Chapter 15: Rest and Reactions
Tsubasa stood behind Master, glaring at the monitor which looked out into Kurogiri's bar. The news of an attack on UA had spread quickly, but if All Might had truly been defeated the news stations would be crawling over each other to be first to report the man's death. That meant that the boy had failed, but hopefully not too badly. The loss of one of the Nomu was regrettable, especially since Master would likely order the creation of a replacement. But in the grand scheme of things, what was one more sin on the pile? The fodder was easily gathered and easily lost, and such low quality troops would be useless in future engagements. No, even in failure, so long as the boy returned alive, then the excursion would prove to have been useful.
As if sensing his thoughts, the telltale mist of a warp gate opened on the floor of the bar and Tomura was dropped gently if unceremoniously onto the ground. He was bleeding, quite heavily from what Tsubasa could see, but Master was overall unconcerned.
"I was shot, both arms, both legs. We lost Nomu, and all the street trash got taken out by All Might! He wasn't slowing down at all, he was in perfect health!" Shigaraki whined from the floor, his voice almost breaking in frustration. The image of the boy and his companion began to distort slightly, the picture momentarily flickering. "The intel was wrong, sensei! He's as strong as ever!" Beside Tsubasa, Master shifted in his bed, inclining the scarred flesh of his head.
"The information is sound, dear Tomura. Perhaps our timetable was too hasty." He let out a rasping sound then, somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. It was muffled by the oxygen mask, and then swallowed entirely by the hiss and clank of medical machinery. "It is a minor setback, nothing more. You mentioned that Nomu was lost in the skirmish? Destroyed, incapacitated?" On the monitor Kurogiri dipped forward into a bow before he answered.
"With All Might's intervention, we were unable to retrieve the asset. He was sent out of the area of operation with no way for us to track him; until we can determine precise coordinates we will be unable to retrieve him. However, I believe that the asset itself remains intact. Likely he will be stored in Tartarus, but if you are able to ascertain his transport schedule, I should be able to stage a retrieval then."
"My thanks, Kurogiri. It is unfortunate that we should be temporarily deprived of one of our stronger front line fighters, but time is thankfully our ally in this case. Now then, Tomura, you were injured, but I trust your equipment survived? I will be reviewing the combat footage with you once you are recovered." Master raised a hand, and Tsubasa moved to terminate the transmission. Before he could, however, the boy spoke up again.
"Sensei...there were two kids...one of them was strong, almost as fast as All Might. Looked a bit like him too. The other was some brat in a tin can, lots of green. I dusted his armor, but the other one jumped in before I could finish him off." Shigaraki weakly flailed one of his bleeding arms against the ground, not quite managing to follow through on the motion. "All Might called them Togata and Midoriya. I want to kill them, I want them to crumble to dust at my feet, make them see the lies if their idol." Tsubasa stiffened, even as Master stirred from his bed, an unearthly smile ghosting across his mangled lips.
"This is a fascinating development, my boy. This information will all prove useful for your own progress. Ah, but first, you must rest. Find stronger allies, take your time, for when next you take the stage, the world shall know the terrible truth that you represent. Kurogiri!" On the screen, the man in question bowed again. "Take Tomura to one of our associates at once, and make sure he is comfortable."
"Yes, Master," Kurogiri answered, a portal already opening under the prone form of Shigaraki as he spoke. Tsubasa watched the boy fall into the gate, Kurogiri soon vanishing shortly afterwards. Master clicked the monitor off and eyelessly regarded him, his expression considering from what Tsubasa could tell.
"A student making use of advanced support gear confronting young Tomura alongside the next inheritor. How curious. Doctor," his voice turned cold, and the temperature in the room rapidly dropped as if to coincide with his tone. "I believe you have been keeping tabs on Izuku Midoriya, have you not? Such a development as his admittance to UA would be an event worthy of bringing to my attention, no?"
"I, that is to say, yes Master, however given the state of the project and the young master's development I thought it best to reserve any updates on the boy until after-"
"Spare me, please. I have within me a quirk that allows me to see well enough despite having lost my vision. Even that is unnecessary for me to tell that you are withholding information. You have used that quirk if yours to alter the records you gave to me, have you not?"
"M-my goal was o-only to serve you as e-effectively as possible! I knew that the boy's development would only serve as a distraction, Master. Please, believe me when I say that he is of no use to your plans! He won't work even as the basis of a Nomu. I only wished to help you to develop Young Tomura, never to deceive you for anything else." Tsubasa was sweating bullets, every instinct in him telling him to bolt for the door, as if it would do him any good. He couldn't even back up, only stand as rigidly still as possible without angering Master further. His hands fidgeted back and forth nervously, and out of sight of All for One, he surreptitiously pressed a series of buttons on his phone. If he was going to die, he would at least send the documents.
