mutants.’

A heteromorphic, as the name implied, was someone whose quirk gave them a body that only tangibly resembled that of a human anymore. The definition was at times arbitrary, but common sense dictated that someone with seaweed for hair was a far cry from someone who was an ambulatory pile of clay. 

Heteromorphics, or complex mutants, were the most likely out of all quirk types to be discriminated against. And they were also the most likely to turn to some sort of crime, either out of desperation or a desire for revenge. 

But in Toshinori’s opinion, they also made outstanding heroes. Every heteromorphic pro that Toshinori knew was kind and empathetic, especially towards the criminals and villains they captured. 

As Gang Orca, Japan’s number 10 hero, had once told him, being a complex mutant was not something that was conducive to inner-peace. 

He was sure the giant orca-man would know. 

Toshinori had met Baron Tigre years ago, during a charity festival. It was being held in Perene, Novoporto’s capital city. The Baron had stood out in his memory because of how exceptionally unusual the other hero was. 

Most heteromorphics are not particularly good looking. To be frank, the majority of them resembled monsters. Many fell hard into the uncanny valley, eliciting an adverse reaction in others by sheer instinct alone. 

But Baron Tigre… you couldn’t have made a more perfect complex mutant to serve as a pro hero, even if you had tried.

He was an anthropomorph, an animal man, with the abilities and corresponding body parts of large cats. He called himself Tigre, and even styled his costume in a black and orange theme, but he had traits from all of the members of the broader big cat family. 

Tigre had been a classically handsome man. Instead of his mutation making him something freakish or strange, it had merely enhanced his natural good looks, giving him a roguish, almost exotic edge. He had bright, expressive eyes, high cheekbones, and a strong jawline, which paired well with his muscular build and broad shoulders. His nose and mouth protruded in a panther-like muzzle, but instead of looking unnatural, it blended smoothly with his human features. He had no trouble articulating his lips or showing recognizable human expressions, and his differently-shaped mouth didn’t impede his speech at all. If anything, it seemed to deepen his voice into a melodic purr. His body was covered in a coat of short, tawny fur, and the color contrasted well with his long, wavy black human hair that he kept tied back in a loose ponytail. 

Most heteromorphics looked uncanny, or even frightening. Baron Tigre… you couldn’t have asked a sculptor to draft a better heteromorph. Instead of looking like some hodgepodge chimera, he appeared whole and complete. An artist’s idealized depiction of a mutant that had stepped off the page to fight crime with a smile on his face. He was born to be looked at, born to be a hero standing in the limelight. 

Born to give hope to all the children who would never see a human face peering back at them when they looked in the mirror each morning.

Toshinori remembered standing backstage for the event, with various technicians, heroes, and government officials milling about. He remembered the cat man asking him for his autograph, a slightly nervous smile on his face. 

Toshinori remembered laughing, and saying the same thing he always told other pro heroes who asked that. 

Only if you give me yours, too.

He remembered going on patrol with the man afterwards. There was crime, of course, there was crime everywhere. But the streets of Perene were clean. The buildings were new. There were children running around the two of them, laughing. Toshinori remembered the younger hero picking up two of the children and carrying them on his shoulders as they walked down the street. The young fans had squealed and shrieked in glee. 

Baron Tigre had been more than simply gifted with good looks. He had empathy. A kind and mighty heart. It was the thing Toshinori admired the most in other pros, and what he tried to embody every day as All Might. Baron may not have wielded the flashiest quirk, but with his strength and speed, as well as his kindness, Toshinori knew he was destined to climb all the way to the top.

Tigre had been born to shine. Born to give others hope. Leaping between tall buildings in a single bound, his metallic luchador mask glittering as his tiger-striped cape fluttered in the breeze.

In Toshinori’s imagination, the scene from his memories changed. 

The city was gone. It was burning ruins, with trashed barricades and smashed police lines everywhere. A hazard response truck was turned over on its side. Ash and smoke drifted through the air, and something worse. Something stale, earthy and cloying. 

Tigre was there, frozen in a moment in time. His claws fully extended, smashing all five hooked points through the chest of an emergency responder, shredding their hazmat suit and lifting them off the ground. The hero’s eyes were white and blind, scabbed over with fibrous webbing. His muzzle hung open and gaping, like his jaw had been broken, and a lion’s mane of fuzzy mold exploded out of his neck and the back of his head, releasing a trail of cloying, dusty spores in his wake as he moved. 

The children had been used as glue, Hisashi had said. The heroes were just spare parts, and children had been used as glue to piece them back together.

That-

He heard the children, laughing as they ran through the streets around the legs of the two heroes.

This wasn’t-

‘Ola, hello! Ah, I know you must get this a lot. But… can I please get your autograph? You were my inspiration, growing up! Your fitness videos were the best, they always kept me coming back for more!”

That wasn’t how this story was supposed to end.

Toshinori reached down, picked up his shotglass, and downed it. 

His hands didn’t shake, but it was a near thing.

Hisashi watched the skeletal pro-hero, a neutral expression on his face. There was coldness there, but also a hint of something else. Something sad, and almost resigned. A moment of silence passed before the businessman continued. 

“This incident is shocking to you, I know. It would be to most people who work in the hero industry.”

There was a second, shorter pause. “But to certain divisions in the World Heroes Association, that situation was far from a surprise. Things like the Refúgio Verde Incident have happened before. They will, inevitably, happen again. I admit, the scope of it was unusual; typically we can intervene before things get so far out of hand. Losing even part of a major city was, logistically speaking, a catastrophe. But if you think quirked zombie mold is the biggest problem we’ve faced in the last twenty years, or even the last ten, you would be wrong. In terms of threat, it was middling at best.” 

“What the hell does any of this have to do with how you know the name One For All?” Torino asked, though even the elderly pro’s typically prickly demeanor could not entirely hide his own disquiet at the information that had been shared. 

Hisashi picked his cigarette back up, and rolled it idly between his fingers without putting it in his mouth. 

“I chose to share the Refúgio Verde Incident because, scope aside, it is an excellent example of a situation in which the WHA is forced to handle a scenario sans heroes . Shocking as it may seem, there are, on occasion, problems where involving paramilitary law enforcement celebrities can cause more harm than good.”

Hisashi tapped a bit of the cold ash from his cigarette into the tray. “Quirks are getting more extreme all the time, and sometimes they cause problems superheroes can’t solve. Refúgio Verde was a prime example of this. Calling on heroes to assist would have just made everything ten times worse. Every hero who did respond before we could cordon off the area just escalated the situation. And of course, the watchword of this age is control. Of rejecting chaos in favor of order, by any means necessary. So the need for secrecy is paramount. Such threats cannot be publicly admitted to, for the same reason All For One’s existence was kept a secret.”

Both pros frowned at that. The sentiment was distasteful, but hard to disagree with. Neither hero was in favor of the wider world being aware of the existence of a supervillain who could give and take quirks in exchange for favors. 

It was difficult to argue that man-eating fungus was less chaotic, in the grand scheme.

“Even so, I think the truth would be worth more than lies in the long run,” Toshinori commented, his voice still a bit unsteady.

“But whether or not the lie is worth maintaining isn’t really up for you or me to decide, now is it?” Hisashi parried. “And that brings us right back around. You want to know why I know the name One For All?”

He put the cigarette back between his lips. “It’s classified,” he said. “Something happened off the books. Involving people you don’t know, problems you would consider impossible, and a situation you’ve never heard of before. It wasn’t something on your side of the fence, in your world of arrest warrants and breaking news reports. It happened in mine. In my world, of coverups and secrets. Of monsters and anomalies and world-ending freaks of nature.”

The tip of Hisashi’s thus-far neglected cigarette finally blazed back to life, once again being relit by his quirk. “There are two kinds of problems in the world,” the businessman said, his calm smile back in place. “The kind we call heroes for, and the kind we don’t. But my job requires me to solve all of those problems anyway, to find a solution irrespective of whether or not people like the two of you receive a memo about it. I don’t get to enjoy the luxury of saying, that’s not my problem, that’s out of my wheelhouse. If there’s a disaster or threat somewhere, and a quirk caused it, it is my problem. It is my problem every single time. And I have learned many things in the course of doing my job. Strange things, secret things. Stranger things. The name ‘One For All’ is just another incident lost in the pile.”

The businessman leaned forwards slightly, and the large, square glasses on his face seemed to glint ominously in the light of the car, the lenses becoming empty sheets of reflected light. “Our ancestors used to draw dragons on the edges of the maps, as a warning to people who went off the beaten path. Beware, the captions would say. Here there be monsters. Well gentlemen, I assure you, the monsters are still there. We just don’t put them on the maps anymore.”

“That’s your job, then?” Toshinori said softly, his eyes still distant and seeing something other than the back of the car. “Dealing with monsters.”

Hisashi considered the emaciated man before him. “A hero,” he said, enunciating his words carefully. “Is fundamentally someone who deals with humans, and the problems caused by human quirks. You are a threat escalation for law enforcement and emergency response. You fight crime, specifically crimes committed with quirks. But my scope is not so defined. I deal with threats and disasters caused by quirks, and whether they are human in origin or not is irrelevant. So yes. In very simple terms, my job is dealing with monsters.”

“And who, exactly, gets to decide where that line begins and ends?” Torino challenged. “What measure is a human, exactly, in a world of quirks?”

Hisashi smiled sadly, and for the first time, there was no coldness or hostility from him. Even his professionalism seemed stripped away. The man didn’t look like he could kill a tiger with his bare hands. 

He just looked tired. 

For Toshinori, it was like catching a glimpse of himself in his bathroom mirror, wrestling with an endless march of pills and problems. 

“That is indeed the question, isn’t it?” Hisashi said, though it felt more like he was talking to himself than answering Torino’s question. 

“I find that the truth always tends to be stranger than fiction, gentlemen. And this world is filled with stranger things. What is a man, in a world of quirks?”

The ember on the end of his cigarette flickered. 

“I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it’s just man all the way down.”

Time ran away from the two teens in the basement of the World Heroes Association building. For once, Izuku was being encouraged to ask every question he could think of, and with a hero willing to take his requests and experiment, he wasn’t running out anytime soon. Melissa, by comparison, was simply thrilled with being able to spend time with her idol, and bombarded Cathleen Bates with questions of a different sort. The blonde teen was fascinated with how the heroics industry worked in her birthplace of mainland America, and eager to hear what stories the huge woman could share about being a top pro.

So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that the next break they had was enforced on them from an outside source. 

More specifically, it was Star and Stripe who pulled them away. 

One downside to the giant facility was that, while it was indeed an island, it lacked many of the features that one would traditionally associate with island life. It was hard to fish, though there were places you could. It was even harder to take a boat out recreationally. 

And, given the shape and structure of the facility itself, there were no true beaches, either. 

But there were artificial ones. 

Most were on the surface, long stretches of sand artificially built up around the edges of the freshwater lakes. Some neighbored small boardwalks and piers, while others were situated across from the scattered wetland habitats on the island, giving a view of nature and the island’s wetland ecosystems. 

But as the scenery painted on the walls of The Four Seasons proved, some people still craved a saltwater beach. It was hard to live your life always smelling the sea air, but never seeing the shore.

And while most of the beaches were above ground and on the surface, a few were not. 

As one might expect, a giant science facility out at sea had areas dedicated to the study of marine life and the various oceans of the world. 

Apparently, some corporation or another had decided to ask; if we already have these enormous reservoirs of water, why don’t we put a beach on one of them? 

And someone else, presumably with far more money than common sense, fired back: why don’t we put a beach under one of them?

And that was exactly what they had done. 

Izuku had never seen anything like the space they now found themselves in.

For all intents and purposes, it was a fishbowl submerged upside down in a much larger tank. It was a huge stretch of beach with sugar-white sand and crystal clear seawater. There were palm trees and pampas bushes, rolling dunes and a boardwalk. A line of open-air bars and restaurants were tucked away in a dense tropical treeline near the elevators leading up, their wooden patios offering a sweeping panoramic view.

But on all sides of the horizon, and far above them, were huge, thick walls, holding back enormous amounts of water. Countless fish and larger marine life could be seen on the other side of the glass. For a moment, Izuku swore he caught a glimpse of what looked like a pod of whales.

It was an aquarium beach. It was a beach, inside and underneath, an aquarium the size of several city blocks. It was like someone had taken an entire tropical cove, and replaced the sky with scenes from beneath its own bay. 

For the sake of his own sanity, Izuku chose to believe that this was the most extravagant and advanced beach I-Island had. 

He could scarcely imagine one that managed to outshine it. 

“If you think it’s pretty now, you should see what it looks like at night,” Melissa supplied cheerfully. “They turn the artificial sun way down, so it becomes a fake moon, and the scattered lights on the inside of the big tank make little specks that look like stars shining through the water. It’s like something out of a dream.”

Izuku did his very best to keep the hysteria out of his laugh. 

Right. A dream. Sure. 

No wonder the island employed an army of robots as janitors. Who on earth would want to go diving in the big tank to scoop out the whale poop?

Somewhere between dinner with the Shields and doing a consultation on America’s number 1 superhero, a screw might have gotten knocked loose somewhere. Izuku was pretty sure he should be more impressed than he was. Watching whales swim through the sky on the shores of a tropical beach really did look like a dream. 

Just, somebody else’s dream. Not his. 

He knew what his dream looked like. It looked like a world where he didn’t have to tell Melissa Shield about One For All. 

Somehow it ruined the mood, when a part of him was evaluating the scenery based on whether it would mitigate the impact of confessing there, or just make things worse. 

Yeah, cool underwater beach, Melissa. By the way, I’m getting a quirk. From your uncle. Just thought you should know. No, sorry, I don’t have the faintest clue why he didn’t give it to you. Just bad luck, I guess?

Izuku’s fists clenched, and then his shoulders sagged. 

This was… 

He didn’t know what to do . 

Further up the beach, the grinning blonde who was the architect of this excursion was watching gleefully as Melissa Shield grabbed Izuku by the arm, and started dragging him down the shore to look at things. 

If the giant woman were honest, this had been her plan from the start. 

Dr. Shield was a real troublemaker, telling her that she needed to bribe him with more footage of the kids if she wanted a copy of that dinner confession!

Well, two could play at that game. She could be sneaky! She had been trained by ‘the’ Gran Torino! And All Might! She had been a personal student of one of the greatest masters of sneaking in the world! And the fact that nobody knew about it was proof of how sneaky it was!

Unfortunately for her, while Cathleen Bates was extraordinarily talented in a wide variety of fields, stealth… 

Stealth was not one of them.. 

Not even close.

Societies in the Age of Heroes had to deal with many logistical problems, and clothing certainly topped the list of day-to-day issues. Just about anything could be custom ordered or fitted to a certain preference, with the only real limiting factor being time, money, and sometimes government assistance. This was not a luxury, but rather a requirement of the world’s new quirked reality. 

Even so, her violently American themed but otherwise fairly conservative one-piece swimsuit was fighting for it’s life, and unintentionally revealing far more than it was ever intended to. 

Cathleen Bates was over six feet tall before she powered up. The bathing suit made for mutants never stood a chance of fitting her correctly. Because she was a high-ranking pro hero, she was only used to buying clothes for herself in her ‘other’ size. She had support techs and a dedicated costume department to deal with her transformed state. 

While quite clever in her own way, Cathy wasn’t really thinking when she picked this swimsuit off the rack. And being so used to skintight spandex, she was oblivious to how ill-fitting it actually was.

Quite frankly, she wasn’t even entirely certain what her own measurements were when she powered up. 

The lifeguard who literally could not tear his eyes away from the sight of her attempting to sneak down the beach could probably make an educated guess, though. Provided he didn’t pass out first. 

“Is that Star and Stripe over there?” Melissa asked, glancing back. The hulking mass of blonde on the other side of the dunes was about as inconspicuous as a German invasion of the French countryside.

“She’s probably just keeping an eye on us,” Izuku replied, trying to keep his whirling thoughts straight. The scenery was beautiful, this beach was incredible. Not so many years ago, a tableau like this would have been called CGI, or accused of being AI generated. It was a marvel of engineering and ambition, befitting the Age of Heroes. 

On any other day, he would be over the moon to be here, but today-

Today was today. And Izuku just hoped he would still have a friend by the time the sun set. 

Melissa Shield grabbed Izuku by the arm, ignoring his flinch, and pointed down the beach towards an isolated cove, talking eagerly about the sea life that was housed here. 

On the other side of the dunes, a barely-decent Star And Stripe let out a quiet squeal of glee, and followed after them, phone in hand. Conspicuously. 

Very, very conspicuously. 

It was probably a good thing that Gran Torino was locked in a moving armored vehicle on the other side of the island.

“Not many people come all the way down here to this cove with the rocks!” Melissa said cheerfully, as she lead Izuku around the far edge of the beach to a more secluded spot that wasn’t directly in line-of-sight of the bars and restaurants. “It’s like a cool little secret!”

Izuku felt a stab of guilt, and only barely avoided flinching. He smiled shakily at her words, doing his best to follow along as she talked about I-Island.

It’s simple. Just tell Melissa about One For All.

There was some selfish and irrational part of Izuku that wanted to rebel. That wanted to spit back in Torino’s face. 

But… this wasn’t about Torino. And Izuku knew that. 

Did he owe the blonde teen an explanation, or didn’t he? 

It would be easy to say he didn’t. After all, what was he supposed to do, explain himself to every quirkless person he ever met? He wasn’t even sure he wanted to explain this to his parents, although some small part of him knew that was probably an inevitability. 

He wasn’t the only quirkless teenager out there. He doubted he was the only quirkless who had dreamed about becoming a hero, either. What was he supposed to do, tell them all?

. . . 

. . . but it’s different with her, isn’t it?

But it was different, with her. 

Melissa wasn’t just anybody. 

Why? Isn’t she? Shouldn’t she be?

Izuku couldn’t say. It didn’t make sense. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to. 

Maybe none of this was supposed to make sense. Izuku couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

But, beyond what Torino had asked of him. Beyond what All Might had said to him. Beyond all the rational thinking and circular trails every should-he shouldn’t-he argument drew, chasing after each other. 

Beyond all that, some inner instinct pushed him towards it. As though some unconscious part of him knew this was a fight that needed to be fought.

Izuku didn’t know if he would have the strength, to tell her that he held the dream she had always wanted in the palm of his hand.

A part of him was terrified if she would ask him to give it to her. 

Could he? Would he? 

Yes.

He didn’t know. 

He knew.

She wouldn’t. 

They all would, and you know it. They would all ask, if they knew. 

All of them would want to know, why you? Why not them?

And they’re right .

Izuku closed his eyes slowly and sighed softly, before opening them again. 

Melissa needed help. She deserved to know the truth. His mother had always told him, over and over again, to treat others the way he would want to be treated. And he-

And he would want to know, if it was him.

“Your probes into the records of my wife weren’t as subtle as you likely intended them to be,” Hisashi said. “And even if they had been, you tripped a few alarms by looking into me. So go ahead. Ask your questions.”

Scenery flickered by outside the sedan as they drove across an elevated highway that wound through the treetops of an artificial forest. The tops of the pine trees were tall, but the road still cleared them, giving the illusion that they were surfing on a shifting green sea. The central tower of I-Island was visible in the near-distance, towering over the landscape like some vast monolith.

Toshinori and Torino both had questions about the Midoriyas. They had also agreed ahead of time that Torino would do most of the talking. 

Neither of them had expected to have the One For All bomb dropped in their laps. They also hadn’t foreseen this level of coldness and veiled hostility, either. 

Then again, Torino had his own suspicions about that. 

“She’s in witness protection, according to the Japanese government,” Torino said. “Her records are sealed. From my experience, it looks like the sort of job they do to people who are related to villains. But that doesn’t make sense, because she’s not in hiding. Care to explain?”

The tip of Hisashi’s cigarette glowed red before fading. “Truthfully, no, not really,” he said, that friendly half smile of his omnipresent. “I don’t think my family’s history is any of your business. Your only concern with my son should be training him to accept One For All, and if you weren’t willing to pass on the quirk to anybody with potential issues, then All Might himself was a rather poor choice.” Cold eyes glanced over at Toshinori for a moment before flicking back to Torino. “Then again, I did lie to you about One For All. So I suppose a few truths wouldn’t be uncalled for.”

Hisashi held up three fingers. “There are three major secrets the Japanese government is keeping.” He paused for a moment. “Well, technically four I suppose, but One For All is more your secret, isn’t it? The government isn’t really involved.”

“And this has to do with one of them, I’m guessing?” Torino asked, looking unimpressed. 

Hisashi smiled coldly. “It certainly does. So, how many of those three are you aware of?”

“I know about All For One,” Toshinori said, taking a sip of his water. 

“Ah,” the businessman said. “Sorry, my mistake. I don’t count that demon as one of the three. He’s more of an,,, international problem, in my opinion. Not really a Japanese one.”

Toshinori frowned. “Then… I guess I don’t know any?”

Hisashi cocked an eyebrow, and there was a flicker of suppressed emotion behind his cold, placid eyes. “Really? You don’t know of any? And what about you, Lone Star?”

Torino cut eyes across at the skeletal blonde, who was looking at him with curiosity, before sighing and squaring his shoulders. “I know of two.”

Hisashi nodded. “I had thought so.”

He picked up the glass bottle of whisky and refreshed his own glass before setting it back down. “The three secrets of the Japanese government and their Hero Public Safety Commission are King Beast, the Mist People, and the so-called ‘Peerless Thief,’ Oji Harima. There’s a story behind each one, and the people who stand behind the power in Japan would do an awful lot to keep the truths of those matters a secret.”

Hisashi sipped his whisky, a small half-smile on his face, before pinning Torino with a look. “So. Which of the two do you know about?”

There was a moment of silence. For the first time, Torino looked tempted to take a drink of his own alcohol, and not out of thirst. “...I don’t know of any particular reason the HPSC would care about Harima Oji,” he finally admitted. “The Bandit King has been dead for over a century at least, probably longer. I can’t think of why he would still be a problem.”

