Training Ground Beta, Musutafu.

“That was just a pressure wave, and it broke through all those layers of concrete?” Eijiro said, stunned. “If it had actually hit Bakugo—hell, it almost hit Uraraka and Ida on the top floor.”

“The same could be said about the explosion that Bakugo set off without regard to his opponent’s ability to withstand it,” Fumikage said, frowning at the monitors. “The entire front wall of the building is now gone, along with multiple internal ones—that could have easily destabilised the building and thus caused its collapse.”

“It was extremely reckless,” Momo said in quiet agreement. “This was completely out of hand—I never expected things to be this intense.”

“All Might was worried as well,” I said, studying the indentations on the desk where the man’s fingers had cracked the surface of it. “This match-up was clearly chosen on purpose, but I don’t think he expected the two of them to hold so much animosity for one another.”

“I was thinking that as well,” Kyoka said, “At the start, he gave them a warning about going too far—do you think he was starting to worry that this might happen?”

“I think so,” Momo said, “Removing the earpiece was a mistake.”

“Yes, it was; while there was no instruction forbidding it, there was a greater context which he was supposed to be working within,” I said, “It’s possible that it was distracting him from being able to fight at his full potential, but deliberately destroying his own ability to communicate with his teammate is an outright poor strategy.”

“All Might will probably add a new rule after that to address it,” Toru said. “Though I somehow doubt that anyone else in our class would have done something similar.”

“Recovery Girl has arrived,” Yuga said, “How fortunate.”

Yuga was correct; Recovery Girl was delivered to the site by a motorised cart, and after delivering a big smooch to each of the participants, she hopped back on it before going on her way again. All Might led the group of four away from the building and out of sight of the cameras. It wasn’t long before the sound of their footsteps could be heard coming down the stairwell, and then the class was reunited once again. Katsuki looked furious; his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stalked straight past everyone to the far wall without meeting anyone’s gaze. Midoriya looked almost as upset, but it was aligned almost entirely with regret over how the fight had ended up playing out. Tenya remained straight-backed, affected by his loss to some degree but without much in the way of negativity. Ochaco looked outright embarrassed as she caught sight of all the monitors and the dark puddle that lay on the floor beside the rocket.

“Oh my god,” Ochaco managed in mortification. “You saw that part, too?”

“It’s fine,” Toru said, amused. “It’s not like all of us have never thrown up before.”

“I will do better next time,” Tenya declared, his fist held up in front of him. “Should an opportunity like this come to pass again—I will destroy the heroes.”

“Dude,” Denki said, laughing. “You are getting way too into this.”

“Method acting is a perfectly respectable way to attain the right head space for a task like this,” Tenya disagreed, “I may have failed this time, but my reign of terror has not yet ended.”

“Indeed it hasn’t,” All Might said, clapping his hands together. “Team I, Mashirao Ojiro and Toru Hagakure, please make your way outside and follow the arrows to the new building—you will be playing the role of the villains this time.”

“Looks like we’re up, Hagakure,” Ojiro said, “You feeling ready for this?”

“That depends on who we’re fighting,” Toru said.

“Team B, Shoto Todoroki and Mezo Shoji, you will be the heroes,” All Might said, “Please wait upstairs for the five-minute starting period, and then follow the arrows.”

The two teams vanished up the stairs and towards their respective starting locations. This was an unfortunate team setup, and not just because of the participants. The roles were chosen in a way that went entirely counter to their abilities. Toru, for instance, would have most likely been the single most effective hero in this entire exercise, with almost nobody being able to detect her presence until she had already made contact with the rocket, but instead, she was being forced to use her quirk for point defence instead. Ojiro was probably more balanced in the realm of offence and defence, able to fit well into either hero or villain role, but he lacked the potency that either of the heroes possessed.

Mezo was bigger, stronger, faster, possessed a greater reach, and had access to more limbs, and if set against Toru or Ojiro, he was going to completely manhandle them. Beyond all of that, Shoto’s quirk existed at a scale that none of the other three could reach. I had seen the amount of ice he could generate during the Recommendation Exam, and that alone set him far above the majority of the class. When Mezo and Shoto appeared outside of the building, it became clear that the teams were even more lopsided than I had first assumed. Mezo wasn’t just capable of utilising multiple limbs; he could enhance each of them with additional sets of sensory organs, which would further reduce Toru’s ability to sneak around undetected.

“How do you guys think this is going to go?” Mina asked.

“Mezo is a really big guy, so they’re going to have trouble with him,” Rikido said, scratching at his chin. “He’s really strong as well, so I’m not sure they have a way of actually beating him.”

“Mashirao is pretty strong too,” Eijiro said, “We had a friendly match yesterday; he’s a close combat specialist as well—but he’s way more skilled than I am.”

“Skilled enough to overcome the strength and reach gap?” Denki asked.

“He might be,” Eijiro admitted. “I got my ass kicked.”

“That says more about you than it does him,” Mina teased. “Doesn’t it?”

Eijiro gave a protest at the taunt, but most of the attention had shifted back to the monitors again. Toru had removed her gloves and shoes in preparation for the match, leaving her entirely invisible and completely uncovered. Ojiro was left standing next to the discarded articles of clothing, scratching at his cheek and looking strangely embarrassed by the situation. Mezo and Shoto remained outside of the building, talking quietly to one another until the match finally started. Shoto stepped forward and placed his hand flat against the outer wall of the building—a wave of alarmed cries rang out in the room as the building they were fighting within was flash-frozen in its entirety. The monitors caught the progress of the ice as it rapidly ascended until suddenly Toru reappeared in vague silhouette, feet frozen to the ground a few meters away from an equally frozen Ojiro.

“What?” Momo said, shocked. “That is—he targeted the entire building?”

“That bastard is pretty strong,” Katsuki muttered.

They weren’t wrong because it was a feat that existed on the same scale as both Katsuki’s final attack and Izuku’s monstrous strength—it was beyond all the things I’d seen him do during the obstacle course by an order of magnitude. The bridges he’d built across gaps and the ice path he left in his wake as he skated across the ground were simply not on the same level as this. The variations of ice output that I’d seen made it clear that freezing the building was perhaps the safest way he could have done this because if he’d used one of the jagged masses I’d seen, he probably could have ripped the entire building apart.

“He doesn’t even look tired,” Hanta said, “No, wait—he’s got ice on his face now that wasn’t there before.”

“The entire left side of his costume is ice,” Denki protested.

“No, idiot,” Hanta said, amused. “The other side, look at his cheek.”

Hanta was right; ice had crept up to cover his skin in a light coating of frost, and that could mean a lot of things, but it hadn’t been there before the attack had started. Shoto probably had some level of immunity to the cold, but if ice actually built up on his body, it wouldn’t matter because eventually, the weight of it would start to interfere with his mobility—which meant that a prolonged fight and an attempt to bait out a series of sustained attacks was probably the best strategy for defeating him. I wondered how Toru was dealing with the direct skin contact with so much ice; even holding something like an ice cube in hand was distinctly uncomfortable, and she couldn’t do anything to remove herself from it. The announcer revealed that Team B had won the scenario in record time, and All Might cleared his throat.

“Todoroki, you’ll have to free your classmates now,” All Might said, “Prolonged contact with materials at those temperatures could have some unfortunate lasting effects.”

Shoto ducked his head at the words before moving to climb the stairs, starting the long journey upwards to where they were trapped. Shoji remained outside, staring up at the exterior of the building in a mixture of disappointment and something that might have been unease.

“Well, that’s one way to win,” Kyoka said, “Seems a little bit overboard, though.”

“A little,” Momo managed.

It took almost fifteen minutes before the two teams had returned, and once again, the building had been left mostly unusable. Toru had come in, wreathed in a blanket that Recovery Girl had brought with her, not quite able to talk without shivering—Shoto couldn’t seem to look in her direction, and when Toru spoke up in an attempt to ward off Mina’s concerns, the boy closed his eyes entirely.

“I will be adding a new rule, my precious students,” All Might declared, “Please stop destroying the buildings—they are going to make me pay for the damage if you keep this up.”

Izuku seemed to sink further in on himself, but Katsuki just grunted at the words.

“The next match will begin; Team J, Eijiro Kirishima and Hanta Sero, you two will be playing the villains,” All Might said, “Team H, Fumikage Tokoyami and Tsuyu Asui, you will be the heroes—go ahead, you all know what to do.”

The teams vanished up the stairs, and Denki spoke up the moment they had left.

“How quickly do you think they are going to destroy the building?” Denki said with feigned seriousness. “We should probably take bets.”

“No gambling,” All Might cried out, “It’s another rule.”

“Tokoyami has that shadow bird thing,” Kyoka said. “Not really sure what it can do.”

“Kirishima can harden his body, and he’s pretty good at punching things,” Mina said, speaking up. “What can the other two do?”

“Sero launches a strong adhesive tape from his arms, and he has some level of control over them at range,” Rikido said, “We were in the same test group; he’s actually really good—I don’t really know anything about Asui though.”

Hanta’s quirk was interesting, just like all of the other non-organic types that were housed inside a person’s body—Tenya’s own quirk existed within that same subset. There was an obvious and intelligent design behind it but no discernible cause for how that could possibly have been the case. How could the genetic sequence of the human body possess the blueprints for a machine-engine inside of the calves? How could it possess the blueprint for a tape launcher in the arms? These were man-made objects researched, designed and constructed by human hands, so how could they also exist within the body as a naturally occurring phenomenon? There were quirks like the one that Momo possessed, where she first needed to learn the design before her quirk could actually create those objects, but that took a focused effort and direction by a human mind. Hanta Sero and Tenya Ida were automated processes that required no understanding of the machinery at work—it was absurd.

“Tsuyu possesses the attributes of a frog, including enhanced musculature with a focus on her legs, a strong prehensile tongue that is of an impressive length, and the ability to stick to walls,” I said, speaking up to address the question. “It’s likely that she possesses other traits that can be used in combat.”

Izuku showed the most interest in the answer by far, the boy already making an attempt to write down the information in an old workbook—perhaps we shared a common fascination with quirks and their functions.

“Higawara,” Izuku asked, “Do you know anything else?”

“I know that her body’s ability to regulate temperature is affected by her quirk, as is her daily water intake requirements,” I said, “Tsuyu has been open to that line of questioning, so you should make sure to ask her when she returns.”