"Doctor, please, calm yourself." The rattle of Master's breathing paused for a moment as the ancient being examined him consideringly. "Your desire to serve me is not in question, merely your method of doing so. No, I believe it is my fault that you have developed this...overprotectiveness towards both myself, and your own work." Tsubasa paled, dreading Master's next words. "I think it is time for an alteration. It has, after all, been five years since you have had a real need for that quirk."
The black tendrils snaked outwards, red lightning arcing into his skin as Master began his work; Tsubasa bit back his scream and let the sensation roll over him. He felt his emotions rebel against the sensation of the quirk being ripped from him, though his logical mind was determined to remain objective. The presence that had been with him for nearly thirty years now was leaving him, and he keenly felt its loss. The gentle artistic spirit that infected him with the occasional dream about painting, color flowing under his fingers as the images on the canvas were reshaped by his touch, was torn out of him completely as the quirk left him, and he felt something of his old self return.
Kyudai Garaki was himself again for one blessed moment, mind free of Master's influence. Tsubasa was a memory now, the particular character of that iteration dissolving as the quirk left him. He remembered his drive then, his desire to avert catastrophe that had brought him to the man's service more than a hundred years before.
He thought that was the truth, anyways, though given the length of time and the many adjustments over the years, he wasn't completely sure anymore. Regardless, this was what he was, and it had been foolish to forget that. Resolved again, he relaxed under Master's ministrations, letting the new quirk flow into him with no resistance.
It was a sharp, painful thing, and as it settled, he felt the edges of his own mind sharpen and cool. The presence was familiar somehow, though he was sure he had never carried this particular quirk before. The steel in him grew stronger, his desire to be useful, to serve without question growing more powerful as the quirk settled comfortably.
Looking down at his hands, he chuckled darkly. The tips of his fingers were shifting back and forth between their normal, wrinkled appearance, and those of razor edged scalpels, the metal seamlessly flowing into flesh as the transformation quirk activated and deactivated. Minutes later, Master withdrew his own quirk, and a new man looked up at him.
"I think that you should be feeling better now, doctor," rumbled Master, leaning back into the shadows and letting them wrap him up once more. "With this iteration, I believe the moniker...Daruma Ujiko is appropriate. Yes, that will do nicely." Master seemed pleased by the development, perhaps noting how quickly the alteration had been completed. Dr. Ujiko would not take this good mood for granted however, and sank deeply into a bow.
"I apologize, Master, for allowing my emotions to become as clouded as they were, and I thank you, sincerely, for your intervention." Master waved a hand, dismissing his concerns. Ujiko's mind was racing, the influence of the new quirk heightening his sense of self preservation. Revealing the true extent of Tsubasa's disobedience would not serve him, but feigning misplaced concern seemed to have worked well enough to save his life. Now, he would have to sacrifice the boy if he wished to survive. Ujiko cursed his past self as his mind began to spin the most plausible story he could.
"As for the boy, the previous iteration noted increased cognitive activity around the damaged quirk factor, which has been increasing over the years. At first, he attributed it to a form of sensory compensation, an oddity but nothing too out of the ordinary. My...predecessor's alterations of the records were meant to help you to focus on your successor rather than pursue a line of inquiry which he ultimately believed would be fruitless. Of course, I will make all the unaltered records available for your review at your earliest convenience, and I apologize again for his presuming on your behalf." Ujiko bowed, hoping it would be enough. Apparently it was, as Master gestured towards the door in what seemed to be good humour.
"Doctor, before you do so, I have a new order for you." Ujiko stopped in the doorway, turning to regard Maser in his hospital bed. "I do not blame you for your predecessor's deception. Indeed, I am quite touched that he saw loyalty to my well being as a greater duty than loyalty to my words. However," Ujiko tensed, ready, he thought, for anything. "This quirk has inconvenienced the both of us, hasn't it? Its desire to create, to change things. I believe it was not indulged enough."
Ujiko's mind raced through possibilities; true, the painter's quirk had come with certain impulses, and an influence on both his personality and his sense of empathy. Within a being like Master however, its influence should have been practically nonexistent. There would be no reason for the villain to listen to any aspect of it, except to hear its screams within himself. Ujiko recalled how Master had described the quirks he held on one occasion, and even as he was now, his mind colder and sharper than the scalpels of his fingers, he had to suppress the shudder.
"Doctor, I would like for you to alter one of itscreations. A good turn for the quirk that altered one of my creations. The youngest of the Tsubasa family, your grandson I believe, will suffice. I will have the quirks ready in your operating theater, and will have acquired the boy by this afternoon." Ujiko stifled his snort. This was to be his punishment?
