Era

40

"Uh... what just happened?"

Shouta glanced over at Hizashi, eyes darting down to make sure that the microphone was actually muted before responding.

"Suzuki just used her quirk." He narrowed his eyes at the cameras, cursing the low visibility caused by the steam and the lingering smoke of Suzuki's grenades. "It's... hard to tell, but she must have. Todoroki didn't look like he was holding back."

"Great. Cool." Hizashi had long since beaten the habit of tugging at his hair, but his fingers were drumming insistently against the soundboard. "I don't know how to announce this."

"You're the expert here." Shouta groaned, laying his head across his arms. "Shuzenji is going to murder me. Again."

"Okay, okay I got this, I'll just..." Hizashi unmuted the microphone, and Shouta didn't have to look up to know that he had slipped into the persona of Present Mic, complete with dopey grin and exaggerated movements. He always did that, even when he wasn't on camera. Probably helped him get into character or something.

The very idea of it sounded exhausting, especially after that last match.

"Hey there, listeners! What an amazing, intense, nerve-wracking match! I'm still on the edge of my seat, and I bet you are too because we still need to crown a winner of this year's Sports Festival! But just hold your horses, because—and I know you already know what I'm about to say—that's all gonna have to wait after a quick break from our fantabulous sponsors!"

The door burst open and Shouta started, bolting upright and at the ready before he realized it was just Nemuri... then tensing again when he saw her murderous expression. She marched over to Hizashi, knocked him aside, and slammed on the mute button.

"Is this thing off?" Her voice was cold, carrying with it some of the swagger of her hero persona, the kind of tone she used to subdue villains.

Shouta wasn't a villain, and he wasn't one to be easily cowed by a harsh tone and an icy glare. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

"Uh, yes?" answered Hizashi, readjusting his glass after almost falling over. "What the heck Nemuri, why'd you—"

"What the fuck is going on with that kid?"

Shouta let his head fall onto the table once more, voice muffled against his arms. "I've already done Shuzenji and Nedzu. This one's on you."

"What?" Hizashi spluttered. "No, no you don't pin this on me, you're the one who's training her for the hero track—"

"She's in your homeroom—"

"She's asleep half the time anyway—"

"Not my fault what she does in your class—"

"You interact with her one-on-one way more than—"

"I had to track her down across half the city, it's your turn to—"

"Boys." Nemuri's voice turned dangerously low, and both Shouta and Hizashi winced. "One at a time."

Shouta glared at Hizashi, who matched his gaze for a moment before throwing his arms up with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. Fine. What... what did you see?"

There was the faintest twitch of her eye. "I asked you a question. I'm not getting an answer tailored to 'what I saw'. Tell me what the fuck is going on."

"Look—"

Shouta took pity. "It's better to have a starting point, so we know what gaps we need to fill in."

Nemuri huffed, but some of the venomous anger was already dropping from her gaze. "Fine. I already know that the kid has... problems. You two aren't exactly subtle. But... I thought it was something along the lines of typical teenage mischief. Maybe someone sticking her nose where it doesn't belong, but nothing serious."

With a sigh, she plopped down into one of the few free chairs. "There was a lot of smoke in the way, but I was pretty close to the action. There was... a lot of blood. She shouldn't have been standing, but she was anyway, and..." Nemuri hesitated. "I heard her say some things, to Todoroki. At the moment it was... weird, but now I feel like there was something more to it."

"What did you see?" pressed Shouta.

"Todoroki definitely hit her. And his attack was a lot more aggressive than usual, and..." Nemuri fiddled with her belt, lips pursing. "Look, there isn't an easy way to say, 'I think I just saw a child get impaled on an icicle.'"

Shouta swore beneath his breath. He'd really hoped it hadn't gone that far, but knowing the problem child he'd found it more than likely.

"Like... impaled impaled?" Hizashi glanced towards a screen, likely checking the replay.

"Is there another kind of impaled?" Nemuri snapped.

"Right, sorry."

"Explanation. Now."

"Suzuki has a powerful regeneration quirk," grumbled Shouta. A headache threatened at his temples, and he shut his eyes tightly in the hopes of staving it off. "She's trying to hide it, and we don't know why."

"Okay." Nemuri paused. "Okay. Why?"

"Literally just said we don't know."

"Do not sass me Shouta." Her voice dropped to that dangerous register again, but they'd all known each other for so long that it wasn't so much frightening as it was a warning of Nemuri's anger. Which, well... in itself could be considered frightening.