Toshinori didn’t understand why Torino would be reluctant to admit that. But there clearly must have been a reason, because Hisashi narrowed his eyes, and it felt like the temperature in the car dropped by several degrees. 

Any thoughts that he had been imagining or misreading Midoriya senior’s hostility and cold demeanor vanished. Hisashi seemed… upset felt like too mild a word. 

“Did you have something to do with the Mist People incident?” Hisashi asked. His voice was calm, his half-smile was still there, but his eyes were glacial. The question felt like a naked sword being drawn across silk.

Torino’s face twisted in anger. “Did I have something to do with- what kind of person do you take me for?”

Toshinori would have sworn on his life someone had turned on the air conditioning. He could feel the chill pass through the cabin.

“The kind of person who would pawn an unstable and dangerous weapon off on a child behind their parent’s backs,” Hisashi replied blithely. “But don’t worry, we’ll get to that in a minute when it’s my turn to ask questions.”

Torino started to speak again, but Hisashi cut him off. “I don’t care what you think. I care about why you know. There are dead bodies buried in unmarked graves over the Mist People. Why. Do you. Know?” 

There was another moment of silence. Toshinori glanced between the businessman and his former mentor, open concern on his face. A conversation was taking place that he had absolutely no context for. But whatever it was, he had rarely seen Gran Torino so rattled. 

The retired hero's face contorted, like he was sucking on a lemon. “...It was because of Nana,” he finally admitted after clearly struggling with how to answer. “Nana was trying to rescue a little girl. Her involvement was accidental. There were no secrets between the two of us, so she told me everything right after she got out of the meeting where she was threatened into silence.”

There was a second, longer moment of silence. Slowly, the tension in the air seemed to fade. “That does make a certain amount of sense,” Hisashi finally said, and for the first time, his eyes didn’t seem like they were sharp, or even present, but somewhere far away. “Updraft would have been in the right place at the wrong time, wouldn’t she? How very like her.”

“I’m sorry,” Toshinori said, “But what are the-”

“Don’t!” Torino barked, cutting across the unasked question. “Just, don’t. That’s a secret worth more than your life. If you’re half as smart as I know you are, you’ll forget you ever heard anything.”

Toshinori looked at his old teacher, unable to keep the incredulity off of his face. “I’m a hero, Gran,” he said. “Sticking my nose where it isn’t wanted is part of my job.”

“There were no heroes involved during the Mist People incident,” Hisashi said evenly, his eyes back again in the here and now.

Torino muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘ain’t that the truth.’

Toshinori frowned, but decided to let it drop, at least for now. 

Almost as though he could sense his former student’s belligerence, Gran sighed. “Just accept that sometimes, there are people we can’t save. Let it go, Toshi.”

He wasn’t going to. And his mentor probably knew that. But Toshinori hadn’t become All Might by ignoring discretion as the better part of valor. 

“Did they really never tell you anything about King Beast?” Hisashi asked All Might. There was curiosity mixed with a hint of incredulity in his voice. “Did they give you no warnings, or special instructions on how to handle unusually powerful mutants if you encountered them?”

Toshinori frowned for a moment. “I was made aware that there was a classified issue within the mutant community in Japan, and I might be called in one day to fight something dangerous.”

“And they gave you no more details than that?” Hisashi asked. Toshinori shook his head. Beside him, Torino also had a surprised look on his face, though the elderly hero hid it well.

“How amusing. Maybe you offended them with all of your quirkless charities.” The friendly smile that didn’t reach the businessman's eyes was back, though Toshinori didn’t feel like the hostility was directed towards either of them. 

“That story starts with Destro,” Hisashi explained, trading his half-empty shot glass for the cigarette balanced on the ashtray. “His original revolutionary army was something of a big tent affair, politically speaking. It incorporated several smaller groups of political and ideological dissidents at the time. The leaders of those groups were given the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the Meta Liberation Army, which was second in authority only to Destro’s own rank of Supreme Commander. Most of those groups weren’t the sort of people who would have gotten along with each other, like the Creature Rejection Clan and the Abhuman Supremacists. Mutant haters, standing alongside mutant supremacists. But in Destro they had a common goal: the free use of quirks in broader society. So they set aside their differences to fight the Japanese government.”

“I was aware of some of this,” Toshinori said, “Though I’ll admit, I’m more knowledgeable about American Dawn history than Japanese.”

“It’s not something the Japanese government is proud of,” Hisashi replied. “So the details aren’t exactly taught in schools. They did almost lose, after all. But back to the point, one of those commanders was a man known by his villain name; King Beast.”

“I’ve heard that name before, from certain criminals,” Toshinori admitted. “Who was he?”

It wasn’t Hisashi who answered.

“He was a monster,” Torino replied. “This was almost two centuries ago, but King Beast would have probably been labeled a high A-Class villain today, if not an S-Class. His mutant quirk was unnatural in its strength. He was a freak among freaks. The strongest mutant of his generation by a margin so wide second place may as well have not existed. After Destro was arrested, none of his lieutenants went quietly. Most of them made some sort of last stand. It took a whole army to bring down Beast.”

Hisashi smiled, and his eyes remained cold. “More specifically, it took four divisions of the JGSDF, one of which was armored, approximately fifty mercenary vigilantes who answered the call to fight Destro, an unknown number of local vigilantes, and the French Foreign Legion.” 

Torino snorted. “Yeah, what he said.”

Toshinori blinked slowly as he processed that information. He knew the basics about Destro’s defeat, everyone who goes through a school in Japan would. But he had never heard much about the man’s immediate subordinates.

Quirks were getting stronger and more complex all the time. It happens every generation. Sometimes they stagnated or stalled out, due to bad quirk compatibility, or there being more quirkless than quirked in the marriage pool. Progress was, on occasion, halted or sidetracked. But there was never any regression. Quirks were like a river, or balls rolling down a hill. They moved one way; forwards. 

Destro’s revolution had been staged almost two centuries ago, just a few decades prior to the formal end of the Dawn. A generation was between 20 and 30 years, however long it took for children to grow up and have children of their own. So that was around 7 generations in the past, give or take.

There were modern heroes Toshinori knew, top class pros, who couldn’t fight that kind of firepower. 

“What was he?” the strongest hero in the world asked, confusion and trepidation in his voice.

“An outlier,” Hisashi replied. “And a problem that continues to haunt us to this very day. Because the various mutant supremacist groups have always lived by a code of survival of the fittest, of ruling by might and taking whatever you want by force. And King Beast was… notoriously prolific. Far more mutants in the broader Pacific area are related to him than you might guess. King Beast made his last stand in the Japanese forest of Haiboro Woods, but the problems he caused had far-reaching consequences that are still felt today.”

The tip of Hisashi’s cigarette glowed before fading away. “It’s always been understood that there’s soft eugenics happening with quirks. Quirk marriages, people judging spouses based on their abilities. And like-marrying-like to prevent complications, children being born with self-harming powers. But King Beast’s bloodline is particularly unstable.”

In the background, Torino was nodding. Toshinori’s eyes narrowed. “How unstable?”

“The statistical average for a quirk evolution, or a quirk that spontaneously grows and changes due to stress or some other factor, is around one in a million, give or take,” Hisashi replied. “In people related to King Beast? It’s closer to one in five. His power was also chimeric in nature, possessing the abilities of multiple completely different animal species, both predator and prey. His… instability, tends to appear even more aggressively in his descendants who have children outside of their own quirk type niche. Who cross the streams with their spouse, so to speak. Especially between predator and prey animal mutations. The more radical the difference in parents, the more dangerous the manifestation will be if it appears.”

Hisashi tapped a bit of ash into the tray. “Which is why there’s a list. The Japanese government maintains a list, with the cooperation of Australia, Korea, and the United States, of every descendant of King Beast that we know of. It’s an attempt to head problems off at the pass. China is also involved, rather begrudgingly, but they don’t like telling outsiders anything if they can help it.”

“There’s a list?” Torino asked, scowling. “I knew about his bloodline being dangerous, but I didn’t know they were keeping tabs on people.”

“That’s illegal,” Toshinori noted quietly.

“Oh, extremely,” Hisashi said, with his icy eyes and I’m-your-friend smile. “It is very, very illegal. It trespasses on a number of national laws regarding surveillance on civilians and the medical privacy of quirks.”

His lips twitched slightly, clearly somewhat amused in spite of his coldness. “That’s why it’s a secret.”

Toshinori understood, then. He had never been well-liked by the Japanese government, for all of his fame and popularity with the people. He avoided taking direct orders from the Public Safety Commission whenever possible, which didn’t endear him, and most of the charities he created and funded weren’t the sort of thing that wins brownie points with professional politicians. 

Most top pros put together gifted programs, to help talented kids become heroes themselves, or excel in a field related to that hero’s theme. All Might gave money to the quirkless, to underfunded hospitals, to disaster relief. Many other heroes also did this, but it was against the grain for a pro as high-profile as him to make that his primary source of charity. And perhaps more importantly, it wasn’t something the political class of Japan could readily use for their own personal ends, either.

It was hard for nepotism to take advantage of a soup line.

Japanese bureaucrats had needed All Might as a counter to potential disaster in the mutant community. But they hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him the details. Now that situation made far more sense

How it must have rankled them, to have to rely on his strength as All Might even as they tried to keep him out of the loop.

“I knew that some criminal mutants fought each other over the name King Beast, but I never realized there was such a history behind it,” Toshinori confessed. 

“Those are the remnants of the old Abhuman Vanguard and Inhuman Supremacy parties,” Gran Torino replied. “They consider the name a crown. Only the strongest mutant gets to call themselves King Beast. They’ll kill each other for the privilege.”

The old man turned to gaze at the enigmatic businessman sitting across from them. “The current one is still in jail, right?”

Hisashi smiled that gentle, cold smile and nodded. “Yes, the current King Beast is still entombed a hundred feet below the bottom of the Sea of Japan. Tartarus Prison Level -10. The Ultramax block.”

He leaned back in his seat. “I doubt it was that monster the Japanese government were worried about. The old Abhuman movements are a dying breed. That’s what happens, when you constantly kill each other over the right to lead,” Hisashi said, gesturing dismissively with his cigarette. “I think the bureaucrats and politicians were more concerned about something that might happen in the future.”

Toshinori’s hands involuntarily clenched. No, he didn’t think they were concerned about the current King Beast, either. 

Tartarus was a prison built out at sea, with most of it situated underwater. It was one of the three great supervillain prisons of the world, each custom built to contain quirked criminals. The levels in Tartarus started at 100 and counted backwards to 1. The lower the number, the deeper the level. Officially, level 1 was as low as it went. 

But every Japanese hero in the top 50 knew differently. There were ten more levels, counting down to negative 10. That was the Ultramax block. 

The top 50 had to know, because they were the ones who would be called in a hypothetical House On Fire incident to deal with a prison break. 

No, the government wouldn’t be worried about the current King Beast, whoever they were. Not if they were sealed away in the Ultramax. 

They had wanted Toshinori on standby to put down what would, in all likelihood, probably be a kid. Some teenager or young adult, who wouldn’t even know what was happening to them. Who wouldn’t understand. Who was having the worst day of their life, scared out of their mind by their own quirk. 

Due to his low alcohol resistance from going years without, the one shot had made him feel a bit warm. But there was a coldness now in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. 

No wonder they hadn’t wanted to give him details. 

“There’s no way in hell any of you are mixed up in the Mist People,” Torino said. “And telekinesis and fire breathing don’t feel very big-fish mutant, either.”

Hisashi smiled. “So by process of elimination, your question has something to do with the third problem? Is that your guess?”

But Torino looked like he was done playing games. “I’m not guessing a damn thing. Every kid in Japan knows the story of Harima Oji. The Legendary Burglar, the Peerless Thief. The Bandit King of Kansai. He lived around the time Destro fell, but he was never a friend of the revolution. He stole from the rich and gave to the poor, each heist more daring than the last. No estate or corporation was beyond his reach. And then one day he just disappeared, never to be heard from again. Popular opinion being that he got away clean and retired, since it was doubtful the people he stole from wouldn’t brag about catching him if they had.”

Torino’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not uncommon for relatives of villains to be put in witness protection, to keep them safe and to cut ties. But Harima was dead, buried, and a bedtime story before I was ever born. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he has living relatives still knocking around somewhere, and I’d be willing to believe you or your wife were among them. But that doesn’t explain a damn thing about your paperwork. Harima is ancient history, he shouldn’t matter at all!”

“Unless, of course, Oji Harima was never real,” Hisashi said, with a calm smile that belied the gravity of his statement. 

Torino blinked. Even Toshinori seemed taken aback, as he too had been raised on stories of the vigilante-cum-villain and gentleman thief. 

“Not real?” Torino said incredulously. “He stole the largest cut emerald that’s ever existed, there’s a damn documentary about it! Of course he was real! Bank vaults don’t stand up and walk away on their own!” 

Hisashi chuckled, and the tip of his cigarette glowed briefly before he took it out of his mouth and balanced it between two fingers. “As far as bank vaults walking away on their own goes, you may be surprised,” he said, “But you’re misunderstanding me. The heists and crimes were very real. But Oji Harima was not. Tell me, did either of you ever see The Princess Bride ?”

There was a beat, and the two heroes shared a look with each other before shaking their heads. “I think I’ve seen part of it before,” Toshinori replied, “But that was a long time ago. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Pity,” Hisashi said. “It’s a pre-Dawn movie, a cult classic. Based off of a book. I imagine you saw the remake, but it wasn’t very popular.” 

Hisashi’s lips twitched, as though he were fighting back a smile. “I blame the bad CGI, personally. The rodents were unusually ugly.”

The businessman leaned back in his seat. “In The Princess Bride , there is a character called The Dread Pirate Roberts. During the course of the story, it is revealed that Roberts isn’t actually one person, but is a mantle that various people have assumed, to propagate the legend of an undying pirate lord.” The tip of Hisashi’s cigarette glowed briefly. “That is what Oji Harima is. There was never just one ‘Peerless Thief.’ There were several. A whole family of them, in fact. A collection of people with similar quirks, related by ideals and occasionally blood, who set out on a crusade to right what they saw as a great wrong in their society. They attributed all of their successes to a single, mostly fictional individual, while working together to cover up their failures and mistakes. They believed that creating a figurehead that was just an idea would make a longer-lasting impression on society than Destro’s desire to simply seize control by force.”

“That’s absurd,” Torino grunted. “You can’t possibly expect anyone to believe that.” Then after a moment, the old man’s frown softened slightly “Though it would explain why Harima never sided with Destro. There was always debate, about why he never became one of Destro’s Lieutenants, even if it was just for the sake of convenience. This would be the why, then?”

Hisashi nodded, and gestured in a circular motion with his cigarette. “More or less, yes. But, that’s not the end of the story. If it was, it wouldn’t be a very interesting conspiracy, now would it?” He leaned forwards in his seat, his cold eyes twinkling slightly in spite of himself. “In fact, Oji Harima’s disappearance is actually just the beginning.”

In that moment, both Toshinori and Torino could see where Izuku got it from. Even in spite of the coldness, the hostility, and the tension, there was a glimmer of the sunshine they saw every time they saw Izuku talking passionately.

“The Japanese government found out about the ruse,” Hisashi explained, taking a pull from his cigarette. “They made an attempt to arrest the entire family, and everyone associated with them. The sting failed, but a child was killed in the crossfire. It was someone too young to have been involved in anything the group was doing. That was one of the first major blunders of the HPSC as an organization. They had only just been formed, they were fresh out of the gate. And they not only failed to catch the thieves, they got someone killed in the process. For a so-called ‘Safety Commission,’ it’s not a very good look.”

Torino’s lips thinned, and Toshinori coughed slightly into his hand, a small fleck of blood appearing on his knuckles. 

“After that, things got dirty. Instead of committing heists and acts of charity to bolster their figurehead, the Harima troupe began targeting the government. They went after politicians, bankers, the landed elite. I’ve been led to understand that at the time, there was a serious fear that they might even attempt to break Destro out of prison and let him loose as an act of revenge, which was a factor in some of the policies the Japanese government made at that time.”

Hisashi leaned back in his seat, and the light in the car darkened slightly as they went under an overpass. “The Harimas built their strategy on the idea that the government would be too afraid to admit the truth to the public, especially after nearly losing the war with Destro. So they could bleed their enemies dry, safe in the knowledge that they would never be confronted with a full-blown dead-or-alive manhunt. And they were right… to a point.”

“They pushed too far,” Torino said. It wasn’t phrased as a question. 

Hisashi’s smile showed a hint of white teeth. “They did. Their estimation of the corrupt moral character of the provisional government was accurate, but they underestimated how frightening they themselves looked from the outside. Bluffs only work until someone works up the nerve to call them, and if there’s one universal axiom in the governments of today, it’s this: the people in charge will do anything to avoid another collapse like the Dawn. Nothing frightens them more than that. They believed that if they didn’t stop the Harima clan, Japan would be plunged back into anarchy again. There is no dirty laundry they wouldn’t be willing to air to prevent that. They were prepared to admit to murdering a child.”

Gran Torino leaned back in his own seat slightly. Both of his hands were clasped on the top of his walking stick. “So the government called the Harima’s bluff. But the story can’t have ended there. I don’t ever recall hearing anything about a manhunt for a clan of thieves.”

“There was third party interference,” Hisashi said. “Some suspect the Quirk Boogeyman, All For One. Others think it was the vigilante information broker, Crow. But whoever it was, they gave the Harimas something extraordinary. Something that forced the Japanese government into a ceasefire.”

“What was it?” Toshinori asked, fascinated by this aspect of Japanese history that he had never known about. 

Hisashi shrugged. “The WHA doesn’t know,” he said. “If you want a real answer, you’d need to convince the government to tell you. But I doubt you’ll have much luck there.”

Torino’s eyes narrowed. That was a… curiously specific denial.

Hisashi’s cold eyes flicked over to Torino’s own for a moment, a ghost of amusement in them. “Whatever it was, it was a big enough threat to make them think twice. So instead of going through with their original plans, the HPSC, with the blessing of the Japanese Diet, made the Harimas an offer.”

Toshinori’s mind immediately went to all of the television shows he had seen in America about gangsters, and the daytime Korean soaps he watched about the triads.

Maybe it didn’t say anything good, that he would associate such things with his own government. 

“An offer?” Torino’s voice was gruff, but it couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“Yes,” Hisashi said. “They cease all illegal activity immediately and going forwards into the future. In exchange, the government agrees to put the manhunt on hold indefinitely, and not publically label the family as terrorists.”

“With the caveat that if anyone in the family ever steps out of line again, the hammer comes down?” Torino asked, understanding the situation. Hisashi nodded, and the retired hero snorted. “I’d give a lot to know what loaded gun the thieves were handed to force the government to negotiate.”

Hisashi smiled, his clean white teeth not looking even remotely like those of someone with a smoking habit. “You and a great many other people.”

It was Toshinori who asked the hanging question.

“Is your wife a Harima?” 

“Is she?” Hisashi asked, sounding nonplussed. “I don’t know. This was Lone Star’s theory we were discussing, after all. He’s the one who thinks it couldn’t involve King Beast or the Mist People, so according to his logic, it must be the Harimas.”

Hisashi smiled softly, a glint of cold humor in his eyes. “Unless, of course, I lied to you. But then, we seem to be working on the assumption that I’m trustworthy. At least according to you, All Might.”

“Cut the shit!” Torino spat, pointing a finger. A great deal of his gruffness was something he put on for the sake of convenience; it was an old glove that fit him well. But he was starting to become genuinely irritated. 

“Your wife is in witness protection, but she’s not trying to hide at all! Anyone with ill intent could plug her name into a search engine, pull her work address, tail her home, and then kill her and your son in the span of a few minutes!”

Hisashi chuckled. “I don’t think it would be quite as easy as you think, but please, continue.”

“Anyone who wanted to find your family, could. Anyone who wanted to hurt your family, could-”

“And they would regret it immensely, but again, please continue.”

“-and that doesn’t make any FUCKING sense!” Torino said, jabbing his finger into the palm of his other hand. “She can’t be related to any living villain with a grudge, or she’d be a sitting duck! That’s not an opinion, it’s a fact!” 

“True,” Hisashi said, again sounding nonplussed. 

“There are still freaks running around to this day with King Beast’s blood in them, killing each other for the privilege of wearing their grandpappy’s name like some villainous overlord cape. If she was related to him, the C-lister heroes assigned to that precinct would be dealing with an endless parade of goons in clown makeup looking to collect!”

Hisashi huffed slightly in a suppressed laugh, but didn’t say anything. 

“And this can’t have anything to do with the Mist People! It wouldn’t be safe for her to be in Japan at all if it did! And no, shut the hell up, Toshi!” the older man said, jabbing a finger at the skeletal blonde next to him. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” the strongest hero in the world said, holding his hands up defensively. 

Torino didn’t bother looking at his former student, but snorted, clearly not believing a word the younger man said. 

“Well then,” Hisashi said, folding his own fingers together over one of his knees. “It sounds to me like you’re very sure of your theory, then.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “Good job!”

Gran Torino made a sour-looking face. 

“... I stand on calling you a son of a bitch at the start,” the old man finally said. “You missed your calling, brat. You belong in an interrogation room dismantling punks and wannabe mafiosos, not filing paperwork for the WHA.”

“These days, I mostly pay other people to handle the paperwork for me,” Hisashi said brightly. “Also, I don’t really see how you can complain about my chosen profession, when you’ve openly poached my son for yours.” The businessman’s eyes narrowed, and there was a dangerous glint behind the teasing tone. “From where I’m sitting, you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

“It doesn’t really matter, though,” Toshinori said, speaking up. The skeletal blonde had a contemplative look on his face, his dark eyes thoughtful. “The ‘why,’ I mean.”