“I will,” Izuku said, “Thank you.”

“You just asked her something like that?” Denki wondered.

“Yes, I find that quirks are an interesting topic of discussion,” I said, “Asking her for details about its function was one of the first things I did upon meeting her—the match is about to start.”

The villain team hadn’t wasted any of their preparation time, with Hanta setting up his adhesive tape across every door, passage, stairwell and corridor, blocking off almost all of the routes. He left the doorway of one particular room entirely unobstructed and then set up a complicated mess of tape, barely attached to the roof, and then tethered it to his arm by a long, hidden stretch of the material. Eijiro had taken the warhead away from the top floor, shifting it down one level, and then they’d both taped off the entrance to the room, hiding it amongst all of the others. It was a well-thought-out strategy for the most part, and one that would force the heroes to start systematically checking every single room in order to find it—the trapped room, however, had one very glaring flaw.

Tsuyu and Fumikage entered through the bottom floor entrance as a duo, sticking close together in order to conquer the scenario through teamwork and careful advancement. They almost immediately ran into the first of the many taped doors, which forced them to stop and try to unravel the depths of the strategy before they finally moved on. The tape was rendered useless by the mechanics of Fumikage’s quirk, where the boy would send it crashing through the tape, and then once it had breached the room, he simply let it dissipate, allowing the tape to fall to the floor.

“That shadow thing is way bigger than it was during the exam,” Ochaco said. “Did he really get stronger over such a short amount of time?”

That was an interesting bit of information—had he grown stronger, or was there some other internal or environmental factor that was contributing to its size? Was it a difference in mindset? If the boy had been stressed amidst the tension of trying to secure his own place at U.A High School, then perhaps it had affected his quirk, and now, with the removal of that stressor, it had become more powerful.

“That trap is pretty clever,” Koji said.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s clever or not,” Katsuki muttered, “It’s not going to work.”

“Because Tokoyami can break out of it with his quirk?” Rikido asked.

“He won’t need to,” Katsuki said.

Katsuki didn’t seem inclined to explain his thought process, but I had already come to the same conclusion, so I spoke up in his place.

“It would have been more effective if Hanta had left multiple doorways unblocked on each floor; to both waste time by having them search unimportant areas and to allow them the chance to grow used to entering open doorways without retaliation,” I said, “The timer would put pressure on them to speed up their search, and they would start to believe that the empty rooms were simply ones he didn’t have time to block—at which point they would run into the only trapped room in the building.”

“No shit,” Katsuki grunted. “Flatface is an idiot.”

“I see,” Momo said in understanding. “Blocking every single door off makes the only remaining door incredibly suspicious.”

Despite the blonde boy’s unfortunate disposition—and his tendency to lose all sense of reason when faced with Izuku Midoriya—he was startlingly brilliant. A sharp mind, impressive reflexes, and an overtly powerful quirk—what a dangerous combination.

“What are you looking at?” Katsuki snapped. “You damn extra.”

Izuku outright flinched at the words, attributing them to himself by some old reflex, but it was clear to everyone present that he hadn’t been talking to the green-haired boy at all.

“I was considering just how dangerous you would be as an opponent,” I said.

“You’re damn right,” Katsuki said, turning his head away. “You better not forget it.”

“I won’t,” I agreed.

Izuku let out an audible breath as the confrontation petered out, but I noted that he hadn’t taken his eyes off Katsuki for even a second. Tsuyu and Fumikage had reached the floor with the trap, and Hanta waited out of sight with an impressive display of stoicism, maintaining his hidden position without a struggle. I caught the moment where he detected their presence for the first time, the tall boy leaning all the way back into the corner to reduce his profile further—the two heroes paused just outside of the doorway, eyeing the empty space beyond with sharp eyes.

“Idiots,” Katsuki muttered.

The two seemed to speak quietly to one another for a moment before Fumikage continued on by himself. Tsuyu remained behind before stepping into the room, her stance low to the ground—she froze for a fleeting moment as she caught sight of the tape strung up in every high corner of the room, and then her head snapped backwards to look directly above her at the mass that was hanging there. Hanta pulled the thread, and the tape was ripped from the walls, drawing together in a cage that just managed to snag Tsuyu’s foot as she attempted to leap through the middle of it.

“There was capture tape mixed in with the rest.” All Might said, “Tsuyu Asui is defeated.”

Tsuyu hung in the middle of the room, entirely upside down and stunned by her sudden defeat. Fumikage paused at the top of the stairwell before turning his previously slow ascent into a full-on run as he came to the realisation that he was now all alone.

“That girl is fast, and if he’d been even a tenth of a second slower, she would have made it through,” Shoto said, speaking up. “It might have been obvious, but the trap itself was effective.”

“It was stupid,” Katsuki argued. “If they were going to face-check it, they should have sent in Birdbrain.”

Fumikage reached the floor where Eijiro was hiding with the warhead but continued straight upwards to the next level, working off the knowledge of the first test and entirely unaware that it had been moved. Hanta followed him up and then started blocking off the stairwell to prevent him from easily coming back down—it was overkill because the timer ran out before Fumikage had finished searching the top level. The announcer called out the villain’s victory, and Fumikage sighed when he realised he would need to destroy all of the tape in order to return back to the first floor.

“Well done to both teams, come on back,” All Might said, sounding a bit relieved. “Thank you for leaving the building intact—I do hope that tape comes off.”

They came down the stairs a few minutes later, with Eijiro having thrown his arm over Fumikage’s shoulder in a friendly display. Whatever tension—if any had existed in the aftermath at all—was already gone, with both teams in relatively high spirits.

“Now for the next round; Team C, Momo Yaoyorozu and Hisoka Higawara, you will be the villains,” All Might said, “Team G, Denki Kaminari and Kyoka Jiro will be the heroes—please follow the arrows to the new building.”

I pushed off the wall and fell into step with Momo as she moved towards the staircase, my mind already attacking the problem. This was an opportunity to establish myself to Momo as reliable, trustworthy and someone who was willing to work together towards a common goal, all of which would ensure that she continued to see me in a favourable light. That meant that the best way forward was to display a level of competence while helping to highlight her own contributions to solving the exercise.

“Momo,” I said as we crested the stairs. “Do you have any information about their quirks?”

Both Denki and Kyoka had been some of the ones who hadn’t used their quirks at all during Shota’s quirk test. It had left them filling up the bottom half of the ranking, but it had also given them an advantage here. Kyoka, at least, had a heteromorphic feature associated with her quirk—the two tendrils that hung from her ears, the shape a close match for what looked like an audio cable. That could have meant that she possessed the ability to interface with certain types of technology. The fact that she had integrated what appeared to be a set of speakers into her combat boots suggested a quirk that was related to sound—perhaps she had something similar to Present Mic.

“I’ve seen that Jiro is capable of hearing things at a great distance—it seems to require plugging those ear-jacks into something to pick up on the vibrations,” Momo said, pressing a knuckle against her lip in thought. “I’m not sure what Kaminari can do, but his costume must be a clue.”

Considering that the two of them had stopped just shy of the road and that Kyoka was now tethered to the inner wall of the staircase by one of her ear extrusions, I was pretty certain that they were already listening in on our conversation—whatever plan we came up with would be known as soon as we spoke it. I brought my hand up in front of my chest, palm facing upwards, and when Momo glanced over at the movement, I spelled out a message in the air.

“Kyoka is already listening in on us; I suggest we use this opportunity to misdirect them,” I wrote. “Do you have a way to respond without speaking out loud?”

The message was dispelled, and I let my hand fall back down to my side, my eyes still locked on the building ahead of us. My sand was already long present inside of it, and I continued my efforts to slowly thread it throughout all of the rooms. I used what I had left in the surveillance room to detail the angle of the cameras and built up a node of sand directly above each of them to mark their locations. Momo brought her own hand up in front of her, a marker silently emerging from her skin.

“The lightning motif points towards an electricity-based quirk, but that may just be a stylistic choice,” I said, speaking up to buy her time to write her own message out. “The exercise we performed yesterday does suggest that their physical attributes are mostly unaffected by their quirks.”

Momo finished writing out the short message on her palm and then held it out towards me; I reached out to take hold of her hand, carefully shifting it to see better. I had already read the actual message while she had still been in the process of writing it, but making positive physical contact was a good way to engineer trust—I nodded at what she had written down.

“I will create a decoy rocket with my quirk and place it on the top floor of the building,” Momo said, speaking up. “We will move the real one down to the bottom floor, in the back corner of the building, where they are unlikely to look for it.”

“The two of us stand with the decoy to make them believe it is the real one,” I said, as if in understanding. “What happens when they reach us?”

“They won’t be able to find the real rocket in time, so they’ll be forced to try and capture us,” Momo said, detailing the false plan. “At that point, we just need to keep away from them until the timer runs down.”

While we would be creating a decoy, everything that had been said was entirely for Kyoka’s benefit. The two of us made our way into the building and took possession of the warhead, which started the timer on our five minutes of preparation. Momo started the process of creating a modular version of the rocket before assembling the two dozen pieces together into a large but hollow object. I obscured the cameras on the top floor for just long enough to switch the real rocket with the fake one in the event that Kyoka was monitoring the rest of our class—who, in turn, were monitoring us—to avoid giving away the ruse before heading back downstairs. I placed the decoy rocket in the back corner of the building while Momo built up a series of point defences to block off access to the top floor and then reformed on the top floor just as the match officially started.

“Hisoka,” Momo asked, sounding almost hesitant. “Do you really think this will work?”

Considering that both Denki and Kyoka were cutting a path directly towards the back corner of the first floor, the success of the plan was already assured.

“You came up with a good plan,” I said, “You should believe in yourself more.”

Momo looked almost touched by the words, but my attention remained focused on the bottom floor—our two opponents were almost at the room with the decoy, the sand I’d threaded into the corners of every room, keeping a close watch on their progress. The sand above the door slowly crept downwards behind them, silently sealing the only exit.

“Well, this was easy,” Denki said, laughing. “They’re going to be so mad.”

“I feel kind of bad,” Kyoka admitted.

