Chapter 24

Sometimes, in the dead of night, Izuku finds himself in familiar places.

For example, tonight he stands in the USJ and watches the Noumu crush Aizawa into the ground. It's never a question whether or not he dreams in color, because Izuku sees red in them. On Aizawa's face, on the cracked ground beneath him, smeared on the Noumu's hands—on his own hands, too. His limbs are locked in place, his chest frozen—he can't even take a breath to scream.

Aizawa falls from the Noumu's dark hand like a broken doll—and then there are two of him, and the second blinks at Izuku with blank white eyes.

His form is wavering, but solid. Pale but opaque.

Dead, not unconscious.

Shigaraki grasps Tsuyu by the face, and she screams as she falls to ash. Her ghost appears, still screaming, twisting even though she's dead and nothing can hurt her anymore. Shigaraki turns to him then, twitching fingers reaching and grasping for Izuku's eyes.

He shuts them, and opens them in the alley. There are ghosts again, and even in his dreams he can count and the numbers make sense—seventeen for the heroes he doesn't know, eighteen for Tensei, nineteen for Rei, twenty—

Iida is number twenty, standing over his own body, eyes locked wide and pleadng on Izuku's while Izuku's breath comes in short gasps because he ran and ran but he was too slow

Blades flash in the dark

His blood spills, his limbs lock

He calls for help. It comes out as a whisper but he calls and calls Tensei called but nobody came, Iida called but Izuku was too slow.

He calls again and Todoroki comes running, flames in technicolor, orange and red make the shadows dance, and Izuku still can't move, still can't scream, can only watch as Stain cuts him down and Todoroki falls just beyond his reach, eyes shut.

They open again, not gray and blue but milky white.

And he's the only one now who isn't dead, because he couldn't save them, couldn't do anything, not fight or protect or even run fast enough to stop a sword, he can't win a fight with his quirk, he can't save people, all he can do is talk to them when they're already dead—

He wakes up with all the abruptness of a slap in the face, tangled in damp sheets, drenched and sticky with sweat. He's already nauseous, already crying, already rolling over to gag himself with his own pillow before his hoarse sobs can wake his mother.

Cold hands pat at his head, snagging in his tangled, sweat-stiffened hair. The tears subside, and he shivers, curling in on himself in a tight ball, waiting for the crawling on his back to go away, for the shadows to back off, for the visions to leave.

It takes a moment for his eyes to focus. The clock by his bedside reads four-twenty-eight, and he struggles and kicks until the encumbering sheets are crumpled at the foot of his bed. He sits up, pajamas clinging wetly to his skin.

He doesn't hear the pad of paws on the carpet—he only realizes Mika is there at all when she leaps into his lap and steps all over his thighs, kneading until the pricking of her claws brings him more fully into wakefulness. Izuku's eyes are still mostly shut as he reaches for her and clutches her against his chest. She wriggles in his arms, but she doesn't claw or bite or struggle free.

The light comes on, and he jumps, eyes fluttering open to look to the door. "S-sorry Mom—" he begins, but his door is barely ajar and the apartment beyond is quiet but for the usual background creaking in the walls. Rei hovers by the light switch, dark hair falling over her face. When Izuku focuses on her, her hands move.

Go back to sleep?

"N-nope," he rasps. "No. Absolutely not. Not going back there." He shuts his eyes again and shakes his head furiously, as if that will jar the memory of Aizawa-sensei's dead face from his mind.

He gets a few seconds of blissful blankness before it comes back. Faces crowd in his mind—Aizawa-sensei becomes Iida becomes Todoroki becomes Tensei becomes Sachi screaming and crying as her mangled hands clutch the wheel of her car with its cut brakes—

Tears drip down to his chin again. He wipes his eyes and reaches for his phone, without even thinking. It's automatic.

When his eyes clear again, he finds that he's opened up his text messages with Iida. He doesn't remember making that decision, but here he is.

He scrolls up, mouth twisting wryly at the long series of messages from his phone to Iida's, all marked as read but unanswered. He swipes his way back to the bottom, and finds one new message—the first text he's gotten from Iida in nearly a week.

[1:28] Iida:

You're probably asleep right now. If so, I apologize if I wake you. If not, then you really should be going to sleep, Midoriya!

[1:30] Iida:

I hope we can speak more later, but I wanted to say this as soon as possible.

[1:34] Iida:

Thank you, and I'm sorry. You deserved better from me.

Izuku's thumbs move to reply, before he thinks better of it. If this means that Iida will be back to replying within three minutes of receiving a text message, then he doesn't want to risk waking his friend up. Anything they say to each other on this subject will be better left for a face-to-face conversation.