"We think it's something to do with her family?" offered Hizashi. "Or her parents, maybe? It's a really... weird situation. We're trying to fix it but we don't want to scare the little listener off."

"And you didn't bring me into this?"

Shouta huffed. "You aren't her teacher."

"Neither are you," she said pointedly. "But you seem pretty involved."

"I'm training her, and she's my... Tsukauchi brought me in to investigate the vigilante persona she runs around under."

"She's a vigilante?"

"You literally heard this," Shouta said with a snort. "You were standing right there."

"I thought you meant like... a kid who didn't know how to mind her own business. Not, like, a vigilante with an open police file."

Shouta shrugged. "Your own fault for not pressing."

At Nemuri's downright murderous glare Hizashi jumped in with a strained smile. "Okay, okay, so we're all a little tense right now. Can we maybe wait to talk about this until after the Sports Festival? Maybe after we've gotten some food into us, taken a little nap?"

"No, we can't," Nemuri ground out. "I need to decide who gets first place."

Shouta tilted his head at that. "Todoroki fell unconscious."

"After Nem called the match, though," said Hizashi. "Didn't look like either of them were listening."

"Yeah, well, there was a lot of blood. I called it for Suzuki's safety, and she just kept... pushing. There was a lot of smoke, but what I could see wasn't pretty."

"Suzuki has a history of ignoring authority figures," muttered Shouta, rubbing at his arms. "As well as putting herself at an unnecessary risk in order to accomplish a goal. I didn't expect her to act that way in the Sports Festival."

"Maybe that's just what she's used to?" Hizashi rested his chin against his hand. "With that quirk, maybe she just figures it's not worth it to care."

"Either way, I called the match before that last blow," said Nemuri. "And I intended to give the win to Todoroki."

"Suzuki would have won." Shouta glanced towards the replay, unsurprised when it revealed nothing but flashes of steam and blinding fire. "She was able to get past Todoroki's guard and knock him unconscious. But she damaged herself to do so..."

"We shouldn't reward that," said Hizashi firmly, scowling when Shouta raised a brow at him. "What? She's my student too, and I say giving her the win will make her think acting like that is okay, when it's not."

"I agree," said Nemuri. "If we go by the rules then Todoroki is the winner. But I want a full explanation later, when we have the time."

"Okay, okay." Shouta ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. Rationally they were correct, and even from a more emotional standpoint Shouta had to admit that he desperately wanted to stop seeing that child beaten and bloody, gasping in obvious pain because that was the only way she knew how to fight.

But... there was a very, very small voice in his head insisting that she deserved the win. That she had fought for it, bled for it, and ripped it from Todoroki's grasp with a determination he hadn't expected. What was it Endeavor had said? Good luck to you and your lost cause... it rankled at him, to let Todoroki have the win when Era had more than proved herself. But that was for him. That was how he felt. If he was going to think about this rationally, he needed to consider the best option for Suzuki.

He'd told her to fight for herself and... did she? Was that for herself? Destroying her own body in order to keep pushing forward? They'd kept the camera's off of her as they wheeled her from the stage, but Shouta had pulled up the feed himself and... it wasn't pretty.

The implications of that, of what it might lead her to do, left Shouta feeling cold and more than a little nauseous.

"We agree, then," he said. "Ultimately it's your call as the referee, but if we all think that Todoroki is the winner..."

Nemuri was already rising from her seat, nodding. "I'll go back down to give the announcement. But you two."

Shouta gritted his teeth against the urge to snap to attention, instead lazily turning his head towards a bristling Nemuri.

"We're friends, but I will not hesitate to kick your asses if this happens again. If I'm reffing the match, I need to know what these kids can and cannot take, and how far they'll be willing to go."

"Understood," muttered Shouta.

"Sorry Nemuri." Hizashi winced slightly, fidgeting with his glasses. "We just... it's really complicated."

"Yeah, I bet." She sighed, opening the door. "I expect the full story. And drinks on you."

Nemuri didn't give them time to answer before she shut the door with a slam.

Hizashi sighed, turning to face Shouta. "Well, that went a lot better than we could have hoped for, all things considered."

"There are too many people in on this," said Shouta darkly. "It's going to get unwieldy."

"Well... maybe the whole staff should know. I mean, it'd certainly be easier to keep tabs on her."