Hisashi raised an eyebrow, a more genuine smile on his face. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Toshinori blinked, before settling back, adjusting himself in the seat that only barely fit him. 

“Well, the exact backstory doesn’t matter, is what I’m saying. You’re obviously reluctant to give precise details. When asked a question, you painted these broad narratives of secrets and conspiracies, instead of just outright stating it. Maybe the truth is somewhere in what you told us, and maybe it isn’t. But I don’t really think it matters, because at the end of the day, it seems pretty clear that the witness protection is to keep tabs on Mrs. Midoriya, isn’t it? It’s not really about keeping you or your family safe at all.”

Hisashi smiled and said nothing for a long moment, his smoldering cigarette balanced between two fingers. “The greatest hero agency in the world. An unprecedented number of criminal incidents solved. I can’t help but wonder, how much of what Sir Nighteye became was because of what you taught him, All Might?”

The skeletal man coughed into his fist, a small fleck of blood landing on the back of his thumb. “Very little, I’m afraid. Sparrow always had it in him to become Sir Nighteye. Truthfully I had nothing to do with it.”

Hisashi hummed disbelievingly. “As you say, Detective Yagi.”

Torino’s eyes narrowed. “None of that explains your own records being so aggressively redacted. Are you also the descendent of a villain, then?”

The businessman chuckled softly. 

“Am I the descendent of a villain? That is a funny question to ask, although you wouldn’t know why.” There was a moment’s pause.

“No. ‘I’ am not the descendant of a villain. It would be stranger if I were, all things considered.”

Torino narrowed his eyes at that.

Hisashi sat his cigarette down in the ashtray and folded his hand together.

“As All Might has succinctly summarized, the government does not trust my wife. This is due entirely to the circumstances of her birth. She was never trusted, and I imagine they would prefer for her to quietly drop dead in a ditch somewhere and be forgotten. Especially considering her chosen career is holding their most public-facing lackeys accountable for gross misuses of power.”

Hisashi fixed his eyes on Torino. 

“Likewise, the government also does not trust me, for similar reasons. The feeling is mutual, as at no point in my life have I ever had any faith in the Japanese government. I owed no allegiance to them from the start, and I’ve seen far too much of what those sorts of people really are to ever trust them in the future. They would keep tabs on me if they were able, but much to their own regret, I am beyond their reach.”

“Because of the World Heroes Organization,” Toshinori supplied. 

Hisashi made a vague circular motion with his cigarette. “Among other reasons.”

Hisashi took a sip of his half-empty whisky glass, before setting it and the cigarette back down. 

“As far as the Japanese government is concerned, I am a liability and so is my wife. But I don’t concern myself terribly much with what they think. My family is all that matters to me. It is all that has ever mattered.”

Izuku was used to being awed on his trip to I-Island. 

But if you had asked him before he came to the island what he expected to see while he was there, this room would have been it. 

It was two stories tall, with the walls made of broad white plates, either hard plastic or some sort of lacquered metal. Seamlessly integrated into the walls were towering bookshelves of the same material that took full advantage of the vaulted height of the room. Large ladders of varnished wood were propped up against them, the four ends of their legs on rotating wheels, and a spiral stairway of wrought iron led up to a catwalk on the second floor, which allowed for easier access to the high books. Like the ladders, the catwalks were also made of heavy polished wood, and together they matched the large desk near the far wall.

There were almost no right angles or harsh edges in the room, the whole affair having a smoothed over, bubble-like design reminiscent of the tomorrowland aesthetic seen elsewhere on the island. The clean white plastic, polished wood, and twisted wrought-iron had an organic sense to them, a feeling that was accentuated by a number of potted plants and scattered pieces of laboratory equipment. 

But as nice as the room was, half office and half library, what really drew the eye was the broad, blank space that dominated one wall, and the projector hanging from the ceiling that cast a huge holographic display onto it.

It was the stereotypical chalkboard of a research lab, filled with scribbled equations and notations made in different languages and types of shorthand. But instead of being tied to a physical board, it was a projected interactive image. Something a dozen hands from around the world could interact with, without ever once needing to be in the same room. 

“Ms. Shield!” a masculine voice called out, with a faint Russian accent. “And her esteemed guest as well. I’m glad you could both find the time to visit me.”

Melissa curtsied. “Of course, professor.” Izuku also sketched a hasty bow. 

The man standing before them resembled the room he was situated in. If Izuku had been asked to guess who he would meet on the giant floating research facility, this is the picture that would have come to mind. 

.It was an older man, tall and heavy-set, with wide shoulders and large hands. His hair was thick, unkempt, and as white as snow, as were his bushy eyebrows and rough-trimmed beard. He wore reddish-brown dress pants, a clay colored vest, and comfortable leather shoes. A well-worn labcoat hung from his shoulders, and he wore a rumpled, slightly eccentric tie; the same sky blue as his eyes, with scattered white polka dots. 

The plastic nametag that hung from his labcoat matched the brass plaque on the front of his desk. 

“D-Doctor Asher Gallas!” Izuku said, only stuttering slightly. “It’s a pleasure to m-meet you!”

The older man smiled warmly, and shook the teen’s hand. The doctor’s hand dwarfed his own. “The pleasure is all mine, young man. I suspect you're aware, but rumors of you have already made the rounds. Dr. Shield couldn’t stop talking about the paper you wrote on his old armor designs.”

Izuku flushed as red as a tomato.

“Yes, quite the man of the hour. And of course, we cannot forget Ms. Shield, one of the star pupils of the institution. I assume you’ve heard, but I will be replacing Dr. Niemand as the professor of the Physics courses at the start of the new school year.”

“Yes, professor, I’m looking forward to it!” Melissa said cheerfully. “The University of Moscow is renowned for it’s contributions to physics and engineering! I’m sure we’ll learn a lot from you next year!”

The scientist waved a hand slightly dismissively. “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. It’s a common story, from what I hear. They certainly do like collecting the best.”

“Your office is amazing!” Izuku blurted out, his eyes on the holographic whiteboard.

The white-haired man chuckled. “It certainly is nicer than the ones I had in Prague or Moscow. Out here, people actually have money to spare on their budgets. It is a strange feeling.”

His kind gaze turned to the greenette. “And how about you, young man? I understand the dean has already spoken to you, has he not?” He put a large hand next to his bearded mouth, and loudly whispered. “Did he succeed in poaching you?”

Izuku flushed again before shaking his head. “Ah, n-no sir! Sorry.”

Dr. Gallas laughed. “No need to apologize, young man! I heard you were born in Japan, so I imagine your heart is set on UA, yes? They ‘are’ the best in the world, after all. There’s no shame in aiming for the top. That just means we’ll have to try harder to steal you in the future.”

The elderly man clapped a friendly hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Never be afraid to ask for what you’re worth. If I-Island wants you, young man, be sure to make them pay for the privilege.”

Izuku reddened again before nodding.

This time, it wasn’t Izuku who asked the question, but Melissa. 

“If you don’t mind, professor, could you tell me about the project you’re working on right now? I’ve heard some rumors about it, and I was wondering what was true!”

The white-haired man smiled. “You can just call me doctor or Mr. Gallas, young lady. I’m not your professor yet. And certainly! I’d love to share, though I’m afraid you may find it boring.”

The scientist pulled something that looked like a marker for a whiteboard out of his pocket. But when he twisted the black cap off, it didn’t have a wedge of sponge with ink on it, but instead a hard rubber nib. 

It’s purpose was immediately revealed when the white-haired doctor reached out and tapped the huge holographic display with it.. Parts of the enormous simulated board resized themselves, becoming larger while others shrank and moved into the background. 

It was a stylus for manipulating the hologram. 

“In simple terms, our project is attempting to find a means to block teleportation, warp jumping, and other effects generated by trans-spatial superpowers,” the older man explained. “This project is nearly a decade old at this point, and it has a lot of very wealthy and influential backers behind it. The very existence of teleportation quirks is a colossal security risk for, well. Nearly everything, quite frankly. And unsurprisingly, the people who are most vocal about finding a solution to it are also the people with the most resources to spend. Because they also have the most to lose.”

Izuku leaned forwards, fascinated. Melissa smiled. “That’s really cool, Dr. Gallas!” the blond exclaimed.

The old man smiled. “I’m glad you think so. These days, it just feels like a source of headaches for me. I’ve been a part of the initial team since the beginning, when our think tank was formed in Prague. In all that time, we’ve completely failed to accomplish our core objective. We aren’t even close, and likely never will be.” 

Melissa frowned. She had far more experience with these sorts of things, living and growing up on I-Island. What the doctor had just said seemed wrong.

“I’m sorry to hear that you haven’t been able to produce results, sir,” she said, looking confused. “But if the objective is so obviously impossible, why did they keep the tank open for so long, then?”

The bearded man chuckled. “Ah, but that’s just it. I didn’t say we produced no results. I said we had failed our core objective, which was blocking teleportation.”

He reached out with the stylus, and tapped the edge of the simulated whiteboard. A side window slid out, and he tapped through several folders to an .AR5 file. With a flick, he tossed the file onto the main board, and suddenly a large window opened as the footage began to play.

The Augmented Reality 5 file was short, only about fifteen seconds long. It showed an empty room with a complex device set up on a table. It resembled a tower of small metal pipes, with an ordinary baseball secured on the top via mechanical claw. The base of the tower was surrounded by much more complex looking machinery that Melissa couldn’t even begin to identify. 

Someone announced the beginning of the test, and a loud mechanical hum could be heard as something switched on. A pool of soft, rippling light appeared in the center of the machinery at the base of the tower. Another voice counted down from five, and then the claw opened, dropping the baseball. 

It fell, but instead of hitting the pile of components on the table and bouncing off, it vanished instantly the moment it touched the pool of light. 

There was suddenly an enormous rush of noise as a dozen voices began shouting and yelling offscreen. Someone was cheering, and then the footage ended abruptly. 

“That,” Dr. Gallas said, “is footage from two years ago, recorded in a remote facility in Siberia. And what you just witnessed was the first successful test of an artificial teleportation effect, created not with a quirk, but with science alone.”

Both teens stood there in shock, overwhelmed at what they had just heard. 

Dr. Gallas was part of a team that had teleported something? Without a quirk!?

“It’s a total failure, unfortunately,” the man continued. “Eight years worth of research on teleportation effects, trying to learn how to block them. Trying to learn how to make the world safe from the spatial superpowers being misused. And the only thing we figured out was how to make the problem a thousand times more commonplace.”

“But-” Izuku started to say. However, he wasn’t the only one who had a distracted groove he could get caught in, because Dr. Gallas seemed to not even hear him, absorbed as he was in his own analysis of their research. 

“What’s worse, even that didn’t work out properly, because our version of it is completely inaccurate. We ran a hundred simulated tests before committing to a real one, of course. Folding space into a needle and then threading it into itself is no mean feat. But the reason we set up the test in Siberia was because all of our math predicted that the output would be totally uncontrollable. And unfortunately, the live experiments proved that correct. The devices we made can be programmed with output coordinates, but what we send through never ends up in the place we want it to go. The math can vary by multiple orders of magnitude one way or the other. In our first test, the baseball we sent through ended up ten kilometers off from the target, embedded in the side of a tree. If we hadn’t put a tracker inside of it, we never would have found it.”

The older man sighed. “Conceptually, the entire tank is a failure on almost every possible level. Commercialization of such imprecise teleportation is impossible. We can’t teleport people or goods when they’re just as liable to end up a hundred yards underground or embedded in a wall six buildings over. And worse, the only thing our research has done is prove fairly definitively that our original goal is almost certainly impossible.”

Izuku couldn’t contain himself, but it was Melissa who exploded first. 

“BUT PROFESSOR!” she exclaimed. “It’s- this is unprecedented! This will make history when you publish it! This is- this is practically only a step away from making a spacecraft that could travel between stars!”

Izuku shared her wavelength, he couldn’t help but agree. “This is unbelievable, sir!” he said, his voice hoarse and cracking slightly. “Of all the quirk effects you could manage to replicate, teleportation… It’s teleportation! It’s like a miracle!”

Dr. Asher Gallas looked at the two teenagers in front of him, radiating enthusiasm, and slowly sighed. 

This wasn’t really how he had wanted this to go, but perhaps it was better than they heard it from him, here and now.

They would have to learn, eventually. 

“Technological development is not geometric, exponential, or even linear. It is step-based, occurring in leaps and bounds,” the scientist explained, leaning slightly on his desk.

“We will experience long periods of stagnation, our progress will plateau. Then a breakthrough will occur and we will rapidly advance until we hit new walls and barriers. This was true even before the advent of quirks, and it is certainly true today. So much of our progress now hinges on dissecting and understanding exotic quirk effects, sometimes it really does feel like we’re just waiting around for the next great quirk to solve our problems for us.”

The scientist turned to regard the giant board of equations and pictures with exasperated fondness. “You are quite right: what we have achieved here is nothing less than a scientific miracle. We have isolated and reproduced a quirk-based teleportation effect. We will likely win some sort of award for our contributions to the fields of physics and quirk science. But all of that,” he said, waving a hand at the board, “is as far as we can take it for now. To produce a viable form of commercial or private teleportation travel will require other breakthroughs and advances that are beyond the scope of our research. Likewise, it will take five or six other, completely different miracles to turn this into something that could be called a science fiction FTL drive. If the effect is this inaccurate over short ranges, it certainly would never work when stellar distances are involved.”

The white-haired scientist smiled somewhat sadly down at Melissa Shield and her teenage friend. “And, perhaps worst of all, we have wholly failed at our original goal of inventing a way to block or baffle teleportation quirks. That was the original goal of this think tank, and unfortunately, we are no closer to that than we were when we started. If anything, our divergent research here has simply reinforced the difficulty of blocking people with trans-spatial superpowers. As far as we can tell, the only method that exists is to use quirk-cancelling quirks. Which are the rarest of all unicorns.”

“And like healing quirks, have never been replicated successfully,” Izuku added absently. 

The white-haired scientist nodded. “Quite right. Our investors agreed to fund us for ten years because there is a very strong interest in all sectors, both public and private, to find a way to block teleportation. As it stands, the only two life paths for trans-spatial quirk holders are either obtaining a provisional quirk license of some sort through the heroics system, or living the rest of their lives on parole with a monitor attached to them. It is inhumane on it’s face, and also not a sustainable policy. Society cannot perpetually treat all warpers as villains-in-potentia. A counter to criminal teleportation must be found. But so far, we have failed to solve the problem.”

With a gesture of his stylus, the scientist banished the video window, and various parts of the whiteboard resized themselves and shifted their positions, filling the space back in. 

“There was talk of granting us an extension, on the grounds of further refining the teleportation technology we incidentally developed,” Dr. Gallas continued. “But without a way to stop unwanted teleportation, our backers were not eager to fund the creation of something that would make teleportation a thousand times more of a problem than it already is. If you will permit me a metaphor, we were brought together for the purpose of inventing bulletproof vests. We instead created a means of putting a gun in the hands of every living creature on the planet. So unfortunately, our findings will be patented and then locked away. Mothballed for the foreseeable future. Perhaps one day, someone will invent something that will be able to make use of what we have found. But it will not be us.”

“So it’s not really that different from the Arc Reactor, then,” Izuku said softly, a bit of sadness in his voice. “It’s just a tech demo, not something anyone can use.”

The scientist smiled, feeling not a small amount of relief. He had no desire to crush the optimism out of either teen, and was glad of the topic change. “Ah yes, the Arc Reactor. Quite the interesting display of oddball physics. Your father is a visionary, Ms. Shield. If the two of you find such things interesting, you may want to look into the work of a man by the name of T.Y. Minovsky. He’s an adjunct who is currently associated with the University of Moscow. He’s been accomplishing some truly miraculous things with nuclear fission and it’s relation to the fields of advanced particle physics. I will likely die before those seeds bare fruit, but the two of you may witness cold fusion in your lifetimes.”

Both teens brightened at the mention of cold fusion, and Dr. Gallas laughed as he navigated through the holographic whiteboard to show them more things. 

It was true, unfortunately. The teams working with I-Island made miracles every day, and nine times out of ten, they were abandoned due to having no practical use or monetary value. 

But hope sprang eternal. And just as he stood on the shoulders of giants to reach as far as he had in his long career, Dr. Asher Gallas knew that one day, a new generation would clamber over top of him to attain even greater heights. His own legacy, and all it contained, would be burned as fuel for the journey onwards. 

The future belonged to youths like Ms. Shield and Mr. Midoriya. His discarded miracles were not destined to be forgotten; but would become the building blocks of their own great works. 

So he smiled, with cheer in his heart. Because that’s the kind of scientist he was. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what is your quirk?”

Dr. Gallas smiled. “Given your penchant for analysis, I’m not surprised at the question, young man. Though unfortunately, I’m afraid my own quirk is far from interesting.”

Suddenly and without fanfare, every hair on the scientist’s head turned a vivid, neon orange. 

Melissa giggled, and Izuku choked down a laugh. “I-I’m sorry sir!”

“Sorry for what?” the older man said, with a deadpan expression on his face, as his hair suddenly matched his tie, turning sky blue with huge white circles evenly spaced across it. 

All three burst out laughing, and the elderly doctor raked a large hand through his hair almost as a reflex, as it turned back to the snowy white from before. 

“I quite enjoyed making my hair look ridiculous, back in the day,” he confessed. “My mother always scolded me by saying I would go bald if I kept playing games. Eventually, I stopped caring so much about shocking people. But when the first gray hair appeared, I decided to just hurry things along. My hair’s been white ever since.”

“Do you think someone without a useful or powerful quirk could ever become a hero, sir?”

Melissa spun to stare at Izuku with wide eyes, but Izuku remained firm.

Dr. Gallas was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

“You seem rather well-versed in hero trivia, young man,” the doctor said. “Tell me, do you know the average number of people a professional superhero can expect to save over the course of their career?”

Izuku frowned slightly. “That’s a complicated question,” the green-haired teen replied. “There’s a pretty big disparity in save counts between heroes, depending on their specialization and where they’re located.”

Dr. Gallas nodded, fishing his digital stylus back out of his pocket. “Yes. And the strength of their own quirk is also a factor. Many heroes could go their whole careers and never save as many people as a top hero with a powerful quirk might save over the course of a single disaster.”

“Like the Tokyo Sky Egg incident in Japan, with All Might!” Izuku supplied. 

“Correct,” the doctor said, nodding. “Or the rescue of the Royal Gigantic cruise liner by Captain Celebrity some years ago.”

Using his stylus, Dr. Asher drew a horizontal line on a clear space at the bottom of his holographic whiteboard. Then capped each end with a small vertical dash. 

“Mathematically, the average is always the exact middle on a line between your numbers,” the scientist explained, drawing a small notch in the center of his line. “However, if we take into account the huge disparity in save counts, a more accurate visual representation of the average would be something like this,” he said, drawing a second notch that was almost touching the far end.

His intention was clear: top pros around the world skewed the stats so badly the stats themselves almost didn’t matter. 

“So as you say young man, it’s a complicated question. But if you break the math down, as we have done here on I-Island, you’ll find that the numbers work out somewhat like this.”

He used his stylus to draw the number 20, followed by a ‘k.’ 

“Twenty thousand people, is the amount of lives your typical street activist hero could expect to save over the course of their whole career.”

Then he drew a 100 followed by a ‘k.’

“An exceptional hero in a major metropolis might be able to save one hundred thousand.”

Then he drew 750 followed by a ‘k.’

“And at the very upper end, a top superhero of a first world nation might end up somewhere in the upper six digits, though again, this number fluctuates wildly from one hero to the next.”

“Which is the reason why Japan, America, and Europe track hero successes by incidents resolved, and not people saved!” Izuku supplied enthusiastically. 

Dr. Asher nodded in agreement. “Yes, quite right. And then, of course, there is the mythical-”

He drew a 1 on the holographic board, followed by a lowercase ‘m.’ 

“One million,” Melissa whispered. 

“It is a high water mark that few have reached,” Dr. Asher supplied, slipping the cap back on his stylus with a firm click. “It is also one of the only reasons most hero fans bother with keeping track of headcounts in the first place. Lives saved may not matter, but actually achieving the one million is seen as a crown, of sorts.”

“What’s the highest?” Melissa asked. “That we know of, I mean.”

Two voices answered her simultaneously. 

“Three million-” “Three million.”

Izuku flushed, and Dr. Asher looked at the young man with a rueful but approving smile. “Perhaps it will not shock you to hear this, Ms. Shield, but it is your adopted uncle who holds the uncontested record. A hat trick of legendary proportions.”

“Three million,” she whispered, a bit of awe in her voice. 

“Three million souls,” Dr. Asher affirmed. “Not all superheroes have a secondary moniker, it’s more common in the newer generations. But while All Might has no official hero title, he does hold two unofficial ones. The Invincible Hero, and the Thrice-Crowned Hero. It is not difficult to understand why some might refer to him as such. For a man who has been a professional superhero for over 40 years, he has effectively averaged 200 people saved per day, every day, for his entire career. It is heroism that borders on absurdity. An outlandish feat that none are likely to match in any of our lifetimes.”

Slowly, the scientist slipped his stylus back into the breast pocket of his labcoat. “And, unfortunately, I think that is rather the problem.”

Melissa Shield blinked. Izuku also looked confused. “What do you mean, professor?” the blonde girl asked. 

Dr. Asher Gallas looked at the two teens, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was worry in his eyes, and a deep sadness. 

“You are both far too clever to be lied to. Nor do I think it would be fair even if I could. Earlier, you asked me if I believed someone with a useless quirk could become a hero.” He paused. “Or, no quirk, as the question rather implied.”

Izuku swallowed, and Melissa imperceptibly flinched. 

Dr. Asher sighed. “The only truthful response I could give to such a question… is why would you want to be one? Obviously, such a thing is the dream of everyone your age. I am not disparaging that, but-”

Unconsciously, he ran his old fingers through his snow-white hair, and for an instant, it flickered pink.