He switches to his text conversation with Todoroki, and his mouth twists into a self-conscious smile when he's greeted with a picture of Mika with his kitschy old All-Might headband balanced on her head and being a very good sport about it. Right—he'd stayed up until nearly one in the morning, working off nervous energy by snapping stupid photos of his cat and sending them to Todoroki.

He takes a gamble then, and sends another message.

[4:36] Me:

hey so

[4:36] Me:

let me know when your injuries are better?

[4:37] Me:

once they are, we can spar again. after what happened with stain it'd be good to get in some extra practice.

He ponders those messages for a while, before deciding that there's not much more he can add. There's no icon or indication that Todoroki is replying, or even that he's read the messages, so Izuku sighs with relief. Todoroki's still asleep, and Izuku hasn't woken him.

The bed dips a little when Rei bounces onto it to sit by him. She settles into his lap, craning her neck to see the screen of his phone. The tip of her tongue pokes out of her mouth, and she makes a grab for it. Izuku barely pulls it out of her reach.

"Hey c'mon—" Rei makes grabbing motions, and in spite of the lingering nightmares, Izuku manages a smile. "Okay, okay, lemme just pick something more interesting." Rei fidgets impatiently, and he brings up his Youtube app.

Weariness pulls at him, promising punishment and regret once the day comes. But the thought of sleep makes him feel physically ill, and he's no stranger to poor rest, so he settles down with a ghost and a cat vying for the most comfortable spot in his lap, and watches Vine compilations and baby goat videos until the sun rises.

Uraraka Ochako is not stupid. Some people might look at her, take in her bright smile and her cheery disposition, maybe even overhear some of the conversations she has with Kirishima when they're both riled up and excited, and leap to the "airhead" conclusion without stopping to think. It's irritating at best, even if being underestimated can be useful once in a while.

It has nothing to do with grades, or intelligence, or how fast she can write a three-page essay on the history of quirk politics. It has everything to do with having eyes and ears and a halfway-decent memory and the ability to use those things in conjunction with one another.

For example, when she walks up to UA's front gate on the first day back from internship week, she sees Deku not too far ahead, walking practically cheek-to-cheek with Todoroki, of all people. As she trots a little to catch up, she gets close enough to hear them chatting, and even catches the last bit of whatever Todoroki is saying.

"—and you look terrible right now. Even worse than usual."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you've been sleeping like a baby after that," Deku retorts.

"Fair enough."

And she remembers that the last time she saw them interacting in any way was when they may or may not have tried to kill each other at the Sports Festival. She also remembers that Todoroki does a lot of things, but she's never seen him chat with anyone, or heard him ask after anyone's well-being. He's not mean, per se, especially compared to Bakugou, but he's stand-offish and doesn't really talk to anyone, and he said he wasn't there to make friends in front of basically the entire class, so…

Oh, well. She's certainly not going to find anything out by standing all the way back here.

Ochako is not stupid, and neither is she shy, so she trots to catch up with an easy spring in her step and a bright "Morning, Deku!" In just a few paces she's side-by-side with Deku as he turns to look and—okay, she definitely sees what Todoroki was talking about. "Whoa, Deku, you look a little rough," she blurts, and if Iida were here then he'd definitely chide her for being tactless. But what else can she say? There are fading bruises on his face, he has a half-healed split lip, and… well. Come to think of it, she's never seen him without dark circles under his eyes, but they look even worse than usual this morning. And if he looks bad enough that even Todoroki is commenting on it…

"How was your week?" Deku asks.

"It was pretty cool, but c'mon, what about your week?" Is Deku scatterbrained because of obvious sleep deprivation, or is he purposely changing the subject? "I saw the news, Deku. Everybody saw the news. I mean, the Hero Killer?" She could try to ease into it, but she's been sitting on this question since they last spoke over the phone, and needless to say she's a bit impatient. It's all she can do to keep from punching the air in agitation. "You're really lucky Endeavor showed up when he did, because… because…" She can't think of a proper way to finish that sentence. "I mean, what was that even like? How did that even happen?"

"Uhhhh…" And Deku shoots a glance at Todoroki.

She recognizes that kind of glance. It's a solidarity glance. An I-don't-know-how-to-deal-with-this-so-I'm-looking-to-you-for-a-cue glance. It's the kind of look that passes between friends, or close allies, and not two people who went from never talking to furiously punching each other back and forth across an arena on national television.

"Where… where was your supervisor, when it happened?" she presses. "I mean, I guess, was he okay? What was he like?"

"Very small and merciless."

In spite of herself, Ochako sputters out a laugh. "He wasn't too hard on you, was he? Gunhead was actually pretty cool to work under. And a lot nicer than he looks, but still…" She rolls her shoulders, and the movement reassures her. She's never felt this physically secure in her own skin before. "Well. I really learned a lot—I hope I get the chance to show it off in class." Inwardly she shakes herself—she's getting off track again.

