Chapter 48

Shouto awakens to a gentle shaking and a quiet but insistent "Todoroki, hey, Todoroki wake up."

Grumbling, he drags his eyelids open and glares halfheartedly at Midoriya—at Izuku?—whatever, either one—for all the good it does. His friend's eyes are a little shadowed, as they always are, but nonetheless wide-awake and bright. As Shouto's vision focuses, he sees that Midoriya is in fresh clothes already. He must have gone back to his own room at some point, so he's been up for a little while at least.

"What time is it?" he asks, still squinting through clinging sleep. "Why are you already up?"

"It's five minutes before you would've woken up anyway," Midoriya assures him. "Listen, there was—something happened last night, and I wanted to look into it, just to try out a few things, experiment a bit, just make sure it wasn't a fluke or anything and it totally wasn't! At least I'm pretty sure it wasn't, in fact I could really use your help confirming, which is why I'm waking you up instead of—"

Shouto heaves a sigh and sits up, still trying to massage his eyelids open. "What, what do you want from me?"

"I just need your input on something."

"On what?"

Izuku points to the other side of the futon. "Can you see her?" Still groggy, Shouto turns to follow the direction of his finger.

A moment later he's wide awake, fully out from under the comforter and scrambling back with a muffled yelp. He grabs onto Midoriya's sleeve, which steadies him enough to keep him from falling on his ass.

A little girl stands there, barefoot in a long white shirt that reaches halfway between her knees and ankles. It's either a nightshirt or a hospital gown, but either way it doesn't matter much when her eyes are empty black pits, her skin is corpse-white and sparking with green, and her hair is moving on its own.

"It's okay!" Izuku whisper-shouts in his ear, before he can properly panic. "It's okay. I was just checking. Um. Meet Rei. Rei, you know Todoroki already."

It's then that Shouto registers the sound of static, short staccato bursts of crackling hisses. The sound is coming from the girl's mouth, open and turned up at the corners. She's laughing at him.

"Rei, please be nice," Izuku says. "Sorry about that. I wasn't sure you'd see her."

"Oh, I see her," Shouto says faintly. "Um. Why is that?"

"I'm kind of working out the details myself," Midoriya admits. "I just figured out I could do that last night, and I'm not exactly sure how or why. It's temporary, though."

"Oh," is all Shouto can manage. He hasn't been in the business of watching movies lately, but the girl—Rei—looks like she crawled out of a horror film, aside from… "Your sparks?"

"What?"

"She's got your sparks," Shouto says, and points. The girl's form crackles faintly with traces of green, not unlike the green lightning that takes over when Midoriya uses his quirk. Or… one of his quirks? Is this the same quirk that gives him strength? If a ghost—and Rei is definitely a ghost, can't be anything else—has it, then that's definitely a connection. He'll have to ask later.

"Yeah," Midoriya says. "She, um, usually doesn't."

"Er… how long has she been…"

"About eight minutes." Abruptly he claps Shouto's shoulder. "Well, anyway, thanks for your input. Gotta go, good morning, see you downstairs at breakfast. Rei, stay in here until it wears off, okay?"

She garbles something in reply, signs an Okay, and with that Izuku is out the door.

Awkwardly Shouto sits on his bedroom floor and watches a dead little girl wander around exploring his room. He doesn't get up to start getting dressed until she fades from view. He only hopes that means she's gone.

As always Tenya is ready for class well before anyone else. His uniform is crisp, he's had his breakfast and his morning run and shower, and he's ready to take on the day.

When he steps out of his dorm room, Midoriya pushes him back in and closes the door. "I have a really weird, really forward question, please don't punch me."

"Okay?" Tenya blinks several times, bewildered. Midoriya looks as tired as ever, and everything about him is in a bit of a disarray—though not in a bad way, Tenya notes. He doesn't look troubled. He looks excited. "I mean, of course I would never strike you! Not without due cause, of course, and believe me, that would have to be quite an outlandish situation, to drive me to use violence against you, so I doubt a mere question would—"

"Do you want to see your brother?"

Tenya's words sputter to a halt.

"I mean, do you want to talk to him? For real, face to face?" Midoriya shifts from foot to foot, as if burning off excess energy. "I-I know this is, um, abrupt. I thought about it and I couldn't think of a gentle way to ask this, I just—I figured out something, with my power, and… I was just wondering if you…"

"Yes," Tenya blurts out. "Yes, I'd—yes."

Midoriya's face breaks into a relieved smile. "Okay. I, um. This lasts about ten minutes? And he'll disappear again, but just to you. He'll still be there. It's still early, and I know you like to get to class early but—"

"Midoriya." Tenya's voice cracks. "I—if you're going to come to me and say something like—like that, then…"

"Right! Right. Okay." Midoriya activates his power, that technique he calls Full Cowl. He reaches out to thin air, and—

And there he is.

