Chpt 19: Positions, Please!

Hitoshi has a pretty good idea what to expect from the hero course. Most of them remember him from the Sports Festival. If they don't, then finding out that he put their new classmate in a coma probably won't help things. The teachers are treating him like they're not sure how to handle him, which makes it so much more fun.

Midoriya-san and Kurobayashi-sensei are taking this better than anyone else. They had breakfast ready for his first day in the hero course, almost like a little celebration. Like they're PROUD or something. When they send him out the door with Deku's regulars (Hitoshi's former classmates, though he's still having trouble thinking of them that way) he lets out a heavy sigh.

"She's way too nice."

"Yep."

"I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop," Hitoshi risks a glance over his shoulder, meeting Ru… No, not Ruby, Sokuchi's icy glare. "At this point I'm more comfortable with people trying to kill me than people being nice. Is that weird?"

"You're asking the wrong people," Glasses (Hitoshi is aware that his name is Kābā; Hitoshi can't bring himself to use it) chuckles a bit. "We're used to dealing with a reluctant immortal."

"Was he that bad?" Hitoshi frowns.

"He IS that bad," Glasses nearly shoves Hitoshi off the walkway. His smile remains, though his eyes drift somewhere far off as he continues. "I can't tell you how many suicidal stunts he pulled back when we were at our old school… he knew he was bulletproof, but not much else, you know?"

"When you say it like that, he almost sounds sane."

"Yeah, he tried his best, considering…" Glasses shrugs. "everything, I guess."

"I know the feeling."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You're no replacement, Heretic."

"I'd rather die in peace than suffer eternal insomnia."

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"So, this is the lair of the king of the underworld!" Kabuto twirls on his heel with a low whistle. Only the briefcases in either hand keep him from dashing about and touching things, business be damned. This is once in a lifetime opportunity! Instead of satisfying his curiosity, he's shoved towards the center of the room. His smile widens, despite the rough treatment.

All for One is a hard man to get an appointment with. Sure, he wants everyone to know that he exists, but anything else? Finding the king of the underworld is harder than finding monsters under one's bed!

Kabuto can see why.

The so-called king of the underworld must be a monster: All Might reduced his face to a smile and a scar and it STILL wasn't enough to put the man down. His throne is a lab table fused to the floor, with almost a dozen bags of fluid attached to the man's arms. Kabuto is just about to ask if someone needs to announce him when All for One smiles.

"Behold the traveling salesman. Thank you for coming, I know you're not one for… house calls."

"No trouble, boss man!" Kabuto chuckles. He pops a bit of a squat to set his gifts down, then dusts off his hands with a loud clap and shoves them in the pockets of his lab coat. "I'm not dumb enough to refuse an audience with the devil."

"Yes, I thought not… dumb enough to bring a weapon, though, no?" All for One rests his cheek against his knuckles. In the weak light of the monitors, it makes him look even more sinister than he already does (which is saying something, since the lack of eyes hasn't stopped him from figuring out exactly where Kabuto is).

"Weapon? Nah, boss man," Kabuto wipes sweat from the back of his neck. "Just a bit of a demonstration, ya know? What kind of salesman tries to sell ya something without a test drive?"

"Drug dealers come to mind."

"You WOUND me!" Kabuto's presses a hand over his heart, praying it might hide just how fast said heart is beating. "Me, a drug dealer? No way, boss man! I'm a cer-ti-fried doctor! Who would come knocking on the devil's door without a decent product?"

"Fools and martyrs," All for One replies. "It was a pizza deliveryman who took my face, you know?"

"Was it? I heard you pulled a rabbit out of a hat."

"He did resemble a rabbit, but he preferred his fists… A kangaroo, perhaps. You know what happened to him?"

"Just rumors." Kabuto shrugs. "Daytime television is only so reliable these days, especially in our line of work, boss man."

"I tore out his stomach." All for One rolls the fingers of his free hand against the arm of his throne. "I was aiming for his heart, but I confess it's difficult to aim without eyes."

"Riiiight…" Kabuto has never had this much trouble laughing. He wants to laugh. Desperately. But his lungs aren't really working the way they usually do- it feels like someone is sitting on his chest.

Maybe those 'throne of bodies' rumors aren't as far from the truth as he thought.

"No need to be afraid, doctor, I pride myself on being an excellent host. Whatever you've brought, I'm sure you've brought in good faith," All for One's smile widens just a bit. "Though I confess, I might not be able to contain my pets if you spook them; I'm an old man, you know? Sometimes they bite before I can get a handle on them."

A flash of blue from the darkness reveals a pair of demons sitting behind All for One: one dressed in the hands of the dead, one dressed in blue flames and a long black coat. The darkness covers them quickly, but not quickly enough.