Completely unaware that they were now trapped in the room, the two of them stepped up to the warhead. Denki reached up to place his hand flat against it, and there was a long pause where they waited for the announcer to declare their victory—at which point the warhead exploded. The sand I’d filled it up with surged outwards, breaking apart the modular pieces and snatching hold of Denki. I dragged him inside of the mess—arcs of yellow electricity exploded off of him, striking at the unfeeling sand without effect. The force of it was enough to dislodge my grip, and Kyoka was now in danger of being caught in the attack.

I abandoned trying to restrain his limbs and simply swallowed him whole, expanding the sand to cover him entirely. Kyoka stumbled backwards across the room to escape both the sand and the electricity before spinning on her heel—she froze when she caught sight of the missing doorway and then let out a cry of terror as the mass of growing sand washed over her. It rose about her head in an instant, rising to press against the ceiling, and then, when there was no more space to fill, it stilled; the two of them struggled underneath the mass, entirely unable to move.

“Winner, Team C,” All Might said over the earpieces. “Come on back, everyone.”

I started vanishing the sand, drawing it away from the two I’d buried, and giving them the space to breathe once again—Momo was staring at me now, unaware of the exact details of the fight, stuck between the success of her plan, and at the sheer sudden nature of our victory.

“It really was a good plan,” I said.

Momo let out a startled laugh at the words, the rush of victory finally catching up to her—I smiled. We met with Kyoka and Denki at the front of the building. Denki seemed completely out of it like he couldn’t quite focus on what was going on around him, and Kyoka was trying to steer him back in the direction of the building—was that a normal after-effect of his quirk, or had he gone beyond his limit in order to try and dispel the sand?

“Denki,” I said, “Are you well?”

“Heh,” Denki noised, with a sluggish thumbs up. “Doing’ great—yeah.”

“He gets like this after he uses his quirk too much,” Kyoka said, sounding harried. “He warned me about it earlier.”

“Let me help,” Momo managed.

Momo swept in to assist the other girl in steering the blonde boy, and the two of them managed to get the boy moving in the right direction after a moment of verbal coercion. I fell into step behind them, content to bring up the rear of the party and walk at the pace they could manage. As we walked, I noticed that Kyoka kept glancing back at me, her body language suggesting that she was visibly uneasy with my presence behind her—I started to fall back, allowing them to gain some ground. It was clear that I had managed to upset her, either through the method we had used to defeat her team or perhaps by something else beyond my ability to observe without further information.

“You guys knew we were listening,” Kyoka said. “That’s why the decoy was on the bottom floor—it was a trap.”

“Yes, we figured you would be using your quirk,” Momo said, sounding a bit apologetic. “The real one was on the top floor with us.”

Kyoka glanced back over her shoulder again, and I slowed my walking pace a second time, allowing a greater gap to form. By the time we reached the stairs, Denki had recovered his faculties for the most part, seemingly embarrassed by his loss of composure. Momo went down with him, staying close enough to ensure he didn’t fall if he had another moment of dizziness, and I was left to stand with Kyoka at the entrance.

“That was—terrifying,” Kyoka said, not quite looking at me. “I couldn’t even breathe under all that sand.”

“I apologise for scaring you, Kyoka.” I said, “That wasn’t my intention.”

“Just—” Kyoka started, “Please don’t do anything like that to me again.”

I watched as she hurried down the stairs without another word from my place at the top, considering the request; it would make it more difficult to apprehend her during future exercises, but that was something I could work around if it came down to it. Once she had vanished from sight, I started down the stairs at a sedate pace, watching the interactions in the room beyond through the sand I had left behind—Denki was greeted with good-natured roughhousing by Rikido and Eijiro, the frazzled boy more than able to laugh off the defeat.

Momo seemed far more affected by the praise, seemingly embarrassed but proud of her success. Kyoka found herself dragged into a one-sided conversation with Mina as the energetic girl grilled her for information about how she even knew where the decoy had been to begin with. I timed my arrival while most of the room was distracted by the ongoing conversations and retook my position against the wall—Mezo caught my entrance from his position, and Toru’s uniform shifted enough that I suspected she had as well, but most of the others seemed unaware.

“Team F, Rikido Sato, and Koji Koda, you two are the villains for this match,” All Might said once he’d regained their attention. “Team E, Yuga Aoyama and Mina Ashido, you will be the heroes this time—go ahead now.”

“It’s finally our turn, Koda,” Rikido said with a cheer. “Are you ready for this?”

“Yes.” Koji managed, “But do we have to be the villains?”

“Absolutely,” All Might said, “No switching allowed, my students.”

Koji lumbered out after his teammate, head ducked low at the attention his question had drawn to him, but Rikido seemed to be entirely unaffected by it. Yuga and Mina gave chase, far more vibrant in their excitement.

“They’re going down,” Mina cried, “Let’s kick their asses, Aoyama.”

“With a team as fabulous as this,” Yuga said, practically sparkling. “How could we not?”

“Yaoyorozu,” Hanta said, “Can you explain how that trap worked?”

“Oh, I forgot that there was no sound coming through the monitor feed,” Momo said, smiling. “We were aware that Jiro was listening in on us, so we decided to make a fake plan for them to overhear.”

Kyoka had moved as soon as Mina had left the room and, in doing so, had put about as many people between us as she could have managed without requesting All Might to come over to our side of the room.

“I heard them say the real rocket would be on the first floor,” Kyoka said, “While the decoy would be on the top floor.”

“You couldn’t communicate the real plan verbally,” Shoto said, “So you used some kind of non-verbal method.”

There hadn’t been any cameras between this building and the one we had completed the exercise within, so they hadn’t had a chance to observe us during the planning phase, but they seemed to follow it without any hint of difficulty. The students here were so much sharper, more intelligent or equipped with a higher level of perception than what I was used to, with all of them seemingly able to pick up on a lot of the details that most people just glossed over. It was so interesting to just watch them make the connections in real-time, and I had a strange feeling rising up inside of me—for the first time, I was starting to feel as if maybe this really was where I was supposed to be.

“Hisoka used his quirk to write a message in the air with sand,” Momo said, “I used my own to create a marker and then wrote a response.”

Momo held her hand up, showing the singular word that was written in black marker across her palm—Ambush.

“You filled the decoy with sand, and then when they went to take it, you were in the perfect position to attack while they were entirely off guard,” Fumikage said, “That was an exceptionally well-thought-out plan, Yaoyorozu.”

Momo glanced around for a moment, attempting to locate where I was—and when she finally spotted me leaning beside the doorway, she smiled.

“That would have caught me for sure,” Eijiro said in agreement. “That was a lot of sand, too—”

“Where are all of these birds coming from?” Tsuyu asked.

The question was well-timed enough to draw the attention off of me, and I returned my focus to the monitors—sure enough, there were dozens of birds flocking around the building, the vast majority of which were swooping in through the windows of the top floor to surround the rocket. Rikido had actually picked the rocket up and had the thing resting against his shoulder. The birds began to flood down the stairs, breaking off in pairs of twos to enter each of the rooms until every single one was accounted for. Rikido had already showcased his quirk during the previous test, and it was an entirely physically augmented one—which meant that the birds were the result of Koji Koda activating his own. He was either creating bird-shaped constructs that were indistinguishable from regular birds, or he was actively controlling the birds that already existed in the area.

The spread of them suggested an attempt at an early warning system and a way to keep track of where their opponents were inside the building. Combined with Rikido carrying the warhead, the plan was clear—they would stay mobile and use the birds to track their opponents in order to stay away from them. Yuga’s quirk would have no bearing on the outcome of this match unless they somehow managed to locate the boys, which meant that unless Mina had a quirk that would allow them to bridge the gap, they would likely lose.

“Koji is responsible for the birds,” I said. “The villains are going to win.”

“Yeah,” Toru agreed.

“How do you know?” Denki asked. “They haven’t even entered the building yet.”

“Koji is using the birds as an early warning system; they will act as a way to track the heroes as they progress through the building,” I said, speaking up. “They will use the information to avoid the other team entirely, likely keeping several floors between them at all times, while Rikido will use his strength to carry the bomb.”

“That’s what the birds are for?” Eijiro wondered.

“Look at how they are spread out,” Izuku said, speaking up. “Each one is placed with a good view of the main hallways, stairwells and each of the rooms—the positioning only makes sense if they are for surveillance.”

“The shitty nerd is right,” Katsuki said, “You really can’t see that?”

“Well, I see it now,” Eijiro said, a bit sheepish. “How are they reporting the information, though?”

“Koda has a bird on his shoulder,” Toru said, “He’s probably talking to it somehow, and then the other birds whistle or make calls to each other to spread the information.”

“Damn,” Eijiro said, impressed. “Koda is pretty cool.”

The two heroes entered the building together, and almost immediately, they noticed the first bird sitting up on the door jam—they paused at the sight of it and seemed to write it off. Three birds later, they had clearly realised what was going on, and their careful search of the area turned into a run. Mina went to the east staircase, and Yuga broke off halfway, going for the one at the opposite side of the building—splitting up to cover more ground and stop the villains from slipping past them. It was a good strategy, but one that failed on two distinct parts; the first was that they were asynchronous in which rooms they searched along the way, and the second was that Mina was far, far faster than Yuga. By the time Mina had reached the fifth floor—only searching every third room—Yuga was just finishing up his systematic search of the second.

Koji and Rikido moved with the confidence that came with knowing their opponent’s exact locations, slipping down the west staircase to avoid Mina coming up from that floor and then crossing to the opposite one before continuing down, easily sneaking past Yuga with an entire floor as a buffer. Then, they posted up on the bottom floor, in the room directly to the left of the front entrance, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. With the birds in place, there was no real way for Mina or Yuga to deal with them all; they simply didn’t have a reliable method of dealing with them in the time available, and the most effective method of killing the birds was far outside of the range of actions a teenager would take—

“Idiots,” Katsuki said, “Should have just killed the damn birds.”

—far outside of the range of actions a normal teenager would take. Mostly because it would absolutely get them in trouble with the school.

“Killing the birds would get you kicked out of the hero track,” Toru said, crossing her gloves. “Idiot.”

“Huh?” Katsuki said, glaring at her. “You want to talk shit—get a damn body first.”

“Well, that’s rude,” Tsuyu said, with a rumble in her throat. “She has a body; you just can’t see it.”

“Like I give a damn,” Katsuki said.