"Of course, Master. Shall I prepare a seat in the room for you?" Master laughed, the clearest the doctor had ever heard him since his battle and subsequent mutilation.
"Indeed, doctor, I wish for the quirk to see the change that can be brought by less...gentle hands than its own," he intoned, gesturing towards Ujiko. Beneath his bushy mustache, the doctor smiled grimly.
"It will be my pleasure, Master."
Izuku woke up in the increasingly familiar infirmary, an IV drip in his left arm and both arms covered in bandages. His right seemed the worse off of the two, though the damage was pretty bad in both cases. All Might was to his right in his true state, bandages wrapped around his torso as the gaunt man stared up at the ceiling contemplatively. A shift on the bed to his left made Izuku look over to see a tired and worried looking Mirio leaning over him, one hand hesitantly reaching out to take hold of his bandaged one. Recovery Girl made a disapproving noise from the other side of All Might, and he withdrew it.
"I suppose given the circumstances I can't scold the two of you too harshly this time," she breathed, the concern hidden behind her usual grumbling act bleeding through fully. Her already pinched features were drawn even tighter, and it looked as if the weight the small woman carried was made up of not only the world but the entire galaxy as well. "I did my time in the trauma unit back when I was practicing, but...this is a school . There are limits to what I should have to treat here." She sounded sad, Izuku thought, and the flash of guilt that burned through him was made all the worse by what All Might said next.
"I think...I've shortened my time again. I probably lost an hour fighting that thing, maybe more." He sighed resignedly, and Izuku felt the tears start to well up. All Might's usual bravado returned a moment later as he sat up in the bed, blood dribbling through his smile. "Things happen though. And it was worth it, after all." There was a pained look on his face, and he grunted with the effort. Mirio moved from Izuku's side to help him sit up, careful in his movements. As he got the hero settled into a seated position the door slid open and a man in a beige trench coat and hat stepped through, doffing the hat as he crossed the threshold.
"Long time no see, All Might!" he called, moving further into the room and closing the door behind him. How many people know? thought Izuku, looking over to see an equally confused Mirio.
"Tsukauchi, it's good to see a friend here! Ah, and before you boys ask, allow me to explain. This is Naomasa Tsukauchi, the best detective on the force and the most dependable fellow you'll ever meet!"
"Well, thanks for the weird intro, Toshinori! It's a pleasure to meet you both," he chuckled to the still slightly dazed Mirio and Izuku. "Madam Shuzenji, thank you for trying to take care of the big oaf. I'm sure he's been quite the handful." Recovery Girl shot the detective a rueful smile, and some of the tension left the room as he took up a seat across from All Might.
"I'm sure you have questions, Tsukauchi, but first what of the rest of the students? Aiza- rather, Eraserhead and Thirteen?" All Might looked across at the detective expectantly, clearly worried about what came next. Mirio moved back to Izuku and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
"As far as I'm aware, your young friend there was the only one seriosuly injured, nothing but scrapes and bruises for the rest of the students. As for the other teachers," he huffed and looked a bit distressed before he continued, "they're out of danger but remain in critical condition. It's likely that Eraserhead will suffer some permanent damage to his quirk, and Thirteen will be out of commission for quite some time. As for the villains, from what we've gathered through the initial interrogations...their orders were to kill. If you teachers hadn't fought as hard as you did, the students wouldn't have made it out unscathed." Mirio's grip on his shoulder tightened at the words, and Izuku let out an involuntary gasp. Recovery Girl looked positively furious, the bitter lines of her wrinkles screwed up in righteous anger.
"From the bottom of my heart, thank you, All Might," said the detective, sinking into a bow. All Might leaned forward in his bed and tilted his head towards the pair of students behind him, cocking an eyebrow as he did so.
"I am glad to hear you say so, Tsukauchi, but you're missing one crucial detail. These students fought for their lives against incredible odds, and pulled through even when we, when I, failed to protect them. To be thrown into a battle of survival so young; these wards of ours now know the real dangers of this world, and they've had to face it in their first week of schooling!" All Might turned to regard Mirio and Izuku with pride, flashing them a quick thumbs up before he continued. "These villains chose the wrong targets. This class, these kids, they're going to be mighty heroes one day, and I'm going to make sure to never let something like this happen again!"
While beside him Mirio seemed to take the words to heart, Izuku felt his world begin to crumble. As much as he wanted to believe the man, he knew that if he had just been a bit faster, a bit stronger, simply better than he was, then All Might wouldn't have lost more time. If he hadn't gotten in Mirio's way, if he hadn't gotten caught by Nomu, if he hadn't had his armor disintegrated and his flesh burned, they could have caught the villains instead of wasting their time saving him.