He looks… pale. Startled. Green lightning darts along his skin, as if Midoriya has somehow transferred his power to him—perhaps that is how it works? Energy that Midoriya can use himself or pass along to the dead?"

When Tensei meets his eyes, for the first time since the morning he left on patrol and never came back, Tenya's throat closes. His brother's eyes are empty white sockets, as wide and startled and disbelieving as Tenya knows his must be.

Midoriya leaves the room at some point, but Tenya barely notices beyond registering a whisper of ten minutes.

"Hi, Tenya." His brother's voice wavers. "Long time no see?"

It's the first time he ever walks into class with the bell.

A text from young Izuku brings Toshinori to the empty meeting room where they usually have discussions that aren't meant to be overheard.

His successor is waiting for him by the door, looking fidgety and restless—for good reason. "Can this wait, my boy?" Toshinori asks. "If you aren't careful, you'll miss the start-of-term assembly."

"I know. Don't worry, I'll be quick." Izuku follows him into the room and stands there, bouncing on the balls of his feet until the door is shut. "Ms. Nana wants to talk to you."

Toshinori freezes, still holding the doorknob.

"I don't know how much you saw last night," Izuku goes on. "But before you interrupted, I—it almost became a fight, but… one of my ghosts stopped it. She stopped Bakugou before he had the chance to lose his temper and throw a punch."

"I-I saw," Toshinori says. "I think—yes. I saw her." It was hard to miss, at the time. It's not every day one sees a little girl step out of thin air and knock Bakugou Katsuki flat. "That was… she… she was very young, wasn't she."

"I did something," Izuku says. "To make her appear like that, visible and solid. I'm still working out the details of how, but… anyway, Ms. Nana came to me this morning and asked me if I could do it for her, because she wants to talk to you." He pauses, glancing up at Toshinori with a cautious look on his face. "Is that… okay?"

"I…" He must look a fool, staring at his student as if the boy is speaking Welsh, but Toshinori finds himself at an utter loss for words.

"It's fine if you aren't," Izuku tells him, and then frowns and sidesteps. "Yes it is. If it's too much, then I understand." He sidesteps again. "It's completely—up to you—knock it off, Ms. Nana—it's not like she can do anything unless I help her—" He swats something by his ear as if shooing off a bothersome fly, or an invisible hand. "Anyway, it's your choice."

"Yes," Toshinori blurts out. "Y-yes. Please. I'd—it's fine with me. I would—I would like to talk to her." A lump gathers in his throat, heavy and aching.

Izuku lowers his hand to his side, and his eyes soften. "We were hoping you'd say that," he says, and activates One For All.

Toshiniori blinks, and she's there when he opens his eyes.

She isn't dressed for hero work. She looks the way she did before she passed her quirk to him, hair pulled up, in comfortable clothes for training. It's as if she's stepped right out of one of his own memories. She's pale, but not translucent or wisplike. She doesn't look like a ghost or a mirage; she looks like a person, solid enough to touch.

It's then that Toshinori realizes he's lifted his hand to reach out to her. Mortified, he pulls back and wrings his hand at his side.

"H-hello, Sensei," he says.

Her arms are around him before he can blink again, crushing and cold, and she's solid enough to drive him back a few steps.

"I'm gonna go, you have about ten minutes," Izuku says, somewhere in the background. Toshinori barely even hears him exit.

"There are a lot of things I want to say," Shimura Nana tells him, her voice muffled from crushing him in a hug. That's all it takes to break him.

It's her voice. He hasn't heard it since he was a child, a lifetime ago, and he'd forgotten the sound of her voice. But now here it is, the familiar pitch and timber in his ears, as familiar to him as if she's only been gone a day.

"Toshi—Toshi, hey. It's all right." She pulls back, or tries, because Toshinori can't let go just yet, so she sighs fondly and ruffles his hair. It's almost like it used to be, except now she has to reach up to do it. "Look at you—you're not allowed to give your boy a hard time for turning on the waterworks anymore, got it?"

Toshinori laughs, a watery crackling thing, and finally lets her go. "I-I'll try."

"I know you will." When his eyes are clear again, she's grinning up at him with her hands on her hips. "Well look at you, Stretch. If I'd known that mop-headed little scrap of nothing I tripped over decades back would end up towering over me, I wouldn't have teased so much."

"You wouldn't have believed me if I tried to warn you," Toshinori says.

"Guess not." Her cheeky smile softens to something fond. "Hey. I know the little bean told you already, but… I'm sorry. No—" She holds up her hand as Toshinori starts to protest. "I know what you're going to say. But the fact of the matter is, I wasn't there. I didn't get to teach you. I didn't get to watch you—to stand by you as you grew. At least, not in a way that was helpful."