"She'd find it suspicious. I highly doubt everyone would be able to hide what they know, especially from her. All Might alone..."

"Oh boy." Hizashi exhaled sharply, rubbing at his neck where the speakers rested against it. "Didn't even think about him. Nah, you're right, he'd never be able to keep it on the downlow."

Shouta just grunted. All Might was... kind of an idiot sometimes. He'd always suspected that much of the smiling persona was, well, just that. A persona. Shouta's partner was Present Mic, after all. And, for the most part, he was right; the most obvious example would be the shocking revelation that the man could only maintain the form everyone knew for a couple hours at a time. There were more subtle incidents, however, cracks in the armor that were obvious after working with the man.

But it wasn't like he was hiding some keen intellect behind the brash and brawny All Might. And for someone who had been lying for much of the past few years, he was terrible at keeping his true opinions under wraps. His blatant favoritism for Midoriya would be disheartening and a matter for severe concern if it wasn't obvious that he still cared about the rest of the class. And, well, look where that got Midoriya. No sense of self-preservation, an idea of right and wrong so steeped in conviction that it was bound to crack eventually, and a tendency to hide his injuries behind a smile.

This was why Shouta never played favorites. He didn't want his students picking up those kinds of bad habits, especially from him.

A hand shook his shoulder, and Shouta glanced up to find Hizashi grinning down at him apologetically. "Hey, Shou, we're coming off commercial break. Gonna get a little loud in here again."

Shouta just huffed. "That's fine. I like your dumb voice."

"Aw, Shou, I'm tearing up over here."

"Shut up."

"But I thought you liked my—"

"Suzuki's on the podium and Shinsou made it to the second round of the one-v-ones," said Shouta hastily. "I'd say that more than proves their potential."

Hizashi rolled his eyes, though the smile didn't drop from his face as he reached out to ruffle Shouta's hair. "Yeah, of course. Not like you wouldn't've taken them anyway you big softie."

Shouta snorted, pulling away from Hizashi's outstretched hand. "I'm not a softie. I'm a hardass. I'm the kind of teacher we would have hated."

"Yeah, probably." Hizashi nodded, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. "Or... would you have been the kind of teacher everyone was afraid of but also secretly knew would have their backs?"

"That is so specific. That's not an archetype."

"Yes it is! It totally is! And it's you!"

"I guess that makes you the obnoxious one who never left high school, and desperately wants his students to like him."

"I am hurt! But also, are you calling me hip with the kids?"

"I'm calling you a pushover."

"Oh, sure. Okay, go back to your two General Studies kids, then we'll see who's a pushover." Hizashi leaned back with a smile, beginning to reach towards the unmute button. "I bet you'd give those kids anything they asked."

"Well it's a good thing they won't ask. Because they know not to. Because I am a hardass."

"Sure thing babe." Hizashi's grin was manic, now, finger hovering over the unmute, and Shouta's eyes narrowed.

"Do not use that to end the argument, I swear—"

"I mean, they're like mini you's aren't they? Mini Eraserheads. If I didn't know any better I'd say you had some secret love children."

"Hizashi I will—"

"Annnnnnnd we're back everyone! Hope you're super pumped to see the winners of this year's Sports Festivalllll!"

Shouta fixed him with a glare, unable to keep his lips from twitching upward at Hizashi's unapologetic grin.

It would take a while before they announced the winners, set up the podium, treated the crowd to a couple more inane shows and festival games, and finally marched out the top three contestants to receive their medals. In the meantime... fuck, Hizashi was never going to let him hear the end of this, but he needed to talk to Suzuki, make sure that she was okay after all of... that.

'Be back,' he signed after subtly getting Hizashi's attention. The man didn't even cease his commentary, barreling along with a raised eyebrow in his direction. 'See that she's okay.'

There was the twinkle in his eyes that only intensified at Shouta's scowl, and Hizashi shot him two enthusiastic thumbs up while he announced a couple more dramatic nothings into the mic, hyping up the crowd for the winner of the last match.

Shouta sighed, gently placing a hand on Hizashi's shoulder before leaving the cramped sound booth. He loved that man dearly, but sometimes...

A fond smile crept onto his face. Hizashi had managed to distract him from his concerns about Suzuki, if only for a little while. That man was going to be the death of him.

For now, though, there was a problem child to check up on.

***

Era... hurt. A lot.