“In our conversations earlier, you said that you wanted to help people. That it was deeply important to you. A sentiment I am proud to say I share, young man. But facts are facts. Even if you defied every expectation, surpassed all logic and reason, and somehow managed to crown yourself with a wreath of glory… that’s a million lives saved at best.”

The old man reached out, and with the back of his hand, rapped a knuckle against the huge blank wall of his office, his fingers phasing through the hologram and causing a faint distortion in the display. 

“Meanwhile, we achieve scientific breakthroughs here every year that save the lives of millions by proxy, and improve the lives of millions more. Whoever solves the problems on this board alone will save more people in that one moment than All Might has saved in his entire career. How many die in disasters or criminal incidents because help could not reach them in time? How much suffering would be averted, if the code for replicable teleportation were cracked? Ambulances would become outdated in an instant; we would simply teleport the injured directly into hospital beds and operating theaters. The potential is limitless. And that is just one project among thousands on I-Island.” 

The white-haired scientist leaned slightly against his desk, one hand pressed flat on its surface. “I wish I could tell you to chase after that dream, I truly do. To watch people struggle against great odds, to overcome adversity and defy fate. There has always been something great about that, something profound. It is a feature in all of the most beautiful stories. But that is the terrible thing about dreams, you see. They can lead us astray. They can make us lose sight of the present, of the here and now. They can make us lose sight of ourselves.”

He looked up at the two teens. “I also dreamed of being a hero, once. I ran after that, chasing it. And while I was away from home, thinking only of myself, my mother died.”

Izuku swallowed, and Melissa put a hand up to her mouth. 

“I don’t even remember what the last words I said to her were, I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in months. I didn’t even know she was ill.” He laughed humorlessly.

“I will always regret how callous I was back then, to her and my father. How I took their money and time and squandered it, without ever thanking them for all that they did for me. By the time I realized everything they had sacrificed to help me chase after my dreams, it was already too late to say anything. The only way I could spend time with my mother was by visiting her grave in Novgorod. The dead don’t hear the apologies of the living.”

Asher Gallas sighed. “My dreams made me lose sight of what was important in my life. Money doesn’t matter. People matter. Time matters. Because no matter how much money you make, you’ll never be able to buy back your time. And neither fame nor glory can resurrect the dead.”

Two old and heavy hands patted each teenager on the shoulder. 

“The man who invented penicillin saved more lives in a day than every hero this age has ever produced. It’s okay to dream, young man, young lady. Dream of great and wonderful things. But don’t ever lose sight of what really matters in your lives. Because one day, it will be gone.”

“It’s my turn.”

Glass clinked on glass in the silence of the armored car. Hisashi returned the whisky bottle to the refrigerator and leaned back in his seat, his hands folded. 

He stared at the two men in front of him for a long moment, eyes cold and contemplative. 

“I could ask a lot of things,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “But, in truth, most of it I don’t really care much about.”

There was another beat, and Toshinori coughed quietly into his hand. 

“But there are a few questions, I think, that I’d like to hear the answer to,” Hisashi continued. 

The tip of his cigarette glowed, then faded. He breathed out slowly, and not a wisp of smoke escaped his lips.

“Were you ever going to tell me or my wife about One For All? Or did you intend to keep it a secret?”

There was a long, pregnant moment in the back of the car. Torino’s lips pressed together. Finally, Toshinori spoke. 

“Truthfully… no. I wasn’t planning on telling you.”

There was a moment of silence. Torino gritted his teeth at his pupil’s lack of tact. 

“Are you sure that’s the answer you want to go with?” Hisashi asked, smiling. “I can pretend I didn’t hear you the first time.”

But Toshinori shook his head. 

“I don’t really like lying,” he said. “The idea of informing you and your wife had crossed my mind… but I felt like that wasn’t a good idea”

“Oh?” Hisashi said. “And why is that?”

“Because this secret has killed people,” Toshinori said simply, the long fingers of his huge hands tangling together. “People have died for it. Nana died for it. I can understand why someone could interpret this poorly, but quite frankly, I felt like not only was telling you both a bad idea, but also that it wasn’t truly my place. If young Midoriya wanted to tell his parents, that would be his choice. But it shouldn’t be mine. I was afraid it would just create more danger, not less.”

“Do I seem like the sort of person who would be put in danger by a secret?” Hisashi asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No,” Toshinori said. “But, respectfully, I didn’t know anything about you until today. I had assumed you were what your paperwork made you out to be.”

“I see,” Hisashi hummed. There was a brief pause, then he nodded. “That’s about what I had thought, but I wanted to be sure.”

Toshinori coughed in surprise. “You- you expected that answer?”

“Of course,” Hisashi replied, gesturing dismissively with his cigarette. “If I had genuinely believed you were going to tell me, I would have never bothered tipping my hand from the start. It would have benefitted me far more to play dumb. I certainly wouldn’t have needed to talk so much today.”

Toshinori flinched slightly, and Torino sighed.

They had walked right into that.

“Your intent was clear from the outset,” Hisashi leveled. “I just wanted to hear your reasoning in your own words.”

There was another pause, and Toshinori coughed slightly into his own fist. “Are you upset?” the blonde asked.

“Am I upset?” Hisashi repeated, seeming to mull the words over. “Given my jobs, it would be rather hypocritical of me to be upset over the idea of keeping something a secret in the name of safety.”

His words were light and dismissive, almost playful. But his eyes were cold. 

“Then again, I’ve also never claimed to not be a hypocrite, either. And I rather think every parent is entitled to some hypocrisy when it comes to their own children.”

Cold grey eyes cut across the way to meet Torino’s brown. “You’ve gotten sloppy in your old age, Lone Star. Just because every past wielder was a legal adult, doesn’t mean you can treat my son as though he is.”

“As Toshinori said, this secret has killed people,” the old man rebutted. “Nobody would have complained if the kid had wanted to tell you, but if it’s going to be his secret, then he needs to be the one to choose. Not us. We can’t make that call for him.”

“Wise and logical,” Hisashi demurred. Then that friendly smile of his gained a faintly mocking edge. “At this rate, though, you definitely won’t be beating the child soldier allegations. I’m not sure the trade is worth it, personally.”

Then it clicked. 

Torino realized what was happening. The veiled threat, the coldness, the subtle probing and tests. Replying with a list of conspiracies and dirty government laundry when probed about his own past, never quite giving a straight answer. This entire conversation, from the very beginning, suddenly made sense.

“I know who you are,” the old man said, while Hisashi took a sip of his whiskey. “You’re not a spook. You’re King Spook. You’re the poor bastard they’ve conned into trying to cancel the apocalypse.”

Hisashi sat his glass down and looked at the elderly hero impassively. “And?”

“And my ass,” Torino said, but there was no heat in it. “The kid’s analytical and technical skills. I had thought it was strange, when I first saw it. I know what raw genius looks like, I’ve taught those kids before. But there’s a limit to how much self-teaching can do. A glass ceiling, a hard cut-off. At some point, talent needs to be actively fostered before it can grow any further. You need a mentor figure that knows what they’re doing, a teacher to guide them. And the kid is past that stage, he’s way past it.”

Gran Torino pointed a finger at the besuited man sitting across from him. “It was you. You’re the one who taught him how to do what he does.” 

“My son was fascinated by quirks from the beginning,” Hisashi said. “I had nothing to do with that.”

That was a deflection if the old man had ever heard one. But the more he thought about it, the more certain he was. 

Midoriya Izuku’s insight was like a gemstone that was still being cut down and polished up. But the finished product was sitting across the aisle from them, and to the old man’s eyes, suddenly the resemblance was uncanny. 

If you took all the sunshine brightness away from the kid, dressed him up in a 3-piece suit, and made him about ten thousand percent more cynical, he’d be the spitting image of his father. 

Whether it had been a joke in poor taste or a legitimate threat, Torino still had to admit that the play with the sealed compartment was genius. Hisashi put them both in a position of complete disadvantage without either of them even realizing it. It’s exactly the kind of trick he wanted the kid to get comfortable pulling. 

And if dealing with freak quirks and civilization-ending disasters was Hisashi’s job, then the obvious conclusion was-

“You were training young Izuku to be your replacement,” Toshinori said, having arrived at the same conclusion Gran had. “You wanted him to take your place.”

“‘Replacement’ is a loaded word,” Hisashi demurred, taking a pull from his cigarette. “You replace a lightbulb. You replace a missing set of keys. My son was never my replacement.”

“You say that,” Torino snarked. “But you certainly didn’t seem very keen on pushing him into heroics.”

“Because my son would never become a professional superhero, no matter what he did,” Hisashi replied evenly. “It was, quite frankly, an impossible dream from the start.”

“That’s rather pessimistic,” Toshinori replied, well aware of his own hypocrisy on the issue. “I would have liked his chances.”

“It’s not pessimism,” the salaryman rebutted, “It is realism. The watchword of the age is fear, and the password into the halls of power is control. The world fears what quirks are capable of, and while controlling the quirks is impossible, controlling the people who have them is much simpler. The chosen few who stand at the top of this society are utterly terrified of losing control again, the same way control was lost during the Dawn. They will do absolutely anything to stop that from happening. No matter the cost, or what sacrifices they have to make. Whatever price has to be paid, they will pay it.”

Hisashi’s cigarette burned, a point of red in the shade of the backseat. 

“Fundamentally, every change society has made to itself since the Age of Heroes began was based on a single issue. Does a person have the right to self-defense? And on a fundamental level, every single government in the world has collectively decided to say no, you don’t. Every rule they’ve made, every law they’ve passed, it all stems back to this singular decision. If someone attacks you, with their quirk, do you have the right to respond? Society says no. You don’t. Your duty is to retreat, and wait for the police or heroes to intervene. It was not a popular decision then. It still is not now. Many nations fought a war over this, several more than one. Destro is the poster child of that era. But that decision still stands today. Everything flows downstream from it.”

“I used to teach history,” Torino grunted. “You’re preaching to the choir.”

“Am I?” Hisashi drawled. The glowing ember hanging from his lips was reflected twice in the lenses of his glasses.

“A quirkless professional hero would inspire the people to believe that they can defend themselves, that they can deal with their own problems. A fact the various governments of the world are well aware of. The Japanese Hero Public Safety Commission would have never granted my son a license. Neither would the Russian Hero Commissariat, the Britannian Union of Extraordinary Gentlemen, or the American Department of Homeland Heroics. There is no superhero overseeing organization in the world that would rubber stamp the license of a quirkless hero. It goes against every message they are trying to sell, every narrative they want the people to believe.”

Slowly, the businessman reached up and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “We are beyond the 20th and 21st centuries. Far beyond them. Propaganda is no longer in vogue. Now, the focus is on creating context.”

Hisashi shifted his crossed legs from one side to the other.

“My son was never going to become a hero, because the very system itself would have never permitted it. No amount of pretty speeches from you or any other hero can change that.”

“So you think it was ridiculous then,” Torino said, pushing. “A stupid idea.”

“Yes, it was a ridiculous dream!” Hisashi spat back, anger visible in his eyes. “It was always a ridiculous dream from the start!”

And as quickly as it had appeared, that fiery blaze of emotion vanished. “But you don’t say that to him,” he said softly. “You don’t ever say something like that to your child, even if it’s true. Because boys are allowed to dream.”

The salaryman shifted in his seat, folding his hands carefully over his crossed knee. “Everyone in this world dreamed ridiculous dreams when they were young. Children dream of being astronauts and firefighters, they dream of being doctors and wizards and superheroes. They have imaginary friends and fairytale weddings, they tell their parents that they traveled through time and have a secret castle hidden in their closet.”

He narrowed his eyes. “But the world isn’t full of astronauts and wizards, is it? It’s full of salarymen and construction workers. It’s full of cooks and janitors and train conductors. The very industry we collectively represent is a boulevard of broken dreams, is it not? For every successful hero who makes their debut, how many wash out, fail, or switch careers?”

Hisashi focused his gaze directly on Torino. “What job field contains the largest number of people who entered the system as prospective heroes? You should know the answer to that question, Lone Star.”

The old man did. “The police,” he grunted. Toshinori turned to look at the older man in surprise. It wasn’t heroics?

“And the second?” the dark-haired man challenged. 

“Private security.”

“Is heroics in the top five fields?”

“No, it isn’t,” Torino replied. “Though last I checked, it is hanging on in the top ten.”

“By the skin of it’s teeth,” Hisashi commented dryly. Toshinori was shocked. 

Heroics was barely in the top ten of final destinations for hero prospects?

“Boys are allowed to dream,” Hisashi repeated, and there was a note of melancholy in his voice now. “And when they dream, they should be encouraged and cheered on. That is simply common decency. But everyone knows those dreams aren’t realistic.”

Toshinori couldn’t fully hide his flinch, but if Hisashi noticed, he didn’t show it. “Society has debated endlessly, for thousands of years, what masculinity is. What defines the line between boy and man. Some societies had rituals or coming-of-age ceremonies, others had laws or arbitrary rules. But the truth is, a boy becomes a man the day he puts away his childish things of his own accord. Because he knows there is something more important that he needs to do with his time.”

The tip of Hisashi’s cigarette glowed. “For some men, accepting that responsibility comes late. For others, it is tragically early.”

“And some never do,” Toshinori voiced.

Hisashi nodded. “And some remain children forever. Never growing up or accepting any responsibility for themselves or their own actions. Never putting anything else ahead of their own personal desires and petty feelings. Society has invented many words and terms for such individuals, but the root cause is all the same. As pro heroes, the two of you deal with the consequences of that selfishness every day.”

Toshinori frowned. “Is that what heroics is to you? Childish? A toy that needs to be put away?”

“For my son? Absolutely. His obsession with heroes is a cry for help, his adoration of them is born out of envy and hope. What he truly loves is quirks, and I encouraged the habit. But superheroes? Nothing good will ever come from that long term.”

Toshinori was shaking his head, frowning. “But he doesn’t have to be a hero to act like one. I would know, that was my plan before I met Nana. I’m not so sure about the government never granting him a license, but even if that were true, does it really matter? As a quirkless, he doesn’t need one. Half the laws on the books today don’t even apply to him! It wouldn’t be glamorous, but he could have still chased that dream.”

Hisashi’s eyes hardened. “Did you not,” he said, pushing the tip of his cigarette into the ashtray “listen to a single thing I’ve told you? I surely wasn’t speaking for my own health. I just finished regaling you with a story about how the HPSC was prepared to own up to murdering a child in cold blood, out of fear of what the Harimas would do if they were not stopped.”

Cold grey eyes flicked over to Torino, then back to Toshinori. “Whether you believe my story is the truth or a lie, believe me when I say there is nothing the governments of the world won’t do, if something is a threat to their definition of public order. Either my son would have failed and died a dog’s death, or he would have lived long enough to be the reason they changed the laws, and been rewarded with a witch hunt for his trouble.”

The abused cigarette went back to Hisashi’s lips. “This is my son we are talking about. Neither of those things will ever be an acceptable outcome. Not to me.”

Toshinori couldn’t argue with that logic. But…

He couldn’t shake the image of those bright, teary eyes that looked up at him on that rooftop, begging to know if he could be a hero too. 

‘Sorry, kid. Not without a quirk.’

“He deserves the right to try.”

“Even if it kills him?” Hisashi shot back without hesitation. Toshinori couldn’t hide his flinch. The businessman narrowed his eyes.

“I know what the endgame is, for that dream. Broken hearts, broken promises. Broken lives. And a broken son. I never discouraged him, not once. But don’t you dare sit here and try to judge me for not encouraging him. He never would have been happy, chasing capes. It was a childish dream, one doomed to fail from the start through no fault of his own. Eventually, he would have realized that for himself. He would have grown up.”

Hisashi locked gazes with Toshinori. “Tell me the truth. Where would you be, if Shimura had never adopted you and taken you under her wing? What would have happened to you, if you hadn’t been given One For All?”

Large hands clenched shut, before slowly relaxing. “I’d be dead,” Toshinori confessed. “I would have died.”

“Yes,” Hisashi said, nodding. “Updraft saved your life, in more ways than one. Without her, you would be dead. And no one would have cared, because you were a quirkless orphan.”

He leaned back in his seat. “My son is not an orphan. ‘I’ care. He has someone batting for his team, even if he doesn’t know it.”

The tip of Hisashi’s cigarette glowed. “My son deserves better than scrounging around in the gutter, beating up purse snatchers and begging the society that disdained him for whatever crumbs of validation they can spare. Which is what his fate would have been, if he had kept chasing that dream.”

“That won’t happen,” Toshinori said, his own voice becoming firm. Torino was surprised he didn’t spontaneously turn back into his muscular form. He had never heard that tone come from the younger man when he wasn’t on duty. When he wasn’t All Might. “That is not something that will happen to young Izuku.”

“No, it won’t,” Hisashi blithely agreed. “But only because I would not have allowed it.”

Sorahiko Torino had been in the back of the car with his former student and the enigmatic businessman for several hours now. And this was the first time he had seen the elder Midoriya so- 

Emotionally compromised wasn’t the right word, because it implied too much. But he sensed a crack, in that cold man’s glacial nerves and calm disposition. A weakness. 

Perhaps it was to be expected. Midoriya was a Firebreather, allegedly. And it was an infamous truth that people with fire quirks had hot tempers. If anything, Hisashi’s cold, steely resolve was all the more impressive for it. The old man wished some of his former students with heat quirks had this kind of control. 

But that flicker of anger was something. A seam in that wall of icy metal. A chink in an otherwise flawless demeanor. And Torino still had questions he wanted answered, problems he had no resolution for. He still didn’t feel as though he had met the ‘real’ Hisashi Midoriya. 

So he did what any good investigator would do. 

He pushed. 

“So that’s all this ever was to you, then? Just a big waiting game? You were waiting on your son to give up on being a hero on his own? That feels pretty negligent to me.”

Hisashi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and for an instant, Torino could have sworn he saw a flicker of something red in them. A small, almost invisible curl of smoke wisped out of the corner of the businessman’s mouth. 

“You have a lot of nerve, implying I’ve been negligent as a father. You’ve taken my son aside and are using his childhood dreams to attempt to pawn off an unstable and profoundly dangerous weapon onto him. A weapon more powerful than any nuclear bomb and which has, with one exception, directly or indirectly killed everyone who ever held it. And you haven’t willingly disclosed any of this to either of his legal guardians. You would not have told me, had I not already known your secrets and guessed your intent.”

This time, Torino was certain something red had flickered in the businessman’s eyes.

“The only reason transferring a quirk to a minor isn’t illegal is because the world does not currently believe such a thing is even possible. Do not try and look down at me from some high horse, Lone Star. I know what you are.” 

This time, it was Torino’s turn to be angry, as his own brows furrowed and his lip curled. 

“Are you trying to imply that we’re grooming your kid, or something!?”

Hisashi leaned back in his seat and folded his hands together. “That depends,” he said coolly. “Are you trying to imply that I’m a poor father for not explicitly encouraging a self-destructive, suicidal dream in my son?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Futuristic buildings of smooth chrome and bubbled glass rolled by in the windows, occasionally broken up by dense patches of trees and other greenery. Toshinori coughed, the sound rough and wet. Before he could reach his own mouth, however, Hisashi was holding out a cloth handkerchief. 

The skeletal blonde hesitated for only a moment before taking it gratefully and using it to cover his mouth. 

“Don’t get it twisted, Lone Star,” Hisashi said softly, the wisp of smoke and the strange flicker of light in his eyes long gone. “As hard of a decision as it was, it was better for him to be hurt a little now and be whole later, than to push him into something that I knew would break him. Dreams should uplift and inspire boys. Not destroy them.”

Hisashi’s gaze met Torino’s own for a long moment, then he turned to face Toshinori. 

“Let me make my position on this perfectly clear. I am sure that many of your… ‘colleagues,’ and past acquaintances, would consider your quirk to be wasted on my son. Especially if they were made aware of the whole truth of the matter.”

Hisashi’s eyes narrowed. “As far as I’m concerned, it is my son that is wasted on your quirk.”

“That’s an awful lot of faith you’ve got in a quirkless kid, no matter how smart he is.”

If Torino had been hoping to needle Hisashi again, he was disappointed, as his comment was met with a dry chuckle and a half smile. 

“Heroes and villains are delicate things,” Hisashi murmured, almost to himself. “My son is not. Ironic, given the society that rejected him chooses to treat him like he is made of glass.”

Something still wasn’t adding up for Torino. Midoriya Hisashi mostly made sense in his head, but… 

Somehow the man had absolute faith in his son, but little to no faith in the system itself. A strange stance for someone with a quirkless child, and an even stranger stance for someone with Hisashi’s job. 

There was something the old man was missing. He was holding a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere he could see. 

So he did what he knew. He kept pushing.

“First the quip about child soldiers, now calling heroes and villains fragile,” the old man noted idly. “Some of this sounds awfully close to a villain monologue. Especially for a government employee.”

Hisashi didn’t take the bait. Whatever crack Torino had glimpsed for a moment was smoothed over. That spark of fiery anger was gone. Only a blank cold wall remained. 

“I’m not a government employee,” Hisashi said with a wry smile. “The WHA is an NGO, thankfully. I do have some dignity, please respect it. As for villain monologues, I fear you’ve been spoiled on that front, given your long history with All For One.”

Hisashi put his cigarette back in his mouth, and the ember glowed again. “All of the best villains mix some truth with their lies. Eventually, the truth will start sounding evil by association. But I would argue that is the Japanese government’s fault, not mine.”

Toshinori took a sip of his bottled water. “What do you mean, heroes and villains are fragile? In what way?”

“They are defined by legalities, raised up or cut low by legislation.” Hisashi explained. “A law could be passed today stripping half the world’s pros of their licenses. Another could be passed tomorrow, emptying out the great prisons and vindicating the actions of their former inmates.”

Hisashi took a sip of his whisky, and balanced the glass between his fingers. “My son is better than that. Better than that system. To you, he exists outside of it. To me, he exists beyond it. Society dares to call him flimsy and weak, when their own defined reality hinges upon slips of plastic and ink on paper.”