"You gave me strength," Toshinori says softly. "Even after."

"You would've found that strength whether I was with you in spirit or not at all," she says. "And whether or not it was my fault, I couldn't be with you alive, I wish I was and I'm sorry I wasn't."

Toshinori nods, unable to find any more words.

"And… that's what I wanted to talk to you about," she goes on, stepping back further. "I hate to—to sour things. Maybe it'd be better to save this for next time, but… it's important. I've put off a lot of things, Toshi, and it's almost made trouble. I dawdled over helping your boy learn to fight until he almost died at the USJ, and I dawdled over telling him the truth of who I was until that night in Hosu. I won't make that mistake a third time, Toshi." She hesitates. "I won't let you make that mistake."

"W-what… what do you mean?" Toshinori fights to keep his voice steady. She's been with him this whole time, he knows. And that means she was there when…

She watches him with sad eyes—or she would, if her eyes were visible. "Toshi," she says, gently chiding. "You haven't told him about what Nighteye said."

He coughs a bit, tasting liquid iron as it crawls up from his throat. "I—no," he rasps. "No, I haven't." He looks to the door, firmly shut ever since Izuku left. "And I don't know if I can."

"You can," Nana informs him patiently. "And you will. He's opened up to you about as much as he possibly can. He's told you his deep dark secret. Don't you think you owe him the same?"

"Were you there, when I spoke with his mother?" Toshinori asks. "When she told me that—that the worst way I could hurt him was—?"

Nana arches an eyebrow at him. "And you think it would hurt him less by coming out of nowhere?"

"It's going to hurt him either way." Toshinori shakes his head. "If I tell him, then he'll only dread it. Isn't it better for him to be content leading up to it?"

"You're thinking short-term, Toshi," she says, shaking her head in disapproval. "It'll come out eventually, and do you think he'll take it well, knowing that you knew about it and kept it from him?"

"I'm not sure there's any point in telling him now," Toshinori says quietly.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I…" His throat closes up, and he grits his teeth until he can speak again. "There was a moment, in Kamino. I thought that was my time. I was sure that—that was it. But… I'm still here. And I know that I'm not past the time frame, but—I was so sure. And part of me wonders—did I miss it? It shouldn't be possible, but… I can hope. For the first time in six years I feel like I can hope, and I don't want to give him that same hope if it's just going to be taken away."

He hears Nana's small huh. "Guess we're on the same page, then."

"What?"

"Look, I understand your reasons. I understand that you're scared—I understand why you're scared. Like I said, I've kept things from him, too, and I've seen the fallout. You weren't there when he tore into me for not telling him who I was to you and how I died, after he learned it from Gran." She crosses her arms, still crackling faintly with One For All, a sputtering candlelight to the beacon it once was in her. "Do you know why I didn't tell him about it myself, after that little conversation?"

"Because you assumed that I had my own reasons?"

Nana tsk's impatiently—if he could see her eyes, he's sure she would be rolling them. "Honestly? It's because I took it with a grain of salt."

"Nighteye said—"

"I know what Nighteye said. And I agree with him; it was definitely a possibility, especially with how you were back then."

"He's never been wrong," Toshinori reminds her. "The futures that he sees can't be avoided. It's supposed to be impossible."

"Says the quirkless Symbol of Peace, talking to a dead woman."

Toshinori stares at her.

"We are two impossible people, Toshinori. The third just stepped out for a school assembly." She steps forward, arms still crossed. "I made up my mind to tell him after Kamino, once he had healed body and mind. Then he confided in you, and made it possible for us to have this talk. And I'm telling you, right now—if you don't tell him, then I will."

He sees her point. He understands what she's saying, agrees with her even, but…

"He told you his darkest secret," Nana says. "He was scared, but he did it anyway. You're scared, I know that. I understand. But I know you're brave, too. You can do this, Toshinori. You can take it, and so can he. And maybe, just maybe, three heads will be better than one. Maybe we can beat this."

He's silent for a while, mulling over her words, searching for a chink in the defenses and finding none. "And if we can't?" he asks. "If it's all for nothing?"

"What's the alternative? Lie down and die?" She clucks her tongue again. "You're going to fight for that boy, and he's going to fight for you, too. And now that he's here, I'm not as useless as I used to be, which means that I can help, too. Since when have any of us ever fought for nothing?"

The smile spreads across his face, unbidden as his eyes sting with tears. "Why do you always make so much sense?"

"I am a grandmother, let me remind you," she says with mock haughtiness.

He laughs, face crumpling in merriment until his eyes shut tight against the tears. When he opens them again, she's gone. She must be cursing something awful, being cut off like that.

"All right," he says. "All right. I'll tell him. Let's see if we can't fix this."