“I do not think they will be able to find them in time,” Fumikage said, speaking up. “Even if Yuga started running as well, there are too many ways for them to slip past, and without a reliable method to track them, they are stuck.”

At this point, the only way they could possibly lose was if they deliberately revealed themselves, and that seemed unlikely. I watched as they ran down the timer as Mina put her athleticism to good use, making it all the way to the top floor and then back down to the fifth floor before it ran out. Yuga just reached the top floor as the announcement was made—the boy simply flipped his hair with his hand and then started back down the staircase, smiling all the way. Mina collapsed to her knees in disappointment, having never once seen the enemy throughout the entire exercise. The four of them returned in two groups, and once everyone had arrived, All Might addressed them all.

“Well done, all of you; that was a fantastic showcase of what you are all capable of,” All Might said, “Do not be disheartened by a loss, for that is what this training is for to learn from our mistakes, to better ourselves, and to push past our limits—plus ultra.”

All Might thrust his hand up into the air alongside the school motto, and a couple of the rowdier students joined in with the man.

“Now, please return to the classroom and change back into your normal uniform,” All Might said, “Replace your costumes into the cases, and if they are damaged, they will be repaired by the students of our Support Department.”

All Might rushed everyone out of the monitor room without delay. As the class vanished out of the entrance to Training Ground Beta, I noticed that Izuku was approaching Tsuyu with his notepad in hand, the boy clearly intending to ask her about the details of her quirk. My own attention shifted back to the spread of sand I’d left behind on the monitors, and I witnessed the moment that All Might slumped down onto the swivel chair. The man burst into thick, obstructive steam, and when it cleared, that same sickly, emaciated form had returned. He was breathing heavily now; the unseen strain left him with sweat beading down his face from his hair as the man swam amidst the previously form-fitting costume—All Might was sick, that much was clear, or at the very least, labouring under the effects of some cursed quirk.

Had the strain of performing his hero’s duties become too much for the pillar of peace? Was his appearance at U.A. High School a result of this exact injury—or was All Might, the number one hero in Japan, actually dying?

#

U.A High School, Musutafu.

I stepped out of the front gates of U.A. High School, still wearing the gym clothing from our last class of the day. The rankings from our very first day continued to hold true as an accurate display of the class and its overall physical capabilities. The class had been pure conditioning, something which left Mezo Shoji as the one at the very top of each of the mundane exercises. The tasks themselves weren’t anything outside of what I was already used to, but it was clear that I was only in the middle of the pack as far as conditioning really went, and I would need to improve that if I wanted to excel. I was also interested in the promise of the next class, in which we would start practising physical techniques and actually engaging in sparring.

I’d already seen that both Katsuki and Izuku were adept and that Mashirao had been easily able to break down the techniques being used by both—I wanted to test myself against those my own age and to see exactly what all of that time smashing my limbs apart had really placed me amongst them. The platform was packed with students, just as it had been the first day, and a non-trivial amount of adults, either parents or family members of the students, came to meet them halfway. I followed the crowd into the train, content to stand in the middle of the aisle until I reached my own stop. My mind was drifting back towards the ongoing investigation when Eijiro finally spotted me and then immediately moved to clap me on the shoulder in greeting.

“Eijiro,” I said.

“Hey man,” Eijiro said, “I thought it was you—the posture gave it away.”

Body posture was one of those unique identifiers that would allow a person to distinguish a known person from a distance without much in the way of other information, so it was unsurprising that he had used it to locate me amidst all of these people. I had not yet been this close to Eijiro, so I hadn’t had the chance to see that the roots of his hair and eyebrows were actually black.

“I was under the impression that your hair colour was naturally red,” I said with interest. “Why do you dye it?”

Eijiro reached up to mess up the back of his hair, looking a bit sheepish at the question.

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“You’re the first person here to notice that,” Eijiro said, “Have you ever heard of the hero Crimson Riot?”

“I am aware of him,” I said, “I do not know much beyond his name and colour scheme—his primary colour is red.”

“Yeah, well, he was a big inspiration to me growing up,” Eijiro said, clenching his hand into a fist. “I wanted to reinvent myself to be more like him, and this was something I could do straight away—now I just kind of like it.”

It wasn’t unusual to want to emulate those who were respected or looked up to in media or even in everyday life—I’d done it to some extent with Uncle Sajin, not physically, perhaps, as Eijiro had done, but mentally. I absorbed as much of the man’s advice, teachings, and experiences as I could in an attempt to bake them into myself.

“I know it looks strange,” Eijiro said. “But—you know.”

“I think it looks nice,” I said, smiling. “Eijiro, were you aware that there is a salon in Tokyo that does permanent hair colour changes? It works via a woman’s quirk, affecting a biokinetic change to the structure of the hair.”

“Is there really?” Eijiro said.

“Yes,” I said, “My Aunt goes there whenever she wants to change her hair colour.”

“I used to go to Tokyo all the time, but I’ve never heard of a place like that,” Eijiro said with interest. “It’s about an hour and a half away from here—say, you want to come with me? We can make a trip out of it.”

I blinked at the sudden and entirely unexpected offer—it was highly unusual for anyone to ask me to do something outside of school. There were only two times that it had happened after Nanami had vanished, and both times had ended poorly. I had no reason to go to Tokyo, but refusing the offer would be rude, and perhaps I could use this as a basis to engineer a trip in a much more useful direction somewhere down the line—like somewhere close to Shimoda. If I could establish a habit of going on trips with classmates for reasons that belonged to them and not myself, then I could use that framework in the future to my advantage.

“You look way too focused right now,” Eijiro said, “You alright there, man?”

“Yes, I will accompany you to Tokyo,” I said, nodding, “Perhaps it would be nice if you asked some others from our class to accompany us.”

Dispersing the attention into a larger group would allow more of an opportunity to slip away than a small, more focused group.

“I’ll ask around,” Eijiro said, flashing a smile. “I’ll send Ashido a message; she’s always talking about Tokyo, so she might be down—what’s your number?”

I recited it for him from memory, then watched as he typed it into his contact list—a moment later, my own phone vibrated in response to the test message he had sent.

“Is there anyone you want to invite?” Eijiro asked.

The larger the group, the better, but if this was to become a regular occurrence, then the core group of participants needed to get along well enough to want to do this a second time. That meant choosing those who would benefit from the interaction and would continue seeking it out in the future.

“Do you have Tsuyu’s number?” I asked. “I think she would appreciate the invitation.”

“I haven’t had a chance to speak to her that much yet,” Eijiro admitted, “Ashido probably has it already, though—let me ask real quick—where do you live, anyway?”

I watched as he typed out a request for Tsuyu’s number before sending it off to Ashido without even a single second of contemplation and wondered at the ease by which he could so easily navigate the social situation.

“Musutafu,” I said. “I will be leaving at the next stop.”

“Oh, that’s convenient,” Eijiro said, glancing out of the window for a moment. “I’m from Chiba, but I moved to Hamamatsu, so I didn’t have to take a three-hour train every day.”

“Chiba,” I said, “You lived quite close to Tokyo.”

“Yeah, my family took me there all the time,” Eijiro said, “I’ll show you all of the cool spots, so don’t worry.”

I hadn’t been at all concerned about that, but having a guide in an unfamiliar location would only serve to make the situation easier to navigate. Eijiro rechecked his phone as a new notification came through before tapping out a new message and then nodded—my phone buzzed in my pocket again.

“Okay, she sent me the number, and now you have it,” Eijiro said with ease. “Ashido says she wants to come with us, and she’s going to ask some of the others as well.”

For a moment, I marvelled at his sheer ability to just outright talk to people with no strategy, deception or subterfuge. Eijiro just said what he wanted with a sort of genuine friendliness that was far beyond me, and then people seemed to play along without being put off at all—it reminded me painfully of Nanami and how easy she had always found this kind of thing.

“This is my stop,” I said, entirely off balance. “I have to go.”

“I’ll send you a message later,” Eijiro said in parting. “Talk to you soon, man.”

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

“There were a few moments like that at Shiketsu, but they weren’t on the same kind of level,” Sajin admitted, frowning now. “This boy destroyed the entire building with a single punch?”

“The structure of the building survived intact, but the wind force of the punch penetrated seven floors without slowing down,” I said, clarifying. “He didn’t even need to make physical contact with anything in order to generate the attack.”

“That’s an obscene level of strength for a teenager to have access to,” Sajin said. “If it had actually hit the other kid, what do you think would have happened?”

“Either of the attacks would have been lethal if they had made contact.” I said, “In the case of Izuku Midoriya, his own body doesn’t seem capable of withstanding his own power—his arm was completely destroyed simply from throwing the punch.”

Sajin shook his head again at the words, looking unsettled by it all.

“All Might was there, at least, so he could have stepped in if he had needed to,” Sajin said, “If anyone knows anything about controlling their strength, it’s him.”

Even with the strange circumstances surrounding All Might’s bodily state, he had shown that he could cross that kind of distance in less than three seconds, but even that wouldn’t have saved Katsuki if the punch had been aimed at him instead of the ceiling—the man had only gone to intervene after the building had been falling apart.

“Uncle Sajin,” I said in consideration. “There is something wrong with All Might.”

The statement disrupted the flow of conversation entirely, putting a direct stop to the previous stream of questions. It was possible that I was acting prematurely here because further investigation might reveal that my read of the situation was completely off, but there was no better time for me to ask.

“In what way?” Sajin asked.

“I was observing the hallway outside of our classroom with a remote node of sand, and during that time, I witnessed a man approach,” I said, “At first, I thought it was a cosplayer that had broken into the school because he was wearing an All Might costume that was far too big for him.”

Sajin remained silent at the words, and I did my best to condense the entire situation into something understandable.

“The man was emaciated, blonde and sickly, but just as he reached our hallway, he transformed into an exact replica of All Might,” I said, “At first, I thought it was an actor hired to play the role while the real hero was off performing some other task of higher priority.”

Sajin’s eyes were sharp now, shifting from the concern that had predated it into something far more intense.

“I could see that happening if he was called away to take down a villain in the vicinity,” Sajin said, “But that’s not the end of the story, is it?”

“No, it’s not; I maintained surveillance on him in the event that it was something I needed to report to the school,” I said, “During the battle training I just described, he moved from the monitoring room to the site of the battle in less than three seconds—something that would have been impossible if it had been an actor with an appearance changing quirk.”