"That's great! I… actually, I learned a lot, too." He smiles, and it's genuine enough to make the bags under his eyes look a little less awful. "My supervisor was… memorable. Helpful, though."

"That's good. But… more important than anything, are you okay?"

Something flashes in his eyes, and he glances to Todoroki again—but Todoroki's already wandered off, so he turns back to her. "W-well… yeah, I'm fine, first off. But, um…" His voice trails off.

"Deku…" Ochako tilts her head so that her face is still within his line of vision as they enter the school building. "You do realize that not answering the question makes me want to know the answer even more, right?"

"I… well… yeah." His shoulders slump a little.

"And that the longer you take to think of an answer, the more I'm going to think you aren't telling the truth?"

At least he has the grace to look guilty.

Ochako sighs. "Deku, you remember what we said to Iida last week, right? If something's wrong—"

"I-it's not, I mean, not now, it's just…"

"I know you don't have to tell me if you really don't want to," she continues. "But… I am still your friend, and if something's going on, then—"

"I do want to," Deku blurts out, and there's no hesitance or anything in how he says it. It slips out as if on its own, and she's inclined to believe it. "I do, I just… can't."

"No judgments," Ochako tells him. "Whatever it is, I'll listen and I'll take it to the grave. Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me."

"No, I—" A pained look crosses his face. "I mean I literally can't tell you. As in, there are real, legitimate, legal reasons I can't tell you."

…Oh.

Well she wasn't quite expecting that.

"But I can tell you that it's okay, and I'm fine, and whatever it is, it's over now," he goes on. They're close to the classroom.

"If you're sure," Ochako says reluctantly. She wasn't expecting to get stone-walled for a reason like that.

And just like that, in spite of the exhaustion ringing his eyes, Deku slips back into his normal cheery, chattery self, and Ochako lets the rest of it slide for now. Whatever else is going on, he's here and he's okay, and a little bit of lost sleep is pretty tame, as possible downsides go.

Still, she finds it noteworthy that both Deku and Iida gravitate to Todoroki's desk before class starts, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for them to stand around him and chat about whatever. And—yeah, that sort of makes sense, since whatever went down with the Hero Killer apparently involved all three of them, but… after his little speech before the Sports Festival, she'd kind of assumed that Todoroki didn't really do friendships.

Soon, though, it's easy to get caught up in the post-internship excitement. Everyone's come out of it with something new. Bakugou has a new haircut, of all things. From the sound of it, Jirou and Tsuyu have racked up some solid experience and training, too. Mineta looks delightfully traumatized. Ochako thinks back to her own training, the throws and maneuvers now drilled solidly into her head, and can't help but throw herself back into that combat mindset (and throw a few jabs, as well).

The trio in the back are soon the talk of the class, though. As it turns out, she isn't the only one with questions. The moment Deku, Iida, and Todoroki are all in the same place, their classmates are practically mobbing them for details. Ochako winces a little when she sees it—if she'd realized that everyone would be pumping them for information, she might have eased up earlier. She looks anxiously to Deku, eyeing the sullen look on his face. He isn't putting on a cheery mask like he did with her.

"Did you guys watch that video of the Hero Killer, though?" Kaminari pipes up. "Where he was giving that speech before they took him in? I dunno what it was about him, but it was kind of badass, right? Am I the only one who thought that?"

Ochako grinds her teeth and looks to Iida. Her friend's face looks like stone.

"Not really." It's not Iida who says that—if Iida's face is stone, then the look in Deku's eyes is positively molten.

"He had that conviction, though, right?" Kaminari goes on, though the grin on his face is faltering. "Like, he's got this one-track mind about his ideas or whatever. That's—that's just my take, anyway…"

"I think…" Deku's face softens back to sullen. "I think having a message is fine, but if the only way to send it is by killing people, then you don't have anything worth saying."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Read the room, Kaminari!" Ochako blurts out, and he finally jolts in his seat and seems to remember that Iida is there.

"O-oh, right." Kaminari looks positively mortified. "S-sorry—I'm sorry, Iida, I didn't even think—"

"It's all right." Iida isn't smiling, but his voice is even. "You… you aren't entirely wrong about his conviction. I can understand why someone looking from the outside would see him that way." His brow furrows, turning his cool face to steel, and for the first time in well over a week, his hand comes down swiftly in a wide arc, karate-chopping the air. "Still! Midoriya is also correct. His chosen method of following his ideals is through death and terror. That is the 'what', and in this case especially, it holds far greater weight than 'why'."

Ochako knows she isn't imagining it when Deku stands a little straighter.

"As future heroes we have a responsibility to be conscious of our actions, and of their potential implications and consequences, regardless of the reasons behind them!" Iida continues, and there isn't an eye in the room that isn't on him. "And I intend to set an example, in that respect. Now, class is almost upon us, so everyone to your seats!"