The start-of-term assembly is over fairly quickly. Principal Nedzu gives them a general introduction and run-down that Izuku dozes through. The one point that catches his attention is a stray mention of internships—Todoroki had mentioned those, hadn't he? Uraraka was coaxing answers out of him on the bus ride back from the exams, and Izuku is intrigued enough to wonder. Aizawa-sensei goes into more detail during class, and leaves Izuku with a lot to think about. Gran Torino is the one connection he has from the Sports Festival and field training, but he's not a very active hero. He'll probably have to look elsewhere.

For now, though, he has duties to attend to. As soon as they're free for the day, he and Bakugou move in on the common area and start cleaning. The rest of the class is a little bewildered, though once Iida knows what's going on, he's very helpful in keeping the others from getting underfoot. No one gives him any trouble or—as Izuku feared—makes messes on purpose just to give him more work.

He and Bakugou avoid each other. There's plenty to do, so it's easy to stay out of one another's way. While Izuku runs a vacuum over the carpets, Bakugou cleans the kitchen counter. Izuku scrubs the sinks, Bakugou dust-mops the carpetless floors. Izuku sweeps out the laundry room, Bakugou shouts the others into bringing their trash together.

And while Bakugou dusts, Izuku takes the cumbersome bags and hauls them to the dumpster outside. They're almost done by now, which is a relief. It would have sucked to have to do this after classes started.

Unfortunately, he's not quite used to this path just yet, especially when half his attention is on balancing the bags in his arms. He ends up turned around, and after a moment or two of backtracking he pauses by the wall of a building to try and get his bearings.

"The dumpsters are down that way," someone says out of nowhere, and Izuku turns to find a face watching him from the nearest wall. It's not someone leaning against the wall; there's a face literally on the wall, protruding from it and watching him with strange dark eyes.

He doesn't even register the words, because there is a face sticking out of the goddamn wall and it's talking to him. With a shriek, he swings the heavy trash bags right into the face, barely noticing the split-second alarm on the face before it hits. The force of the blow splits the largest bag down the middle, spilling half its contents onto the ground.

He doesn't care much about that, not with Rei hissing static-filled threats nearby, and his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his teeth. But when he looks at the wall again, the face is gone.

His guard is still up, and so is Rei's, so he hears Aizawa-sensei coming before his teacher reaches his side. "What's going on, Midoriya?"

"There was a face on the wall," he blurts out. "I didn't—it wasn't someone I recognized, but I swear there was a face on the wall, right there, just a few seconds ago, and—" He pauses. "How'd you get here so fast?"

"You were taking a while, so I came to make sure you hadn't gotten lost. You said a face—?"

"I am so sorry!"

The voice comes again, and Izuku jumps. The face doesn't reappear on the wall, thankfully; this time it comes running out with the rest of its body attached. Izuku gives a shaky sigh of relief when he sees him. It's not an attacker, or an infiltrating villain; it's only another student. He's got about fifteen centimeters on Izuku, blond-haired and broad-shouldered and clearly a year or two ahead of him. There's something familiar about him, in that vague and distant way that tells Izuku he's probably seen him somewhere but never met him in person.

"Togata-kun," Aizawa-sensei says mildly. "Is there a particular reason why you're hanging around halfway between the dumpsters and the first-year dormitories? I'm sure a top third-year student has better things to do with his time than frightening the underclassmen."

"Um, I actually wasn't frightened," Izuku starts to say, but is interrupted when Togata bends at the waist in a bow.

"I apologize, Sensei!" Togata says, straightening again. "And to you too—you're Midoriya, aren't you? I'm so sorry for startling you! I was walking the grounds, and I noticed that you looked a bit lost, so I thought I'd point you in the right direction. My classmates are used to me showing up like that, but I should've known better."

Normally Izuku would wonder at the fact that a total stranger has recognized him so easily, but considering that his photo was probably all over the news after his kidnapping, it's not all that surprising. "I-it's fine," he says. "Sorry for hitting you in the face with a garbage bag."

"It's no trouble!" Togata assures him. "And don't worry—you only almost hit me. You have good reflexes for a first-year!" Izuku must do something funny with his face at that, because Togata tilts his head. "Something wrong?"

Izuku ducks. "Nothing, just… was that a compliment for me or you?"

Togata blinks at him, dark eyes widening, and gives a sheepish but good-natured laugh that has Izuku grinning in spite of himself. "I guess that was a little self-serving of me. Let me try that again." He holds out a hand. "Togata Mirio, third year. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Suddenly it clicks. "You're the pants guy."

It's either that or the gobsmacked look on Togata's face that has Aizawa making an odd wheezing noise before stepping away. "If there's no more trouble, then I'll be going. Get back when you're done, Midoriya."

