(warnings: drowning, slight gore)
There are hands pressing against the back of Izuku's head.
Fingers dig into his scalp, yanking at his hair and tearing through his skin with sharpened nails.
He's pushed down until he's kneeling, palms flat on the floor. The ground below him feels moist, like it's only just recently rained. But when he looks down, he can't see anything. It's all black here. There's only darkness around him.
Fuck. Are you kidding me?
Trying to calculate how much drugs he had to have accidentally taken before bed to be seeing this shit, Izuku closes his eyes and tries to steady his erratic heartbeat.
Get out. Get out. It's not real, so just pull yourself out of this.
More hands join in and the pressure increases, but not just on the outside of his skull, on the inside too. There's something in there, squirming about, eating away at his brain. It's scratching at his flesh, trying to get out, or trying to get in—how would Izuku know the difference? Is this what a parasite feels like? Like those brain-eating amoebas?
He's shoved harder and his face meets the ground with a snap. Hot, sticky blood pours from his nose and pools around his face, wrenching a surprised cry from him. He didn't think he could feel pain like that here. Usually his dreams are muted with some kind of film over them. The pain he experiences then is dull—not sharp, and certainly not like this.
The surprise is enough to have him panicking.
Multiple pairs of hands grab at his clothes and yank, pulling Izuku in every direction. But when he tries to lift his head he's just pushed back down again. His blood stains his shirt and seeps into his curls, and Izuku hates it.
He can't breathe. The void beneath him is starting to burn away at his skin like acid, and the heat spreads through him quicker than a wildfire.
Another tug and All Might's shirt rips in half, leaving Izuku's bare torso on display for all the world to see and touch. Nails—no, talons dig into his old scars and make them fresh again, and this time Izuku can't help the scream that bubbles up and out of his throat.
"Stop it!" He yells, twisting and writhing on the ground in hopes of dislodging the hold the hands have on him. "Let me—let go of me!"
Harsh words are hissed into his ear, but his blood is pounding so hard that he can't make sense of any of them. It's all mush to him.
Something grabs the back of his neck and holds him in place, and now he really can't breathe. His hands come up to scratch at whatever is holding him there, but his fingers go through air. He's fighting against nothing.
Here there's just Izuku, the angry, wailing voices, and the ever-expanding darkness. And what a tragic trio they make.
He's yanked forward by the wrists, and his bare stomach slides painfully over the burning floor. It's like he's been thrown over smoldering coals. His confusion increases tenfold, alongside his panic.
He can't die here, right? This isn't real—he's over eighty-nine percent sure of that—or the work of some quirk, so he should be okay! This is just a dream. A very realistic, terrifying dream.
With that assumption comes another dreadful thought: will any of the wounds he's receiving here travel over into the real world?
Izuku is at the bottom of the dog pile now. Bodies push him even further into the fire below, and though he can't see them he can still very much feel them. Izuku has lifted up whole boulders before with ease (and many, many fridges; thank you, All Might), but he's still having trouble getting this weight off him.
He's stuck and he absolutely despises it because this means his mind is beating the shit out of him and winning.
With his clothes being effectively torn to shreds and thrown off somewhere into the void, the only thing left for the hands to grab is hair and skin. Izuku thrashes around even more, trying desperately to stop the invisible attackers from tearing him apart limb from limb.
I'm gonna die. They're going to kill me. Please, please, please.
One for All flickers in response to his silent pleading and Izuku activates it almost immediately, seemingly at the reminder that he has it. His other quirks are quiet, in hiding. It's as if they're afraid they're going to be ripped apart too if they show themselves.
Red lightning erupts from his hands and runs across his body, enveloping him in a neon glow that sharply contrasts with the shadows around him. The power doesn't stop there; it grows bigger and bigger and gets stronger and stronger until Izuku is one huge glittering ball of electricity.
He's like a star, lying in wait. A supernova waiting to happen.
There's a flash of bright white light that's hotter than anything Izuku has ever experienced before, even hotter than the flames he felt that night when his building collapsed, and he has to bite down so hard on his tongue to prevent from outright screeching that he can taste the tangy blood clearly.
All at once, the hands release him. The voices stop growling in his ears and the pressure inside his skull is relieved.
It stops so quickly that Izuku finds himself questioning if it even happened in the first place.
Panting, Izuku lets himself rest there on the ground for a few more moments just to gather himself. This is probably the most interesting thing Izuku has ever dreamed of. But trust him when he says he doesn't ever want to go back to this moment for anything.
One for All...
He sits up, trembling as he turns his hands over to study them. They're not broken. Hell, they're not even sore! It just feels like he touched a live current, but even then there are no marks to show it.
I can use One for All infinitely here? Without injury?