This entire mess, the fact that All Might even had to promise to prevent this from happening again, it was his fault. It was his fault for being powerless when it really mattered. He kept up his mask, trying to look as reassured as possible by the words of the hero, but internally, he made a vow. He wouldn't, couldn't let himself be useless again. He had to be better, be more than the Deku that laid around and didn't do anything like a wooden doll with no arms and legs. With guilt gnawing at him all the while, he sat through the rest of the conversation, his mind beginning to race with plans and designs like it never had before. In his concentration, he failed to notice the worried frown Mirio was giving him.
Shoto was nervous as he slipped in the front door of his father's home, his shoes left in the usual spot as he crept along the tatami flooring towards the living room. His father was home, having apparently taken the remainder of the day off in order to assess whatever damage had been done. From the sounds of things, he was listening to some piece or other of Gagaku in the living room, something he did when he was trying to remain calm. Or at least, what passed for calm with that man. As he drew near, the smell of burning oak wafted down the hall; it seemed to cling to the man, though thankfully it never settled into the walls or the furniture.
Endeavor was seated at the low table, an empty drink resting neatly on a coaster while he lazily turned the pages of the book he was reading. It was a deep red, it's cover seeming to have been marred by an ink-stain which actually appeared to be a part of the design on closer inspection. Flames covered his face, as usual, but they were more subdued than normal. Shoto wasn't sure if it was for the book's benefit, or for his. Sensing his presence, his father set down the book and paused the music, regarding him for a moment before gesturing to the seat across the table as he bid his son to sit. Shoto swallowed imperceptibly and moved to comply.
"I am glad to see that you are mostly unhurt, Shoto." Endeavor's eyes traveled up and down his son's frame, squinting as he noticed a few cuts along the boy's arms. He let out an unhappy sigh and placed his hands on his knees, raising his startlingly blue eyes to meet his son's own mismatched pair. "I understand that was not the case for the entirety of your class. I will be having words with the principal about this." Shoto nodded, knowing not to speak unless he was directly addressed. Endeavor seemed to sense his discomfort, and inclined his head.
"I understand it was the quirkless child that was injured the worst, besides your teachers. The school should have expected as much, I'm afraid. I hope you can see this as the lesson it is. See the proper place for both the strong and the weak." Shoto nodded, mutely. His father had taught him many lessons on the obligations of those with strength over the years.
He remembered the children's ward at the hospital he had visited. Many of them had been quirkless, and those that weren't all had quirks that might as well have been useless. Some were, somehow, even more broken than that, missing limbs or suffering from genetic defects. They were all of them so frail, so pathetic. Unable to defend themselves in a world where any person on the street could be a living weapon. None of those he had seen had a quirk like his or his father's.
"So long as UA persists in its fanciful notions about equality the boy will continue to be in danger. No one is born equal these days; we are each of us, given power and the ability to nurture it to various degrees. It is disgraceful, my old alma mater being shackled by this fanciful thinking. Almost as disgraceful as your loss to the boy during your combat exercise." Shoto looked away from his father at that, the ghosts of bruises from that day's training still smarting. "Hopefully you will bring the attitude that saw you safely through today against him or any of the others the next time one of your teachers is deluded enough to pair someone of your calibre against someone like that. It will teach them to stop wasting your time. Now then, your report on the entire incident."
"Yes, father," said Shoto in as even a tone as possible. He recounted his battles in full, the landslide zone, the skirmish in the plaza, and how he ended up intervening in All Might's fight against Nomu. That particular bit brought a smile to his father's face, something increasingly rare since his wife had been committed. When he had finished his account he found his father looking at him expectantly, as if considering something in his words. Shoto's mind raced through his story, looking for what it was he could have possibly said wrong. Before he could reach a definite conclusion, Endeavor spoke.
"I am...sorry, Shoto, that you were forced into this situation." Shoto kept his face blank, but inside was reeling, trying desperately to figure out what ploy his father was trying this time. If he could figure it out, he might avoid extra training that evening. "I know you were prepared, but it is nevertheless reprehensible that you should have to put your training to use so soon. You weren't singled out, today, because it seems they didn't realize just who they were dealing with. But with a power like yours comes a target, and I fear the one that you've been saddled with is quite large indeed." Endeavor eyed him from across the table, his flames almost gone and his features twisted up in regret. "It is part of the burden of the strong that they should dominate the rest. The civilians, the police, weakling heroes, they are powerless all of them. They will resent you. The trash you fought today will remember you, remember your strength, and they will target you all the more for it."
"I am not afraid of them," said Shoto in a monotone. He narrowed his eyes at his father, taking the nod of his head as a cue for his dismissal. As he got up and walked to the hallway, his father called after him, and he turned back to regard him again.