Izuku is too focused on his burning face to answer before Aizawa leaves. "Sorry. Forget I said that, it's just—I mean, I've seen, uh. Sports Festivals. From previous years. That you were in. A-and you were kind of—uh, you were pretty memorable. Because whenever you used your quirk, you'd… lose your…" His voice trails off weakly.

"Right," Togata says, and Izuku wants to shrivel up and die.

"I'm Midoriya Izuku," he says. "I mean. I guess… you already knew that? Yeah." Rei is rolling her eyes so hard he's sure they'll roll right out of her head if she isn't careful.

"You're a little familiar," Togata admits.

Izuku winces. "From the Kamino thing, right?"

"Well, that and… you're not the only one who watches Sports Festivals. Though in my case, I had to watch your footage after the fact." Togata grins at him. "You were pretty memorable yourself—though, thankfully for a different reason than me."

"Mmmm. Mm-hm. Yeah." Izuku shrugs off the overwhelming desire to phase through the floor, which—considering the company he's keeping right now— "A-anyway, it was nice to meet you, but I have to, um…" He glances at the spilled trash and the ruined bag.

"Oh, let me help," Togata says, stepping over to help gather the garbage.

"You don't have to—"

"It's the least I can do," Togata says. "I'm the one who made you spill it, after all. It's a two-person job at this point, anyway." He's right; it's one thing to gather the trash back into the bag, and another to carry it along while keeping anything from escaping through the rip. Eventually they give it up as a lost cause, and Togata races off and returns with a fresh bag. When Izuku insists on carrying it all himself once it's full again, Togata insists on leading the way so he won't get lost.

They're nearly to the dumpsters when Togata speaks up. "I can hear you burning with questions from here. There's no need to be shy! I like meeting new people, and you seem interesting."

"You walk through walls, right?" Izuku blurts out.

Togata perks up at this, and Izuku tries not to fidget with excitement at finding someone who's happy to talk to him about quirks. "Among other things. My quirk's called Permeation, and it lets me render myself intangible. Good for evading attacks, but sadly it only affects my body, so I literally phase through everything. Hence the… pants."

"Please forget I said that."

"Of course, Midoriya-kun."

Izuku hasn't had the best experiences with upperclassmen, but Togata is friendly and gregarious and doesn't even talk down to him. Even Rei, wary as she was at first, is soon prancing around him, teasing him with the faint breezes she creates just by moving, examining the bright logo on his jacket. She likes him, and now that Izuku knows she is—or was—an empath, her opinion of people means so much more.

"That's that, then," Togata says, once the trash is where it needs to be. "Sorry, again. It was nice talking to you!"

"You too, thanks for your help," Izuku answers.

"No trouble at all!" Togata gives him a cheery clap on the shoulder. "I'd better get back, then."

"See you," Izuku says automatically, then rethinks it. "I mean… maybe? I dunno."

Togata shoots him a grin over his shoulder. "You'd be surprised! Evening, Midoriya-kun."

"Bye, Togata-senpai."

It's only when he gets back to Class 1-A's block that he wonders what Togata meant by "surprised".

It's bright and early, classes have only just started, and Togata Mirio has not set foot in these particular hallways for two years now. So much has happened since then; he feels like a different person now.

Nejire alternates between wandering ahead and lagging behind, humming to herself as she stares at whatever catches her fancy, from an interesting poster on a bulletin board to a sparrow on a branch outside the window. Nejire's always like that; she's clever and powerful, and Mirio likes her company, but he has to wonder why she got picked to give a presentation in front of a classful of first-years.

Of course, the same can be said for Tamaki.

"You could've ducked out, you know," Mirio points out as delicately as he can. It's not that he minds Tamaki clinging to his arm like a lifeline, but he's also got that look on his face like he's walking to the gallows, and it's a little worrying.

"Fat said I should work on talking to people," Tamaki mumbles. "He said class presentations were good practice."

"Don't worry about it," Mirio assures him. "Not every hero has to be good at charming crowds. Not even Sir likes it very much." That doesn't seem to help much, so he tries a different angle. "But I think you'll do fine! They're just first-years, remember? We were first-years once. Remember what I was like as a first-year? Just imagine that version of me sitting with them, cheering you on. You'll do great!"

Tamaki ducks his head further and mumbles something about too bright, and Nejire pops into Mirio's personal space with her usual brand of cheery tactlessness.

"Yeah, Tamaki, you'll be fine!" she chirps. "All you have to do is talk about your internship! And you love your internship almost as much as Mirio does! Have you guys asked each other out yet?"

Tamaki makes a noise like steam escaping a kettle, and Mirio tactfully shifts between them as a buffer. "Nejire, we've said it before, we're not—

"We're here!" Nejire cheers, and darts through the open doorway labeled Class 1-A.