In all honesty her wounds had mostly healed before they even got her to Recovery Girl's office. She'd miraculously gotten a full night's rest before the Sports Festival, and a full meal at lunch had done wonders for her quirk. Even if she'd slipped into unconsciousness for a moment she didn't experience the blank nothing that was her quirk's faux imitation of death. She was just... out. Drifting from thought before her consciousness slammed back into her skull and she was met once again with the writhing, churning mass of pain that was her quirk under stress.

Era tried to sit up on the stretcher, wincing as the movement pulled at the wounds across her stomach. One of the robots bustling her forward called out something snide, but Era ignored it to press curious fingers across her tattered uniform, face twisting slightly in pain as she probed at what remained from her fight with Todoroki.

The burns had all but disappeared, faded away to a glistening redness across the skin. She still had quite a few scrapes from the smaller bursts of icicles, but the major puncture wounds from those last few attacks had closed up significantly, leaving only the memory of exit and entrance wounds that bled sluggishly, crimson welling up between her fingers when she pressed a hand to them.

It was probably lucky that her injuries hadn't quite healed. They were obviously carting her off to the nurse's office, and she wasn't sure how she'd be able to explain away skin marred only by day-old scars and sickly yellow bruises. At least this way she could lie, say it looked worse than it actually was. Say that they'd overreacted, called the match before it was necessary.

Something burned in her veins, boiling her blood, and she fought down a rising nausea. Called the match. That was obviously what they had done, in hindsight, though when they'd actually made the decision she had no idea. Fuck. Fuck.

All this talk of no weakness and what had it gotten her? Passed out, battered and bloody, on national television. What a joke, what a pathetic excuse for a weapon, useless I'm useless...

Perhaps the blood-loss was still addling her senses because one moment she was on a stretcher being carried through the long, empty hallways beneath the arena, and the next she was inside Recovery Girl's office being maneuvered onto a pristine, white cot. The scent of chemicals assailed her nose, only heightening the sick feeling that churned within her stomach.

She blinked, and she must have lost a couple seconds, minutes, hours, days, years what did it matter she was a nothing, a broken thing and she couldn't even do this one fucking thing right she couldn't do anything right and—

"Oh, there you are dear! Here, eat this, it'll help get your energy back up. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have used my quirk on you when you were so exhausted. I didn't realize."

The old woman, Recovery Girl, was pressing something into Era's palm. She shouldn't eat it, she knew, but she also knew that if she didn't the consequences might be far worse than dutifully swallowing down whatever poison had been picked out for her in the first place. Era placed the tablet on her tongue, chewed, swallowed, ignored the chalky dryness that stuck to the inside of her throat and left her parched.

Something else was being pushed into her hands, and Era glanced down to find it was a cup of water. Ah. Perhaps there would be two kinds of poison, today? It might be interesting to see the interaction, if she could maintain that presence of mind. Perhaps if she could pick out their points of intersection, identify the symptoms of each and how they expounded upon each other, she could distract herself from the dark and the shadows and the dreams.

Era tried not to feel too relieved when the water soothed her smoke-sore throat. She didn't want to form a dependence.

"There, are you feeling a little better?" Recovery Girl was staring at her, and was she supposed to answer? Or was this another trick?

Never speak unless spoken to, but always answer when asked.

"Yes," she rasped, absentmindedly tugging at her gym clothes. The blood had dried against her skin, flaking uncomfortable as she pulled the fabric away from where it had stuck.

"Oh, let's get you out of those, hm? We have a few spares lying around here, I'll grab you some."

Era hummed, glancing around as Recovery Girl bustled towards the other side of the room. The world was becoming sharper, now, things falling into focus. Colors weren't bleeding into each other anymore and sound wasn't quite so muffled. Era closed her eyes, breathed and felt it swell against her ribs.

I'm at UA. I'm not in the dark. I'm at UA. I'm safe here.

She snorted at that, unsure where it had come from. She wasn't safe here, simply less likely to be torn apart on an operating table. When had that become the standard?

Recovery Girl handed her a fresh set of clothes and directed her to a private section of the room, drawing a curtain so she might have some privacy.

Odd, Era thought as she pulled off the old, blood-crusted uniform and slipped into the new one, not bothering to stare at her new scars. She didn't even ask about my injuries.

Perhaps she just assumed they'd overreacted? Or had her wounds actually been enough for them to call a normal match, even when mostly healed? Given how UA treated its students she couldn't be sure.