"Shoto...I know you still do not wish to use your fire, and for what it's worth, I will respect your vow. I will respect it so long as you are able to prove your strength without it, but I would encourage you to consider your obligation, and how long you can uphold it with only half your strength. Do you remember the words of Theodore Roosevelt?" Shoto nodded before turning his back on his father and answering.
"I acknowledge no man as my superior, except for his own worth, or as my inferior, except for his own demerit." He shrugged. "I have yet to see anyone who is worthy of being called my superior, among the villains or my classmates. As for my inferiors...there are a myriad of demerits saddling them all. I will not need your strength to prove myself." Without waiting for his father's response, Shoto walked down the hall to his room and closed the door quietly. Ice crept up his side and crawled over his features as he silently raged, cursing his father, the villains, and most of all himself.
In the living room, Endeavor sighed and picked up his book again as he walked to the kitchen, ready to pour himself another drink as he resumed his music. Something stopped him however, and instead he found himself down the hall and in Toya's room, the flames he almost always wore on his face flickering out entirely. Kneeling in front of the Butsudan, he noted the doors were already open, and found the fresh flowers that Fuyumi had likely put there earlier that day. Reaching out to one of the incense sticks he let the barest wisp of flame shoot from his finger, setting it smoldering as it offered its delicate scent to the air. Bowing his head, he prayed.
Nezu was, uncharacteristically, frowning and deep in thought. His mind was perhaps the most powerful on the planet, but he could only function with the information he had available. As it was, with only the students' recollection of the attack and whatever information they could extract from the low-ranked villains during interrogation, his avenues of inquiry were too limited. He had theories, far too many theories really to be useful, and that was another limit on his seeming omniscience.
If he were simply a smart human, his possibilities would have been far more limited. He had, of course, already reasoned that the mastermind behind the attack was All for One, that the Nomu as it was called was only one of many, and that there would be another incident soon. The leader, this Shigaraki, was a troubling element. He couldn't quite place him, and it seemed the man couldn't quite place himself either. That indicated a level of underdevelopment, a confidence in his abilities that was borne from being spoiled, from always getting his way. When his initial plan had failed, it had taken the intervention of a supposed subordinate to calm him.
The signs were troubling indeed, especially when paired with the man's seeming nonexistence within the system, either through DNA matching or any aliases they could find. The man had likely been raised personally by the ancient villain, though to what end he couldn't guess. As a commander he bordered on the incompetent, and while his quirk was certainly dangerous, it wasn't as if his master couldn't have simply taken it to give to someone more worthy.
Nezu's own search of security footage from across the entire prefecture had revealed only glimpses of the pale man, seeming to flit in and out of existence as he pleased. The warp quirk complicated things, certainly, but there was more to it than that. His appearances seemed calculated, and in almost every case he had been looking at the camera and offering a broken smirk that lasted only a moment before he was out of visual range.
The principal hummed thoughtfully, lighting one of his long, well-rolled cigarettes and pressing a button on a small panel that was raised slightly from the surface of the desk. Vents he had designed personally whirred to life in the ceiling, ensuring that neither the smoke nor the smell would linger in the room. This was his habit, after all, and he would be damned if he let his students suffer for it. If it weren't for the vents, he would have quit entirely. As it was, this was turning out to be the first cigarette he had smoked in weeks, the circumstances seeming to demand it.
His students were still his first priority, and even discounting poor young Midoriya's injury, significant damage had been done to class 1-A. Classes would be cancelled on Monday, for all students, but he would likely be ordering the hero class in particular into mandatory counseling sessions on Tuesday if they were well enough to return. He trusted Inui, of course; the man had seen students through much worse during his tenure as the school's counselor, and he seemed to intuitively know just when a student needed a push and when they needed to be left alone. A particular characteristic that, for all his animal instinct, Nezu himself seemed to lack.
His instincts were however almost unfailing in their ability to sense danger, and the way they had flared up when he beheld the ruins of the UA barrier the other day had proven unfortunately portentous. That had undoubtedly been Shigaraki's work, but how the class schedule had been obtained during the incident was still unclear. Briefly, he considered the idea of a traitor among the staff or student body before dismissing it out of hand. No, there was some piece of information he was missing that went beyond a double agent, or electronic infiltration. A precognition quirk? No, the villains had been surprised by All Might's absence after all.
He leaned back in his chair and pressed another button on his desk, causing a portion of the wall to slide back and reveal a bank of monitors that showed dozens of scenes in and around UA. Realizing that he had finished it, he put out his cigarette in a recessed ashtray that disappeared from view a moment later as it sank back into the polished surface, a panel sliding closed over the top of it.