She reminds him of a hummingbird, flitting from one desk to the next, taking in each underclassman at her own energetic pace, firing off questions that she doesn't expect answers to. Tamaki lets go of him as they walk in, though Mirio can still feel the nervousness rolling off of him.

He spots Midoriya sitting near the back and shoots him a grin, trying not to laugh at the bewildered look on Midoriya's face. They only just met three days ago, and Mirio doubts he knew they'd be meeting again so soon.

Aizawa introduces them and hands things off to them—or off to Mirio, at least. Tamaki's fragile nerves fail him, and Nejire is fascinated with the tiny horns and pink skin on one of the girls sitting near the front. That's okay—if he takes charge, then they can add their own points.

Starting with a deep breath, Mirio gives a rundown of internships: they're a more focused version of the post-Sports-Festival field training they've already done, and an opportunity to use the connections they made to gain experience. Real experience. Nejire chimes in from time to time, and even Tamaki screws up his courage to add a few details of his own, and Mirio couldn't be more proud.

He's about two minutes in when he realizes that something's going a bit wrong. Some of the kids are paying attention; Midoriya and the brown-haired girl sitting in front of him seem to be hanging on to his every word. But quite a few of them are looking at him with the blank expressions of bored students staring off into space. There's one boy who isn't looking at him at all; Mirio recognizes him as the winner of the first-years' Sports Festival.

There's a problem here, and it's not hard to discern, if one considers this particular class's track record. They've seen more villain action than any other first-year class that UA has ever had. They've had experience with villains; a lot of them probably don't think much of what this kind of training can offer.

There's an obvious solution of course; if telling them doesn't work, then why not show them?

Ten minutes later, with Aizawa's leave, they're all dressed for athletics and gathered in one of UA's training gyms. The others are sitting this out; Nejire's quirk is a bit too heavy on brute force and destruction for a display like this, and Tamaki hasn't eaten anything useful yet. It's a simple enough demonstration: Mirio invites nineteen first-year hero students to attack him.

Now, Mirio doesn't know Bakugou Katsuki personally, but he's also not at all surprised that he's the only one of them who doesn't hesitate. The first-year leads with his swinging right hand, impressively fast. Mirio goes intangible from the waist up, and the explosive attack passes harmlessly through him but reduces his shirt to charcloth.

He gives Bakugou a moment of bewilderment before he drops down beneath the floor.

This part used to terrify him, when he was little. Permeation renders him completely intangible, down to every cell, and not just for solid matter. Light passes through his retinas, air passes through his lungs, sound waves pass through his eardrums. When he gives himself so completely to his quirk, he is blind, deaf, and suffocating.

Luckily, it has an interesting side effect: when he releases his quirk, rather than getting trapped in the floor, he shoots straight out and up. With practice, coordination, and a little foresight, he can aim just so. In this case, he can aim his trajectory directly into the first-year student above him.

Bakugou goes down in that one attack, dazed, disoriented, and retching a little. That might have been overkill, but judging by the way the kid is glaring at him, he's probably all right.

The rest of the class rallies, alarmed into action by Bakugou's quick defeat, and Mirio dives into the floor again. He aims first for the close-range fighters, then for the long-range fighters, and they're unprepared. Maybe they've never faced an enemy that they could neither see nor hit. Some are quick, others are lucky, but it's like Sir says—nothing beats cold hard experience.

Eventually, most of them are out of commission, dazed or incapacitated by his quick and efficient assault. The only students that he hasn't taken down are Midoriya, who's watching him with an almost unblinking stare, and Todoroki, who's standing off to the side without joining in. Mirio glances at the latter just in time to see him cup his hands around his mouth and call out the driest encouragement he's ever heard.

"Punch him in the throat, Midoriya."

Midoriya shoots him a quick glare, though there isn't any real venom behind it. There's a bruise blooming on his jaw where Mirio managed to clip him. "You're bringing that up now?"

"It's either that or watch your surroundings better."

"How about you get over here and join in!"

"Can't, I don't have my provisional license."

Banter is all well and good, but it makes for a tempting distraction. Mirio dives beneath the floor again and moves, aiming in the direction that he knows Midoriya was standing. He shoots up from beneath again, bracing himself for the inevitable impact, but he finds Midoriya out of his reach, still watching him intently.

The younger boy's lips move, and Mirio barely hears what he's muttering— "Stay on him, stay on him, stay on him, don't lose him for even a second--"

Mirio vanishes for another attack, and Midoriya dodges him yet again. No matter how Mirio attacks, or from which direction, Midoriya's eyes are never anywhere but fixed on him.

In spite of himself, Mirio grins.