Their classmates shuffle to comply, and Ochako feels a sort of relief settle in the room. This is a return to something approaching normalcy, after what happened to Ingenium. Ochako takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh of relief. Whatever went down over the past week, whatever new secrets Deku's keeping, or is forced to keep, it looks like Iida, at least, is back to his old self again.

Foundational Heroics class sees them all in their hero costumes again, gathered in one of UA's many, many outdoor training facilities, and Izuku tries not to make it obvious that he's virtually vibrating with excitement.

He'd felt clumsy, the first time he wore this costume in Gran Torino's living room. It had felt awkward and intimidating, like a little kid trying on his parents' shoes. He hadn't been used to the new design then, the new material and weight of it. It had been a far cry from the jumpsuit his mother had sewn for him with her own two hands, heavy and unfamiliar in ways he couldn't put into words.

But today, he can wear this costume and say that he's officially fought a villain in it. Or—well, he can't actually say that, as per their agreement with Tsurugamae, but—anyway. Not important.

What is important is All-Might, and the exercise before them. Simple enough, however All-Might dresses it up as a "rescue" exercise; it's a race through an obstacle course (albeit a complex one modeled after an urban environment) to reach a single target, while keeping damage to a minimum. It's like one-sided Capture the Flag. Point A to Point B. Izuku can recognize an assessment when he sees one; this is their chance to show off what they've learned from shadowing the pros.

It's… kind of perfect, all things considered. If there's one thing Izuku's taken from the past week, it's how to haul ass to someone in distress as fast as his five-percent control of his quirk will allow. What better way to show off Full Cowl?

And yet…

Well. There's always room for improvement. Izuku is never more aware of that than when his mind slips back to that night and runs through the events yet again—he's lost count of how many times he's relived them. Hindsight has dulled the pride and relief, and with each slow-motion mental replay, he finds more and more mistakes. It's a lot to think about.

The fact of the matter is, Izuku's still sort of guilty of the very same thing that made him lose his temper and scream at Todoroki in front of thousands of people: he's letting his own abilities fall to the wayside, unused. His reasons for setting the ghosts aside may be different from Todoroki's reasons for refusing to use fire, but the end result is the same, and the 'what' is still more important than the 'why'.

Nineteen ghosts. There were nineteen ghosts in that alley, vengeful angry things with nothing but hatred for the man he was fighting, and he'd barely bothered to take advantage of that. For all intents and purposes, Stain had been laughably outnumbered and utterly unaware of the fact.

The next villain might not—probably definitely won't—bother playing nice or talking politics. The Hero Killer was a wake-up call; if he wants to live long enough to be a hero, then he's going to have to use what assets he has.

He's going to have to use the allies that he has.

There's barely enough time to throw together a strategy, and the one he lands on is dead-simple. "Rei. Could I ask a favor?" His lips barely move as he speaks, and he edges away from his nearest classmates. They'll hear him talking, but he's already well-established as a mumbler.

His friend's eyes are on him, wide and eager.

"I need an extra set of eyes, and you're fast. So just—when I start, go ahead of me. Find places to touch down. Handholds. Quick paths. Warn me about hazards." He gives her a hopeful look. "Can you do that?"

The vigorous nodding is encouraging.

As luck would have it, he's in the first group. He, Ashido, Sero, Ojiro, and Iida (sans costume, since his is undergoing repairs) line up at the edge of the building they're gathered on.

He hears whispers from his classmates.

"Midoriya's probably at a slight disadvantage."

"You never know," Jirou says. "His abilities are kind of hard to nail down, you know?"

"True," Yaoyorozu replies. "But he always injures himself when he uses them, so it's difficult to say…"

"Starting group, take your positions!"

Rei vanishes from his side. She reappears not far ahead, hovering at the other side of the gap between this platform and the next. The first leap is the simplest. Beyond that is a twisting urban maze of piping, rails, walls, and rooftops—a freerunner's dream come true.

Izuku lets out the breath he's been holding, waits for the signal, and hopes that Rei won't let him fall.

It might have been kinder, to give young Midoriya a few rounds to watch before having him race. The boy is excellent with analysis, after all. But he won't always have time to sit awhile and think, especially when he's so determined to charge into danger. Better to encourage him to think on his feet.

Behind his smile, Toshinori swallows his worries. Gran Torino is a formidable teacher, but he did only have one week to work with. He can only hope it was enough.

Well. He's about to find out, isn't he?

"START!"

Young Sero, predictably, snags an early lead, and—

There's a blur of green—dark green fabric, lit up with sparks like lightning coiled around agile limbs. Midoriya shoots past Sero like an arrow from a bow, overtaking him as he bounds over rooftops and leaps from foothold to foothold.