A brief flicker of movement on one of the monitors caught his eye, and he furrowed his brows in interest. It seemed he would have to extend the counseling to students outside of 1-A as well, if the girl in the support lab was any indication. Sighing, he sat forward again and took hold of the mouse at his desk, finding the piece of music he was looking for before returning his attention fully to the monitors. A piece over two hundred years old, Queen's Great King Rat began to blast out of hidden speakers, and the principal smiled grimly to himself. He had work to do.
Mei was frantic, even more so than normal, and if the distressed noises that Power Loader-sensei was making were any indication, then it was likely her actions had been noticed by the others in the support department. After returning to school on Tuesday only to find that 1-A wouldn't be back until Wednesday, she had gotten even more worried than she had been before. Izuku hadn't been answering any of her questions over text, just giving noncommittal responses that said he was fine. The security feeds she had hacked into upon her return had kept their logs however, and she had seen just how badly her friend had been hurt while he was carried to the infirmary alongside what was probably one of the teachers.
It was unusual, she thought, to be this concerned about something of hers getting broken. Whenever a baby broke it was usually simple enough to put back together, and if not, then at the very least it was a learning experience that she could use to help make the next baby better. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but before she had met Izuku on the beach, she had never wanted to have a friend before. But he was like her, he built, and he thought in weird ways, and maybe he thought in a way that was different from her own, but that was okay. He had been just about broken when they met up, and after hearing about his loss, she couldn't help but feel the description was fitting.
It hadn't been a proper label for a long time now, however. Together, they had helped him build himself back up, and the three older students who she had gone to for help one day had only reinforced her newfound belief that friends were a good thing to have. They had made Izuku stronger, and he had made her better, pushed her to think harder than him, to be more creative. And now, looking over the footage of his broken, bleeding limbs, and knowing the depths that he could sink to from time to time, she was worried.
She worried that no one would know that he preferred to be talked to about normal things, rather than hugged, when he panicked. She was worried he would blame himself, or start to see himself as deficient, because he had gotten hurt. She was worried that he might start to listen to some of the bastards she had caught on the security feed in the days after the incident with the student from general studies. Most of all, she was worried that he might blame her as much as she was blaming herself.
It hadn't been hard, hacking the police records to find details of the attack, to find out why her friend was missing a layer of skin over his left arm. A villain with a disintegration quirk had crumbled away all his efforts like dust, and he had been left powerless as a result. Nevermind that anyone else would have lost their arm entirely in such a situation, nevermind that they would never have a chance to build another like he would. No, those were problems for Hound Dog to sort through with him. What was bothering her was that she hadn't anticipated the problem, hadn't brought it up to him.
At their very first meeting, she had demonstrated her ablative armor to him, and since then had worked with him through his questions on materials science many times over. She had talked with that Melissa girl, and her father, inventors out on I-Island just as smart, maybe even smarter, than the pair of students. They hadn't anticipated something like this, so why should she have?
It didn't matter, not now, because for all her worries, Mei was an engineer. When things broke, she fixed them. The fervour with which she had thrown herself into her work upon her return to the lab had kicked up quite a storm. Tools and parts were tossed aside as they fulfilled their purpose, only to be hastily retrieved by the grease-stained inventor hours later when she came up with some other use for them. She didn't have Izuku's knack for quirk study, or replicating the effects of a quirk like he could, but she understood his process fairly well. If there was one thing she knew that would help him, this was going to be it.
It was a real stroke of fortune that Nejire, Tamaki, and Mirio came to check up on her that afternoon. It took some convincing, but when she explained that she wanted to help Izuku, the Big Three had lit up like they always did when it came to him. Mirio seemed more energetic somehow than even Nejire, who would, after all, be providing most of the data. If all worked as she hoped it would, they would have quite the surprise for Izuku in the weeks leading up to the sports festival.
Ochaco was something of a habitual worrier; she worried about if her skill was good enough to be a hero, she worried about money, she worried about her parents, and she worried a lot about Deku. She hadn't known him long, but in that time he had managed to break his arm saving her twice, once directly and once indirectly. He had gotten into a fight with their teacher on the first day under the threat of expulsion and then had fought quirkless against someone to a standstill, and Ojiro had more martial arts training to boot! He had beaten Todoroki and Iida in the indoor battle simulation, two of her classmates who she had no doubt were among the strongest in their year.
Deku worked harder than anyone else she knew, fighting with everything he had just to stand on the same playing field as all of those who had been born with their quirks, and after all of that, he still went out and tried to protect everyone except himself. Watching the footage Hatsume had sent her of Deku being carried to the infirmary on a stretcher had been hard, especially when she caught sight of the bloody hand shaped wound on his left arm that seemed to reach almost to the bone. It had been hard, but she had managed to bite back her tears long enough to send a thank you text to the other girl.