He can't tell whether it looks flashy or comical, launching himself from the floor again and again while Midoriya dodges him. It only takes a few for Mirio to realize his game—one way or another, Midoriya has a way to predict him, and his minimal dodging expends far less energy than Mirio's attacks. Midoriya's trying to wear him down.

Well, that won't do at all.

The next time Mirio comes up, he stays up. Midoriya is quick and clever, but he doesn't have a game plan for direct combat, and Mirio doesn't give him time to think of one. He ends the fight with a move he learned from Sir, and steps back to let Midoriya recover and get his wind back.

"That was impressive," he says, and hopes he doesn't sound condescending about it. "I mean that, it was really good."

"Thanks," Midoriya wheezes.

By some miracle Mirio managed to keep his pants this time, though he does have to retrieve his burnt shirt to put it back on. "In any case, that's the point I was trying to make," he says, turning back to address the others. "Versatility. Classroom training is necessary for building up your skills, but internships take away the controlled environment that comes of learning from teachers and simulations. It enables you to adapt more quickly to unfamiliar situations and opponents, so that you aren't caught off guard by every new battle. I hope that makes sense!"

Looking around, he sees that he's garnered the desired reaction. Most of them are looking on with renewed interest. The redhead with the hardening quirk looks ready to burst from excitement.

Midoriya shuffles past him, still favoring the leg that Mirio kicked to take him down, and takes a few back-slaps and head-ruffles from his classmates. Mirio watches his back, pursing his lips against the bright smile that wants to take over his face.

A chill passes through him, startling him. It's not an ominous feeling; it's really not that bad at all. But it's unfamiliar, like having a quirk used on him, or being watched, or someone giggling at him behind his back.

He looks, but there's no one there.

All-Might asks to speak with him after class that day. Not in their usual room, or at the dorms, but on the jogging path that winds through the campus grounds.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Izuku says cautiously when they meet. He doesn't like the look on All-Might's face. It's the same look he had before they had their conversation about All For One, and this time Izuku doesn't know anything ahead of time. He looks to Nana for help, but she nods toward All-Might.

"We would've had this conversation once you were healed from Kamino, but then you opened up to him," she says. "Just—listen, okay? Listen and keep an open mind."

Because that's not ominous at all.

They walk together down the wooded hill that surrounds UA, until they're well away from the campus proper. It's a little better like this, when they're out in the open and walking the school grounds instead of cooped up in that sound-proofed room. It mustn't be that dire, then, right? If this is a conversation that All-Might can have with him outside, then… it can't be that bad. No earth-shattering secrets.

"What do you know of the hero Nighteye?" All-Might asks, a little abruptly.

Izuku looks at him, surprised. That's not at all how he expected this conversation to start. "Nighteye… you mean… your former sidekick Nighteye?"

"Is there another that I'm not aware of?"

"Right," Izuku says sheepishly. "Sir Nighteye. He's a little obscure, and not very highly ranked. But that's mostly because he's not in the public eye very much, now that he doesn't work with you anymore. I don't think anyone even knows what his quirk is. He almost qualifies as an underground hero, except a lot of his sidekicks end up rising to prominence. His agency's pretty sought-after by new heroes who want to make a name for themselves, but he's supposed to have really strict standards."

All-Might heaves a sigh. "That he does," he says, as if to himself.

"Actually, outside of actual pro heroes, most people just know him as your former sidekick," Izuku continues. "People used to speculate a lot about him, until he struck out on his own six... six years... ago..." His voice trails off as realization strikes. He doesn't think about Nighteye often, so he's never made the connection until now.

"Yes," All-Might says. "Six years ago."

"Did you still work with him sometimes, after he left your agency?" Izuku asks cautiously. 

"No." All-Might's mouth tightens a little as they continue their walk. "No, I never had the occasion. But Nighteye and I worked together for years, before my injury. And very well, might I add." All-Might's voice takes on a wistful note. "Very well. Most of my best successes would have been impossible without him. In fact, he was more or less the brains of the operation, more often than not."

"That's... wow, that's kind of incredible," Izuku admits. "I-I mean, I guess I always assumed he was learning from you. You know? But I guess that's not giving him enough credit." He chews this over, trying to fit this new information into his preconceptions. "Why are you telling me this?"

All-Might stops walking. They're alone; not even ghosts hang around in these woods. The only ones besides themselves are Nana and Rei. "I don't think I need to tell you that this stays between us," he says. "Not only for our sakes, but for the sake of an old and dear friend."

"I kind of figured," Izuku says.

"And…" All-Might looks pained. "And I'm sorry. This is another one of those things that I should have told you sooner. Not because of the danger it might pose, but… I did not want to cause you pain."

"O-okay…" Izuku looks to Nana for help again, and finds none. He takes a deep breath and steels himself. "Okay. Whatever it is, I'll be fine. I promise."