The door opened as she pulled back the curtain, Era blinking up at Aizawa as he entered the room. He looked down at her, and Era wished she had actually examined herself so she could know what he saw. As it was she thought his eyes widened slightly before returning to a tired expression.

Do I really look that bad, still? She'd changed out of her clothes, but there was that sticky feeling of dried blood across parts of her face, her hands, peaking out beneath her gym clothes...

"Aizawa-sensei," she said simply, pleased to find that her voice no longer rasped. "Are you... here to see Recovery Girl?"

He sighed, letting out a strangled noise before dropping into one of the chairs. "No. No, I'm not here to see Recovery Girl."

"Oh."

"Should you be out of bed?" he asked gruffly, eyes darting across where her injuries used to be. Era began to hug an arm around her stomach before forcing it to lie at her side once more.

"I'm fine. It looked a lot worse than it actually was, I think. Recovery Girl fixed me right up!" Era plastered a smile to her face but immediately knew it was off, all strained and sharp and pinched up in the wrong places.

Aizawa wouldn't be convinced by something like that. He stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable, and Era fought the urge to fidget beneath his gaze.

The silence was... heavy. Era had thought herself rather good at this game, had always won against Hitoshi, but she must have forgotten what it was like to actually play it, to feel the quiet shift and shudder in her mind and set her fingers twitching with a desperate urge to say something, anything.

Fortunately, Recovery Girl broke the spell, bustling back into the room and heading straight for Era. She tapped her staff impatiently against Era's chest as she all but forced her to sit on the bed.

"What are you doing up? Rest while you can—you'll have plenty of time to stand during the awards ceremony."

"The... awards ceremony?" Era shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, trying to ignore how it felt like she was sinking into it. Aizawa sighed.

"They'll be presenting the medals in ten or so minutes. You'll have to stand on the podium to receive yours. Unless you're too injured?"

"No, no," said Era. "I'm fine, I just... I thought I lost?"

Aizawa fixed her with a strange look. "You... lost the finals, yes. Officially, anyway, it was a close call. Which means you're in second place."

"There's...?" Era blinked, strangling the rest of that question in her throat. Obviously he expected her to know this already, which meant she shouldn't ask.

"Actually," said Aizawa, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The final match is what I came to talk about."

Recovery Girl sighed, walking towards a door that presumably led further into the makeshift medical facilities. "I'll be back out in a few. Make it quick."

"Thanks," Aizawa muttered.

Great. Recovery Girl had to be absent for this conversation, which meant it couldn't be good. Was he... was he finally angry with her? He'd told her to fight for herself, that he wouldn't be mad if she lost, but of course that was a lie, stupid foolish naïve, of course it was, how could she believe otherwise? You can't change what you are, little bird, and she was a weapon, a tool, and useless, broken little things like her needed to be fixed and—

"Suzuki. What are you thinking right now?"

Unsure of when she'd begun to look away, Era glanced up to meet his gaze. Mistake, but he'd never seemed to mind before. Maybe he was like Nyx in that regard? They'd always been so... odd, about formalities. Argus probably wouldn't have minded either, but it was almost impossible to actually look him in the eye. Or... was it impossible not to?

"Suzuki?"

Right. Focus. Aizawa looked concerned, in his own strange way. Emotions were always subdued by the time they made themselves known across his face, masked by a heavy layer of exhaustion and a manufactured apathy that reminded her strongly of Hitoshi.

He didn't look angry, but that could still mean anything. Heroes lie.

"I'm fine," she said almost automatically. Aizawa's eyes narrowed, and she wondered where she'd made a mistake. She'd avoided the use of sir this time, but... well, she probably didn't look fine. And if she was being honest the dizzy high of blood loss was still thick in her mind, dragging at her thoughts and pressing cracks against her mask.

"That looked like a difficult match. Midnight said that you and Todoroki talked for a bit before things really kicked off... can you tell me what that was about?"

Era ran her thumb idly across the rough blanket beneath her. "Nothing important. Little jabs, you know how it is."

"Seemed like a long conversation for something like that."

"Well, Todoroki's a pretty composed guy. Takes a lot to get under his skin I guess."

"And did you? Get under his skin?"

Era felt a smile tug at her lips and quickly subdued it, instead offering a half-hearted shrug. "I guess."

"Is that why things got so violent towards the end?"

At least Era didn't have to fight that smile anymore. Could he just get to the fucking point?