Sajin interlaced his fingers in front of his moustache and closed his eyes.

“I continued to track him after the training had ended to ensure that a swap hadn’t somehow taken place during those three seconds, but the man transformed back into the emaciated form in private,” I said, “Once you have seen both forms, it’s possible to notice just how similar they are in feature, and how the drastic change in body weight changes the shape of his face.”

“What’s your conclusion?” Sajin asked.

“Considering everything I’ve seen, it is clear to me that All Might is extremely sick or under the effects of a quirk that cannot be removed,” I said, “It seems to cause immense strain for him to remain in his muscular form, and that the longer he spends using it, the more it builds until he is forced to return to the weakened state.”

“He’s chosen to pull back from being a full-time hero to teach at U.A High School, so this might be his transition to retirement.” Sajin said, “How sick do you think he is?”

“I think he may be dying,” I said, “The change in body weight is alarming to witness.”

“It’s that bad?” Sajin said. “People have been talking about him retiring for years, but it’s always been an age thing—the guy is older than I am, and heroes can’t be young forever.”

While it wasn’t exactly confirmed how old All Might was, the best estimates put him somewhere in the range of late forties to early fifties; there had been many articles over the years speculating about retirement, but he’d never addressed any of them. The monstrously sized man had always looked so timeless and healthy that it was easy to forget that he even experienced something as mundane as aging.

“All Might is the number one hero in Japan, and he’s known all over the world,” Sajin said, “There’s going to be some pretty bad backlash if he retires—sick or otherwise.”

“Backlash?” I asked.

“The first thing that comes to mind is that the villains that were previously wary of acting will become emboldened, and there will be an immediate uptick in crime as soon as the story gets coverage,” Sajin said, shaking his head. “They’ll come crawling out of the woodwork.”

“If that does happen,” I said, “Are there currently any threats that the other heroes in the top ten listings couldn’t deal with in his absence?”

“There are a couple of dangerous ones that are still running around uncaught that would give them some trouble,” Sajin said, closing his eyes for a moment. “Chimera could probably give a few of the top ten a run for their money. Muscular has been sighted recently, and Stain has been developing a reputation for killing heroes—nobody knows how strong he is yet, but he’s lethal.”

I’d heard of Chimera before; there was an incident over a year ago, and the monster of a man had ended up decimating several teams of local heroes, the police, and all of the buildings in the area. He hadn’t been seen since, but he was definitely someone who was beyond the vast majority of currently active heroes.

“If he’s sneaking around, then this is most likely considered classified information at this point, so none of this information can go to anyone except the two of us,” Sajin said, “If you think anyone else has figured out his secret, come tell me, and we’ll go talk to him in person about it.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Thanks for coming to me with this, Hisoka,” Sajin said before letting out a long breath. “If word gets out that he’s not on top of his game right now, then some of those villains might actually take a shot at him—let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.”

#

Train, Musutafu.

I noticed Tsuyu the moment I stepped onto the train, but I kept my eyes facing the windows and made no attempt to pinpoint her through the mess of people. Unlike the last time, in which she had waited several minutes in order to build up some kind of confidence to approach, this time, she cut a path directly towards me without waiting. The set of her shoulders—namely the way she was pulling them back to make herself seem taller—and the way she had her hands clamped into tiny fists at her sides was enough to know that some kind of confrontation was about to occur—which was a problem because I had absolutely no idea what I might have done to engineer it.

“Hisoka,” Tsuyu said, with a rumble in her throat. “Did you ask for my phone number from Ashido?”

I turned towards her at the sound of her voice, acknowledging the complete lack of a greeting and the way she was ever-so-slightly swaying with the motions of the train to maintain her rigid posture. The thrust of the question was at odds with what had actually happened, and even if I had asked for her number, I couldn’t immediately discern why that would have been a mistake—I had evidently stepped into a social landmine of some kind.

“Good morning, Tsuyu,” I said, “I didn’t ask for your phone number at all, but I can describe the exact sequence of events that led to me receiving it.”

Tsuyu maintained her rigid stance and said nothing, clearly allowing me the chance to offer up that information.

“Eijiro asked if I wanted to invite anyone with us on a weekend trip to Tokyo, and I suggested that you might like to come with us; without my prompting, he asked for and received your number from Ashido before sending it to me via a text message,” I said, studying her face. “I initially intended on speaking with you today in person to ask whether or not you would be interested in coming—I apologise if I have made you feel uncomfortable.”

Tsuyu stared at me for a few long moments before another rumble in her throat broke her stoicism, and she glanced away for a moment.

“Ashido teased me about it,” Tsuyu said, “Can you tell me more about this trip?”

“There is a hair salon in Tokyo that performs cosmetic changes, and Eijiro has expressed a desire to permanently change his hair colour to red,” I said, “We haven’t spoken about the details of the trip beyond that, but I imagine there will be several other stops in the city.”

The train curved around a corner, and the both of us glanced down the length of it as it swerved sickeningly away, the optical illusion shifting everyone around in a ripple of motion before it corrected itself.

“I wasn’t aware that his hair wasn’t naturally that colour.” Tsuyu said, “I thought it was a result of his quirk.”

I nodded at the comment because I had initially assumed it was a heteromorphic trait, but before I could speak up to address it, Tsuyu jolted in place—

“Why did you tell Midoriya to ask me about my quirk?” Tsuyu asked.

There was an accusation embedded in the question, one that seemed to be only partially concealed and only as an afterthought—it was another landmine going off beneath me. That was two different times I’d had another person interact with her for some purpose, and considering that she was aware of both, it must have contributed to whatever this was.

“Izuku asked a question about it during class, and I suggested that he ask you in person for more information rather than the two of us speculating about it in front of everyone when neither of us knew the correct answer,” I said, “You entertained my own interest in the subject, so I assumed that you would be willing to talk to him about it.”

I studied her face closely in an attempt to figure out exactly what was the crux of this interaction, but she was deliberately going out of her way to keep what she was feeling from showing on her face. It was clear to me, however, that she was attempting to discern something from me as well. My best guess at this point was that she had identified some kind of pattern in my behaviour as an attack, and this was her attempt to derail anything further from occurring—

“The boy that you told me about, the one who was picked on by the other students,” Tsuyu said, furrowing her brow. “What did you think of him?”

Everything clicked into place—she was under the impression that my actions were all strung together by the intent to bully her. From my perspective, with the benefit of having my motives and reasoning on hand, it made very little sense, but if I modelled it from hers, it fit together almost perfectly. We had only a few novel interactions with one another, and in the very first one, I had asked her about her vocal tic before making a comparison to someone I had seen before who was treated poorly for a similar attribute. I had asked a number of personal questions that she had answered very forthrightly, something which I’d taken as confidence, or at least comfort with the topic. Izuku and I had spoken about the details of her quirk behind her back before I had sent him to question her in person. Then, she came to understand that I had socially maneuvered in a way as to receive her phone number without asking her directly, and she had then been teased about the interaction to some unknown extent by Mina as a result—a series of small, but rapid strikes that had left her feeling targeted in the same way she must have perceived the boy in the story I had spoken about.

“I always thought that he looked very lonely,” I said, “Tsuyu, I think I’ve given you the wrong impression; I’m not trying to pick on you.”

Tsuyu let out a disconcerted rumble as I dragged the real subject of our conversation out into the light, visibly unready for the conversation to focus on it without the obscurity—but still, she rose to the occasion, squaring her shoulders and becoming far more direct in turn.

“What are you trying to do?” Tsuyu asked.

“I am attempting to befriend you,” I said, “Although this has never been something I have had much success with.”

There was a short pause at the words, and the two of us stood amidst the mess of people in the carriage, staring at one another as everyone pretended they weren’t hanging on every single word of our conversation.

“Oh,” Tsuyu said, “Why me in particular?”

“Because,” I said, “You also looked lonely.”

#

U.A High School, Musutafu.

Tsuyu seemed vaguely embarrassed by how the conversation had gone, although that may have been a result of the indigo-haired third-year girl who had started cooing at us. I followed her out of the carriage without comment, attention now focused on the crowd that seemed to have formed outside of the station and in front of the gates to U.A High School—it was actually locked down with a thick, segmented door blocking anyone from entering the school proper.

“Reporters,” Tsuyu said, “Did something happen?”

I scattered some sand on the ground with each step, sending it weaving between the feet of students to climb up over the wall—Shota Aizawa was standing on the other side of the gate, his arms crossed over his chest and an expression that looked distinctly annoyed covering his face. He was accompanied by several of the masked guards who usually kept the entrance secured, with the group simply watching the locked gate from the inside. The influx of students from the station caught the attention of the reporters. Within a few moments, I found that a woman had locked eyes with me and was coming towards us with her cameraman in tow. Tsuyu let out a rumble of unease as the swift approach—

“Yui Sado from NHA News—what is it like to have the symbol of peace teaching you?” Yui said, stuffing the microphone near my face. “Tell me everything.”

I came to a stop in front of her before turning to face her more completely and then considered the question for a moment.

“All Might is a professional with an abundance of knowledge and decades of experience in the field,” I said, “There would be few others who could boast such a successful career; we are very lucky to have such a qualified instructor.”

The woman’s eyes seemed to light up at the answer, and she started nodding along as I spoke before pulling the microphone back to capture her own voice once more.

“What is All Might like inside of the classroom?” Yui asked.

“He is as boisterous as he is everywhere else, but if you are asking more about his teaching methods, he offers a lot of encouragement and is quite patient,” I said, “I apologise, but our class will be starting very soon, so I only have time for one more question.”

“I see that he’s made quite the impression on the newest students already,” Yui said, glancing up in thought. “Tell me—is he your favourite instructor?”

“We have not been here for the full week yet, so I believe there are still two more instructors that we have yet to meet,” I said, “If I had to choose now, I would say that Midnight is my favourite instructor—her introductory class was extremely engaging.”

I bowed to the reporter and then stepped around her, with Tsuyu following close behind. Yui made no further attempt to impede us, instead turning to address the camera once again, and we stepped through the gate as it was briefly opened to allow us entrance. Shota met us on the other side, looking as if he’d had roughly zero hours of sleep—

“That’s the last of my class,” Shota said, speaking with one of the guards. “You two follow me—damn reporters, what a nuisance.”