Izuku pauses, wondering if All Might can do the same thing in his dreams. Does he have a time limit there as well, or is he the one who makes the rules?
Movement catches his eye, and Izuku scrambles to his feet immediately, instinctively going for his boots for a knife—only to realize he doesn't have shoes on either. And a knife? What?
Izuku hasn't used any of his knives in a long while. He actually can't remember the last time he had to take it out of one of his shoes to protect himself.
With that weird thought hanging heavy at the back of his mind, Izuku wraps his arms around himself to warm up and starts to walk. He doesn't know where he's going, but what he does know is that he has to move. It doesn't matter where.
They're coming back. They're following him.
Izuku can feel their eyes on him from all sides. The hair on his arms and at the back of his neck pricks, standing on end. He shivers, eyes darting around.
Wake up, you idiot. It can't be that hard.
He walks faster, but then the voices start up again far behind him and he's forced to jog instead. God, why can't people just leave him alone? Do they have to be with him even in his dreams?
"Are you guys just that obsessed with me?" Despite the cocky words, Izuku's voice shudders. The air is getting colder all of a sudden, and Izuku wishes faintly he could go back to that blistering heat from before. "Don't you have anyone else to scare?"
Near inaudible footsteps come closer. Circling him. Izuku is at a run now.
There's the beat of leathery wings. Jewelry clashing against other jewelry. Huffs of hot breath. It's in his ears and yet it's not even close to him.
He has to drag Boost out in order to run faster, his movements sluggish and unsteady. No matter how fast he's going or how much he wants to leave, it's like he's stuck in that one spot. It doesn't help that there's no light around to even gauge his positions.
By the time he's worked up the courage to try and force one of his other quirks to come out and help, they're already upon him.
Talons wrap around Izuku's middle and easily drag him back, back towards where he originally woke up. This time he can see them. They're a shiny, blinding white, and Izuku feels bile rise in his throat once he processes how long each claw is.
Even while curved, the talons are at least a foot and a half long and three inches in diameter. The tips are sharpened to a fine point, almost like what a candy cane looks like after someone has been sucking on the end for too long.
Wow, weird analogy there, Izuku. Fucking focus!
Izuku scratches against them frantically, meeting his own crazed eyes in the reflection.
His feet slide across the ground, and when Izuku starts to feel the heat again, he jerks harder and throws his hand back. He flicks his fingers with all the desperation of a dying man, and the shock of the airwave has Izuku skidding backward. Except the talons don't release their hold.
If anything, they just cut deeper into his sides and close around him tighter.
It's not until Izuku feels the blood bubbling out of his mouth and streaming down his neck in thick red lines that he realizes he's shouting again.
No. Screaming.
He's held in place then, having stopped being dragged backward, and Izuku fires off even more air shots and One for All-powered kicks in retaliation, trying to do anything to loosen the grip the claws have on him. But nothing seems to work.
His quirk is useless. How is it useless? It was working against them before! Why is this happening? And why now?
Izuku uses his fists like hammers to try and crack or break off the talons, but he only succeeds in shoving them deeper in. He can't stop though. There's an itch under his skin. Something that's telling him to run, to leave, to hide before he forgets how to.
Figures outlined in staticky white approach him. Some are tall, some are short. Some are as big as Fatgum while others are as small as Recovery Girl.
He can only focus on a few, his mind being too preoccupied to make space for all the rest. They're speaking so fast it sounds like a constant stream of laughter to Izuku. They're yelling at him so loud it's drowning out his own screams.
As they come closer Izuku's movements grow wilder. More blood spills from his lips, and when he blinks it starts to come out of his eyes too. He can't see anymore, but he can hear them. He can feel them.
Their presence is a hot iron being pressed into his spine, and he swears he hears one of them spit his name out like a curse.
When Izuku finally stops, too tired and overwhelmed to do much of anything but hang there and close his eyes, everything seems to stop. It's like the moment after the rain stops on a stormy day. The sudden silence rings in his ears.
The talons slip from around his torso, leaving burning red marks behind. Izuku drops to the floor for the second time and coughs, wiping the back of his hands across his mouth and only succeeding in smearing the crimson around.
It happens in less than a second. When those heavy footsteps approach again, sending chills down Izuku's back at the promise of what's to come, small hands brush against his forehead and ghost across his eyelids.
"Leave him."
Izuku's eyes snap open at the new voice, his vision having been restored, but by then he's alone with nothing but his own blood to keep him company.
He checks his abdomen, only to find that all of his wounds there have stopped bleeding too. He's still sticky and covered in red, but he's not going to die. He's okay.
You weren't going to die in the first place, he thinks to himself in agitation. You're just dramatic. This is a dream.