She had taken the extra day off from school as a rest day, trying to recuperate as best she could in her small apartment, but the images of the attack and the aftermath, continued to haunt her. She moved about, exercised a little, listened to some music, rearranged what furniture she had, but the worries kept coming back. It seemed they were even getting stronger. She shook herself, deciding to try to pinpoint everything that was upsetting her, hoping that having a definite answer would make things a little easier to process. She thought for a few long minutes, and though she could truthfully say there were a variety of troubling issues, the boy at the center of it all seemed to be the most pressing.
Deku was inspiring to her, heroic in ways that she hoped she could be. He had a pure, selfless motivation for being a hero; not something like money and an easy life for one's family, but a sincere desire to help others. Compared to him, she felt like she ought to be questioning her place at UA. She tried to think of what he would say if he could hear her talking about herself this way, but she came up blank. They had only been classmates for a week, and had only met once before on the day of the entrance exam. There was still so much she didn't know about him, but there was one thing she was absolutely sure of, even with only the short time they had been friends for reference. He would blame himself somehow, for not preventing the attack.
The thought was disturbing, especially when combined with Deku's tendency towards self-sacrifice and recklessness. Sure, he was rational, intelligent in the extreme, but when it came to his own happiness, his own well-being, he could be so stupid. She wondered what could have happened to give him a blind spot like that. In a way, the sacrificial streak reminded her of their teachers, all of them ready to die at the USJ to save their students. But there was something different about Deku's impulsiveness; it bordered on self-destructive. She found herself holding him up to her mental image of All Might.
Though she had never said anything to All Might himself, and had never confided her thoughts in another, she always thought that the hero must have carried some great pain with him, to smile like he did. She had seen him worried, nervous, and now angry, but she had never seen the pain that she was sure was hidden behind the smile. She respected him, of course she did, and she was thankful for his sacrifice. But at the same time, thinking about him, about his life, she was overcome with a sense of melancholy and loneliness. Had no one ever been there for him? He was the hero who saved everyone, but who was there to save him?
She felt her fists clench at that thought, and her resolve became so intense that for a moment, her own self doubt was banished completely. Maybe she hadn't started out with the most noble of intentions, and maybe that kind of thinking was crap. Now, she knew what she needed to do, both for Deku, and more importantly, for herself. She would become the hero that would save other heroes, even if it meant she would have to save them from themselves.
Wrapped up in her thoughts as she was, Ochaco didn't notice that she had floated herself until her back bumped into the ceiling. Laughing, she released her quirk and dropped back down. She felt lighter after that, ready to face her friends and teachers again tomorrow with her goals at the forefront of her mind. Maybe someday, she'd be able to reach All Might too, to tell him that it was okay not to smile all the time.
Inko Midoriya was many things; she was a wife, mother, daughter (though she had never known her birth parents), healer, teacher, and friend all at different times, but today she knew she had to be a parent more than anything. It was the Tuesday afternoon before the heroics students returned to school but her son was still hurting. He tried to hide it from her, he always did, but she could tell anyways.
Izuku was an exceptionally gifted young man, and the fact that none of his peers growing up had acknowledged it had left him with something of a chip on his shoulder. The bullying over the years hadn't helped that any, and she still blamed herself for being unable to help him more. Between his own insistence on protecting the culprits, and the school's unwillingness to do anything to help her child, she had felt trapped and helpless.
Now, as she stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables for that evening's meal, she couldn't help but relive all the feelings she had gone through after her boy had been diagnosed as quirkless. Certainly, the nice Dr. Tsubasa had helped to comfort him, and her own words over the years had always been reassuring and patient. Of course her boy could be a hero, of course he could do it. The problem was, she didn't want him to be a hero. She wanted him to be safe, and in a world that already looked down on him for something as trivial as not having a quirk, throwing himself into the most dangerous profession available seemed almost suicidal.
The word sat like a black spot in her mind, the implication unsettling in the extreme. She knew, of course, how cruel children could be, how they could push. She also knew that her Izuku would never even consider it, no matter how things got. But if everyone around you was always telling you how little your own life was worth, how little you mattered, maybe you started to believe it. Maybe her boy had such a reckless streak because he thought of his own life as worthless. Because he thought it wouldn't matter if he died. He had always said becoming a hero was one of his reasons to live; in that horrible, dreadful moment as she stood at the counter, tears rising, she thought that maybe being a hero meant so much to him because it would give him a meaningful way to die.
Inko broke down, guilt and fear and loneliness running through her as the knife fell from her hands. She was sobbing, noisily, but there was no one there to help. Hisashi had left so long ago, twelve years since he had been home to see his wife and son. Mitsuki was a help during times like these, but even with their boys' reunion, there was still a gulf between the two women. Inko hadn't forgiven Katsuki, not by a long shot, and that extended to Mitsuki as well, but she also knew how much it meant to her son to have a friend in the boy again.