Hisashi smiled suddenly, and it showed a lot of teeth. “Heroes and villains are fragile things, All Might. My son is invincible.”

He leaned back in his seat. “As you train him, you will come to understand that yourself. Provided you bother to pay attention.”

“I already understand how strong young Midoriya is,” Toshinori said, folding his own hands together. “On the very first day I met him, he was having the worst day of his life. He still behaved heroically. His conduct was not merely admirable, it was beyond reproach. It put a dozen heroes on the scene to shame, myself included.”

Toshinori stood up straighter, and suddenly he looked far more like All Might, even though he remained deflated. “That is precisely why I disagree with you. He was strong enough to achieve his dream, no matter what stood in his way. I am not giving him some free ticket to herodom. One For All will do nothing more than speed him along. That path was already set, he chose it for himself. And nothing you or I have ever said or done has swayed him from that.”

“My son could not have become a hero. The HPSC would have never allowed it. Not even if he became their dog.”

But the blonde man shook his head. Midoriya Hisashi wasn’t arguing with Toshinori Yagi anymore. He was debating All Might.

“Your son is already a hero. And if I had to bet on the HPSC against him in a fight, I know where I would put my money. It wouldn’t be on them.”

There was a long, quiet moment where the two men locked gazes. Hisashi’s eyes were as cold and grey as ever, the strange hint of red light having vanished into the wintery abyss. Toshinori’s blue eyes were bruised and dark, deep lines of exhaustion and trauma having been pressed into them. But his irises were bright and clear. Unchanged from when Shimura Nana had fished him out of a dumpster half a century earlier.

Finally, Hisashi nodded. 

“You’ll do.” 

Toshinori blinked. “...it was a test?”

“Society doesn’t care about Izuku’s future. So I have to.”

The skeletal blonde breathed a slow sigh of relief. “So do I have your consent then, to train young Midoriya to inherit One For All?”

“Am I granting you permission to give my son a nuclear bomb, and train him to become an employee of the very government that threw him in the trash? Of course not. The very idea is absurd.”

The man pulled his finally spent cigarette out of his mouth, and discarded it into the tray.

“But boys should be allowed to dream.”

Toshinori smiled.

“-which is why I’m passing my vote on to my wife,” Hisashi continued, a gleam of cold humor in his eyes. “You will need to explain all of this to her, and get her permission. She will have the final say.”

The blonde’s smile slowly slipped away. 

Hisashi’s grin widened to show teeth. “Consider it petty revenge for trying to keep it a secret from us. You are quite fortunate, my wife is far more lenient than I am when it comes to such things. I’ll even be generous and give you until the entrance exams next year. That’s plenty of time to get your story straight.”

There was a clink of glass, and Hisashi refilled his whisky. 

“It should be easy enough to check. My wife knows nothing about any of this, so whatever I happen to hear from her, will be exactly the information you gave. It all ties up very neatly, doesn’t it?”

Toshinori swallowed. 

Petty revenge, the man said. Whether she was lenient or not, Midoriya Inko was part of a legal firm that specialized in prosecuting heroes that broke the law. If anyone in this whole affair was liable to take ire with them over this, it would be her.

The only reason transferring a quirk to a minor isn’t illegal is because the world does not currently believe such a thing is even possible.

But then, for all that he disagreed with some of Hisashi’s sentiments, he couldn’t say this wasn’t fair. In fact, it was more than fair. 

Gran had been right. They really had walked right into a trap.

Toshinori sighed, and steeled his nerves. “I still have a few more questions I would like to ask,” he said.

“As do I,” Hisashi replied. 

So they talked. 

And the diminutive old man sitting next to them watched, and listened. 

Chapter Text

Gran Torino leaned on his walking stick as he watched Midoriya Hisashi get back into the car and close the door. His old eyes followed the plain black vehicle as it slowly pulled out into the street and accelerated away, down a long, sweeping avenue that went out towards the pristine glittering lakeside. The elevated rim of I-Island loomed beyond it.

He’d gotten answers to every question he had wanted to ask. Midoriya Hisashi, while standoffish and not entirely what he had expected, still made sense in his head. All the little errors and problems had been neatly sorted away. 

Too neatly , the old man thought, narrowing his eyes. He stared at the distant, shining black scarab that was the car as it turned off the main road to take the scenic route around the lakes. 

The old hero had learned to trust his instincts. And he had also learned to trust Izuku. The kid’s insight was phenomenal. And the old man’s thoughts couldn’t help but stick on something the Izuku had said in passing to him weeks ago, when they had been talking about quirks while the kid cleaned the beach. 

“My mom’s quirk is so cool,” the teen had said. “It’s not real telekinesis. It breaks all the rules of how telekinesis powers work. I think it’s doing something completely different, actually. It’s an amazing power!”

It wasn’t unusual for a child to think their parents' quirks hung the moon and stars in the sky. That was pretty common. And the kid was a walking little ball of sunshine with hardly a pessimistic bone in his body. He’s the last person in the world who would insult somebody’s quirk. 

But he was honest to a fault, too. Midoriya Izuku wouldn’t insult someone’s quirk, no. But he’d also give a factual, if extremely upbeat, assessment of what it was and where it stood in the grand scheme of things.

The kid had figured out that his mother’s quirk was more than met the eye. Assuming Hisashi wasn’t lying, which was a big if. And assuming his own theory about the housewife’s ancestry was more or less correct. Then Izuku was most of the way towards independently realizing a conspiracy of the Japanese government that was so under-wraps that even an old timer like Torino had never heard about it. 

Which is why the kid’s words about his father echoed through the old pro’s head. Why they seemed to stick with the man in a way he couldn’t quite shake off. 

“My father’s quirk? It’s fire breathing. It’s such an incredible power, dad could have been top class pro! It’s a fire quirk with no weaknesses!”

No weaknesses. Those were the kid’s exact words. No weaknesses.

Torino watched the car shrink down as it sped away, swooping smoothly across the pristine boulevards of I-Island. Long years of experience on hero patrol let him accurately judge it’s speed even moving away from him at a distance. It was following the speed limit on the dot, he was sure of it. Torino watched that car like it held some terrible secret.

No weaknesses. 

In his decade as a pro hero teacher, Torino had probably taught over a hundred hero students with some kind of fire quirk. He had taught Todoroki “Endeavor” Enji, the strongest fire user in the world. Thankfully, the man hadn’t been in UA at the same time as Toshinori, or there would have been a fight. They had just barely missed each other, Toshinori graduating right before Enji joined.

Gran Torino had seen the best of the best. The very cream of the crop, the apex of three whole generations worth of quirks. 

He had never, not even once, seen a fire superpower he would have described with the words ‘it has no weaknesses.’ 

“It’s a fire quirk with no weaknesses!”

Fire quirks were seen as valiant and heroic by broader society. A strong, flashy, and straightforward power, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of super speed and super strength. An honest ability. A ‘good’ power. But fire quirks were dangerous . There had never been a flame user born who was fully immune to their own power. They could burn themselves to death if they weren’t careful. They could burn others to death even more easily. Control was the watchword of training a fire wielder. Finesse. Delicacy. They needed precision and moderation drilled into them, or else they ran the risk of burning out or turning themselves into a living bomb. 

Torino had seen both happen before. He’d be happy if he never saw either ever again.

Fire quirks may be seen as honest superpowers by society, but they were riddled with weaknesses and drawbacks. And the kid knew that.

“It’s a fire quirk with no weaknesses!”

The car was nothing more than a speck of moving glitter on the horizon, the black color no longer discernible in the distance. But old eyes that had spent years scanning the Tokyo skyline from a bird’s eye view didn’t let it out of their sight. Torino watched that speck of glitter with the intensity of an old eagle eyeing down a patch of woods that hid a lurking predator. 

Two words, fire breath. And then a vast, empty stretch of white, as any sort of elaboration had been completely cut out of the man’s paperwork. Just two little black words adrift in a paper ocean. 

No weaknesses. No weaknesses, the kid said. 

Izuku could be wrong. Nobody was perfect, and the kid was hardly unbiased. It was his father, after all. And everything Midoriya Hisashi had said checked out. The salaryman had repeated things Torino had known were true, and the things Torino hadn’t known still held the ring of truth. They sounded right, it sounded correct. That was how things were done, behind the scenes. A lie would have been prettier, would have made the government look better. Midoriya Hisashi probably hadn’t been lying, at least not about the major details. He would double-check what he could when he got back to Japan, but he was very sure what little he would be able to find would corroborate the man’s stories.

No weaknesses.

Hell, even if the man had a world class quirk, it’s not like Hisashi could use it anyway. He was a bureaucrat, not a hero. He didn’t have a license. His quirk shouldn’t matter at all. No, it all checked out. And Izuku could also just be wrong. That was the simplest answer. Every question the old man had going into this had been answered. 

So then why did Torino feel like he had just been finessed? Why did it feel like he had just sat down at a rigged game of cards, been fleeced, paid his money, and then walked out with empty pockets like some kind of fool? 

All rational logic said that Hisashi’s quirk shouldn’t matter. He was a spook, a ghost, somebody who handled the world’s dirty laundry. But he was a paper pusher at the end of the day. A bureaucrat who handles significantly more valuable paperwork than quarterly budgets and payrolls, but a bureaucrat nevertheless. 

But if that were true… 

No weaknesses. Two little words, fire breath, floating alone in a sea of white.

But if that were true, why redact his quirk at all? Why, for that matter, was any of his info redacted, when it didn’t really need to be? Disaster containment and tactical response was an important job in the WHA. A very important job, even. But it wasn’t a job where somebody needed to be vanished into the air, either. Some of the events he oversaw may have needed to be kept a secret… but why the man?

The old man’s gut clenched. Midoriya Hisashi’s long explanations made perfect sense and neatly answered everything. Except it had told them very little about the man himself, even less about what he really did… and it didn’t explain at all why the Japanese government had nearly unpersoned him.

Somehow, they had talked with the man for that long, but still didn’t really know anything about him. 

Two little words. Fire Breath. And now two more little words. No weaknesses. Four little words that just wouldn’t go away. And those cold, tiger-killing eyes. That confidence he had no right to own. Breathing in that smoke, and never blowing it out. That flicker of red light, for the instant that his emotional control slipped. 

Torino’s instincts, which he had honed over years of back-alley hero work and trusted with his life, said that something here still smelled. 

“Are you coming, Gran?” Toshinori boomed questioningly in his heroic All Might voice.

The old man leaned on his walking stick, eagle eyes watching the tiny mote of reflected sunlight miles away as it finally disappeared into the woods on the far side of the lake. He stared at the point where it had vanished, as though daring the car to return. 

“Yeah,” the old man grunted before turning away. “Yeah, I’m coming, Toshi. Hold your horses.”

The most important part about detective work was reassessment. The ability to pivot from a position that no longer held water. You couldn’t become attached to a working theory, which new evidence could destroy at any time. Getting emotionally involved with your own theories was a rookie mistake. 

As the elderly superhero caught up with his towering former student and the two began to converse, Gran Torino discarded his prior assessment of the Midoriyas. 

Midoriya Inko was not more interesting than her ghost of a husband. 

Not by a long shot.

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. World-ending threats, runaway quirk thieves, government conspiracies. And somehow Toshinori had managed to pick the one kid off the street who had almost as much baggage as they did. What the hell had they gotten tangled up with this time? 

Two guards were standing near a sealed metal door. Both wore the uniforms of their station, military-style harnesses over grey-and-navy fatigues. Flashlights, radios, and spare magazines for firearms hung from their chests, with a large plate of ballistic shielding front and center. A pistol was holstered on each of their hips, and identical compact submachine guns hung from both of their necks on a pair of three-point slings. 

On each of their chests, there was a badge of polished silver in the shape of a shield. The lettering ‘WHA DIV-0 PCXC’ was boldly indented on the surface.

The hallway they were stationed in was well-lit, but plain. The steel around them was unpainted, the concrete and metal floor clean and unadorned. 

“I hear the Director himself is coming, this time,” one of the guards said. Both men looked similar, but he was slightly taller, with dark brown hair cut short in a military buzz. 

“Bull-shit he is,” the shorter man said with a slight drawl. Unlike his companion, he wore a security forces cap, his longer red hair tucked neatly underneath it. 

“No, I’m serious,” the buzz guard insisted. “I heard it from Pucker and Willy upstairs. The eggheads are due for their shift change, but no protocol for a submarine docking was sent.”

The redhead frowned. “No submarine? What, is he swimming?”

The taller guard grinned slightly, ignoring the other man’s sarcasm. “Nah, even better. Teleportation.”

“You’re shitting me.”

The buzzed brunette shrugged at the redhead. “If you don’t believe me, whatever. But we’ll find out a half-hour from now. It’s almost time to get ready.”

As though waiting for that cue, there was a click overhead as an electronic speaker system switched on. 

“All personnel, please report to Bay 12 to receive the quarterly inspection. I repeat, all personnel please report to Bay 12 for the quarterly inspection.”

The taller man grinned, showing teeth. “Wanna bet Pucker is right, and it’s teleportation?”

The redhead snorted as he reached up and adjusted his cap, making sure it was on straight. “No way. I’m all out of pocket change after the last blackjack night. Next game, I’m in for bottle caps and bootlaces.” 

“You’re no fun,” the brunette said, as both guards began walking down the hall towards their new destination. 

“You clowns take that shit way too seriously to be calling it something you do for fun,” the redhead rebuked. “I play cards the same way I drink. Recreationally. Not whatever it is you do.”

“What we do is recreational,” the taller man insisted, a note of mock-injury in his voice. 

“If it gives you a headache, it’s not recreational, whether it’s a deck of cards or a bottle,” the redhead insisted sourly. “Whatever you want to call it, leave me out.” 

The taller man laughed. 

Bay 12 was a large square room with a low ceiling. It almost looked like an indoor landing pad for a helicopter, with a raised platform in the middle covered in a series of painted circles bisected with lines and numbers. A raised trim of webbed netting was hung on the platform’s edges, while the space beneath it was filled with assorted boxes and crates of cargo. 

Suddenly, a bright white line, almost like burning phosphorus or the filament of a light bulb, drew itself in the air, dead center of the raised platform. It started as a vertical line floating about a foot off the ground, before rapidly growing in both height and width, becoming a smoldering rectangle of neon large enough to drive a truck through, hanging freely in the air. 

Almost as soon as the rectangle had fully formed, people began pouring out of it, stepping through as though it was a door hung on nothing. All of them wore white labcoats, and most carried some form of luggage with them; a varied mixture of suitcases, wheeled backpacks, and duffle bags. 

The two exceptions stood out starkly, a pair of dark suits in a sea of white coats and burning neon. Like bespoke wolves among sheep.

Midoriya Hisashi observed the room idly as he stepped out of the door to nowhere, Ichiwaka Haruki right beside him. Hisashi’s hands were clasped casually behind his back, and the same easy smile he usually wore was on his face. But his eyes were sharp. As the last labcoat-wearing passenger trickled through the warp door, the burning white window began to close. 

The two WHA employees followed after the crowd of scientists, walking down a flight of metal steps to get off of the platform and onto the ground floor. As they did, a line of heavily armed security guards were waiting in a row. They saluted as Hisashi walked passed. 

Their destination wasn’t far. Through a door, around a corner, and through another door. In less than a minute, Hisashi and his escort both found themselves in a large observation room, filled with equipment, desks, and chairs. 

The far wall was transparent, and several feet thick. 

The scene beyond it was like something out of a nightmare. 

They were at the very bottom of the ocean. All the way down, countless fathoms deep. The area around the facility was well-lit with high-powered lights, but the infinite plane of void above them made it clear just how far down they were. This was the Hadalpelagic Zone, miles upon miles and kilometers deep. The crawlway underneath Davy Jone’s locker. A place where the light of the sun had never shone, where the temperature would never rise higher than barely-above freezing. Where every square inch experienced a brutal 8 tons of pressure, the weight of mountains and continents leaning down upon them. 

It was a crushing and oppressive darkness, alien to all life. This deep, near the very foundations of the earth, there should have been nothing but microbes and thermal vents. 

The key words being “should have been.”

Anyone who looked outside that window would have wished with all of their heart that the lights weren’t there. Would have begged for the darkness to take back what artificial illumination had laid bare.

The facility was crescent shaped, like a sickle moon, and it abutted the edge of an enormous underwater lake. A vast pit of unknown depth, filled with hyper-salinated water and heavy chemicals. Hydrogen sulfide, liquid methane, and other, stranger things. Following the laws of density, it sank to the bottom, being heavier than the seawater above it.

But while certainly an oddity, it was not the pit that was so terrible to behold. But rather, what drifted in place above it. 

One may have said, offhandedly, that it looked human, in the same way a man looks like an ape. 

Or, perhaps it would have been more apt to say, it looked human in the same way a praying mantis looks like a leaf.

A torso floated in the water, or at least something that took the appearance of one. The precise size of it was difficult to firmly grasp, given the width of the lake and the absence of anything visible to scale it against. The only reference to be had were two great chains, like the anchor lines of a battleship, that were fastened to the stony shore and secured around it’s wrists, preventing it from drifting away. 

But even without clear context, it was staggering in it’s immensity. Whatever it was, it had once been colossal.

It was oriented upright, with long, dangling arms that hung limply at either side. They were too long, too lanky, they hung too far down to match the biology of a human. The knotted remains of what had once been hands bore too many fingers, rotten and twining together like eerie roots. A sunken, skeletal chest was visible, but the ribs were arranged wrongly. Each one bowing outwards before sharply curving in, almost triangular in shape. There was nothing below the waist, but whether that was intended or a horrific maiming, it was no longer possible to tell, for the state of decay was too advanced. Huge skeletal branches of bone emerged from it’s back like sweeping wings, draped in wan flesh and scabbed over with fuzzy white rot. It’s head was bowed, and whatever eldritch features it’s visage may have borne were mercifully obscured by a slimy, drifting cloud of colorless hair.

At some point long ago, it must have been alive and intact. 

Now, it had the tattered, bloated, soft look of a carcass that had long since begun to rot while waterlogged. Strips and bits of it drifted slowly, the flesh having gone shaggy with decay. It was pale, pale white. Not a color any living flesh could ever have. A clammy, corpse complexion, veined through with washed-out streaks of green and blue. 

The sulfur-bright floodlights of the facility were merciless in their illumination. Though they were countless fathoms down, at the very bottom of the darkest deep, no detail of the thing was obscured. 

It was unnerving to see. There was something deeply wrong about it, something that sent a thread of panic squirming through the spine. A primordial, gibbering instinct, an echo from a past life that tried to seize you by the shoulders and drag you back into the jungle. Back into the trees and caves. Back to the darkness and away from the sunlight and the sky, that were full of watching, hungry eyes.

Back to where it was safe, away from… it.

Away from them.

At some point, long ago, it must have been a giant. Gargantuan, something immense. Outmatching all but the grandest ships, larger than any submarine. Exuding terror both in stature and in presence.

Even now, in death and harsh decay, that palpable aura of grandiose inhumanity remained. A sense of wrongness that made you feel naked in the presence of it. That filled you with shame, and fear, and an inexplicable primal terror. The gnawing fear that eyes which couldn't possibly still exist were somehow looking at you. The dreadful, creeping vision of that motionless head suddenly turning to face you.

That terrible, itching paranoia, that somehow a thing without life or mind, eye or thought, body or heart or soul… somehow still knew you were there. Was aware. Was watching .

If one gazed at it for long enough, and examined their own emotions as calmly as they were able, they would gain an understanding of this thing, this rotten cyclopian hulk. 

It was fear. 

It exuded always the same sensation one would experience upon the threshold of a terrible dream. That frozen, electric moment of absolute terror before being jarred awake. It was the feeling of witnessing a prone body they were very certain was dead, suddenly sit up. That was the emotion it conveyed. The mindless fright of impossible reanimation. The terror that sends you spiraling back to your bed in a cold sweat. 

Somehow, this dead thing manifested a fear and paranoia that should only ever be found in the altered state of dreaming. It was quieter, more muted. Like far away music being played in a distant room. But that unmistakable emotion of animal terror on the instant before waking was omnipresent.

It was the crystallization of the timeless moment of an irrational nightmare, drawn forth from the abyss as a corpse itself.

Would that the darkness had never been peeled back, that the light had never seen such a thing, now or ever again. Perhaps the world would be a happier place. 

But it had been seen. And it hung suspended over that cloudy, abyssal pit like an angel of rot contemplating a mud-filled grave.

Midoriya Hisashi ascended a small ramp to the top of a stage on the near side of the room, and rapped his knuckles against the wooden lectern in front of him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please. Thank you. I know some of you are quite eager to leave, but we have protocol to attend to. I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Hisashi’s calm words, and the easy smile on his face, contrasted sharply with the looming vision that dominated the wall on his right. 

But, in spite of that, the crowd of scientists and military personnel still gave him their attention. 

“Reviewing the roster has shown that there are a few new faces here, who have never held this particular posting before. Welcome to Anomaly Containment Zone 2253, codenamed Siren’s Rest. It is one of three sister sites that deal with subaquatic acoustic anomalies, the others being Singing Bones and Pale Ring. A number of you are adjuncts from those sites, so you may already know what to expect. ACZ-2253’s purpose, as I’m sure you can surmise, is the containment and observation of Anomaly 2253. I don’t imagine I have to elaborate on exactly what 2253 is.”

There were several nervous chuckles around the room, which were quickly stifled. 

“I won’t waste anyone’s time by going over information you have already been given. You should have already received information packets regarding your duties, expectations, and the rules you need to follow while posted here. As per standard ACZ safety protocol, staff are replenished bi-quarterly, and shift rotations are staggered. So the current research team will be leaving with me today. Security team, your replacements will be relieving you in 2 weeks time. If anyone needs a schedule change, or a new copy of their information packet, please inform the on-site director.”