"You mean the fire?" asked Era after a moment of consideration. "I mean, could be? Could've also just been quirk exhaustion."

"I don't mean the fire, Suzuki," said Aizawa dryly. "I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about."

"Right. Because I'm a secret genius."

"Because you are at least as intelligent as a toddler. This isn't about your grades, it's about common sense."

Era couldn't choke down her scoff. "Right. Common sense. That's what I need."

"Evidently, yes."

"I have plenty of common sense," she nearly growled. "It's the world that's all... wrong."

Aizawa blinked, leaning back in his chair. "...right. Obviously. You, the high schooler who knows everything, against a world that can't possibly understand you."

Her jaw ached with the effort of containing any number of sharp retorts, of you have no fucking idea what I've been through old man and I wish I fucking wish someone anyone could understand for just one second I wish and I'd rather the world remain in blissful ignorance because I'm the only person who should have to suffer like this.

Instead all she said was, "Do you have a point?"

To her surprise, Aizawa shrugged. "Not really. How are you feeling?"

"What?"

"That was a nasty fight." Aizawa pulled out his bottle of eyedrops to fiddle with the cap. "How are you feeling?"

"...fine."

"Just fine?"

"What else is there to feel? I'm fine."

"As your teacher I think it's my responsibility to inform you that the range of human emotions is, unfortunately, a lot more complicated than that."

"As your student, it's not really any of your business what I'm feeling."

Aizawa's hands stilled, though his tone didn't waver when he spoke next. "Is that so?"

That had always been a dangerous question, but he didn't ask it in a dangerous way, laden with blistering fury and malicious intent, the promise of future pain. It was just... a question.

"Yes," said Era simply, trying to scrape the confusion from her voice. "Why does it matter to you? I'm well enough to continue. That is the only relevant information."

He paused in earnest, brow wrinkling slightly before he smoothed it flat once more.

"Suzuki..." he said slowly, as if picking his words carefully. "It... actually is my business. To know what you're feeling. That's part of my job as your teacher."

Great. Was this another one of those things? Like the trust and the disappointment and the distinct lack of failure is suffering that he always seemed to insist upon even though Era could testify to its effectiveness.

"Well, I'm feeling fine," she said stubbornly. "Don't I have to go to this awards ceremony thing?"

"Not yet. How do you feel about the festival overall? Were you satisfied with your performance?"

Immediately Era's mind was alight with warning bells, with this is a trick and failure is suffering and—

"Yes," she said, stuffing those thoughts into a box. Better to get it over with.

Aizawa just nodded, tired eyes never leaving her. "And the results? How do you feel about getting second place?"

"Fine," said Era through gritted teeth, forcing her jaw to relax before continuing. "I feel fine."

"Really? You aren't happy? Or upset? Just fine?"

"This is pointless," she finally snapped. "We're talking in circles."

"Hm. That's fine."

"Hilarious."

"No, it's not funny," said Aizawa, crossing his arms. "It's just fine."

Was he... mocking her? "Cut it out."

"Why? Is it irritating?"

"Yes."

"Imagine how I must feel." His lips twitched upwards before settling back into a straight line. "Oh, wait. I don't feel anything. Just fine."

Era just stared at him, unable to contain the loose shock as it tugged at her expression. "You... can't be serious."

"Correct, I'm not serious. I'm fine."

"Stop talking like that," she snapped. "What are you, five?"

"Oh?" He was grinning in earnest, an altogether unsettling expression that Era usually enjoyed prying out of him. Now, though, it was just infuriating. "I apologize, I thought that was how we were talking now. Just trying to follow your example."

Ass. "What do you want me to say?"

Judging by his face that was the wrong question, but between the exhaustion and the blood loss and the way this conversation grated on her nerves, she was finding it more and more difficult to care.

"This isn't about what I want you to say," he said gruffly. "It's about what you need to say."

"Well, that's great, then. Because I don't need to say anything."

Aizawa let out a long-suffering sigh, glancing at his phone before tucking it away once more. "Okay. Let's try this. I think that you're upset about losing the match. You don't think it should've been called, you think you could've kept fighting, and you're sure that you would've won. You're angry about Midnight's decision and you think this whole thing is unfair."

Era stiffened, hands bunching up in the sheets before she forced them to lay flat. "You don't know me."

"You're right. I don't. Thing is, you're not giving me a lot of opportunity to think otherwise."