We followed him all the way back to the classroom to find that the rest of the class was already seated and waiting. I took my seat without comment, still watching the reporters crowding the entrance through the sand orbs I’d left behind. They seemed more than intent on getting some more interviews, and the older students seemed to be lingering out there to talk to them—All Might teaching at U.A. High School was one of the biggest stories in recent memory, so I could understand why they were so interested.

“I’ve been looking over the evaluations for the battle training you underwent yesterday, and you all performed well—a few incidents aside,” Shota said, “You’re still untrained, so it’s to be expected, I suppose.”

The events in question were most likely the reckless destruction of several buildings and the injuries that Izuku had inflicted upon himself.

“Bakugo,” Shota said.

The suddenness of the call-out had the boy sitting up straight in his chair, entirely unready for the attention to fall upon him.

“You’re not a child anymore, so grow up.” Shota said, “Abandoning the mission parameters during a training simulation to deal out some petty schoolyard revenge is beneath you, and it’s a complete waste of your potential—I’m not going to let this slide again, got it?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki managed through gritted teeth. “I got it.”

“Midoriya, you should know that I hate repeating myself,” Shota said, eyes shifting over to land on the boy. “You ended up destroying your arm again, which makes it twice now, even discounting your finger; you better learn to control your quirk soon because lashing out in desperation when you’re cornered is going to get you killed.”

Izuku swallowed at the words.

“You have the potential to be a good hero, but only if you overcome this,” Shota said, studying him. “You better start working harder.”

“Yes, sir,” Izuku squeaked. “I will.”

Shota flipped over a piece of paper on his desk and then let out a sigh.

“Sorry for the sudden announcement, but today you’ll be picking a class president,” Shota said, “They’ll be the ones responsible for handling all of the interpersonal issues and keeping you all organised from here on.”

“Wow,” Mina said, “I was expecting something way more heroey.”

“That’s not a real word,” Tsuyu said.

“Sure it is—” Mina said, before pausing, “I want to be the leader.”

The room descended into anarchy as everyone simultaneously asserted their desire to become the class president. I watched it with interest, finding it completely at odds with every other classroom I had been inside of in the past. Every other class that had needed to take a vote for the class president had been an entirely one-sided thing, with a singular candidate sticking their hand up for consideration or, in some cases, a random person being assigned the duty when nobody volunteered. There was far more ambition being contained within this class than all of my previous classrooms put together. This was a class filled with students who had managed to make it into one of the best schools in the world. It made sense that they were assertive, driven, and looking for more responsibility to take on—being the class president in U.A High School was probably something you could put on a resume when you applied for a hero agency.

“Leading a class of heroes in training is a heavy responsibility,” Tenya cried out, standing up to tower over his desk in his passion. “But ambition does not equate to ability.”

The rest of the class quietened down at the words, ceding the floor to his confidence, and Tenya cleared his throat.

“This sacred office demands the trust of its constituents.” Tenya insisted, “If this is to be a democracy, then I put forward this motion—our true leader must be chosen by election.”

“This isn’t Congress, dude.” Denki said, alarmed, “It’s just a classroom.”

“Ida, we haven’t had sufficient time to get to know each other,” Tsuyu pointed out, “How would we be able to make an informed decision when it comes time to vote?”

“Yeah,” Eijiro said, adding his own voice to the mess. “Everyone is just going to vote for themselves anyway.”

Ida reached up to fix his glasses on his nose, and they seemed to flash with a dangerous light.

“Which is precisely why anyone who does manage to convince multiple people to vote for them will be the best-suited for the responsibility,” Tenya said in answer, “Teacher, will you allow this?”

“Whatever,” Shota said without care. “Just do it quickly—we do have other things to do today, you know?”

Tenya took the words to heart and quickly fell upon the task with an impressive enthusiasm. Within a minute, everyone was writing down their votes and passing the folded papers to the front of the room for the tall boy to collect.

“I will begin tallying the votes,” Tenya said, opening the first of them. “The first vote is for Izuku Midoriya.”

“It’s for me?” Izuku managed.

“It’s for him?” Bakugo snapped, “Who the hell voted for Deku?”

Despite being at the very back of the room and far outside of the angry boy’s line of sight, Ochaco ducked down as if to hide from him, looking visibly embarrassed—it seemed clear to me that she was responsible for that specific vote. The rest of the votes were read out one after another, and each one tallied beside the respective name on the board at the front of the room. Tenya seemed to grow progressively more defeated as it became clear that his own name was left entirely unmarked. The boy lifted up the very last vote with shaking hands and turned it to face the rest of the class—I recognised it immediately as my own handwriting.

“Tenya Ida,” Tenya managed, “I—I actually got a vote.”

I was genuinely confused as to why nobody else had voted for him because he was clearly one of the best examples of leadership in the class and had a temperament that fit the role well. He was polite, confident, and committed to keeping things running; there were very few here who would be a better match. This entire vote was an example of his aptitude in this area, having pulled everyone into an efficient method for solving who would become the class president—more surprising than Tenya Ida, only having received a singular vote, was that my own name was up on the board with two.

“Ida,” Denki said, with affected sadness. “Did you vote for yourself?”

“Of course not—” Tenya managed.

“The vote seems pretty clear; the president is Midoriya,” Shota said without care. “You have two people with two votes each—Yaoyorozu, Higawara, decide amongst yourselves who is the vice president.”

“I do not wish to be the vice president,” I said, speaking up. “I would like to withdraw my name from the running.”

My resignation seemed to draw far more attention than I had expected, with just about everyone turning to look at me. The fact that two of these people had attempted to vote me into a leadership role was surprisingly unnerving—just what had they expected to gain by doing so?

“What?” Tenya said, alarmed, “Higawara, why would you drop out?”

“Hisoka,” Momo started, her brow furrowing in concern. “If you are dropping out because of the statues—”

Momo had been one of the people most enthusiastic about the vote and had clearly desired to see her own name up for consideration. It seemed odd to me that she would assume I was withdrawing because I didn’t want to come into direct conflict with her rather than some other reason—perhaps my request regarding the statues was something that was already on her mind, and so she had inadvertently drawn that connection?

“I am not withdrawing for that reason,” I said, “My vote went to whom I believed to be the best candidate for this position—and I am not that person.”

“Higawara has withdrawn, and Yaoyorozu is the vice president,” Shota said, “Finally, now it’s time to move on.”

#

Cafeteria, Musutafu.

Students of all shapes and sizes filled the cafeteria, and it felt as if every direction I looked, there was some quirk of biology that was new to discover. Bright, bizarre hairstyles that defied the laws of physics and a face with novel features that could have only come from deliberate design. One boy sat, with two tomoe on his forehead—one black and one white—with no eyebrows and no visible hair on his body. Another had a metal head cover embedded directly into his flesh in a shape that was far too close to that of a knight’s helmet for it to have arrived there via a biological process.

The boy’s eyes were visible as large white disks, shrouded in shadow and with no real clue as to how he could even see without a way to interpret the incoming light. I could have spent an eternity in this room, pressing each of them for the details of how they existed within the greater society and what oddities they had to deal with in their daily lives in order to simply function. But I had only spent at most three minutes in the room before a loud, shrill alarm burst to life all across the campus—

“Level three security has been broken,” A woman’s voice spoke, “All students, please evacuate to the field outside the lobby in an orderly fashion until the situation has been dealt with.”

The voice was quiet, monotone, and almost soothing, but even that did nothing to quell the sudden rush of motion. Every single person in the cafeteria was already on their feet, moving with a suddenness that perhaps predicted their future careers as world-class first responders, but without the full composure they would each grow into throughout adulthood. I remained at my table, unwilling to move into the flood of panicked bodies and fight through the mess when the instructions were so clear.

The floating uniform that had been standing two tables away was caught in the rush of students, knocked off balance, and then obscured as the owner fell beneath the stampede—sand washed outwards from my outstretched hand, twisting into a series of thin streams that surged across the room, inches above the floor. The three tendrils weaved between the shifting feet of our peers and then caught her around the waist before she could be trampled beneath them—the more granular spread of sand in the air allowed me to distinguish her invisible limbs, and for a moment, I could see that Toru Hagakure had been covering her head in an attempt to protect herself—I expanded the other two tendrils to create a buffer zone between her and the surrounding students, allowing her the chance to regain her balance.

Once she was back on her feet, resettled and braced against those around her, I started to withdraw my support, allowing the tendrils to dissipate—she snatched hold of a handful of it before it had entirely disappeared and then vanished into the mess of students once again. I tracked her progress through the now densely packed column of students, the sand trapped within her grasp a beacon of light within my mind. I rose to my feet as the end of the column finally made it into the hallway and came to stand behind the last of them, helping two more students maintain their balance amongst the reckless storm of people—one of which somehow left a spread of fungi growing on the ring of sand I had used to shield the remarkably short girl.

I wasn’t the only one trying to help, noting that Eijiro had one of his arms pinned flat against the wall above Kyoka’s head, his quirk engaged as he served as an immovable barrier between her and the other students as she attempted to fight her way back to her feet. Likewise, Tenya—visibly under the effects of Ochaco’s quirk—was now spinning through the air above the crowd, using the engines on his legs as a form of thrust to direct himself towards the far end of the hall. The tall boy landed on top of the exit sign and locked his feet in place to keep himself there. Tenya’s chest expanded as he drew in a massive breath—

“Everyone,” Tenya cried out, the volume dominating the overlapping voices of the crowd. “Everything is fine, and there is no need to panic—the press that was at the gate this morning has most likely triggered the alarm.”

It had an immediate effect on the crowd, with everyone turning to look up at him and the vast majority of the students slowing down to see him better.

“We are the students of the illustrious U.A. High School, and we must behave in a way that is befitting of our station,” Tenya cried, “We must act responsibly, safely and ensure that we remain calm—please proceed more carefully.”

There was a level of visceral satisfaction at seeing the candidate I had voted for performing so well under the pressure of a situation that required leadership and, beyond that, a vindication that out of everyone within our class, Tenya had been the one capable of generating the level of command needed here. I watched as the effect of his words washed over the crowd and how the mania that had taken them was replaced by a more serious but still urgent atmosphere. Within two minutes, the entire mass of students had spilled out into the field, a cage of instructors and guards ringing the outside of the assembly.