In two minutes, Izuku has gathered himself again and convinced himself to move forward. The chill is back, making goosebumps rise on his skin.
There are no eyes on him this time. He's completely alone, but this void doesn't hurt him like it did last time.
It's just him and... and this water.
Izuku's brows furrow as he comes upon a pool of black sludge. He sees a starry sky in its reflection, and if he looks hard enough he can make out a few of his favorite constellations. The water is moving like it's boiling in a pot, and to Izuku it looks almost unreal. Like it should be a part of someone's quirk.
Like the Sludge Villain, he thinks traitorously.
Green and purple and pink color the void behind the stars, which only makes Izuku even more confused. It's beautiful, don't get him wrong, but it shouldn't exist. Why is it here? In this dark, dangerous place?
He kneels down by his own volition this time, reaching down with a hand to touch it. It doesn't burn him, so he sticks his other hand in too. He tries to wash off the blood matting on his skin, but it doesn't wash off.
Instead, the water turns his blood black on contact and seems to dry it immediately, as if making it a permanent tattoo.
The fuck?
Izuku swishes the sludge around and holds it in his palms, watching it dissipate in his palms and rise above him.
Despite all of Izuku's senses, he reaches for it one more time, curiosity getting the best of him.
And that's his mistake, he'll admit. He deserves what happens next.
A large yellow glove shoots out from inside the depths of the water and grabs his forearm, yanking him in. He's not fast enough to take a breath in or try to prepare his quirks before he's swallowing a mouthful of starry sludge.
It sits in his throat and weighs him even further down. He rips the hand off him and struggles to find any light, anything that'll tell him which way is up. He knows, logically, that he's not drowning, but it sure feels like it. And it's not like he can just convince his brain not to freak out while his lungs are bursting and begging for air.
Bubbles escape him, and Izuku tries to follow them up to wherever they're going, hoping it's to where he was before. But that same gloved hand comes back and wraps around his ankle, pulling him back.
As Izuku sinks further into nothingness, he can't help but ask himself how the fuck he keeps getting put in these shitty situations. His actual life is already entertaining enough; he's not a fan of these dreams.
Dark spots dance in his vision, and Izuku's limbs seem to stop working. It's quiet down here all of a sudden. There's no struggle. No talons.
He sees yellow, then white, and then black.
When Izuku finally, finally wakes up, he's choking, but not on blood. He sucks in as much air as he can, trying to quell that floaty feeling he has inside his chest.
He flicks on the lamp to his left and pulls his knees to his chest, happy to see he hasn't carried over any of the injuries he had to the real world. He would've had one hell of a time trying to explain them to his teachers.
It's still dark outside, and when he checks his phone with shaky fingers (having to input his password five times to get it right—he's lucky he didn't lock himself out) he finds that it's only two o'clock.
Yeah. It's going to be a long night.
Izuku closes his eyes once more to keep the world from spinning out of orbit. His fading panic sits like putty in his throat, and it tastes like the water from the pool. It's less disgusting than that of the Sludge Villain's, but it's still not exactly good.
He presses his fingers to his neck, his pulse erratic underneath like he had just finished running a mile.
Izuku wishes he could get up right now and go for an actual run to clear his thoughts, but he doesn't feel like waking Aizawa up to ask. Besides, the man would most likely say no anyway.
And there it is again: that funny feeling. If he were still living alone, Izuku wouldn't have to ask for permission. He could just go. He'd be in charge of himself completely and be able to make his own choices.
But maybe that's why it's good he's not alone anymore.
Izuku listens to Missy move around on the opposite side of the room. His door is cracked open, so he's not worried about her wanting to get out. Instead, he's more worried about those voices he heard before.
While he can barely remember the dream itself now, he can still recall those voices vividly. And that glove.
His hands are still buzzing with the leftover power of One for All, and it's like he can still feel the grip on his ankle that caused him to drown. And, just as he's starting to feel okay again, something drips down his palm.
With horror dropping like a stone in his stomach, Izuku slowly angles his hand toward the lamplight and lets out a shuddering breath.
He was wrong before. He is bleeding. The middle of his palms is burning and throbbing, reminding Izuku just how much he absolutely hates his quirk.
Extract felt left out, huh?
He sighs and quickly makes his way out of the bedroom to clean up his hands in the bathroom. Aizawa would have his ass if he didn't do it properly.
After four minutes of bandaging and listening carefully to make sure he didn't wake up the other two occupants of the apartment, Izuku goes back to the guest room and sighs to himself. This is so stupid, really, and he can't believe he's worrying himself so much over it, but how long has this been going on now? Months?