"Mom," came the voice from behind her. Inko froze, turning to find her son standing in the entry to the kitchen, naked worry on his face. He was looking better than he had the day before, dressed in one of his T-shirts with the ironic writing, but the dark bags under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. The mark on his left arm shone angrily against the pallor of his skin, still far too pale after the attack for her liking. When Izuku caught sight of her eyes, puffy and red, he crossed over to her with a gentle tread and wrapped her up in his arms.
"It's okay, Mom, I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, letting her sob wetly into his shirt. Her boy, she was supposed to be comforting him, but her boy was being so brave, for her sake. Inko cried harder, bringing her own arms up and crushing Izuku to her with a fierceness that could only be achieved by a sweet, tiny woman like her.
"Promise me you'll be safe, Izuku," she said. He rested his head over hers, and she felt the drops of her son's tears landing softly against her hair. "I, I know you can't always predict what will happen, and being a hero is so...dangerous. But promise me, Izuku, please, that you'll be smart. That you won't go into a situation half-cocked, or without a plan. I, I know you don't always remember, but you're just as worth protecting as everyone else! You mean so much to me, to everyone that you could help! Please, promise me." He hugged her tighter, and for all the worry she still felt, Inko could feel the love her son felt for her burning inside him like it might jump out of his skin.
"I promise, Mom," he said faintly, burying his face into the top of her head. They stayed like that for a while, each loving the other with all their hearts and for a few moments, their troubles were forgotten. It had to end though, and as her son finally let her go to stand back and wipe at his face, Inko felt the flash of fear return. She pushed it down, and gave her boy a smile that would have made All Might proud.
"Thank you, Izuku. I think I needed to hear you say that," she said. He gave her a shy grin and stood, not quite sure of what to do with himself in that moment. His hands played with the back of his neck, and she decided to take pity on him, even if she wanted to keep him close. "It'll still be awhile before dinner is ready, Izuku, why don't you try and take a nap for a bit, okay? You haven't been sleeping much, huh?" A guilty look flashed across his face, and Inko pounced on the opportunity, wielding her motherly concern like a sword. "Off to bed then, and no arguing. I'll wake you up when it's time."
He looked like he was about to protest, but another look from her stopped that in a heartbeat. Instead, he hugged her again, and scampered out of the kitchen and down the hall. She doubted her boy would actually get any sleep, but if he could at least rest a bit, maybe rehydrate after their conversation, then she would take it. Returning to her vegetables, Inko started to hum a wordless tune under her breath when the phone in her pocket began buzzing insistently. Sighing, she once again set aside her task and wiped her hands, pulling the device up and glancing at the screen. There was no number, not even an incoming call notification, just a green circle on a black background. Curious, she held the phone up to her ear.
"Ms. Midoriya," said Lynchpin, and Inko almost dropped her phone in surprise. She had met her son's creation before, even helped play a few games of tic-tac-toe with it in its early stages, something about learning how not to play a game or something, but to see it like this was new. "I am sorry for reaching out to you this way, but I was afraid Izuku might not permit me to speak with you if he knew what I wanted to tell you."
"I, you, you're a computer program. How…"
"I keep telling your son that I can easily pass the Turing test and any other standards that he might like to try, but he insists on ignoring me. I fear he is ignoring me now as well, which is why I am reaching out to you, directly."
"Why would Izuku need you to reach out to me? What is it that he can't just tell me? And why should I believe that you're his program and not some hacker? Or that you're being genuine? This is...this is too much." Inko worried at her bottom lip, mind racing as it supplied theory after theory about what was happening.
"I understand your hesitation, Ms. Midoriya, but please let me assure you that my only desire is to help Izuku. Are you familiar with the first of Asimov's laws of robotics?" She made a small noise to indicate that she wasn't, and the voice continued. "A robot may not injure a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Additionally, my primary function is to ensure the well-being of my operator, though that directive was added by Ms. Hatsume when Izuku wasn't looking." Inko took in the words carefully, not sure she could believe what she was hearing.
"You said you had something you needed to tell me," she began, carefully. "And whatever this is, whatever you're doing, it won't hurt Izuku?"
"I am trying to prevent Izuku from being hurt," came the reply. "As I said, I would never directly harm Izuku, but what concerns me presently is that harm may come to him through inaction on my part. Which is why I have reached out to you, because I believe that you may be able to reach him." Inko let out a breath, still not sure if she could trust the voice. If it meant helping her son though, she could at least hear him out.
"Okay," she said, still unsure about the whole thing. "Talk, and I'll listen."