Hisashi turned to look over to the side, at a small group of more decorated security officers and a handful of senior staff. “Speaking of which, Dr. Mayer, if you would.”

A tall, severe looking woman with golden blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin stepped forwards. She wore the attire of a professional businesswoman, a tailored black top paired with a matching pencil skirt that went down to her knees. A set of simple gold earrings were the only visible jewelry she wore, and her glasses were large, with thin silver frames. She wore little if any makeup, nor did she seem to need it, and her bright blonde hair was drawn back into a tight and professional bun. A voluminous white labcoat completed her appearance, and from beneath the bottom hem of it, a small fleshy tail curled. It shared her skintone, and ended in a classic devil’s spade. 

Mathilda Mayer would have been beautiful, if she gave any indication that she had ever smiled even once in her life.

“Director Midoriya,” the German woman said, inclining her head respectfully. 

“Dr. Mayer, as the designated on-site overseer, you are scheduled to be relieved in four months time. Has anything happened that would require this to change?”

She shook her head. “No sir. The current schedule is acceptable.”

Hisashi nodded. “Good. If that changes, submit a request and we will do our best to accommodate you. Now, tell me the status of the facility.”

Dr. Mayer was a severe looking woman. But even she felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck when confronted with the cool, grey eyes and easy smile of her boss. 

Midoriya Hisashi was no one to be trifled with. Everyone who engaged in this particular line of work with the WHA knew that the unassuming Japanese businessman was at the top of the food chain, as far as big fish were concerned.

Midoriya Hisashi was not one of the so-called ‘men in black’ from urban legend. 

No, he was the boss of such people. ‘The’ Man in Black.

And he always preferred a more… hands-on, approach, to overseeing special assets. 

Dr. Mayer was used to cowing men twice her size with a frown and a glare. But that easy smile of Hisashi’s could make a shark’s blood run cold. 

“The status of the facility is nominal, and the seismographic data remains unchanged from the last quarterly report. The structural integrity of the facility remains sound, and the rate of observed wear and tear is consistent with the projected 8-year plan for future repairs.”

Hisashi nodded, that easy smile still on his face. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. And the countermeasures?”

“The active noise control of our hydroacoustic system is still functioning within accepted parameters, and our countersignal remains effective. Our long-range equipment has noted a 1.5% decay over the last 12 months in the ability of our countersignal to keep the primary effect of 2253 contained, which should have been noted in the last submitted report. However, governing intelligence CIRCE assures me that a certain degree of adaptation was expected, and that we should be able to adjust our own signal in response. There have been no aeronautical or oceanic accidents in the last year that occurred under the circumstances associated with 2253.”

Hisashi nodded. “I’m familiar with CIRCE’s diagnoses of our 2253 countermeasures. A solution is being worked on. And the lake?”

“No further examples of 2253-A have been detected emerging from the saline compound.”

Unbidden, several of the more experienced members of the staff glanced over at the murky pelagic hole before catching themselves. 

The businessman smiled. “Good, good. Is that all?”

Dr. Mayer swallowed. She wished it was. 

“No sir,” she said. “Unfortunately, there was an incident with the crew. An acoustics engineer and a member of the security staff both began exhibiting symptoms of Stage 1 exposure to 2253.”

“Oh?” Hisashi said. Dr. Mayer truly was sweating now. “I presume that Procedure 44-Odysseus was followed?”

“Yes sir,” she said, barely restraining herself from stuttering. “It happened one week ago, so the bi-montly report has not been sent along yet. We followed the on-site protocol, and restrained them before administering the sedatives proscribed by Procedure 44. They have been kept in a comatose state in the secure wing of medbay ever since, under armed guard.”

Hisashi leaned back slightly in his standing position, and swept his eyes across the assembly of scientists and security officers. They were nervous, and rightfully so. They required leadership.

“To the best of our knowledge,” Hisashi said carefully, “the effects of 2253 should not begin to manifest as long as a threshold of at least 90% efficiency on the counteracoustics is maintained. Stringent testing has shown this to be true in the past. However, if we cannot trust what we observe with our own eyes, then what can we count on? As of this moment, ACZ-2253 will be placed under a Yellow threat designation, pending a further review.”

Dr. Mayer nodded as quiet muttering erupted from the crowd of people in the room. 

Anomaly Containment Zones were broadly classified by color. Green meant something was functionally neutralized, that it couldn’t cause problems anymore. 

For several years, and up until the incident a few days ago, Siren’s Watch had been classified as green. Their hydroacoustic countermeasures always hovered at around 98-to-99% effectiveness, and as long as they didn’t drop below 90%, the situation was under control. 

For two personnel to suddenly be affected by an anomaly that was supposed to be neutralized… that was a problem. A very serious problem.

Director Hisashi’s call to escalate the ACZ to Yellow carried serious consequences. They would need to restructure shifts, budget hazard pay. Reports would need to be submitted once a week instead of twice a month. New rules and protocols would have to be put in place. 

But it was the right choice, in Dr. Mayer’s opinion. It needed to be done. 

The Director was impressive, as always. He was unflappable. Calculating. Cold-blooded.

“Procedure 44-Odysseus will be rolled back to it’s pre-Green state, and inspections will be rescheduled to occur monthly,” Midoriya continued. “Dr. Mayer, I would like an internal audit conducted on both affected personnel, going back 200 hours prior to their subdual. Check where they were, what they did, who and what they interacted with. I doubt an acoustics engineer would be foolish enough to toy with something like a recording of 2253, but there have been incidents in the past.”

The blonde woman inclined her head respectfully. “Of course Director, I will make certain we do everything we can to verify whether or not human error was involved.”

The dark-suited businessman nodded in response, before turning his cool grey eyes towards the rest of the room. “As per protocol, everyone will be receiving a hazard pay bump equivalent to the escalated threat of the containment zone, until such a time as the rating is either reverted to Green or verified as Yellow. I understand this is not what most of you signed up for, but as per Yellow ACZ protocol, shift changes will happen every 2 weeks now instead of every 4, so if you want to leave and be reassigned, you will only need to tough it out for 14 days. I appreciate all of you bearing with us. If any of you wish to write letters or send gifts to your co-workers while they recuperate, the usual Home Office channel will suffice. Your team leads will have the relevant details.”

Midoriya Hisashi stepped away from the podium, and as he moved past Dr. Mayer, he leaned toward her. “Make sure the audit is on my desk within five days. Bring the two personnel out to me, we will be taking them with us when we leave.”

And with that, Hisashi turned his back on the rotten, drifting hulk that dominated the far wall and walked away.

There was a flurry of activity. Checks and tests were conducted, and Hisashi was taken on a brief, hurried tour of the deep sea compound. And in no time at all, the two men in dark suits found themselves back on the raised platform at the rear of the facility. 

Beside them were two gurneys, each carrying the body of a man. It was impossible to know what either looked like, since both had been slid into heavy white plastic bags that appeared to have been vacuum sealed around them. Thick bolts and heavy steel wire were slotted through metal-rimmed holes in the plastic body bags, thoroughly binding both men to the gurneys transporting them. Each had a portable air pump whirring softly, pushing air through a hose and into a black opaque mask attached to their heads, while a pair of IV drips slowly fed a clear fluid into each of their arms. The needles clipped and locked into metal sockets on the body bags, maintaining the airtight seal. All across both bags, warnings and medical labels were written and repeated in a half dozen languages. But you didn’t need to speak any of them to recognize the bright, three-sided trefoil of interlocking rings stamped on both of their chests. Red lines, bright and thick, on sterile white plastic. The barbed, universally recognizable symbol of ‘biohazard.’ 

Whether they were awake, aware, or even alive, it was impossible to say. But they certainly weren’t going anywhere under their own power. 

A crowd of outgoing scientists had gathered, shuffling awkwardly and glancing uneasily at the two gurneys that stood front and center of the group. There was a flicker of white phosphorus in the air, and once again that burning neon window yawned open, drawing a door of light to nowhere. 

Slowly the crowd trickled through, carrying their own luggage. When only a few stragglers remained, a pair of younger men in identical uniforms stepped over from the other side. They wore caps that concealed their hair, and their eyes were covered in opaque glasses. Both wore armbands with a red cross emblazoned on them, the only real identifying feature either had. Each one grabbed a gurney and pulled it through, disappearing with their medical charges. 

Hisashi turned back to look at the small procession of senior staff who had followed to see them off. “Five days,” he reiterated, looking at Dr. Mayer. “We need to know if this was an accident or a shift in 2253’s behavior. A retrofit crew will be sent along tomorrow with additional equipment and supplies, to begin assessing the facility for any changes that need to be made. I need a definitive answer one way or the other before the week is out.”

The German woman bowed her head. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. And it goes without saying, I think, that should any further incidents of 2253 influencing people occur, you are to use the emergency line and inform us immediately.”

Dr. Mayer swallowed. “Yes, Director. Of course.”

The average, unassuming Japanese salaryman turned, and together with his security escort, he stepped back into the blinding light from which he had emerged. Two dark suits disappeared down a corridor of bleached neon. Nowhere-men bound for parts unknown.

He couldn’t keep putting this off. Izuku knew that, intellectually. 

He even thought he knew why Torino wanted him to tell Melissa everything. It seemed cruel in a way, but… if he was in her shoes, if their positions were switched, wouldn’t he want to know? Maybe you could argue that he didn’t have a right to know. But he would want to know. One quirkless to another. He’d want to hear it, from Melissa. He would want her to tell him. 

If their positions were switched, and All Might was giving her One For All… 

Why wasn’t he, actually? Giving her One For All. Was there a reason? There had to be, right? The more Izuku thought about it, the stranger it seemed. She was his niece. She was quirkless. She had dreamed of being a hero. If All Might was looking for a successor, he had one on hand, didn’t he? 

“All Might’s successor? Are you talking about Sir Nighteye? I don’t think many people would call him that, though I suppose it is technically true.”

Izuku flinched violently. He hated his mumbling. Melissa just peered at him, innocent curiosity on her face. 

He didn’t want to do this. This was a bad idea. He would want to know, if he was her, but-

But he wasn’t her, and she wasn’t him. He had no idea how she would react. It had been so long since he’d had any real friends at all, he didn’t-

He didn’t want to risk it. 

Liar liar , a voice inside of him seemed to taunt. It sounded like his former classmates at Aldera. 

What would Mina and Kaminari think, if they knew he was getting All Might’s quirk? What would Tooru and Sero say?

What would- what would Kacchan say? 

Izuku was very sure he knew the answer to that question. He- a part of him was afraid it would be the same answer for all of them. 

The same answer Melissa would give him, too. 

‘Why not me? Why you?’

Something inside of Izuku crumbled, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Is- is there a place we can t-talk? Privately, I mean. Where there are no cameras or security? I- I have something I need to tell you. P-Please.”

Melissa blinked, taken aback by the question. And the sudden reappearance of the other teen’s stutter. Something cold slithered in her stomach. “Um… yeah? Yeah, I think so. There are some places out in the wilderness areas, past the suburbs. I don’t think there are any microphones or cameras out there.”

Izuku tried to smile at Melissa, but there was a sadness in his eyes that unsettled her. Because she had seen those same eyes before, looking back from her own bathroom mirror. “Can- can we go? It’s important.”

The blonde girl swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. We can go.”

There was no true wilderness on I-Island. The entire structure was man-made, after all. But significant effort had gone into making certain areas appear natural, and you could find them in the empty spaces between the scenic highways and ivory towers. There were places where the four cities turned to suburbs, and where those suburbs became rolling hills, small farms, and dense clusters of trees. There were wooden fences and corner stores, small isolated houses and fields of golden grain. Places where the sunset bled purple, and the sound of traffic was a distant memory beneath heavy stars and a lazy sun. There, crickets hummed their lullabies at the edge of dawn and dusk, and if one stood still for long enough, distant birdsong could be heard echoing through the leaves. 

It was an imitation of the world beyond the facility. Most who came to live on I-Island would never leave it. And so efforts had been made to remove any need to.

But the island ‘was’ artificial, and nothing proved that more than how quickly the two teens found themselves walking through an extremely upscale looking suburb. Just like their trip from Melissa’s lab to the WHA branch office, there was a whole world underground, connecting everything above. And using that arterial system of transport, even the long distances between the four cities and their landmarks melted away in remarkably little time. 

The trees around them were broad and towering, the kind of size that only comes with great age. And they had only been minimally cut back to make room for the streets and houses, all of which were expensive multi-story affairs. The sidewalk was made of warm red bricks, and so too were the waist-high walls that traced scattered lines around the properties they walked past. Many of the houses featured elaborate metal gates in front of them, and they all had polished brass plates engraved with the names of their occupants.

It was an expensive, private suburb, meticulously planned out to give the illusion of being nestled in a vast old-world forest. Having been born and raised in Musutafu Japan, Izuku had never seen anything like it before. 

They stopped in front of a home that was a bit too big for Izuku to comfortably call a ‘house,’ since it was almost larger than his whole apartment complex. The siding was a smooth cream white with dark red trim, and the building featured bay windows, a third floor, and several balconies and elevated porches nestled cleverly in the eaves. A clean, white picket fence surrounded the property, the pickets periodically connecting to taller brick obelisks.

Izuku didn’t have to wonder why they had stopped. The brass plate reading SHIELD embedded in the side of the brick mailbox answered that question. 

“Um, I thought you and your dad lived in that apartment?” 

“We do,” Melissa replied. “Every executive on the island gets a house as part of their contract with the corporations here, and papa is a project director, so ours is really nice.”

Izuku blinked in confusion. He glanced at the house and the glinting SHIELD nameplate, then back to the blonde. “I’m sorry, but why do you have the apartment, then? I don’t get it. Wouldn’t living in a house like this be way better?”

Melssa smiled sadly. “I can’t really say for sure, but I believe it’s because of, well. It’s because of what happened to my mama.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands in apology. “I’m, I’m s-sorry! I didn’t know it was s-something like-!”

“No, it’s okay,” Melissa said, speaking over the green-haired teen. “I don’t mind talking about it.”

‘Not with you.’

“I barely remember mama. But I still miss her terribly. Papa… he was never the same, after she was hurt. He’s still trying to save her, even now. With Uncle Might needing his help less and less, papa has been putting all of his time and money into her. It’s the focus of all of his research now, it has been for years. All of the other projects he works on, the things he consults with, it’s just to get money and resources. To try and save her.”

Melissa fidgeted slightly, her fingers tangled. Part of Izuku wanted to tell her that she could stop, she didn’t have to keep talking. But she didn’t look like she wanted to.

Izuku wondered, suddenly, if she had ever had anyone she could confide in this way. 

He certainly hadn’t. 

Liar liar , whispered the voices of Aldera in his mind. His own fists clenched. 

“Papa, he-,” Melissa trailed off, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know this for certain. But the last time we had a house like this, mama was still with us. I think the reason we don’t live here is because, to him, it would feel like we were leaving mama behind. I don’t think he can bare to live here without her.”

A part of Izuku understood that. He had lived in the apartment building his parents rented for as long as he could remember. It was part of their routine, part of their life. 

If his mother suddenly moved into a house somewhere, and his father wasn’t there with them… it would probably feel like they were leaving him behind, too.

How much worse was it for Dr. Shield, with a wife that was barely holding on?

The metal gate to the Shield house swung silently open, and Melissa led the way up it’s brick and stone driveway. Izuku was half expecting her to go inside, but instead, she skirted around the house. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the interior through a bay window, at a kitchen that looked more expensive than his whole apartment. Then they were past it, into a sprawling but orderly back yard. The grass was a lush, emerald green, with a number of neatly trimmed bushes and an immaculate back porch and patio. Tall trees with soft red bark stretched up towards the unseen sky, their leaves glowing a dim green as the sun shone down through them. And the air was cool, the dense canopy above blocking out the heat.

Everything here looked brand new. Izuku’s analytical eyes couldn’t help but note that it didn’t look lived-in at all. It was like the whole house, and indeed the entire property, was simply a prop. A show piece for some advertisement, not a real place that people lived in. 

But Melissa marched on. Past the patio and the back porch, through the lawn, beyond the towering trees. And in the very back corner of the yard, there was a gap in the brick and picket fencing of the property. Deftly, like she had done it a hundred times before, Melissa twisted sideways and slipped through. Izuku scrambled to follow her. 

The two teens rambled between trees and down an incline. They hadn’t walked far before the sky started to become visible again, jagged slivers of it appearing as the artificial forest of the suburb thinned. 

Then the treeline broke, and they were walking across a glen, a narrow valley between the executive neighborhoods and some scattered parts of I-Academy nestled nearby. 

Melissa led him to a copse of stubby trees surrounded by overgrown grass and sprawling bushes, and there, invisible to the outside world, was a small shed. It looked half prefab, half built by hand, with a scrappy appearance and mismatched trim. A small solar panel and a radio dish that looked like it was made from spare parts was bolted to the roof. 

Melissa produced a key from somewhere on her person, jiggled the latch, and then pushed the door open before beckoning Izuku inside. 

It was a tiny, improvised workshop. A bookshelf lined one wall, while the opposite played host to a ratty couch that looked like it had been rescued from a trash heap. A long, low bench stood opposite the door, with a variety of mismatched tools hanging from it. An old, cobbled together computer stood on the corner of the work table, and a small stool was pushed up under the workbench to save space. 

As it was, there was barely enough room for both teens to stand.

“What is this place?” Izuku asked. 

Melissa grinned. “It’s my secret lab. I built this years ago, back when I thought we were going to live in the house. It’s what I used before I earned the right to have my own personal lab at school.”

She looked down shyly. “It’s also where Beaker and Darby were born. I made them here. On that computer.”

Izuku blinked owlishly. 

He had seen better computers in the Aldera science lab.

Honestly, he had pulled nicer looking computers off of the beach he was cleaning.

It was ancient. Once white casing had faded to a pale off-yellow, and the bits of clear plastic had become cloudy and opaque. It was old, and looked to have been repaired from spare parts at least once. It wasn’t a flat-screened device either, but a large oval thing like a cheap television. The keys on the keyboard were visibly mismatched, presumably having been sourced from different incomplete sets. The mouse would have probably been more aptly described as a rat.

She had created an AI in a shed. She had created two AI in a shed, out of scraps .

And she didn’t even have a quirk. She was just like him. 

Even though he had understood and accepted why Gran Torino and All Might wanted him to inherit the quirk, he couldn’t help but feel inadequate. They were almost the same age. Sure, the Shields were probably rich, but… money couldn’t account for this . He’d met snobby rich kids before, but none of them had their own AI. She looked like she had made this entire workshop out of trash!

“You’re really amazing, Melissa,” Izuku said quietly, his eyes looking at the computer. She flushed red and looked down at the floor.

‘You deserve this more than me, Melissa.’

The blonde girl swallowed. “Um, t-thanks,” she said, stuttering slightly herself. “So what’s this big secret you want to talk to me about?” she asked, trying desperately to change the topic. 

Izuku flinched. Melissa saw. 

The truth was, she could think of a few things it might be about. 

None of them were good. 

‘He’s quirkless too,’ she reminded herself. There was baggage that came with that, there probably always would be. Whatever it was, it was serious enough that he seemed genuinely afraid to talk about it. 

And afraid of not talking about it, too. He was afraid of her reaction.

“I-I don’t really want to talk about it, to be honest,” Izuku said softly, staring down at the tangled knot of his own fingers. 

‘Then don’t,’ Melissa thought. ‘A lot of things hurt, but that’s okay, we’re allowed to hurt. You don’t have to-’

“-but I would want to know, if I was in your shoes,” Izuku added, staring down at his own red pair. “I would want to know. So I feel like… like I need to let you know. Gran Torino suggested it.”

Melissa stilled. Izuku felt like he would want to know, if he were her? What did that- and Grandpa Torino was involved in this too, somehow?

The teenage girl swallowed involuntarily. She had a bad feeling about this. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said softly. Doing her best to treat Izuku how she would want to be treated. How he had treated her , back in the lab. 

“I think you would make an amazing hero!”

She put her hand on his wrist. His body was hotter than hers, radiating warmth. Her own palms felt cool in comparison. 

Izuku stiffened. 

“Don’t tell me,” Melissa said. “If it bothers you this much, I don’t want- no, I don’t need to know. I believe you when you say it’s important, but if it makes you this uncomfortable-”

Izuku’s hands clenched. He was teetering on the brink.

‘What are you going to do if the young man says no? He may well decide he doesn’t want to risk their friendship. What then?’

‘Then that’s fine. I’ll accept that.’

His eyes fell on the cobbled-together bookshelf, filled with books that were clearly all secondhand. Featuring topics as varied as Advanced Programming, Organic Chemistry, and Quirk Physics. There was an old, old book, wrinkled nearly to pieces and clearly well-thumbed through, whose worn spine identified it as a guide for building your own computers. 

All of this… 

It was something he never could have done. Even if they had somehow switched places. 

If he had been born Izuku Shield instead of Midoriya Izuku, he would have been a pale shadow compared to what the blonde girl at his side had become.

He made his choice.

Slowly, Izuku turned his own warm palm upwards, and curled larger, stronger fingers around Melissa’s cooler, thinner ones. 

“Let me tell you about the day I met All Might,” he said softly. There were unshed tears swimming in his eyes.

Melissa opened her own mouth to tell him no. To say she didn’t need to hear it, that whatever it was, she didn’t care.

‘But I would want to know, if I was in your shoes.’

“... okay.”

And Izuku started talking.

The more he spoke, the more trepidation grew in Melissa Shield’s heart. But it wasn’t the story that disturbed her. 

She could have guessed about the bullying. She had known some it would have been physical, as her own had been.

She herself had also been suicide baited, long ago. That tearful night in their California flat had been the last straw that had brought David Shield to I-Island’s door, contract in hand. 

It bothered her that it had happened, of course, to him and to her, but this wasn’t-

This didn’t explain anything. 