Shouldn't he put a little more thought into this? So he at least can organize his thoughts, as dumb as they are? Maybe he'll find something out. Maybe he can figure out why this is happening in the first place, the voices and the burning.
He eyes the clock one more time on his phone, knowing that he won't be going back to sleep anytime soon. He has time to kill, so why not? This is long overdue.
Izuku shakes his head in frustration and reaches for his notebook, reminding himself to take his bandages off before going to school.
Is Toshinori old enough to retire? Or at the very least just drop dead without raising any suspicion?
He could go into hiding and pretend that All Might never existed. He could go live under a rock. That sounds nice, actually. Hermit crabs have nice lives, he thinks. What if he becomes a hermit crab?
Toshinori wants a nice shell. He's going to pick out the best one for himself, mark his words. He's going to love his new home and learn how to live his life as a—
"Yagi?" Ishiyama's voice brings him out of his daze, and Toshinori turns to see the cement hero staring at him in concern, an extra coffee in his hand. He outstretches it toward him, one brow raised. "You look disgruntled."
Toshinori coughs and forces out a smile, accepting the coffee even though he probably shouldn't be drinking it. "Oh, thank you, but I'm quite alright! Just had some... surprising news is all."
Ishiyama looks past him to see the email open on the screen. Toshinori watches as his face goes from intrigued to surprised and then to confused. "Midoriya got another invite? This late? But the students' picks are supposed to be sent in by the end of today."
Oh, that's not the surprising part.
"I thought the same thing," Toshinori sighs, drumming his fingers along the wood of his desk. "I'm not sure why anyone would wait this long, especially since the heroes had another week to put in their invitations."
Geez, why would you wait this long, sir? You're killing me.
Almost literally, he would go so far as to say.
"Well, would you like to go tell him, or should I?" Ishiyama asks.
Toshinori blinks. "I'm sorry?"
"To let Midoriya know he has another invite. Since he hasn't chosen an agency yet." Ishiyama lifts a blocky shoulder up in a shrug and takes a sip of his coffee. "Unless he has and I'm not informed?"
"Oh, no! You're right! Yes, I will go tell him right now." What am I even going to say? "He'll be happy to hear he has another option."
Toshinori wishes he could be just as happy, but the only thing he's feeling right now is dread. Did he do this? Was it the letter he sent him that made his old teacher decide to come out of retirement and reach out to the boy?
The hero has never been more regretful in his entire life. Hell, he can barely walk straight. The thought of Midoriya being mentored by Gran Torino? Someone who Toshinori is still scared of to this very day? It's giving him butterflies, and not the good kind.
He heads to 1-A's classroom, knowing that it's lunchtime for them right now, but instead of finding Midoriya there he only sees Aizawa—which is probably the worst thing that could have happened, but really, why is he surprised? This is his coworker's classroom after all.
Midoriya is back to eating with his classmates now, so perhaps he shouldn't have even checked here at all.
Aizawa spares him a glance and takes another sip of what looks to be orange jelly.
Ah. That's probably why he's eating in here and not with us teachers. It's a jelly day for him.
Which is bad news for Toshinori.
"Do you need something, Yagi?" Aizawa asks, for once sounding generally neutral.
Toshinori gives a small smile and shuts the door behind him, deciding that he may as well talk with his coworker instead of outright leaving. That would be rude—even if Aizawa would probably appreciate it.
"Good morning, Aizawa! I was just looking for Young Midoriya, but I can see he's, well, not here so..." He trails off awkwardly, not sure how to go about this.
"Of course you were. He's at lunch, so if you need him you'll find him there. He sits near the east door."
And that's a clear dismissal if he's ever heard one. Toshinori nods and turns to leave, palms sweating now, but then he steels himself. This is Aizawa he's talking about. He shouldn't be scared to chat with his coworker, even if it's someone who he highly respects. "Actually, I did want to talk with you about something if you had the time."
Aizawa sets down his jelly pack and gets up to write something on the board: something about deadlines and reminders for the students for next week.
"If you've come to argue with me again about Midoriya's assignments, you can turn back around and stop bothering me." Yep. There it is. "I've already altered his education plans to account for what you brought up last night. I'm cutting back on some of his work."
Okay. Toshinori might deserve some of that harshness. But he's not really bothered by it right now because what? Aizawa actually listened to him after all that arguing? He's changing Midoriya's workload?
Something like relief blooms from Toshinori's chest and spreads to the rest of his body. So you're not as uncooperative as you try to appear, Aizawa.
"Ah, no, it's not that. But it does have to do with Young Midoriya." Toshinori waits for some sign from Aizawa to continue, but when he gets nothing he decides to go anyway. "But before that, I want to apologize for stepping on your authority last night at the conference. It was wrong of me to do so, especially since technically I wasn't supposed to be there." He rubs the back of his neck, a little flustered. "I know you only do things with his best interest in mind, so I shouldn't have doubted that. I don't doubt that."