Letting out a short growl of frustration, Era pointedly turned her narrowed gaze to the tile floor.

"I'm not... life isn't fair," she bit out. "I'm not mad about that."

"But you do think it's unfair?" pressed Aizawa gently. Era felt her nose wrinkle at that, at him treating her like a child, but...

"It is unfair," she muttered. "This whole thing. Fist-fights on a flat stage, with no cover, no terrain. That's not fair. But life isn't fair."

"You seemed to be doing pretty well up until those last few attacks."

"Todoroki was half-assing it," Era snapped, eyes darting up to match his gaze again, to make him understand. "He wasn't fighting with all the tools at his disposal, and that might be enough for a high school Sports Festival but life isn't fair."

"You were... worried about him?" He sounded surprised, and Era tried not to let herself resent that too much.

"Of course. He consistently underestimated his opponents, refused to change his strategy, and seemed committed to the idea that he was strong enough without an entire aspect of his quirk." Era scoffed, nose wrinkling. "As if you can ever be strong enough. That takes some fucking nerve, thinking like that. For all of his bitching about not using his father's quirk, he sure did take that bastard's attitude to heart."

Aizawa was silent. God, but Era hated it when they went silent.

"I'm sorry," she said hastily, lowering her gaze. "I shouldn't have spoken like that."

He looked up sharply. "I'm not mad at you."

As much as it pained her to admit it, the words were a relief. Era felt the tension trickle from her shoulders, forcing herself to relax in increments that were, hopefully, imperceptible.

Aizawa sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So you were worried about Todoroki, and you wanted to push him. Back him into a corner."

"I wanted him to understand the stakes. Heroes die all the time. Just because it doesn't make national news unless they're top fifty..."

"Todoroki is quite powerful, even using half of his quirk. You were really that concerned?"

Era eyed him warily, looking for the trick, the play, the knife in the dark—but he seemed genuinely curious about her opinion. "I... I think that your students aren't aware of how... easy it is. How fast."

"And you are?"

"I grew up in a rough neighborhood," said Era hastily. "I'm more familiar than most."

His brow furrowed slightly. "Familiar with..."

"Death." Era shrugged, leaning back on her hands. "One wrong move, that's all it takes. Someone pulls a gun, flashes a knife, fuck maybe even just pushes you the wrong way... and that's it. You fall and break your neck. Dead."

"Todoroki is—"

"A child," said Era harshly. Aizawa gave her yet another strange look.

"So are you."

Era just huffed. "Whatever. I just needed him to understand."

"Right." Aizawa sighed, glancing at the clock once more. "And you thought the best time to communicate this was during the match."

"What better time?"

"I don't know, maybe somewhere you two weren't surrounded by a screaming crowd and thousands of cameras?"

Eyes, thousands of eyes... Era repressed a shudder, instead jutting out her chin. "The best lessons are backed by something physical. He needed to see what would happen if he continued like this."

She swore that she caught his eye twitch. "How, exactly, did you plan on teaching him this?"

"By showing him how easy it is," said Era simply.

Aizawa ran a hand through his hair with a groan. "Suzuki, that's not your job. You're a student, not a teacher."

She'd never really had any fellow students in Phoenix so she wasn't positive how that peer relationship should work, but... was it not her responsibility to address such an obvious weakness? "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"If you think there is a problem with Todoroki, or with anyone, you should come to me, or Yamada. Or one of the other teachers."

Era tried not to let her nose wrinkle overmuch. Like she trusted them with that kind of information—what, did he think she was some kind of snitch? She wasn't going to report weaknesses because she knew what the consequences of that could be. Besides, never speak unless spoken to but always answer when asked. If he really wanted to know then he could ask her directly.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. Aizawa looked unconvinced.

"If you think you yourself are having a problem, you should come to me. About anything."

An ugly sort of disgust churned in her stomach, tempered by something warm and light that she couldn't identify. "Cool."

"Cool? That's it?"

"What do you—" Era cut herself off. Asking him what he wanted her to say hadn't worked the first time, and though she was notoriously bad at learning from her mistakes she could at least make an effort. She tried again, picking her words carefully. "I'm... unsure of what you hope to gain from this conversation."

Aizawa gave a soft huff, rubbing absently at his arm. Near the injured elbow, she noted. New tell?