A hush falls over the watching students, and within it, in the distance, comes a familiar voice.

"Woohoo!"

He's never heard that sound from his student before. It's all Toshinori can do to keep from laughing aloud.

Kirishima is the first to break the shocked silence. "Look at him go! Is that even the same quirk?"

"Man, who knew Midoriya could parkour like that?" Kaminari adds.

Surprise ripples through the rest. Kirishima and Uraraka both are positively gleeful. Bakugou looks outraged to the point of being personally offended. The rest look varying levels of shocked (though Bakugou is the only one who seems to take this new development as a bad thing). In fact, the only one who doesn't seem surprised is Todoroki—if anything, the not-smile on his face is verging on smug.

To all of those watching, from the students awaiting their turn to the teacher awaiting the victor at the finish line, Midoriya's reflexes seem to have improved by leaps and bounds, though his movements are a little rough. At one point he drops his face into the crook of one arm, which no doubt hinders his vision even if it's only for a moment.

"Sero's catching up," Uraraka remarks. "C'mon, Deku, you can do it!"

"It makes sense," Yaoyorozu says. "This group has the most maneuverability, but Sero's quirk is probably the best suited to this exercise. He doesn't have to touch down as often, provided he can find points to swing from, and this environment is full of them. It's much more difficult to predict a stable foothold."

"I'm sorry, is no one else gonna acknowledge that Midoriya just dabbed?" Kaminari asks.

"Wait, he did?" Kirishima says. "I thought he was sneezing or something."

"Still, look at those reflexes," Tsuyu pipes up. "Jumping's tricky if you can't see where you're going to land, but it's like he's thinking two steps ahead. It's pretty cool."

"It's pretty much neck and neck between them, at this point," Jirou says. "My money's on Sero, though."

He can feel the wind in his hair. Is this why dogs stick their heads out of car windows? It feels fantastic.

Izuku's stomach turns somersaults as if he's on a roller coaster of his own making. Rei stays ahead of him, scouting out a safe, stable path through the replica cityscape.

Sero's still hot on his trail, swinging like an armored monkey as he closes the distance between them. Izuku hears the whap of tape nearby, and chances a glance over his shoulder to see how close his classmate is.

It's a mistake—he misses the thick pipe that he was aiming for, foot skimming off the edge of it. He can't hold back the yell of dismay as he feels himself drop. One hand stretches upward on instinct, reaching for a handhold that isn't there.

A pair of hands catches him, cold leaking through the sleeve of his costume. Izuku finds himself promptly dragged back up, clumsily scrabbling for purchase as he's helped back onto the bar. Trembling at his near-miss, he manages to hop his way up to a wider rooftop, and looks up with a shaky grin at Rei's pale face.

"Th-thanks for the save," he whispers. Sero has pulled ahead of him, and Ojiro is catching up as well. Izuku shrugs off the rest of the jittery alarm, pulls Full Cowl back together, and charges forward again.

He makes a valiant effort, and manages to leave Ojiro behind again, but Sero reaches All-Might before he does. Disappointed, Izuku touches down on the final rooftop and stumbles to a halt to catch his breath.

Sero's laughing—not derisively, but a shaky, good-natured laugh that loosens the twisting frustration in Izuku's chest. "Damn, Midoriya," he says, sounding breathless from effort. "That was close. If you hadn't slipped like that, I don't think I could've caught you—oh crap, did you hit your face on the way down?"

"What?" The word is barely out when he feels a warm trickle down his upper lip and tastes salt and iron. "Oh. I guess I did. Whoops." He almost wipes his bleeding nose, but decides at the last moment that he'd rather not get blood on his new costume again.

The others reach the finish soon after—Ojiro, then Iida, and finally Ashido all touch down on the final rooftop to the sound of All-Might's booming greetings.

"You've all done well," he tells them. "Young Sero may have placed first, but I can see that all of you have made progress, both in physical ability and the application of your quirks. Well done! Keep at it, and you'll all do well in the end-of-term exams!"

Izuku feels his stomach drop, and the glow of All-Might's praise sours as it lands on him. In all the recent flurry of events and excitement, it had slipped his mind that the term is ending and exams are only weeks away.

Iida takes one look at him and promptly flies off the handle in appropriate Iida fashion. "I turn around and you're bleeding again," he remarks the moment All-Might is finished speaking. "Midoriya, how—?"

"Slipped," Midoriya says. "Anyone have a tissue?"

As it turns out, All-Might has tissues. They're imprinted with tiny rabbit shapes. As his teacher moves closer to press one into Izuku's hands, his voice barely reaches Izuku's ears.

"Your progress in one week is remarkable, my boy," he murmurs. His back is to the others. "I almost didn't recognize you."