Young Midoriya just makes me worry more than I thought was even possible.
Toshinori drags his gaze back to meet Aizawa's charcoal eyes, unflinching. "I also should not have struck an argument while he was sitting there listening. It was inappropriate."
Aizawa doesn't say anything for a good five seconds after his coworker is finished; he just stands there and stares at him, chalk in hand. But just when Toshinori is about to apologize again and duck out of there, entirely embarrassed, Aizawa speaks, his words slow. "Well, it's not like I was making the situation any better." He turns and continues writing, the sound of the chalk continuously hitting the board in perfect rhythm with the pounding in Toshinori's ears. "And it's fine. You were right." His voice lowers dramatically. "To some degree."
Woah. Toshinori suddenly thinks he knows exactly what his ward means whenever he says he's floating. His head is touching the clouds right now. He can barely believe this!
He's at such a loss for words at Aizawa's response (he doesn't think he's ever heard him apologize like that before—and yes, for Aizawa this certainly counts as an apology) that he's stuck in his spot with his mouth just opening and closing like a fish. He can't form any coherent thought other than what the hell?
The silence must be too much because Aizawa clears his throat and ruins the delicate air that sat between them. "What is it you wanted to say about Midoriya?"
"Oh, right! Yes!" Toshinori swallows back the lump in his throat and walks closer, feeling a little more confident now. "I know you were tasked with monitoring the invites Young Midoriya was sent, so I figured I should tell you this too. He got another one; it was just sent in this morning."
Aizawa raises a perfectly plucked brow. This is probably due to Kayama or Yamada. "This morning?"
"Yes. I know it's very late, but I think this one is worth looking at. It's... well it's from my old mentor." This grabs his coworker's attention. "He was my teacher while I was still a student here. He retired quite some time ago, but I've been informed he's recently renewed his teaching license for this occasion specially. And I think, as much as I hate to admit it... he would be good for Young Midoriya. Just as he was good for me."
"You're scared of him." It's not a question.
Toshinori sputters. "No! Heavens, no! Where would you get that—"
"Your voice is shaking." Aizawa walks around his desk to stand in front of him, arms crossed. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Toshinori briefly wonders what must have happened the night before for Aizawa to be looking this tired. "Besides, if he managed to teach you at your prime, he must have been pretty scary. What's his name?"
"You don't have to be so mean about it," Toshinori says, still in shock, but he answers the question anyway and watches Aizawa run the name through his mental database. He must not find much, because he just looks back up at Toshinori, eyes narrowing.
"Have you told him?"
It's obvious what he's asking. "Not outright, but I'm sure he'll figure it out. He's always been quick like that. But don't worry! He's trustworthy! He wouldn't say a word about Young Midoriya's identity, I assure you. And besides, he's had a lot of experience with teaching those with enhancement quirks, so I think Young Midoriya really would flourish nicely under his tutelage."
Sensei has a lot of experience with One for All.
Aizawa hums. "You seem pretty dead set on this."
"Well, it's not that I want him to choose this one, exactly, it's just that I think he would be... saferwith Gran Torino than he would be with any other hero. As I said, he was good for me when I needed help, so I hope this could prove to be the same for him."
Toshinori isn't going to sit here and say he absolutely wants Midoriya to choose Gran as his place of internship. That would just be him lying. Aizawa is right, he is kind of scared of his old teacher's all-knowing ways. But that doesn't mean he's going to ignore what this could do for Young Midoriya.
You were there for my master and you stayed for me. And now you're willing to help me with my own successor.
That's more than I can ever repay you for.
"If Midoriya chooses it, so be it." Aizawa yawns and goes back to whatever he was doing. "If you're sure Gran Torino won't spill, I have no objections. To me at least this sounds like a much better choice than the other ones Midoriya had."
Damn. Those other choices must've been terrible then.
Toshinori thanks Aizawa and apologizes again before leaving, deciding to just text Midoriya instead of hunting for him. It would be hard to get Midoriya to come eat lunch with him anyway when he's surrounded by friends. That would be weird.
He digs in his pockets for his phone and clicks on Midoriya's contact while walking back inside the teacher's lounge. The last thing Midoriya sent him was a cute picture of Missy at 3:26 AM, along with a good morning text an hour after that.
When Toshinori checked his phone earlier he didn't notice what time the texts had been sent, but now it's all he can focus on. My boy, why on earth were you awake at that time?