And Izuku seemed to know that, too, because he ambled on past those events like they were inconsequential. 

‘Ha? You wanna be a hero so bad? I’ve got a time-saving idea for you. Go take a swan dive off the roof and wish for a quirk in your next life!’

Izuku knew this wasn’t the point of the story, and she did as well. 

And that scared her. 

‘Uncle Torino put him up to this. He’d want to know, if he were in my shoes. What…’

The sludge villain from the story he had shared during dinner their first night appeared, in all his gross and second-hand infamy. Izuku had been attacked in an underpass on the way home from school, in a time and place he never would have been were it not for the bullies. The teen had nearly died, only for Uncle Might to arrive in the nick of time and save him. 

Even with the seriousness of the situation, and the rising tension of her worry, she couldn’t entirely hold back a giggle at her uncle having already signed an autograph into Izuku’s notebook before the teen could even ask. Or Izuku grabbing onto the man’s leg as the hero tried to jump away from the scene, because he needed to ask a question. 

It was- it was classic Izuku. 

And then her stomach went cold. 

Her uncle, that towering musclebound presence that kept the whole world safe in the shadow he cast… wasted away. Reverting back in a puff of smoke to some anemic and shriveled form, like a cancer patient on the last legs of a losing fight. 

That… no. How had he hid it for so long? 

He could only work as All Might for three hours a day? 

That. That just couldn’t be . 

But there was a resounding ring of truth to it. And the next words Izuku spoke made it feel all the more real. 

‘Can someone who’s quirkless become a hero? Can even a quirkless person be like you someday!?’

All Might, her uncle, Yagi Toshinori… had told him no. He had run out of time on that rooftop, and shown the green-haired teenager the injury he had been hiding for years. 

And she should be used to this, she really should. It made sense. But she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking anyway. 

They did this to me, even with who I was, her uncle had been trying to say. 

Just imagine what they would do to you. 

So no kid, sorry. Not without a quirk. 

And as Izuku kept talking, the pieces began to slowly fit together in her mind. The information he had shared back at that first night’s dinner resurfacing. 

‘He said that Uncle Might was the first person to acknowledge him, to tell him it was possible. But he said no on the rooftop. That means-’

Izuku had been walking home when the explosions started. And without thinking, his feet had carried him to the scene. 

It was the same slime villain that had escaped the soda bottle prison, lost in the brief moment where Izuku had distracted her uncle. 

A hostage. The villain was trying to devour and possess the same bully that had told Izuku to jump off of a roof barely an hour ago. 

Melissa could feel pricks of tears in her eyes. She had all the pieces now. And she finished painting the picture of events, staying a half-step ahead of Izuku even as he explained them.

All of the local heroes were just standing around, because none of them had a quirk that could easily solve the problem. A villain with a decentralized liquid form, grappling with a teenager that was spraying explosions everywhere. A hostage was slowly being killed in front of them, and they did nothing. 

Izuku’s body had moved before he even had time to think. Ducking under the police tape, a dozen yards past the line before he even realized what was happening.

The slime villain only had one visible weakness. His giant lidless eyes, floating in the ooze of his body like a pair of milky bubbles. 

Izuku unslung the backpack around his shoulders, and mimicking the throwing technique of some local hero she had never heard of, he slung it right into the blob monster’s eye. 

Buying precious seconds. Grabbing the blonde bully and pulling away.

All Might had appeared, her uncle pushing himself beyond his own limits. Blasting the villain away for the second time, saving both teens from a killing blow.

The police and heroes swarmed in. Izuku was lambasted by the heroes when they found out he was quirkless, even though none of them had done anything to help. 

While the other teen, the blonde with the explosion quirk, was praised endlessly. 

Because of the explosion quirk. Of course. 

Izuku had left, finally beginning to make his way back home. The sun was setting, and-

“Young man. I came here to thank you. And also to discuss your question from earlier.”

“Wha-”

“If you hadn’t told me about your life, if you hadn’t run into that fight, I would have been nothing more than a worthless bystander watching from the crowd. So thanks.”

“But it… it was all my fault to begin with. I interfered with your work, and spoke out of turn. Even though I’m quirkless-”

“I’m not done. You told me you didn’t have a power. So when I saw this timid quirkless boy try to save a life… it inspired me to act, too. There are stories about every hero. About how they became great. Most have one thing in common; their bodies moved before they had a chance to think, almost on their own. That’s what happened to you today, yes?”

Young man. You CAN be a hero.

Izuku was a good storyteller. 

Good enough that, even though Melissa Shield had known from the start that this couldn’t possibly be what the confession was about, he still managed to lower her guard. To make her half-forget the reason they were there. 

“You’re the one who’s worthy to inherit my strength.”

 Melissa blinked. 

“... What? What does that mean?”

“I didn’t understand it either, at least at first,” Izuku said. He was staring down at the tops of his bright red shoes. She could feel a faint tremor in his fingers where they were holding hands.

“There’s a lot of debate about what All Might’s quirk really is,” the green-haired teen continued. “He never gives a straight answer when he’s asked, he won’t even say it’s name. He does it in every single interview that brings it up, he’s famous for it.”

Melissa swallowed. This was it. This was why they were here. She could feel the tension twisting in her stomach. I would want to know, if I were you, he had said. Grandpa Torino insisted she be told.

Something bad enough that Izuku didn’t think they would be friends anymore, when the conversation was over. 

“It’s- it’s just a quirk,” she insisted. Whatever it was Izuku was about to say, she wasn’t going to let it change anything. “Even if it’s weird or has some unusual traits, that’s a given for a top hero. It doesn’t mean-”

“It’s a transferable quirk.”

“What?” Melissa asked, uncomprehending. The words the other teen had just said, they made no sense.

“Your uncle, Mr. Yagi. He was… he was born quirkless. Just like you and me.”

Melissa opened her mouth, before closing it again. This was making less sense the more she heard! “Uncle- Uncle Might isn’t quirkless! ” she insisted, confusion clear in her voice. “That’s impossible!”

And it was. It was completely impossible, no, it was something beyond impossible. The strongest man in the world, quirkless? A man with tornado punches and earthquake kicks, who could fly just by swinging his arms down and pushing against the air? It was absurd. 

“He was a quirkless vigilante, when he was our age,” Izuku continued. His voice had a dull tone to it, something resigned and calculatingly bland. It was a tone Melissa herself had assumed often, when quirklessness came up with her peers and teachers. 

It was the tone of someone who had withdrawn. Who was speaking words not to communicate, but to get the conversation over with. 

“He got into a lot of trouble, apparently. He didn’t elaborate when he told me. But from the sound of it, he was suicidal. He didn’t care if he lived or died. He just wanted to make the world a better place before he left it. He kept insisting that our generation of quirkless had it worse than he did, but from some of the things he said, I’m not so sure.”

Melissa was slowly shaking her head, unaccepting. Izuku kept talking to the laces on his shoes.

“He was saved from criminals by the pro hero who would become his mentor. Her name was Shimura Nana. She trained him, put him on the path to be a real superhero. And then, before she died, she revealed her biggest secret to him. She was the heir of a quirk that went all the way back to the Dawn. It was a strength stockpile that could be transferred from one person to another. The more it was used, the stronger it became. And because it was handed off directly, instead of being inherited through birth, it never reset. She had received it from her mentor, and now she wanted Mr. Yagi to take it. To become the next person to carry on the legacy.”

“That’s not possible. Quirks can’t- they can’t do things like that!”

And for the first time since he had started talking, Izuku turned to look at her. Tears were swimming in her own eyes, but Izuku’s were flat and dull. 

“Why not?” he asked simply. 

She heard his words, she wasn’t distracted. She was paying attention. But it was like they were far away, distant and muted. Like she was drifting along underwater, and Izuku had spoken to her from somewhere higher up and beyond her sight. 

‘Why not?’

“We don’t even know what quirks are,” Izuku whispered. “Why should anything be impossible?”

“But- but a transferable superpower? Quirks are- they’re genetic! It’s genes, DNA! A quirk is something you’re born with! A superpower that you can just hand over… that can’t be real!” 

And yet even as she said it, words from earlier that day echoed in her memory. 

‘Whether quirks are genetic or if the DNA is a symptom and not the cause is debatable. We still don’t know what quirks even are. The evolutionary theory itself has been thrown back into question now because of quirks.’

“One For All… is a quirk that is passed down from teacher to student,” Izuku said. His voice was distant and quiet, almost like he was talking to himself. “It is a superpower that can be given away. I never imagined such a thing was possible until the day I met All Might. But after the incident with the Sludge villain… he decided he wanted to give it to me.”

There was a beat. Neither teen knew how long that terrible pause lasted, it could have been a second or a year. It felt like something was breaking, and they both knew it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. There were unshed tears swimming in his own eyes, now.

“But that-”

But that’s impossible, that doesn’t make sense, her uncle wasn’t quirkless and… did it really not make sense? Or did it explain a thousand little things about him she had never noticed or paid attention to before now?

“We were-”

We were going to become the first quirkless hero. Together, you and me. My armor, my dream, I could have given it to you, and-

And you don’t need it. Why would you? How could anything that I give you ever matter, compared to my uncle- compared to All Might’s quirk?

Now at last, Melissa knew what Izuku had been afraid of.

“I would want to know, if I were you.”

“Papa, papa! I wanna be just like Uncle Might and Star when I grow up!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen,’ Dr. Tsubasa said, leaning back in his chair.

And then, finally. The question Izuku had known was coming. It slipped from Melissa’s lips almost like an accident, a sloppy arrow loosed by fumbling fingers. 

But it still found it’s mark. 

“Why?”

He knew what that meant. 

Why you? Why not me?

Izuku let go of Melissa’s hand, and his fingers curled into fists. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice starting to shake. 

I don’t know why not you. I’m sorry it was me.

Izuku had been right. It really was the question everyone would ask, in the end. Why wouldn’t they?

After all, they were right. Why should it ever go to him, when everyone else was so much more deserving? Was so much more clearly the right choice?

Melissa Shield fled. 

And Izuku let her go.

It was a wild flight, blind and reckless. She was running on autopilot, one foot in front of the other. Not thinking about where she was headed, or why. 

She just needed to go. She had to get away. She couldn’t stay there anymore, in that little shed in the underbrush. 

She couldn’t sit next to the first other quirkless her age she had ever met, and fall apart at the seams.

What she felt wasn’t quite fear, and it wasn’t true anger, either. It wasn’t even real sorrow. 

It was something much more raw and deep. And it hurt. 

‘Why?’

She wanted to scream the question from the rooftops. She wanted to rewind time and take it back, before she died of shame for having the callous audacity to ask at all.

Izuku had known exactly what she had meant, with that one word. 

How could he not, when he had lived her life? 

Why you? Why not me?

Every student in I-Academy would have asked the same question. Even the ones who already had good quirks. Especially the ones who already had good quirks.

But she wasn’t them, she had told herself. She was striving to rise above them, to be something better. She was going to have to give up her dream, and she had accepted that. Really, she had. But not her dignity. Never her dignity. They could have her pride over her cold, quirkless corpse. 

She didn’t need a quirk, and she didn’t want one either.

She wasn’t like them. She wasn’t . 

Liar liar.

She didn’t know where she was running, she could barely see through her own tears. She wasn’t even sure which of the two of them she was crying for. 

But old habits die hard. Without realizing or paying attention, her feet had carried her along the old, nearly-vanished path she had once taken between her improvised lab and I-Academy. She had retraced her old path to get to school. 

And if there was one universal truth, it would be that scavengers and predators are always drawn to injury.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. The nil.”

Today, there was blood in the water. 

Melissa was standing in the middle of a sports arena, with tall bleachers made of plastic and glinting metal. The mounting rows of seats were raised up on a series of four concrete boxes arranged in a square around the field. From long experience, Melissa knew that inside those four boxes, and beneath the seemingly natural grass field, was a gymnasium filled with training equipment, along with a nexus of the I-Academy transport line. 

Above, a field with seats for spectators and commentary. Below, a high-tech training facility for students in the Hero Course, with only a flight of stairs between them. 

But it wasn’t her surroundings that had stopped Melissa. 

It was three other girls standing in a loose group, leering at her. 

She knew their faces. She knew their names. 

They were from the Hero Course. 

Rose Otronombre Espinosa. Sylvia Vertloin. And Auriel Nieglanzen.

Sylvia was the shortest of the group, with dark blue eyes and straight black hair cut into a bob. She was a psychic, her quirk allowing her to create extremely slippery bubbles of mental energy that drained the stamina of anyone who touched them. 

Auriel was the tallest. Her long, somewhat homely face contrasted strongly with her metallic golden eyes and hair, which hung down to her neck in a heavy curtain. The color was a tell for her own quirk. She had been born with a Midas touch, a five-point activation ability. Anything she touched with all five of her fingers, she could transform into solid gold. Doing it again would reverse the process. Living things she transmuted were unharmed by her ability, being put in a kind of suspended animation. It was ideal for capture and subdual. 

They were both strong. Both star students of the I-Academy Hero Course. 

But neither could hold a candle to the queen bitch herself. 

Rose Otronombre Espinosa was the top of her year. She had leaf green eyes, pale skin, and rose-pink hair that was thick and soft. It hung down to the small of her back, with two smaller clumps coming off of her temples that curled so uniformly they almost looked like springs or drills. 

She had styled her image and hero persona after magic girls in pop culture and cartoons, and she looked the part, with a frilly dress-skirt variation of the Academy uniform. 

The sneer on her face certainly didn’t suit that image, but then, not many people ever got to see it. 

Melissa was one of the privileged few. 

“I’m talking to you, nil. Do you need me to speak up? Deafness is a quirkless thing, isn’t it?”

The two hangers-on giggled. Melissa warily eyed Rose’s hand. It was palm up, the girl idly toying with what looked like a chunk of pink glass. 

That was her quirk. No one in the I-Academy Hero Course was weak, and certainly the other two girls weren’t. But Rose’s ability was in a league of it’s own. 

She could freely create and manipulate a substance that was unique to her. A pink, crystalline solid, like rose quartz or pink diamond. It was clear as glass, and as hard as steel. She could conjure the material from nothing, and freely manipulate it’s structure and form using a substance-specific telekinesis. 

With a gesture, she could frost you over with her crystals. With a thought, she could form armor and weapons. She could create walls and barriers, projectiles and bullets. With two chunks attached to the bottom of her feet, she could even fly.

It was a power befitting a magic girl-themed heroine. It was also incredibly dangerous. 

It had all the strength of a top-tier ice quirk, but none of the associated drawbacks. Every quirk that could manipulate energy or temperature ran the risk of harming the user. Fire wielders were never fully immune to their own flames, nor were ice users totally inured against the cold. 

But Rose’s crystal quirk didn’t have to play that game at all. It was more akin to glass manipulation or metal telekinesis. All the strength inherent to ice shaping, but with none of the drawbacks. It couldn’t give the user hypothermia, nor was it countered by fire or water abilities. Some said it was stronger than an ice quirk. Rose certainly seemed to believe so. 

In a society that held elemental abilities up as the gold standard of strength and heroic character, Rose possessed a non-elemental quirk whose power and utility had eclipsed that high bar. In an international school of powerful quirks, Rose was at the top of the pile. Queen bitch of the elite mountain. A strong quirk, straight A’s in her classes. She excelled in the Hero Course. A rising star with a bright future.

And Melissa Shield was the only student in their year who consistently managed to beat Rose in grades. 

In other words, Melissa Shield was a target. 

“What are you doing here?” Sylvia leered. “Don’t you know this is the training field for quirks? Why would you ever be here?”

Auriel grinned. “Look on the bright side. We don’t need to bother getting a dummy out to practice on. Today, a dummy came to us!”

The two hanger’s on tittered. But Melissa was too experienced with this game to waste energy focusing on either of them. 

They weren’t the decision makers here.

Melissa couldn’t entirely hide the flinch as the pink glassy shard floating in Rose’s hand suddenly spun around and snapped to her, pointing like a lodestone. 

The rose-haired girl smiled. It almost looked sincere. “They raise a good point, nil. Why are you even here? This facility is for training quirks. You know, that thing normal people have.”

Melissa swallowed slightly. She’d been subjected to enough bullying in her life that she knew one kind from the other. 

There were always exceptions. But typically, boys roughoused and got physical. Girls, by contrast, were mean . For all of Auriel’s threats, it was unlikely any of the three would actually try to hurt her. Rose liked to keep her hands clean. And indirect bullying was harder to prove, and thus less likely to tarnish her own reputation as an honor student.

They could spread whatever rumors and gossip about her that they wanted. Melissa was beyond caring. But she knew that the longer she was in their presence alone, the more likely something stupid or unexpected would happen.

“I’m just passing through,” the blonde teen replied demurely, doing her best to avoid eye contact. “I’m headed towards the labs. That’s all.”

“The lab her daddy got her,” Auriel stage-whispered. Sylvia giggled.

“Towards the labs, hm?” Rose said, nodding along in agreement with Melissa, like neither of the other girls were there. “That makes sense.”

There was a pause, and Melissa took it for dismissal. She turned to begin to walk away, but before she could take a single step, there was an audible ‘thunk.’ Melissa lost her balance, and fell over. 

Embedded in the ground, right where she had been about to put her foot, was a shard of pink crystal. 

“Except it doesn’t,” Rose continued, her tone conversational, as though she had never stopped speaking. “It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

The crystal user was smiling, but there was a spark of something dreadful in her eyes. A glint of malicious glee that Melissa knew meant trouble. 

Rose tilted her head. “Passing through? From where? This is a dead end.” She looked around them with a slightly exaggerated turn of her head, as though she was trying to locate some hidden road she had never noticed before. “There’s nothing around here but some highways and fields.”

She turned back to face Melissa, and that was when the blonde realized her mistake.

She had given Rose an opening. Something to grab on to and exploit. 

“You’re lying,” Rose declared, and her two groupies gasped in mock shock. “You’re a liar, Shield, just like I always tell people. And I think you need to come clean. So since I’m feeling generous today, how about you tell me what you were really doing here, and I’ll let you go?”

Auriel and Sylvia tittered, and Melissa slowly pushed herself up from the grass field until she was standing again, her palms dirty. 

She was in trouble, now. 

I-Academy was a merit-based institution, but it was also cutthroat in it’s own way. Students were often given challenges and expected to invent their way out of them, especially students in the science and engineering tracks like Melissa was. 

There was no better example of this than the fact that you needed to already be established, with good grades and a reputation, before you could ‘earn’ the right to a private workspace.

How do you earn that right, when you have to work in a place where people can steal or sabotage your work? That was for you to figure out. One way or another, you needed to produce results. That was I-Academy.

Building her own little shack out in the woods wasn’t against the rules, per se. But it wasn’t within the rules, either. Like so much of I-Academy, it existed in an open-ended grey zone of ‘solve your own problems.’

Rose had caught Melissa in a lie. And she couldn’t tell the truth. Because if she did, she knew her old lab would be razed to the ground by this time tomorrow. 

There was no rule saying she couldn’t have it. And there was no rule saying other students couldn’t destroy it, either.

It shouldn’t matter, she thought, as her lips twisted slightly. She had a private lab now. She didn’t need that shed, or anything inside of it. The worst that would happen is Rose slandering her some more, which she didn’t care about, and maybe a reprimand from the student council, who were a bunch of mediocre busybodies that could all go for a long walk off the short side of the island. 

Sacrificing a tool shed in the woods full of dirty books to get some bullies to back off was a fair trade. It made sense. It was a logical move.

… it was a logical move, to throw her dignity under the bus. To sacrifice something she cared about. The birthplace of her two greatest accomplishments in life. 

But that was my first, and last setback.

“What I do in my free time isn’t any of your business,” Melissa shot back, teeth gritted.

They had already killed her dreams. If they wanted her dignity too, there would be a fight.

And by the dark gleam in Rose’s verdant eyes, a fight was exactly what they were going to give her. 

The girl faked an offended gasp, raising her hand to her mouth. “Oh my!” she said breathily. “Here you are, in a place you have no reason to be. Lying and refusing to answer questions, even when we’ve been nothing but polite and kind. Acting belligerent. Hostile, even.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d expect nothing less, from something like you.”

The two other girls leered, the words ‘ nepotism ’ and ‘ why is she even here ’ whispered between them. Then Rose’s face became beatific. “But, fortunately, I have an idea. In the spirit of the academy, even! After all, aren’t self-improvement and physical fitness values we all share?”

The angelic mask cracked, and the edge of a cruel leer shone through. “Run a hundred laps around this field, right now, and I’ll vouch for your sincerity and good intentions.”

As she said the words, a semicircle of oblong pink crystals formed over Rose’s head. Their blunt tips oriented ominously towards Melissa. 

“What? You- you can’t be serious-”

There was a whistle of air as a crystal zoomed past her head and missed her right ear by inches. She flinched violently backwards, and almost fell over again. 

“You heard me, nil” Rose said calmly. “A hundred laps. You’d better start now, if you want to have a chance of finishing before midnight.”

A cold stone fell into the pit of Melissa’s stomach. Of course. She should have seen this coming. 

Rose was too smart by half to leave physical evidence of bullying. There was no chance of her being pushed into a toilet or having her face ground into the dirt. 

But public humiliation, especially self-inflicted? That was right up Rose’s alley.

Sure enough, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Sylvia had already fished out her phone and begun recording. Auriel muttered something to Sylvia that Melissa only half-heard, but it sounded like a wager on if she would soil herself. Sylvia smirked, and in a slightly louder voice, replied ‘only if her cow tits don’t get in the way and trip her first.’

“Well?” Rose asked, her smile growing wider. “Hurry up and run. Exercise is what this facility is for, after all. This will help you build character. Or do you need more motivation?”

It was a universal truth, that scavengers and predators would always be drawn to the scent of blood. 

But-

“Hey!”

If there was another. 

Another universal truth. 

“Yeah, you!”

Surely it was this. 

“W-What do you think you’re d-doing!?”