Izuku hides his smile by pressing the tissue to his bleeding nose.

All-Might isn't done. "When this lesson is over, come see me in the teacher's lounge," he says. "We need to talk."

For a moment, Izuku meets Ms. Shimura's eyes over All-Might's shoulder. She gives him a soft smile, glowing with quiet pride.

"It's time I told you a few things about One For All."

It's probably yet another sign of Toshinori's ill fit in the teacher role, that he would rather fight armies of villains with one hand behind his back than have this conversation.

It's his own fault, really. On two counts. He should have made this conversation happen months ago—before villains attacked the USJ, before school started, maybe even before he'd passed his quirk to young Midoriya in the first place. Maybe he should have opened with this, all those months ago when he'd first stretched out his hand and offered the boy his quirk.

He hadn't, because he hadn't thought he'd need to. And the fact that he does need to is also his fault. Had he been more thorough, then maybe… but no.

Toshinori is afraid. He is afraid of having this conversation, because young Midoriya has formed a habit of exceeding his expectations, and today's exercise left him bursting with pride and hope, but this—

More than anything, this conversation might end up being a deal-breaker.

Dutifully, Midoriya shows up to the break room to see him, face blandly curious in a way that makes Toshinori's gut twist with guilt. He wonders what the boy expects out of this meeting.

He schools his face into a carefully blank mask. The smile is harder to fake in this form, so he doesn't try. "Lock the door behind you," he says.

Moments later, Midoriya is sitting before him, nursing the cup of tea that Toshinori offered him (tea is the least he can offer).

"To begin," he says. "I heard about what happened in Hosu. I received your message, as well. I'm sorry I wasn't near enough to help you."

Midoriya jumps. "Wh—no, that's all right! I didn't expect you to, I just—it turned out fine. It was touch and go for a while, but… it was nice, getting out of it without shattering something like I usually do." He wrings his right hand. "It's a step up from last time. And the time before that. And… all the times, pretty much."

"You've found a way to harness One For All more efficiently." This time, the smile comes more easily. "I saw how you moved today. Your control is coming along, and your reflexes are excellent."

Midoriya coughs a little and takes a sip of tea. "Right, yeah… I've been working on that," he mumbles.

"Something did occur to me, though, about Stain—he ingested some of your blood, did he not?"

"Is… is that a problem?"

"Not as such." Toshinori shakes his head. "Do you remember what I told you when I first passed One For All to you?"

Midoriya answers with an eerily accurate imitation of himself. "'Now eat this,'" the boy replies… and that's uncanny. Toshinori almost chokes on his own tea.

"Not quite what I meant," he says.

"Well that's the part that stuck with me," Midoriya answers.

"That was… does that take practice?"

Midoriya's face colors slightly, and all of a sudden he seems supremely interested in his tea. "Maybe."

"W-well, anyway, I was referring to what I said about One For All," Toshinori continues. "And how it passes through DNA." He pushes on before Midoriya can reply. "I wasn't sure if you'd be worried, since Stain drank your blood. It can only be passes on intentionally. It cannot be taken forcibly or accidentally."

"I didn't even think of that," Midoriya admits. "So… I guess that means I wasn't really worried about it."

"Good, good." Toshinori hesitates, trying not to chew on his own tongue.

"Was that what you wanted to tell me about One For All?" Midoriya asks. His eyes are on Toshinori, wide and expectant, like he knows that the answer is no.

"No. I'm… Well, I'm sure you've been wondering how such a power came to be." He can do this. He just has to ease into it. Tell it to him like how Nana told you. "Its origins lie in the very beginning of quirk society, when powers first began to emerge." He glances at his student. "You're familiar with the history, I'm sure."

"I know that… that quirks basically threw everything into chaos for a while," Midoriya replies hesitantly. "Back when being quirkless was the norm, and humanity started to gain these powers… people were scared, and there was a lot of social upheaval, and it sort of… I guess everything else sort of ground to a halt while people dealt with that?" He shrugs. "I read some famous quote that said we'd have reached interstellar travel by now if it hadn't been for quirks."

Toshinori nods. "Correct. And, unfortunately, it is in times of great upheaval that… that a certain type of person finds opportunities to gain power." His student falls quiet, watching him. "In that time, a… there was a man who was born with a unique ability to steal the powers of those around him—take them by force, either to keep, or to give away as he saw fit. Unfortunately, most humans he granted powers can't handle the strain of multiple quirks, and it… it destroys them, from the inside. They might still be physically healthy, but… their minds don't survive." He pauses. "Perhaps this sounds familiar to you."

"Noumu," Midoriya murmurs.

"Got it in one." Toshinori sighs. "He used this power to raise armies of mindlessly loyal henchman, or to remove threats, and before long he ended up ruling Japan's criminal underworld. At some point he must have gained a quirk that stopped him from aging, in order to prolong his own reign. I don't know his name. I doubt anyone does anymore, aside from him. He's only known by the name of his quirk—All For One." The title still tastes foul on his tongue.