He shakes his head and tells himself not to question it just yet, as there are more pressing matters to discuss. His fingers are slow at typing in the words: talk later after lunch? no rush! :)
It takes him a whole minute to make that emoji. Or is it called an emoticon? Toshinori can't remember.
The reply is immediate: teacher's lounge? im coming!!
Toshinori chokes but doesn't have any time to formulate a response to tell Midoriya he doesn't have to come right this second, as just ten seconds later there's a knock on the door and Midoriya is speed walking in, eyes shining.
"Young Midoriya, did you—did you run here? The cafeteria is on the other side of campus!"
"Oh, I wasn't in the cafeteria," Midoriya says cheerfully. He pulls up a chair in front of Toshinori's desk and bites into his half-eaten apple. "I was on the roof with Todoroki. He saw me heading up there for air and wanted to come with, so we just ate lunch up there. But anyway, all I had to do was scale down the building from the outside and jump through the window. Didn't take me very long."
Jesus Christ. Somehow Toshinori doesn't think he should be surprised. He winces, feeling the judgmental eyes of the other teachers on his back. "My boy, what did I tell you about telling me incriminating things like that when others are around?"
"Oh, right! Sorry." Midoriya speaks in a slightly louder tone. "I was in the cafeteria where I was supposed to be, sir! I'm just a fast runner."
And that's how their lunch starts. Toshinori can't even be mad.
He waits until Midoriya has finished his apple to tell him about the late invite, and he even offers the boy some of his own lunch during it. He knows Yamada and Aizawa are feeding him, so he shouldn't worry, it's just that he knows Young Midoriya has a high metabolism so he wants to make sure he's getting enough. There's nothing wrong with that!
Midoriya chews slowly on his food as he thinks it over. "Gran Torino," he repeats. "That's..."
"He was my master's best friend, yes. He taught me during my last year here." Toshinori chuckles. "He's a little strict, but he's a great teacher. I think you'd like him."
"I remember you talking about him, it's just..." Midoriya's face is pinched. His brows are furrowed in what Toshinori can only vaguely guess is fear. Or is that shame?
Toshinori leans closer to his ward, voice turning softer. "I know you're reluctant. There is no pressure, my boy. Trust me when I say this is completely up to you. You may already have an agency in mind, and that's perfectly alright."
Midoriya doesn't answer immediately, so Toshinori leaves him to his thinking and makes light conversation while finishing his lunch. He reviews footage of one of their recent battle exercises and forces himself to start grading those. He doesn't want his workload to pile up.
Lunchtime is almost over by the time Midoriya speaks on the matter again, surprising Toshinori. "Does he like donuts?"
Toshinori blinks at the random question, intrigued. "He likes anything and everything sweet. Why do you ask?"
He gets a shrug in reply. "First impressions are important, aren't they? I can win him over with food when I get there."
Toshinori smiles, and he inwardly lets out a big sigh of relief at the confirmation that he's choosing Sorahiko. A spike of dread settles at the pit of his stomach, but Toshinori ignores it for now. He hates to say it, but he's been wanting the validation of his old mentor for a while now. He wants to know how Sensei will feel upon seeing and interacting with his choice of a successor.
Since he will never know his master's opinion on Midoriya, not anytime soon anyway, he wants—no, needs Sorahiko's.
He just hopes Sensei knows what he's getting into with this, because hell, not even Toshinori knows what's going on half the time.
But this, he thinks, watching Midoriya use his hair tie to flick a piece of food at Kan, who's on the other side of the room and just trying to grade peacefully, oughta be good.
Maybe reconnecting with his mentor is what he's been needing for a while now.
Fifty losses and five wins. Izuku does not like those numbers, no. He does not like them at all.
That's a nine percent chance that Izuku will win any given game, and that's just sad.
He hates the number nine.
Izuku screws up his face and turns away from the game they're playing. He won the previous one, which he's very excited over, but now he's back to losing.
"I'm going to flip the board," he declares, huffing. He's practically already lost, so what's the point?
"Metaphorically?"
Izuku rolls his eyes at Nezu's inquiry. "Obviously. I can't actually do it now."
Nezu tips his head. "And why's that?"
"Because it's rude? And plus that's not good sports—"
He's interrupted by a large crash. The chessboard flies against the vent wall, making Izuku jump, and the pieces go clattering across the ground, rolling for a long way before being stopped. Izuku looks at Nezu with wide eyes, because did he just... flip the board?
In quiet shock, Izuku picks up the pieces alongside the principal and sets the board back up, heart racing.
"As I've said before," Nezu starts, not unkindly, "we can afford to make mistakes here. We can allow ourselves to get upset and start over, as sometimes that is all we can do. We can be better and make up for our mistakes as quickly as we can for the sake of others. And for ourselves." He straightens his queen so she's facing Izuku's own. "That is how it is for those behind the curtains."