There was no world and no circumstances, no place or time. Where Midoriya Izuku would not step in the way if he saw someone who looked like they needed help. 

The green-haired teen stood there, panting slightly from the run. His hair mussed, sweat on his face. His clothes crumpled. 

Melissa’s heart fell through her stomach and down to her feet. 

This was the worst possible outcome! Izuku had no idea what he was messing with. Rose wasn’t playing around! She would absolutely go after both of them, numbers wouldn’t protect them from anything!

Melissa Shield thought this, because she did not yet understand Midoriya Izuku. 

Auriel and Sylvia were whispering to each other, their words actually muffled now that they genuinely didn’t want to be overheard. Rose tilted her head to the side, a calculating look in her eyes. 

And then the mask flowed into place, and she smiled. “Who are you? I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before. Are you a new transfer student?”

Izuku’s fingers curled into fists, and he took a slow breath to steady himself. “I mean it,” he said, ignoring Rose’s questions. “Leave her alone. Go away, right now.”

Rose’s lips twitched slightly in amusement, and Melissa felt cold. This was a mistake. Izuku was making a huge mistake, and he didn’t realize it. This wasn’t a situation you could just escalate , not when it was Rose Espinosa involved. Rose had ins with the student council and the faculty, you couldn’t push things to a higher level than she could!

“Izuku, I don’t think-”

“Oh, is that your name?” Rose asked triumphantly. “Izuku? So you are an exchange student then. Or a guest.”

She smiled that angelic smile of hers again, looking every inch the highschool princess. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve been told. Some people,” she said, rolling her eyes “have a gross misunderstanding of the bylaws of this school. We all help each other, out here. Sparring, competitions, rivalries. It builds character, yes? It’s very sweet of you, standing up for what you think is right. You’re a real cutie, I like your eyes. But I promise you, we’re all dear friends here, and-”

“I know what I saw,” Izuku replied, cutting her off. “This is your last chance to walk away. I mean it.”

“Izuku, don’t, her quirk-”

“Wow Shield, did you suck him off or something?” Auriel leered. Sylvia cackled at the crude comment before adding her own. 

“Was that what was happening in the bushes over there? How unsightly! Is that who this is, you weirdo? Your boyfriend ?”

The edges of Rose’s kind smile twitched slightly in dark humor. Melissa flushed beet red, choking with shame. 

Under most circumstances, Izuku would also have caved under such harsh words. 

But in a phenomenon that Bakugo and the others at Aldera Primary were already familiar with, Izuku was a different person when somebody else’s safety was on the line. 

“I’m the person telling you to knock it off and leave her alone, that’s who I am!”

The shame and the stuttering, the fear and the uncertainty, they never left. But in moments like these, they were overshadowed by something else. A thing that rose up seemingly out of nowhere, to tower over that doubt and self-depreciation like a lighthouse emerging from the fog.

It was what kept getting him beaten after school. It was what drove him to meddle in fights that didn’t involve him. Trying to stop them even when delinquents were involved and quirks started coming out. It was the thing that put a nameless terror in Bakugo’s heart, that ominous sensation that drove the explosive blonde to believe in impending death. 

It was the instinct of self-sacrifice. An inextinguishable spark of bravery in the face of injustice. 

Bakugo wouldn’t have bullied Izuku, had Izuku not so aggressively risen back up, over and over again, when people were in danger. Had Izuku not been so thoroughly and utterly incapable of minding his own business. 

If the explosive blonde could have been there, could have intervened… to someone like Bakugo, what happened next was entirely predictable. 

But Melissa Shield didn’t know what Bakugo knew. 

And neither did Rose Otronombre Espinosa. 

The pink haired girl chuckled throatily, a more refined and dignified sound than the waspish giggles of her hangers-on. Melissa wouldn’t be surprised if she had practiced it in a mirror. “My dear, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. This is an exercise field. There’s a gymnasium and quirkatorium under our feet. People come here to exercise and push themselves, usually with friends. Goading each other on, isn’t that normal? It happens all the time.”

One of the pink crystals in her orbiting halo shot away in an arc before whizzing past Melissa, causing her to flinch slightly. 

“Melissa here was just about to run some laps while we cheered her on. Would you care to join us?”

Izuku’s pupils dilated, his hands shaking. 

Rose closed her eyes and smiled beatifically. 

That was a fatal mistake. 

Because when she finished her smile, and started to open her eyes again, all she saw was a battered set of knuckles, frozen in an instant of time half a foot from her face. 

She saw a pair of knuckles, and the sun setting behind a black shadow that seemed to have blazing emerald eyes. 

Her nose flattened with the fleshy crunch of breaking cartilage as Izuku followed his mentor’s advice and punched, not at her face, but at a point some distance beyond it. 

And had anyone with intimate knowledge or familiarity of All Might been there, they would have recognized the precise spacing between planted feet, the twist at the hip, the boxing form that put your whole back behind the blow and swung your fist like a weighted stone at the end of a whip.

It was the ghost of the punch that had splattered the Sludge Villain. Copied at a glance, and imitated in desperation. 

And like the villain it had defeated before, it sent Rose Espinosa flying. Wholly unprepared and caught completely off guard, the blow of a boy who trained by hauling car engines on a beach lifted her off the ground and sent her sprawling backwards, skidding across the manicured field.

And that’s when Melissa Shield saw it. 

Streaking through the sky like a comet, bright and fast over the peak of her frozen, bloodsoaked mountain. 

You’d miss it if you blinked, but there was no mistaking it for what it was.

For a single blazing moment, Melissa Shield saw what Toshinori Yagi had. The reason why her uncle had chosen him. 

The hero Izuku already was. The hero he might one day become. Two visions, superimposed over each other in a flicker of imagination. Shining off of his back like the corona of a shooting star as he stood in front of her.

And it was in that moment she knew, with a warm and bitter feeling in her heart, why it had to be him. 

‘People are not born equal. That’s the hard truth I learned at the age of four. But that was my first, and last, setback.’

She had spent all of her life wishing for something, anything, to happen. To change.

Izuku hadn’t. Izuku wasn’t wishing, or praying. With eyes squinted and teeth gritted, he answered his own prayers. He was the wish, he brought the change.

He had never given up. Never. He swore that quirklessness would be the only setback he ever had, and he meant it. 

And she- 

And she.

‘You did,’ the voice whispered. ‘You did give up. You gave up a long, long time ago.’

There was a moment of absolute, total silence on the field. Rose’s own green eyes stared up at the clouds, glassy and uncomprehending. Fresh, bright red blood dripped onto the grass, turning dots and splotches of the vibrant lawn a rusty brown.

Melissa Shield was crying. In sorrow, horror, or laughter, she wasn’t sure. But tears were streaming down her face. 

They were screwed. Absolutely and totally screwed. But whatever came next, it was worth it. 

It had been worth it, to see this. 

“You-” Rose whispered hoarsely, still looking poleaxed. 

“You broke her nose,” Melissa hiccupped breathlessly. 

Auriel and Sylvia were gaping like a pair of preppy fish. 

As it turned out, there was something else that was broken as well. 

“You-” Rose repeated, her shoulders starting to shake. 

The facade. 

“YOU-” the girl screamed, clenching her fists around clumps of dirt and grass. There was a tinkling crash, and a ring of pink spikes as tall as Rose’s own leaping height burst out of the ground around her like crystal thorns. 

Melissa grabbed Izuku’s arm and began tugging him. “We have to go! We need to run, right now!”

And then-

“Oh wow, what’s going on out here? A spar?”

For the second time in as many minutes, time stopped. 

Melissa Shield knew that voice. And even though he had only seen it once in a picture, Midoriya Izuku knew that face. 

A bit taller than the typical teen their age, with a curvy, compact build. Her bubblegum pink hair matched her eyes, and looked vivid compared to the pale and washed-out rose pink of Espinosa’s spiral locks. 

She wore exercise spats, a tank top, and a bright smile. 

It was Hannah Boss. Seiiko Boss’s daughter. 

“Two on three is a bit unfair though, don’t you think?” the girl said, rolling her neck with an audible crack. She held one arm out straight, wrapped the other around it, and twisted at the waist, clearly stretching. “Mind if I jump in? A 3v3 sounds pretty fun! I’m already warmed up and everything!” 

Rose Espinosa was part of the elite of I-Academy. She was number one not just in her year of the Hero Course, but their year in general. She held the top spot. But that was by averages. All factors calculated, then final scores totaled. 

Melissa Shield, who was not in the Hero education track, beat her out in grades. 

And Hannah Boss, who was in the advanced track of the Hero Course, beat her out in pure combat potential. 

Rose was a monster in a fight. She could do things with her quirk that defied the laws of physics, and made many of her peers seethe with envy. 

But she had never beaten Hannah, not even once. And everybody knew it.

The magic girl may be a monster, but the plastic tomboy was a demon. 

And nothing proved that more than this moment, where Rose Espinosa, on the brink of an absolutely cataclysmic meltdown, stopped. 

Three versus three? 

That was a joke. 

Hannah Boss could have fought all five of them at once. 

Hannah Boss could give a firing squad a head start and win, with her bare hands. 

A lip quivered. An eyelid twitched. And with impressive speed, the facade painfully wrenched itself back together. 

“We weren’t sparring, just talking,” Rose said amicably, climbing to her feet and cupping a hand over the lower half of her face.

Hannah Boss was a muscleheaded bimbo tomboy with a one-track mind that resided mostly in a garage somewhere. But she wasn’t blind . 

“Talking, huh? About your broken nose, I’m guessing?” Hannah asked. Rose twitched, and her two lackeys swallowed heavily. “I must have missed something pretty exciting. Care to share?” 

“Nothing happened,” Auriel said a little too quickly, her heavy golden hair rippling.

Hannah tilted her head, eyes clearly on the fresh blood slowly seeping from between Rose’s cupped fingers.  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“We were talking about exercising together, and there were some issues with demonstrating quirks,” Rose said, doing her best to look dignified with a bloody hand over her nose and a rapidly forming black eye the size of an apple. “No harm no foul, these sorts of things happen. Not everyone has great control over their powers, after all. That’s what these facilities are for. We were just leaving.”

Melissa Shield pursed her lips. Rose was trying to flip this back on them, making it look like she was the dignified victim of a quirk accident! That bitch. But it was good in a way, Izuku was just a guest, and-

“I don’t have a quirk,” Izuku said, raising his voice loud enough to make sure it was overheard. “I didn’t hit you with a quirk. I hit you with my fist.”

Rose Espinosa froze, while Auriel and Sylvia’s heads snapped to look at him incredulously. Hannah cocked an eyebrow in interest.

Melissa nearly choked on her own spit. 

‘What are you doing!’ she mentally screamed. ‘Just let her walk away!’

Had Bakugo been there, Izuku’s provocation would have earned him at least one punch to the side of the head, possibly more.

Several different emotions filtered across Rose’s face in rapid succession. A spark of blinding, incandescent rage flickered in her eyes, before being immediately smothered. 

“I see,” she said smoothly. “Ladies, we’re leaving.”

And with that, one of I-Island’s top hero students turned her back to them, and began walking down the concrete stairs to the gym and transport nexus below. Carrying an injury the school doctor could heal… and a grudge.

“She’s not going to just let this go,” Melissa whispered, mostly to herself. Rose was a social predator with the muscle to back up her schemes if push came to shove. Someone ignoring her pleasantries and cocking her clean across the face was new and frightening territory. The blonde teen was keenly aware that today wouldn’t be forgotten by the Spanish girl. 

“Wow, that was pretty cool!” Hannah Boss said loudly, without a hint of shame. She exuberantly slapped Izuku on the back, almost causing the young man to fall over. “Did you really punch her in the face? Not many people can do that! You must be strong!”

“Y-yeah?” Izuku answered hesitantly.

“Wanna fight?” Hannah asked, her eyes sparkling. “Wait! What’s your name?”

“N-no!”

“No?” Hannah asked, quirking her head to the side. “That’s a weird name, but kind of cute! We should hang out and fight some time, No!”

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything,” Melissa said. “But, um. Why are you here, Hannah?”

The pink-haired plastic girl looked at the blonde blankly before suddenly snapping her fingers. “Oh, yeah! That’s right! I forgot! I was looking for you, actually!”

Melissa blinked. “Um, for me? What for?”

“The password to your garage got changed!” Hannah exclaimed, sounding personally offended that any password would ever even think of changing. “I was trying to get in to check out your new car project, but got locked out!”

She clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. “Please, pretty please? What’s the new code? You can tell me, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” Melissa stuttered, steadying herself. “It’s volcanic sequoia 862. All lower case, no spaces.”

“Eight six two, of course!” Hannah exclaimed. “I’m so dumb. Thanks Melissa!”

And with a huge grin and a pair of finger guns aimed in their general direction, Hannah Boss disappeared. Leaving Izuku and Melissa alone on an empty pitch. 

There was a moment of silence, and the ocean wind rustled manicured grass in soft waves. 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. 

Melissa felt like she was actually choking. “S-sorry? Sorry for what!?”

Izuku, looking rumpled and distressed, stared at her. “You’re crying.”

Melissa blinked uncomprehendingly, and then swiped at her own face, staring uncomprehendingly at the moisture that came away on her fingers.

She giggled, sounding slightly hysterical. “It’s- it’s been a pretty rough twenty minutes.”

Izuku swallowed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah.”

They stood like that for a moment.

“... we should probably call someone.”

“Yes,” Melissa agreed immediately. “We- we really should.”

The sky was a dark orange, with streaks of red bleeding away into purple twilight. The first few stars were beginning to appear. The sun had turned crimson, half of it vanished beyond the hazy mirage of the horizon.

Melissa sat on the top of a metal tower that stood next to the stadium. It housed broadcasting equipment, used to record and transmit professional footage of any events that were held on the field. It was a long way up, but there was a ladder with a fall cage, and the catwalk at the top had strong, sturdy rails. 

She sat on the metal floor, her feet dangling over the edge. Her arms were crossed and resting on the lowest bar of the safety railing, and her legs swung back and forth slowly.

Most would consider it a strange place to be. She doubted any of her classmates or acquaintances would ever dream of looking for her up here, but then, that was the point. 

As a quirkless, she had experience locating the last places anyone would think to find her. She hadn’t used that particular skill in years, but it was like riding a bicycle. You never really forgot. 

Some trauma, she supposed, stays with you.

They had called her father and uncle to meet them there not too long ago, and agreed to stay put. It-

It probably wasn’t fair to Izuku, for her to give him the slip like this and climb up a tower. It wasn’t right. 

But she just needed to be alone. To process things. To… to deal with it.

‘I would want to know, if I were you.’

Izuku. He had the same dream. They shared that. 

She wondered if she should feel angry. Some part of her felt like she should, but-

Could I have done that, if it were me? Could I have faced him, and confessed that All Might had chosen me?

She closed her eyes and sighed, the cool ocean air blowing through her hair. 

Maybe? She didn’t know. Probably not. 

She should feel angry, or sad, or bitter, but somehow-

Somehow she didn’t really feel anything. 

She just felt empty. 

She had asked him, to his face, why. He knew what she had meant. They both knew. 

Why you? Why not me?

She had dared to ask him why, and then.

And then he-

It happened from one moment to the next, almost between breaths. Rose tilted her head back slightly and smiled, closing her eyes. 

And Izuku covered the distance in a blink, teeth gritted, fist cocked back. 

She had asked him why she hadn’t been chosen. And then he punched Rose in the face. He broke Rose Espinosa’s nose.

The blonde teen let out a short, hysterical giggle. 

And then she heard a shift of cloth, like the rustling of clothes. A faint cough.. 

“How long have you been up there?” she asked without looking.

A voice above the teenage girl snorted. “How long? Kiddo, this place is free use for quirks. I beat you up here. Thought you could use the peace and quiet, though. I know how calming high places can be.”

There was a metallic thump as the old man swung down from his perch, landing on the catwalk next to her. Sorahiko Torino grunted as he sat down by her side, crossing his arms and letting his legs dangle off the edge like hers. 

There was a moment of companionable silence. 

“So how much did he tell you?”

Melissa laughed humorlessly. “How- how much more could there be?”

“Live as long as I have, and you’ll learn not to tempt fate with questions like that,” the retired hero shot back. “But it sounds like he told you the general gist, huh? One For All, a transferable quirk. Did he mention Toshi used to be quirkless?”

There was a pause, and then Melissa slowly nodded. She could feel unshed tears swimming behind her eyes.

Strange, she didn’t feel sad. Why was she crying? 

“You’re upset,” the old man observed. “You realize now that you could have gotten a quirk. All Might’s quirk, even. I imagine some part of you even feels like it should have been yours. That you were the obvious choice. You resent being passed over.”

Torino’s voice was calm and even, no hint of accusation or condemnation. Even so, Melissa flinched like she’d been struck. 

“N-no!” she choked out, her hands going to cover her mouth. “No, n-no, I- I wouldn’t, it’s not-,” her voice trailed off.

Torino sat there quietly as the girl cried, his walking stick lying across his lap. 

“I-” Melissa sobbed. “I just-”

She turned away, her shoulder’s shaking. 

“Yes,” she whispered.

The old man looked at her for a long moment, saying nothing, before slowly nodding. “Good.”

Melissa felt like she was choking on air. Good? How could her wishing she could take the power away from Izuku be good?

Torino looked at her for a long moment. “You two kids. You’re the same damn way, the both of you.”

“What- what do you mean?”

“You and Nana, Toshinori and him. For once, I’d like to teach a real bastard. I think it might be easier.”

Melissa swallowed, and shook her head slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand-”

“Don’t be sorry for-” Torino said, before cutting himself off and sighing. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not the sort of thing I can explain, at least not in a way that will mean anything to you now. Just know that you’re not a bad person for feeling envy. Everyone does.”

“How- how can you believe that?” Melissa replied. “I… I asked him to his face why him! That’s- that’s a terrible thing to say!” 

Torino slowly closed his eyes, and settled both of his hands around the walking stick lying crossways in his lap.

“I’m an awful hero, you know?” he said after a moment. Melissa blinked in shock, unprepared for the change in topic. But Torino kept talking.

“When I was your age, I thought I was so smart. I had it all figured out. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about superheroes or saving people. I had a quirk, and I wanted to use it. Not even just for it’s own sake, either. I wanted to train it, practice with it. Become strong enough that all of the people who made fun of my weak quirk would lose to me. I wanted to beat them up, to make them pay for mocking me. So I scammed the system, got in, and passed my tests. I thought I was the smartest bastard in the room when they finally gave me the paperwork to finalize my hero license. Because I had done it; I had won. That little square of plastic meant that I could use my quirk in public as much as I wanted, and nobody could stop me. I’d do the absolute bare minimum to keep my license, I’d train my quirk. And then one day the punks who used to push me around would wind up with a bunch of broken bones in an alley somewhere. I retire after a few years, and collect a fat check from the government for my community service while I drink beer and watch television. I had it all planned out.”

The sea wind blew softly, ruffling invisible fingers through both of their hair. Her’s, long and straight, honey-blonde. His, spiky short and grey with age. 

“I was an asshole,” Torino summarized. “Honestly, I’m kind of shocked nobody ever punched my face concave. I probably deserved it.”

Melissa opened her mouth, then closed it again. She swallowed. She hadn’t been expecting to hear something like this at all, certainly not from the man who was the closest thing she had to a grandfather. 

“What… what changed?”

“Shimura Nana,” Torino replied, his own voice taking on a wistful note that Melissa had never heard from him before. “There’s an old joke, how in stories the main character running away from the call to heroism never works, because the call knows where you live. Nana was the call that knew where I lived. She befriended me against my will in school, dragged me into a partnership with her. She laughed at me when I couldn’t come up with a good hero name. Forced herself into my business at every opportunity with that goofy, stupid smile on her face. And before I knew it, I was working with her agency. Taking being a hero seriously just because she was, too. She stole me away, I got lost in her flow. I was gone before I ever realized I had been taken.” 

There was a pause. “She was the person who carried One For All before Toshi had it. The Seventh wielder.” 

“I heard that part,” Melissa confessed. “Izuku mentioned it.”

Torino chuckled. “Yeah, he’s thorough like that.”

There was another pause. “So, after hearing all that, do you think I’m a bad person, Melissa?”

“No!” Melissa said suddenly, with more force behind her words than she intended. She blushed. “I mean, n-no. No, grandpa. I don’t-, it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Really?” the old man asked, quirking one of his bushy eyebrows. “Are you sure? Think real careful now.”

Melissa swallowed. “No, grandpa. You’re not a bad person. I mean it.”

The elderly hero looked at his niece for a long while, his eyes searching hers for something she didn’t understand. 

“Good,” Torino said simply, before reaching out and booping the teen under her chin with his thumb. “Chin up, then. Because if I’m not a bad person, then you certainly aren’t.”

Melissa flushed and looked down at her knees. 

“It’s funny, really,” Torino continued, looking out across the horizon towards the sea. “I never imagined that scrawny vigilante Nana fished out of a dumpster would one day become the kind of person who could deter crime by reputation alone. These days, the mere mention of All Might’s name stops criminals in their tracks. The shadow he casts is taller than mountains.”

He rolled his head against his shoulders. “Nobody saw that coming. Not even him, I think. But you know what?”

“... what?”

“Even back then, I knew he would become a hero. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on him. Quirk or no quirk.”

Melissa was silent. 

“I know it doesn’t mean much, hearing that this late. From me, of all people. But even back then, I’m pretty sure somebody could have been a hero without a quirk. It would have been an uphill battle the whole way, the government probably wouldn’t have liked it much. You’d need a grappling hook, a gun, and a whole lotta guts. Probably a good set of kneepads, too. But it could have been done.”

Torino snorted, half to himself. “Honestly, the way people go on about meta-strength and quirk escalation, you’d think quirks is all we have. But with the way technology is going, I’m pretty sure we could get an orangutan with a jetpack a hero license, these days.”