Tenya—once again, without being asked—led the charge to start organising the students by class and year in an attempt to make the process of marking off attendance easier for the teachers. As soon as it became clear what he was doing, the other class leaders began taking charge as well, and I found myself carefully picking my way from the back corner of the mass to where Class 1-A was being corralled. The beacon that Toru still had clasped in her hand was now angling towards me from behind, following me from a deliberately maintained distance. I came to a stop, and she stopped in almost perfect sync—my first thought was that she was performing some kind of surveillance, but the fact that she was still holding onto my sand shifted my perspective away from that track. I turned to look directly at her through the two dozen bodies, and I felt her hand tense up—Toru started forward a moment later, no longer attempting to hide, and I watched her approach.

“Our class is being assembled ahead of us on the south side of the field,” I said in greeting. “I can see Mezo from here.”

“That’s not how you know where they are,” Toru said.

While the boy actually was in the line of sight—because of his prodigious height—she was correct; that wasn’t how I was navigating the crowd. The question of how she had determined that was already clear; she had kept hold of the sand to ascertain whether or not I could find her through it, and by going out of my way to make it known that I knew where she was, I had confirmed exactly that.

“I was wondering why you decided to hold onto my sand,” I said in agreement. “You must have already possessed an idea of that element of my quirk before seeking to test it.”

“During the battle training, you knew exactly when Kaminari and Jiro entered the room, and then you attacked them,” Toru said, “Despite the fact you were still standing on the top floor of the building—that's proof that you could see what was happening all the way downstairs.”

It wasn’t as if I had been hiding that facet of my ability to any real degree, but none of the others had made a note of it during the battle training itself—that, I knew, because I had been listening in to their breakdown of our battle at the time.

“You are correct,” I said in explanation. “With a certain amount of sand present, I am capable of observing the surrounding area.”

Toru lifted the fistful of floating sand up towards where her face should have been, presumedly studying it—it was slightly odd to see my sand moving through the air independent of my willpower, her invisible hand providing zero obstruction towards seeing it.

“You were watching me in the cafeteria,” Toru said. “Why is that?”

An interesting deduction, and one that I couldn’t really deny—I had been deliberately paying more attention to Toru because of her penchant for slipping away, and that required maintaining at least a visual on her when she was in proximity. I had been careful not to do so by actually looking at her with my real body, and yet she had still managed to come to the correct conclusion.

“It was a coincidence,” I said to explain it. “I just so happened to be looking in your direction in time to witness your fall.”

“I was looking at you when I fell,” Toru said. “You weren’t even facing my direction.”

That was most certainly a lie because she had been facing away from me when she had fallen, so she wouldn’t have had the angle to see me—but she had said it with so much confidence that I couldn’t help but respect her attempt to trick me.

“If you insist,” I said, smiling without confirming or denying it. “Toru, we should probably regroup with our classmates before Tenya organises a search party.”

It hadn’t escaped my attention that she seemed more subdued than she usually was; the large, expansive gestures she made with her gloves or the poses she tended to slip into to accentuate the placement of her invisible limbs were now missing. It could have been a result of what had happened back in the cafeteria, but it wasn’t the first time I’d seen her shift into a quieter, more thoughtful mood—although those few moments had always occurred when she was on her own, or when the conversation seemed to slip around her without consideration for her presence.

“Hey,” Toru said, and then, after a moment. “Thanks for what you did back there.”

I nodded at the words before turning away and restarting my journey towards the southern corner of the crowd. The handful of stolen sand remained trapped in her grip as we reunited with the rest of our class, leaving me to wonder exactly what else she expected to learn from keeping hold of it—if Toru Hagakure was any indication of the average student at U.A. High School, I was going to need to start being far more careful.

#

Class 1-A, Musutafu.

I had two dozen points of observation shifting around the ground now, focused predominantly on the front entrance and the people who were gathered around it. The reason the alarm had been set off was obvious to me now, although the one that had caused it was nowhere to be seen—the massive segmented door that had prevented the reporters from following them inside the school was now completely ruined, the mass metal dust piled up directly between the gates. An almost perfect hole existed directly in the middle of the door, cored out by some unknown force and without burns, bends or breaks to suggest exactly what it might have been. The frame of the gate and the concrete beneath it was entirely untouched.

It was clear to me that this wasn’t a result of a puncture, if only because of the uniformity of the damage, and if this had been caused by an impact—something like what Katsuki could accomplish with his explosions, or what Izuku could manage with just his strikes alone—the sound would have been heard even inside the school. All of the reporters that had been present at the time of the attack were now cordoned off and in the first steps of being dealt with by a procession of police. I’d been listening to them for the better part of half an hour now, and it had become clear that nobody present had seen what had actually caused it, nor did any of them possess a quirk capable of that type of damage. The nature of the reporters being at the scene of the crime when it had taken place had meant that the news had already spread to the rest of Musutafu, and some of the more nervous parents had already shown up in an attempt to check up on their children.

There was a single oddity on the other side of the gates, mixed in with the parents, reporters and police—a teenage girl in a school uniform that didn’t belong to U.A. High School and who was entirely unaccompanied by anyone else who was present. I kept track of her as she shifted through the mess of people to reach the front of the group. There were other children present, but all of them were much, much younger; none were wearing uniforms, and each one was accompanied by a parent or guardian.

Whatever circumstance that had brought her here was unusual, but what was far more striking was the wide smile that had taken her face once she had come close enough to observe the damage. My suspicion was rendered entirely misplaced as she left soon after, threading her way back through the crowd with a surprising adeptness. I watched from atop the wall as she broke free of the crowd with a skip in her step and traced her progress as she played a private game with the lines on the concrete pathway. The girl balanced on the paintwork; her arms stretched out to both sides as she fought to maintain an unnecessary balance on the perfectly stable surface—she suddenly tipped completely to one side, falling off the imaginary beam and then started giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world. I kept her in sight until she reached the platform, boarded the train and then vanished into the city, wondering if I’d ever seen someone quite as carefree.

Eventually, we were allowed to return to the classroom, but heroics—practical classes, for the most part—had been cancelled for the rest of the day. The reason for this had come a little while later in the form of a rumour, and it hadn’t so much been that the gate was destroyed but that someone had used that as a distraction to infiltrate the school. There was no information released about the culprit or whether or not they had caught them, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint who had started it or if it was reliable information. The class had only just settled into their seats when Izuku—in contrast to what was happening—stood up straight and took a deep breath.

“I am resigning from the position of class president,” Izuku said, bowing at the waist. “I believe that Ida is better suited to that role.”

“Idiot,” Katsuki muttered.

There was a wave of responses to the revelation, both verbal and in dramatic shifts in body language, the most visible of which had come from Tenya, with the boy somehow being startled all the way to his feet.

“You all saw how well he led everyone during the evacuation and how he organised everyone in our class afterwards,” Izuku said, “He is the better candidate—teacher. Will you allow this?”

“Fine,” Shota said without care. “Ida can be the president.”

“That’s the manliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Eijiro said, smacking his fist down against his desk. “Way to go, Midoriya.”

“Midoriya,” Tenya managed, voice shaking. “Thank you—I will accept this position.”

It was encouraging that Izuku had seen the same qualities in Tenya that I had and that he’d recognised how much more effective the other boy would be in the role—but beyond that, he’d had the strength of character and a certain level of humility to actually crush his own ego enough to gift the role away to another. It was something I couldn’t quite imagine many of the other people in this class being capable of had they been in his place. Despite the situation occurring within the classroom, most of my attention was still on the gate outside, more specifically on the teachers who were approaching it.

Principal Nezu, Midnight, Recovery Girl and Thirteen were all present now, inspecting the area, but I didn’t have any sand close enough to actually hear what they were saying. Manifesting more in the now static environment would probably result in being detected, so instead, I focused on their faces, doing my best to try and understand what they were saying through the motion of their lips—it was something I had absolutely zero practice with, and so predictably, it failed. My curiosity was left unsated, and in its place grew a desire to learn a new skill. I wasn't aware if Sajin knew how to do that, but it was something I intended to ask him as soon as I returned home. The rest of the day seemed far more lethargic in the aftermath of so much excitement, time crawling along at a snail’s pace, and when it was finally time to leave, I felt as if I’d wasted hours with little accomplishment to show for the trade that had taken place.

I gathered my things and stepped out into the hallway, watching through the skin of my wrist as Momo pressed through the rest of our class to catch up to me.

“Hisoka,” Momo said as she fell in step beside me. “I was hoping to talk to you for a moment.”

“Congratulations on being vice president, Momo,” I said in greeting. “You would have been my second choice if we had been allowed more than one vote.”

Momo seemed startled at the words, and whatever the topic she had been wanting to discuss with me was left unaddressed for the moment.

“I—thank you,” Momo said, “May I ask who you did vote for?”

“I was the person who voted for Tenya,” I said. “The two of you were clearly the best choices for the role, but he seemed more comfortable existing within the social confrontation that comes along with it.”

Tenya was one of the few who routinely confronted Katsuki about his behaviour, and while it never seemed to actually curb the other boy’s aggression, it said something about his resilience that he continued to make the attempt.

“Yes, I think I understand,” Momo said, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. “I was surprised when you resigned—I voted for you.”

I had suspected that she was one of the people who had voted for me, but I couldn’t quite see why she would have when Tenya was such an obvious pick.

“Thank you for the consideration,” I said, “I apologise if my resignation seems ungrateful, but it is very clear to me that you are the better choice.”

“That is kind of you to say,” Momo said.

There was a moment of silence in which Momo seemed to have forgotten whatever her reason had been for talking to me, and I could feel that odd pressure that sometimes existed, an unfocused and undirected urge to say something. I wondered if Eijiro felt that kind of thing in these situations and if he’d surrendered himself entirely to it—was that the secret to how at ease the other boy seemed to be in general conversation?

“Eijiro has been organising a trip to Tokyo on the weekend,” I said, “Has anyone spoken to you about it yet?”

“Ah—no, he hasn’t,” Momo said, blinking at the subject change. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“As far as I am aware, Mina, Tsuyu and myself have all accepted,” I said, “Momo, would you like to come with us?”