Izuku is still so shaken up that this time he doesn't even have a snarky reply to that one. Nezu doesn't comment any further on it, so Izuku is left with that bitter pill to swallow.
Was it my father who flipped the board and caused my building to be attacked? Or was it me?
"Follow me. I'd like to show you something I think you might enjoy."
Nezu leads him out of the vents, and Izuku can't help but perk up a little. "Is it off campus?"
"I'm afraid not. Perhaps some other time we can have ourselves a little adventure."
Izuku doesn't know why he takes that as a silent promise. Maybe it's the way Nezu says it that makes it sound like he's telling him that will become a reality soon enough.
He wants that to become a reality. Nezu is insanely smart and knows a lot of powerful people, so he could probably take Izuku somewhere very nice. Somewhere he can use and somehow benefit off of.
I can't believe you almost drowned him last night.
Izuku's head shoots up from where he was staring at the ground while walking, and he listens intently to the voices again, trying to pick them out.
It was an accident! He let go of my hand and I couldn't grab it again!
You nearly killed him!
Oh, please. You know he can't die here.
We don't know that for sure. Isn't that why you dragged him out of there in the first place? So they wouldn't hurt him again?
A new voice pops up, this one much rougher around the edges. It reminds Izuku of Kacchan. I still don't think they were being malicious.
Are you kidding? He was screaming!
So? And then he stopped. He was fine.
Someone slap him, please.
The voice that speaks this time is soft and slightly amused. It's smooth like honey and easy on the ears. Can we please save this for a time when he is not listening?
Shit. Izuku catches himself before he can trip over air, cheeks burning. He's been caught.
And just like that, Izuku is shut out from the bickering. It feels similar to that of a door being shut straight in his face.
Does this mean they can choose whether or not Izuku can hear them? That's another thing for him to write down in his notebook.
God, Izuku is losing it more and more each day, and honestly, he couldn't be more curious as to why.
"You have two legs and can walk perfectly fine," Midoriya Izuku grumbles. "Why are you making me carry you?"
Nezu hums from his place on Midoriya's shoulder, unbothered. "It's much better up here, though."
"If you want to be taller so bad just buy some stilts."
"I was informed I scared the students far too much last year when I did that for April Fools. I had to promise not to do that sort of thing again."
Midoriya snorts, and if Nezu could see his face he'd probably see the boy roll his eyes. Temper, temper, he inwardly chides. I wonder which parent you inherited that from, unless that's something you learned yourself.
After finally arriving at the door to Nezu's office, Midoriya bends down a little so Nezu can put his paw on the scanner, but the principal shakes his head.
"Just say the code aloud and then place your hand on the scanner to register yourself," he instructs. "That way you can get into my office whenever you'd like in the future."
A pause. Midoriya looks back at him with a question in his emerald eyes. "You want me to register myself? Like... actually?"
"It's for your convenience, as you'll likely want to come into my office more often after this visit. It wouldn't be nice to have to wait on me to let you in every single time, wouldn't you agree?"
Midoriya gives him a slightly suspicious look. "That's a weird way to put it, but I guess so." He slowly places his hand on the scanner, as if expecting a shock, but none comes.
"The code is four-nine-nine-four," Nezu says with a little too much enthusiasm.
The student stops for a second and glances back at him, looking highly judgmental. "Really?"
"I decided it was easier to remember," Nezu says.
"That's stupid."
Nezu files that comment away for later, ultimately coming to the conclusion that it would be in both of their best interests if he didn't respond.
Midoriya repeats the code with his palm still pressed on the scanner, successfully registering himself as someone allowed to be in Nezu's office even when he's not there. Truthfully, not very many people have that privilege.
Nezu makes a mental note to look at the scan of the hand later on. Who knows what he'll find.
(He does know, but he'll have plenty of time to check it all out another time, so he forces himself to stay calm.)
Nezu hops down from Midoriya's shoulder and goes straight for his desk. A boiling pot of water is ready for him on the mini burner behind it. He pours himself a generous amount and dips his tea bags in, offering Midoriya his own cup.
Midoriya, knowing by now that it's useless to just not accept it, takes his cup and stares into the darkening liquid. He moves his teabag around with a dark expression, and Nezu briefly wishes he would get an actual answer if he decided to ask Midoriya why he seems so morose.
But he knows he wouldn't, so he stays quiet. He hums a small tune to himself and puts four spoonfuls of sugar into his cup, stirring it around with a satisfied grin that directly contrasts with how Midoriya is feeling.
Wiping off the spoon, he sets it back down delicately next to his other utensils, making sure it's nice and straight. He's not really a stickler for having everything be orderly (in fact he's quite messy most of the time), but there's something about his desk being organized at least that helps him think a little better.