Midoriya doesn't reply, aside from a slight shudder.

"But he had a younger brother—weak, frail, and seemingly quirkless—who opposed him. Eventually All For One used his power to grant him a quirk, though I don't know why. Perhaps to subjugate him as well, or out of some sense of pity or familial loyalty."

At this, Midoriya sits up straight. "A brother?"

"Yes. One who he granted a quirk that stockpiles physical power. And, unbeknownst to either of them before that point, the brother did have a quirk all along—just one that hadn't made itself known."

"An invisible quirk," Midoriya says, leaning forward.

Toshinori raises his eyebrows. "So you've heard of them."

"One of the doctors my mom talked to thought I might have one, back when I was little," the boy answers. "What was it? His original quirk, I mean."

"Simply a power that allowed itself to be passed along from person to person." Toshinori takes a deep breath. "Which I'm sure also sounds familiar. And so, the two quirks combined within him, forming—"

"One For All," Midoriya finishes in a hushed voice.

Toshinori nods. "That is the origin of this power, my boy. It was—" His voice catches. "It was born with a purpose. All For One's brother ultimately failed to stop him, and so he passed his quirk to another in the hopes that the accumulation of strength would be enough to defeat him. And on and on it went through the generations, until… now."

Silence stretches between them, as thick as smoke. It clogs Toshinori's ears like a solid mass.

His student has gone from hushed to mute. His eyes are on Toshinori's, boring into him, searching his face as if taking a measure of his soul. They flicker toward Toshinori's side, where his work shirt covers the twisted mass of scarring.

With some effort, he continues. "My own predecessor tried to defeat him, and… failed." The word sticks in his throat, a choking pain that burns just as sharply as the day she fell. He knows, he reminds himself. He knows about her. Gran Torino told him already. "And I… I made my own attempt, which resulted in the injury that I've hidden from the public, and I thought—ahem." He clears his throat, because his voice almost cracked, and that won't do at all. "I thought I was successful. For years I thought he had died in our fight, but… recent events lead me to believe otherwise." Guilt roils in his belly like nausea. "And if—if he is still alive, then it is quite likely, my boy, that you will have to face him yourself one day."

And with that, it's out. There's no taking it back now. By rights he never should have kept quiet in the first place, but there's no fixing it now. There's no changing the fact that Toshinori failed his student years before he'd even met him, and now Midoriya knows about it.

The silence is deafening now. There's no clock in this room, and Toshinori wishes desperately that there were. Even a maddening tick-tick-tick of seconds would be better than the utter void of sound that follows his quiet confession.

Desperation wins out, forcing more words from his tongue. "I'm… I think I owe you an apology, my boy," Toshinori says. "You—I told you none of this, and hinted at none of this, when I first offered you my power. And if I deceived you, in any way… that was not my intention. It… it must be a lot to ask, for you to join such a deadly fight that you have no prior stake in, but at the time, I hoped he had died, and—"

"He hurt you."

Toshinori can't help it—he all but jumps when his student speaks. Is it his fault that young Midoriya shifts so abruptly from dead-silence to noise?

"Pardon?" he manages to say.

His student won't look at him now. His eyes are fixed upon the tea in front of him, one finger tracing lightly over the rim. "All For One," he says, and there's something in his tone, something buried deep that Toshinori can only hear if he hunts for it. "He hurt you."

"I… believe I said that, yes," Toshinori replies, and his side twinges.

Midoriya's eyes flicker briefly in the direction of Toshinori's old wound, then back down to his tea. "It's not just that," he continues, his tone still blank and neutral. "He took someone from you. Someone important." Up come the eyes again, meeting Toshinori's only for a moment. "Someone you loved."

He's not sure he likes where this discussion is headed. "Midoriya…"

"It's okay," Midoriya tells him. "It's not something you've ever—you couldn't talk about it to anyone. Right? And now it still feels wrong to try, even though by rights you should be able to."

There is little Toshinori can think to say to that, except "Well… yes, I suppose."

Midoriya nods. "I'm not trying to dig for more information about that. You don't have to talk about her yet if you don't want to. I just…" He purses his lips. "I just wanted to, um, m-make it clear, I guess? That I know. And that means he's hurt you twice over. And… and that means I have all the reason I need. T-to want to fight him."