Momo seemed startled at the sudden invitation, and I was aware that my delivery was likely at fault. I had not established much of a foundation for her to build out her own response—she had not been expecting an invitation, she had not been given time to consider the information, and she did not even know what the trip entailed—but even with all of that, for a reason I couldn’t identify, she was now smiling.

“A trip to Tokyo sounds like it could be fun,” Momo said, “I think I will come; was there a specific time and day?”

“The time has yet to be decided, but it will likely take place on Saturday morning and last for the better part of the day,” I said, “Momo, may I have your phone number?”

Momo grew flustered at the request, her pace slowing down and her hand slipping into the pocket of her skirt as she unconsciously reached for the device in question. I came to a stop a few feet away, turning back to face her as she fumbled to pull her phone free. I held my own phone out, and she tapped the two together, transferring the contact information between them.

“Eijiro has created a group chat and intends to invite everyone who accepts to join it,” I said in explanation. “That way, we can better plan around the schedules or issues of each person.”

“Yes—of course, that makes perfect sense,” Momo said, “Saturday morning is a good time, as I have an invitation of my own regarding that same day.”

I studied her face for a moment, focus sharpening at the words because there was very little reason for her to present me with any kind of invitation outside of one of the very specific requests I had already made of her.

“I spoke to my mother about your Aunt, and when I told her about your plan for the photo album—well, she was quite happy to hear that I’d met you and would love to help,” Momo said, keeping her phone clasped between her hands. “She also expressed that she would very much like to reconnect with Miss Higawara and has extended an invitation to the both of you to attend a dinner at our home on Saturday night at six o’clock.”

This was coming together far more quickly than I had originally anticipated: access to both her home and at least one of her parents within a single day. If her father was also in attendance, then this was turning out to be the absolute best outcome I could have hoped for—I smiled at her.

“Thank you for the invitation, Momo,” I said, “I will make sure to repay you for your generosity.”

“Don’t be silly; it’s just a dinner, and you have nothing to repay,” Momo said, flustered. “I wasn’t sure if you had told your Aunt about the photo album, so I asked my mother to be discreet about it.”

“Hayami doesn’t yet know about it,” I said, “I will make sure to confirm our attendance with her this afternoon and then send you a message once I know.”

“Perfect,” Momo said before glancing through the destroyed entrance to the street beyond. “Oh, I can see my driver; I shouldn’t keep her waiting—goodbye for now, Hisoka.”

“Goodbye, Momo,” I said.

I watched her slip into the back of the dark-coloured limousine, the tinting on the windows making it impossible to see within—for just a moment, I caught sight of another person sitting in the back seat of the car, a woman with smooth skin and a small smile on her face—before the door closed completely, and the car began to move. I remained in place as the car passed by and then started in the direction of the station. This was much, much easier than it could have been—she was friendly and possessed of a very good nature, which, to my best estimation, was entirely natural and not at all affected. Momo could have been an actress of great talent, and this could have been an act to conceal a monstrous visage that should have belonged to the daughter of the murderer who had stolen Nanami from me.

I wondered what might happen if I were to sit across a table from Minato Yaoyorozu and share a meal—would there be a spark of understanding within me? Would I know that he had been the one to brutally kill my only friend’s family? Whether I could detect it or not, I was making a deliberate choice to place Hayami within arms reach of a potential monster, and what did that say about me? This may have been a necessary evil to reach my goal, but I’d never felt so undeserving of the care Hayami had surrounded me with—

“Hisoka,” Eijiro said, hand clapping down on my shoulder. “You alright?”

For a moment, I was still unsure exactly when I’d made it to the station or when I’d entered the carriage—I’d completely lost track of my surroundings and allowed my network of observation points to fall out of focus for the first time in a very long while.

“Yes, I suppose I was lost in thought,” I said, turning to face him. “I have spoken to Momo about the trip to Tokyo, and she has expressed interest in joining us.”

“Hell yeah,” Eijiro said, impressed. “If you’ve got her number, you should add her to the group chat.”

I nodded at the words, removing my phone to do exactly that, and once I had confirmed it, he spoke up again.

“I asked Bakugo if he wanted to come with us, but he said no—well, his exact words were a little more colourful, but you get the point,” Eijiro said, a bit sheepish. “I think I’m making some progress with the guy, but it’s kind of hard to tell.”

“Katsuki seems to respect competence and strength,” I said, “Challenging him to a friendly sparring match with the goal of growing stronger would likely help.”

“You think that would work?” Eijiro wondered, clapping his fist into his palm. “I’ll have to give it a try sometime.”

“I told Momo that the trip would take place on Saturday morning,” I said. “We should establish an appropriate time to meet at the Shizuoka Station.”

“Train leaves every hour, so we should get in early so we have more time to mess around,” Eijiro said, thinking about it. “Seven in the morning probably works—I’ll put it in the group chat.”

I wondered what drove him to maintain such upbeat energy or if it was something far more natural, a fundamental part of him that didn’t need any kind of upkeep. He was always smiling, laughing, or simply happy to be wherever he was—where did all of that come from?

“Eijiro,” I asked, speaking up. “What is it that makes you happy?”

Eijiro blinked at the non sequitur, the divergence from the main topic seemingly catching him off guard. The boy reached up to mess up the back of his hair as he considered the question, eyes flashing up to study the ceiling of the carriage.

“A lot of things, I guess,” Eijiro admitted, “But if I had to choose, I suppose the thing that makes me happiest—”

I found myself fighting not to lean forward, a burning curiosity rising up within me that was rarely aimed at anything other than the mechanics of quirks or darker things without a present answer that left me far more troubled. What type of answer would he give? Was his vibrant nature the result of material accumulation? Making connections with others? Was he driven by philosophy? Was it something mundane like a simple enjoyment for the smaller things within his life—or was there a person who provided him with a bright spark of colour amidst an otherwise dull world?

“I like moving towards things—like completing goals, you know?” Eijiro said, stumbling a bit as he tried to explain. “It makes me feel like I’m achieving something or working towards something bigger.”

Eijiro closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, that’s what makes me happy, I think,” Eijiro said, “I’m becoming better every day, and as long as I’m pushing forward, I’ll always have a smile on my face.”

Eijiro nodded firmly at his own declaration as if to etch his internal reality into the world around him, and I studied his face with fascination—the taller boy had already told me that he’d come to the decision to reinvent himself, and he was working towards that goal even now. Inspired by the heroes that had come before us to forge himself into a force of good for the society he lived within. I had a far closer connection to his answer than I would have thought because it was something that drove me as well. Progression was something that fueled us in life, in our goals, and in our pursuit of mastering skills. Working towards a larger purpose and ticking off small milestones along that pathway as a measure of progress. To see where you were before and how far you’d come along the way. The manifestation of your willpower on the world and the tangible results that came from it were the reward. Progression fueling motivation, and motivation fueling progression in an endless loop of improvement.

I understood all of that quite well, but we differed in just one small thing. Progression didn’t bring me any kind of happiness, and working to better myself had never given me anything like that—but I wasn’t chasing happiness; I was running from my mistakes.

“Now that I say it out loud—” Eijiro said before laughing at himself. “I guess it sounds pretty silly, huh?”

“No, it’s not,” I said, studying his face. “Eijiro, I think you’re going to become a very good hero.”

“Hey—thanks, man,” Eijiro said, beaming. “Hisoka, what makes you happy?”

That was a question that I had been trying to solve for a very long time. I thought that maybe, one day, when I found Nanami, that the answer might reveal itself to me. Maybe, when I brought her back from wherever it was that she had gone, I would find that the vibrancy that had always leaked out of her and coloured my dull world in light would finally return—maybe when I had her shining presence right in front of me, I would be able to look into her face and say that, yes, this was where it had been hiding all along.

“If I had to pick just one?” I said, reaching for a smile. “I guess I’ve always really liked cinnamon.”

#

Hisoka’s Apartment, Musutafu.

“I have a confession to make, Aunt Hayami,” I said. “I’ve been conspiring against you.”

Hayami let out a startled laugh at the words, the audio call stealing away some small fraction of the sound as I adjusted the phone against my ear. It was enough to destabilise some of the concern that had laced her voice in the aftermath of my explanation about what exactly had occurred at U.A. High School.

“Oh, have you now?” Hayami said, her smile easily audible. “Go on then, explain this conspiracy to me.”

“After you told me that you knew Ume Yaoyorozu, I spoke with her daughter at school in regard to a secret project,” I said, “In turn, Momo has spoken with her mother, and as a result of this, we have been invited to attend a social dinner with them on Saturday night, at six O’clock.”

“Hisoka—” Hayami said, stunned. “Really?”

I couldn’t blame her for feeling surprised, not when the last time anything like this had occurred had been way back before Nanami had vanished. It was entirely out of character for me to participate in the organising of, or even show any kind of interest in, a social gathering.

“Momo has implied that her mother is looking forward to seeing you again,” I said, “I promised to send a message tonight regarding our attendance—would you like to go?”

“Yes, yes—that sounds lovely; we’ll certainly be going,” Hayami said at once. “Are they still living in Nagoya? That’s quite a distance away.”

Considering that Momo took a limousine to and from school—and that her mother had been present within it today—it seemed unlikely that they lived two hours away by train.

“I think they live closer than that now,” I said, “But I will ask about the address the next time I speak with her.”

“Oh, this is fantastic, Hisoka,” Hayami said, voice bright. “I’ll have to find something nice to wear.”

Considering how pleased she was, now would be the most effective time to ask for something that would usually have received additional scrutiny—I spoke up before she could drive the conversation further away.

“I was also invited on a short day trip with some of my classmates to Tokyo early Saturday morning,” I said, “Momo, Eijiro, Mina, Tsuyu and myself were the original group, but more may have been included by now—do you think I can go with them?”

Leading with Momo would further bridge the connection between the two subjects and bring her attention to the girl who would be present for both events—

“You’re making so many friends, Hisoka—it’s been so long,” Hayami managed, voice growing a bit shaky. “Of course you can go.”

This was a proof of concept that I could engineer situations where it was permissible for me to leave Musutafu unaccompanied by an adult and provided that I kept any further requests in line with that goal of making friendships or maintaining them, I would be able to secure similar, more useful trips in the future—it would seem I was going to Tokyo.

“Thank you,” I said, closing my eyes. “I’ll make sure to behave myself.”

“I know you will,” Hayami said, sounding a bit choked up about it all. “You always do.”