"What," Midoriya begins, eyeing his utensils with a sour face. "Is that your crack spoon?"
Nezu smiles. "Don't be silly. This one's far too shallow."
He waves a paw in the air, and in the next second a panel is popping up from the wall next to them and extending towards Nezu. It has a few buttons and switches on it, none of them labeled, but that will change soon. If Midoriya is going to be here often then he'll need some time to adjust and learn how things work in this office. Nezu will make sure he has all the materials he needs and wants.
"Now, this is what I've been meaning to show you!"
He flips the second to last switch, and the entire middle of the wall to his right slides open. A wall full of weapons is displayed, which—while just as cool but maybe too dangerous—is not what Nezu is talking about. He presses the first button this time, and the weapons wall starts to slide to the right like a Merry Go Round. The next display shown is a shelf full of annotated books, old and new, and Nezu doesn't miss the way Midoriya's fingers twitch and his eyes hungrily follow the wall as it continues on without stopping.
"You'll be able to see the rest of it later in more detail," Nezu assures, waiting for the last display to click into place before clapping his paws together. "But this is most definitely something you'd be more interested in now, I assume!"
Before them is a miniature room filled to the brim with boxes upon boxes of supplies.
Fabrics of all kinds are shoved onto one side of the room while mechanical parts and materials are on the other. Blueprints for random designs and weapons are hanging down from the ceiling, almost resembling that of birthday streamers, and multiple work-in-progresses of Nezu's are strewn about somewhere in the mess.
See? He doesn't mind it when things get messy sometimes.
Midoriya is out of his seat immediately, a gasp leaving his lips. He rushes in without any kind of hesitation, looking giddy all of a sudden.
"This is all real?" He asks as if he can't quite believe it. He reaches out to touch a roll of stretchy black latex, running his hands along everything he can see.
"This is my personal workshop," Nezu answers, walking up beside him. "This is only a fraction of the materials I have available. My storage room is connected to Power Loader's spare classroom, and later I will give you a spare set of keys to access it. But for the moment, you're allowed to use this one whenever you'd like."
Midoriya gives him a look of disbelief, and he keeps looking from Nezu to around the room and back again. "This is the kind of stuff I could only dream about getting my hands on," he says, more to himself than anything.
Nezu watches him bend down to pick up a discarded item on the floor, gauging his reactions.
"I had to save up for months to be able to buy something like this." His voice isn't angry, though. Instead, he just sounds in awe. "This is incredible. I can make a new Rabbit costume with this stuff! Oh! I can make a prototype to try out tonight!"
"Indeed. Now, it is a little small in here," Nezu begins, but Midoriya cuts him off.
"No, it's perfect. It's great for privacy, too."
I had the same thing in mind while designing it. It's cozy, but that's the point. It's too small for most but the perfect size for Nezu and other small creatures. And just by judging the expression on Midoriya's face, Nezu is sure the boy will do just fine here.
He steps away, letting his student explore more of the workshop. He can't help but compare the way the boy's eyes light up every time he sees something cool to that of a child on Christmas Day.
Is this all it takes to make him this excitable? A little bit of creative independence and some supplies? Obviously so. It's peculiar, but also not quite unexpected. This is just further proving Nezu's assumptions.
He watches Midoriya glide around the mini-room and grab random things—well, random to Nezu, as he doesn't know what Midoriya is doing, but probably not random to the boy himself. Midoriya's eyes are darting around, glinting with a sort of desperation that makes him look almost sick. Nezu can just make out the smallest movements of his lips as he mumbles to himself quickly.
Midoriya clears off the circular workbench in the middle. "Do you have a notebook I can borrow or—oh! Nevermind!" He finds Nezu's old one fairly quickly and pulls a pen out of his shoe, beginning to scribble notes down. He's calculating something, his hand moving so quickly across the page that it almost looks like he's not writing at all. He's not even looking at it as he goes; he's taking stock of the materials he has and will probably need in the future for whatever project he's working on.
He no doubt knows Nezu is watching him, yet he doesn't look over once. Not anymore.
So very smart. The inside of your mind must be a terrible place.
Midoriya doesn't waste any time. It's a skill born out of necessity, he can only guess.
Yes, Nezu will help him, and in turn Midoriya's help won't be allowed to go to waste.
The principal doesn't know what to make of it when a warm, fuzzy feeling starts to spread throughout his veins at the sight of Midoriya excitedly working and drawing something on the chalkboard standing off to the side, only two minutes into being introduced to the workspace.
It feels like hope. Satisfaction. And maybe a little bit of sadness too.
Perhaps he just needs more tea.