He feels his heart drop to his stomach. "Midoriya," he says, and urgency creeps into his tone. "My boy, I—I'm genuinely touched, that you would think that way, but… that can't be your reason. That shouldn't be your reason." He shakes his head, because he knows. He remembers he can never forget how it felt, feeling Nana's pain as if it were his own, wanting to scream and cry and rage against anyone and anything that had ever spared a thought toward hurting her. He remembers the pain of her loss, the rage that haunted his dreams, filling him with a sick, twisting desire for retribution. "You can't—that's a mistake, Midoriya. This isn't about grudges, or punishment, or personal satisfaction. It is simply a duty to the world, do you understand?"

"It's not my only reason," Midoriya nearly whispers. "I have others. I'm just saying that, at the end of the day, it's the only reason I need." He draws in his shoulders, curling in on himself as much as the situation allows. "Can… can I admit something?"

Urgency turns to concern. "Of course. Is something troubling you?" He mentally kicks himself—stupid question. After the boy's harrowing experience in Hosu, he's gone and dropped another mental bomb on him. Of course something is troubling him.

"W-when I… when I fought against Stain." Midoriya's fingertips are white against the cup. "I… I was scared."

"Of course you were," Toshinori says gently. "You remember what I told you, remember? All heroes feel fear."

"I-I know, but… when I was fighting him, I was scared, and it made me move faster." His hands shake. "And I was angry, and it made me hit harder. And…" Tears gather in the boy's eyes, and he blinks rapidly as if trying to wipe them away with his eyelids. "I-I was scared because I didn't want to watch Iida and Todoroki die, and I was angry because Stain was trying to kill them. A-and—All-Might, I swear, I would've fought him if it was anybody in that alley, but… but I don't know if I would've been as scared, or as angry, if it hadn't been them, and… and I don't…" Tears drip down his face. "I-I think even people who save lives for selfish reason can still be he-heroes, but I-I don't want to be selfish, and… Does that make me selfish?"

And Toshinori can't know what's going on in young Midoriya's head, just like he can't feel the ghost of a hand on his shoulder, or hear a whisper in the air that answers nah, kiddo, that just makes you honest. His student finally releases the cup from his white-knuckled hands, and Toshinori sees them fidget and wring strangely in Midoriya's lap.

So all he says, in the end, is, "At the moment, my boy, you have my permission to be selfish." Watery green eyes meet his again, wide with shock. "From the moment I met you, young Midoriya, you've been an absolute pillar of selflessness, from charging into danger for the sake of someone whom you didn't get along with, to sacrificing your own advancement for… well, the sake of someone whom you didn't get along with. It's quite inspiring, my boy, but it must be exhausting."

Midoriya's next sniffle sounds encouragingly close to a quiet chuckle, and he lifts his arm to wipe his eyes. "U-um. A little."

"Yes. Well." Toshinori coughs awkwardly into his sleeve. "If your version of selfishness is, 'I will fight extra-hard to protect those close to me,' then I'd say there are worse ways to be selfish. And… you are a student still, my boy. You're learning. No one is born with the perfect mindset for a Symbol of Peace. It will come with time and experience and training. So please…" He tries a smile. "Learn to forgive yourself, won't you?"

After a moment of thought, his student manages a shaky little grin in return. "I'll… I'll try."

"Good." Toshinori takes a sip of tea, and finds his eyes drawn back to his student's hands. They're scarred and battered, even more so than after the Sports Festival. Many of those new marks and bruises will fade and heal, but it's still a stark reminder of how much his charge punishes his hands. As Toshinori watches, he sees them move and fidget again, and a moment later he realizes why it's so mesmerizing to him.

"Oh—is… is that sign language, my boy?"

Midoriya jolts in his seat, eyes wide. "W-what? O-oh. Right. Y-yes. Sorry, it's a nervous tic."

He looks so sheepish that Toshinori can't help but smile. "Still muttering, then?" he says. "With your hands instead of your mouth?"

"S-something like that, yeah." Midoriya shifts in his seat. "Turns out people won't tell you to be quiet if you talk to yourself with just your hands."

"I see…" Toshinori frowns at his students hand's, and then his own. "Hm. I might try learning, myself."

"R-really?"

"It seems like a useful skill," Toshinori says with a shrug. "Besides… you and I have quite a few secrets shared between us, don't we? I see no downside to being able to communicate discreetly."

"Th-that's true." Midoriya takes his cup and drinks from it again, holding it in both hands as if to make sure they keep still. After a moment, now dry-eyed, he looks up again. "A-actually, I had sort of an idea…"

"Do tell."

"Well… if you start of learning, um, numbers, and words for time… like minutes, and hours… then, in class, if you're in your hero form and you're running out of time… you could let me know? I could maybe, I don't know, cover for you or something." He shrugs. "Just a thought."

A slow smile spreads across Toshinori's face again. "It's a good one," he says. "Well. I believe I have a trip to the library in my future. But, out of curiosity… how do you say minutes or hours?"

Midoriya brightens at the question, and Toshinori can only smile wider as his student leaps at the chance to teach.