"You have some bad habits," he said bluntly. "I'd like to know where you picked them up, but I'll settle for addressing them from now. I don't... 'hope to gain' anything, here. I'm not trying to trick you, or take something from you, or... hurt you." At that his voice twisted slightly around the words, as if they tasted foul. Odd. "I want to help you, Suzuki. It's my job to help you, to make sure you're safe."

He put a strange emphasis on "safe" that Era couldn't quite untangle. Did he think her in danger? From what? He didn't know about Phoenix, or about any number of people she had pissed off over her lifetime.

Aizawa knew too much already, of this she was certain—but even acknowledging that fact only raised more questions than it answered. If he knew, if he understood the true dangers that lurked in Era's tattered memory, then he wouldn't care to keep her safe. They'd be having this conversation across an austere metal table if she was lucky, though the more likely option was through thick glass or heavy bars. Era was no idiot; she knew what happened to people like her. She wasn't so self-absorbed to think herself important enough for Tartarus, but there were any number of options that were... undesirable, to say the least.

I'd deserve it. Era didn't even flinch at the thought. At this point the main argument against marching up to a police station and confessing everything was the looming threat of Phoenix, what they would do to her, how intimately aware she was of the vast extent of their reach. She'd been responsible for much of it, after all—the holes in security networks, the mysteriously vacant job positions, the secretive personnel alterations at an administrator's open terminal. The blackmail. The hostages. The threats and the swift execution on their sickly promise.

Era knew what she was, and she knew what she deserved. She also knew that she was a coward, so the whole point was moot. Even if Phoenix decided they'd had quite enough of her—which she highly doubted, they were not in the habit of leaving loose ends—the very thought of rotting in a prison cell for the rest of her undoubtedly long life was enough to drive her mad. Cages and cuffs and the dark with no escape.

Aizawa was staring at her, and Era could see her own rapidly mounting exhaustion mirrored on his face. Fuck, she needed to give him something, breadcrumbs to nowhere. Besides, maybe it would be nice to put a voice to a select few of her thoughts.

"I... feel as though I've failed," she admitted bitterly. "I set out to accomplish something and it... I didn't."

Aizawa sighed. "You didn't fail, Suzuki. At least not by a normal person's standards," he added in a low mutter.

"I did, though. I didn't win."

"Life isn't black and white. Just because you didn't win doesn't mean you lost."

Era stared at him incredulously. "That's... literally the definition of losing."

"Of course," said Aizawa with a snort. "So are all heroes save All Might failures, then? Because they were beaten out for the top spot?"

"No, but—"

"Should I expel all of the students who aren't first in the exam rankings?"

"I'm obviously not saying that."

"Really? Could've fooled me."

"It's different," snapped Era, glaring down at her lap. "It's..." It's me.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Era looked up sharply to find Aizawa's stern gaze catching her own.

"Suzuki. You did very well today. Even if you lost the last match, you've more than proven yourself. I'm proud of you, and you should be as well."

...oh. Era hadn't realized how much she'd needed him, someone, anyone to say that.

There was no second place on missions. There was no good enough. There was the job, there was an expected success or there was failure, there was consequences.

Aizawa... really didn't care. He was... proud? Was my... was Phoenix ever proud?

No. Not of her, at least. Maybe of what they had molded her into, their own success mirrored in her accomplishments, but everything she'd ever done could be attributed to the work of another. She'd never been allowed anything of her own, even before it all went wrong.

This was wrong. He shouldn't have been proud. It wasn't good enough, she had failed, he should be furious with her and yet...

The hand at her shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly, and Era watched as Aizawa's brow furrowed not in anger but concern.

"Thank you," said Era, voice hoarse. She coughed to clear it, pulling back and away from him as she did. "I'm... thanks."

He stepped back, tucking his hands into his pockets. "No reason to thank me. You ready for the ceremony?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she said with a sigh, shoving down the strange fluttering in her stomach and the odd, warm pressure building behind her ribs. Slipping off the cot and beginning to follow him out the door, Era stuttered in her step as Aizawa reached down to ruffle her hair.

Fuck.

"You deserve to be on that podium, kid. You did good."

Fuck.

She needed to... she needed to be careful. She couldn't let this go to her head, and... Era felt herself lean into the touch even as it pulled away, felt the warmth fade in bursts of electricity across her scalp, and... fuck.

Fine. Fine. Maybe she could... maybe she could have this. Just this. Maybe it wouldn't be taken away from her like everything else.

This could be hers

this was emotional :(