All-Might nods. "Nighteye kept his quirk a secret from the public for a reason. It was always an ace in the hole—our ace in the hole, when we worked together. It was an advantage that no villain could match, that few heroes could match. A form of—of clairvoyance, so powerful, so sharp, that his predictions were always accurate. Inescapably so. Believe me, we… experimented with it, in the early days."

"He predicted something," Izuku murmurs. "Something terrible?"

All-Might won't meet his eyes. "My boy… he predicted my death."

The ground beneath Izuku's feet seems to vanish, the world tilts on its axis, and for a moment Izuku's mind is empty. He comes back with cool hands on his cheeks—Nana is there, steadying him, speaking softly until he can register words again.

"When?" he asks, as soon as his voice comes back. "How?"

"He used his quirk on me after I defeated All For One, when I had nearly recovered from my injuries. He must not have looked for long, once he realized what he was seeing, because he couldn't offer any details. Only that I would die in a fight with a terrible villain, in six or seven years."

"That was six years ago." Izuku's mind swims. "That was—you—"

The silence that follows presses down on him like a cold hand, crushing him toward the earth. A nearby fencepost gives him a place to lean; maybe that's why All-Might stopped here to tell him.

"What happened?" he asks. "After he told you that?"

"He implored me to retire, to give up hero work in the hopes that I could escape my fate, even though we knew that to be impossible." All-Might's voice breaks. "He begged me. I refused."

"What about—Kamino?" Izuku raises his head. "Kamino was—it could've—" The lump in his throat grows too thick to speak around. "Did you have him use it on you again, after you defeated All For One the second time? That was between six and seven years after you first fought him. Maybe it's changed."

All-Might shuts his eyes. "My scars were still fresh, when he gave me that prediction. He saw what that battle had reduced me to, and it terrified him. When I refused to listen to him, he said that he couldn't just stand by and watch me die. We haven't spoken since."

The boy is quiet for a long time. He no longer looks like he'll fall without the fencepost's help, but Toshinori can't read what's on his face.

"Is… there anything else?" His voice wavers.

Toshinori hesitates, lips pursed, wondering if he should leave this part out, but—no. He deserves the truth, as whole as Toshinori can make it. "I misspoke," he says. "Nighteye and I—we have… communicated, recently. Nothing so dire as, as what he told me back then, but he did reach out to me, for the first time in years. It was before this year started, before you and I crossed paths. He contacted me to tell me that he had found a worthy successor for One For All." The boy stiffens at this. "I was on my way to meet with the candidate when I pursued a villain and found my way beneath a certain bridge. I made up my mind on you that day, and I… didn't make it to that meeting." Izuku stares at him, wide-eyed, and Toshinori's heart sinks with worry and shame. It's not a pleasant thing to think of, that his discovery of Izuku was—

"An accident," Izuku says, his voice hushed. "You chose me, you found me, by accident. It was all just, just luck and timing."

Toshinori steps closer to him, and his voice turns steely. "I have never regretted it," he tells him. "You have never—you've only ever exceeded my expectations since I met you, and accident or not…" His voice trails off. He had expected distress, dismay, even anger, but instead Izuku meets his words with a shaky smile.

"Good," he says. "I'm glad. That's what I always thought."

"You always…?" Toshinori says. "What do you—?"

"It was an accident." Izuku's voice trembles with hope. "None of this was planned. It wasn't meant to be, it was an accident." He pauses and swipes his hand across his eyes. "All-Might—thank you. I mean it. Thank you for telling me. It must've been hard, but I'm glad. I just—I got scared for a second, but I'm okay now. It's going to be okay."

Toshinori isn't quite sure what's going through his head, but he can tell when his student needs comfort. He pulls the boy into a hug, and Izuku's arms wrap around his middle, careful to avoid the scar that still pains him.

"You're not going to die," Izuku tells him, and it's not the shaky uncertainty of faint hope; his student's voice is steady and certain. "I know there's something to look out for, now. But you aren't going to die."

Toshinori holds him tighter. "I won't, if I can help it," he says. "When I first heard it, I made my peace with it. I was willing to run toward that future and meet it, as long as I left behind a successor. But then I met you. And I'm not willing to leave you behind anymore." A sob builds in the back of his throat, and he swallows it so that he can continue speaking. "I thought it had caught up with me at Kamino, but I defied it. You helped me defy it, and because of that, I'm still here. And I don't intend to run toward it anymore. Even if the future is set in stone, I'll fight it—"

Izuku pushes back out of his arms. "It's not," he says. "I don't believe that. The future doesn't work like that. I know it doesn't."

There's such conviction in his voice. He sounds so sure of this, like it's an unshakable truth on which his entire world turns.

It makes Toshinori believe it a little more, too.