"Fine men you've got there, milord, very fine indeed!" Kabuto licks his lips a bit, waving at the briefcase on his right. "Obviously my demonstration uses a few pets of my own creation, but nothing worth startling over. Like I said- I wouldn't refuse an audience with you, sir, and I wouldn't offer you anything without a taste- a test, you know?"

"Of course." All for One isn't the only one laughing this time, though Kabuto still hasn't gotten the weight of the man's words off his chest. He can hear someone chuckling somewhere behind him, and somewhere off to his right, which can only mean they're surrounding him. How many demons does the devil have on call? "Go ahead, doctor… show me what you've brought us."

"R-right! Whatever you say, boss man. Just, well, they're fragile, d-don'—"

"Open it."

"Sir!"

The case explodes before he releases the latch, spilling blobs of scar tissue and colorful flesh into the room on Kabuto's right. It's a mess at first: a mixture of colors and limbs and bulging, mutilated bodies that can't quite pull themselves together or pull themselves apart. For a horrifying moment, Kabuto wonders if they might've fused together… but, when the blob seems ready to pop, it releases a hiss and a sound not unlike flesh peeling away from leather. Red and yellow drag themselves out first, closely followed by purple, leaving a slumbering pink on the floor close to All for One's shoe.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought so many.

Red (Affectionately named Boarus Pignite the Fifth) lies on its back, unable to right itself due to the mangled proportions of its new body. While the forearms and body grew beyond human capabilities, the upper arms are somewhat… entirely lacking, really. Shafts of bone and quivering tendons are the only things that remain between the club-like hands and the shoulder, and the legs are hardly more than stumps. Pink-ish flesh covers the entire creature, more red around the nose and chest than anywhere else, but everything is clearly mangled tissue (not unlike the faceless man on the throne).

Yellow is less human, though more intact. Some of them forget humanity entirely and choose to stumble around on all four of their mismatched limbs. This one, better than the rest but broken all the same, is something like a ribbon (banana) eel with the limbs of a chihuahua. Her face is a pair of narrowed eyes, trapped on the sides of her head despite her human(ish) mind, and an open slash of a mouth overflowing with fangs and sharkskin molars.

Purple is one of the giants- oversized, but mostly human. No clear mutations aside from the face and the skin color… and the beak. Kabuto hasn't figured out why all the purple ones come with a beak, but it seems to happen with each and every one. Regardless, the face is a mess: one eye is higher up than the other, the nose is a pair of slits just above the mouth, and the mouth is a snub-beak edged with mishappen teeth. Otherwise, though, the giants are fantastic specimens. Each one is two or three times as strong as a person, stupid enough to follow orders to the ends of the earth and the brink of death!

If only they didn't share the mangled scar tissue skin and the lumpy faces…

Pink is the oddest of the bunch. While the others have clear shapes, Pink is just a mass of scar tissue. More like a tumor, really. It's a lump of flesh without any limbs that rolls about, and occasionally gets mad enough to grow into something not unlike a fleshy boulder. The eyes bulge out of the face, though, so whenever it rolls around it usually ends up giving itself a black eye that makes it even more angry.

For some reason Pink is the only one that can still talk coherently, which is both horrifying and delightful: it usually just throws out one-word responses and says 'ow' (once it gets moving).

"So this is what you've created…" All for One hums gently. Somehow it feels like the room is vibrating around them, or perhaps that's just Kabuto, or some quirk. Possibilities abound. "How vile."

"These are the failed subjects, actually," Kabuto chirps. "From what I've seen, the process depends something on intent or strength of will… a few of our subjects have claimed something like strength of the sou, but that's not something I can put numbers to, ya know?"

"I do indeed." All for One says. "I'm something of an expert on the subject, actually. I must commend you, though, for avoiding the subject. Far too many presume that they are able to put numbers to such things."

"Such things, sir?"

"Mortals do as mortals do, doctor. As you were."

"Right!" A shiver runs down Kabuto's spine, but he waves at the pile of slumbering beasts on his right as best he can. "These are the lesser results of the drug. I've brought some files, but they must've been eaten- I swear they were in the case!"

"How disappointing."

"Most of these were just run of the mill street thugs or vagrants—"

"And the other one?"

Fuck. Kabuto can't quite keep himself from shivering. It's one thing to know that the faceless man can see, but quite another to know that the faceless man can see through solid objects. I'm only alive because he's… what, curious? Crazy? Who the hell thinks this guy is blind?!

"Th-that would be one of my more interesting subjects!" Kabuto stammers. "Well behaved, too, so…"

A raised hand from the man on the throne silences him. With a flick of the man's wrist, a pair of horribly familiar noises reach Kabuto's ears and etch his broken smile into his cheeks. He glances down quickly, as quickly as he can, and swallows when he notices that the latches of his briefcase are undone… leaving him caught between his monster and the gates of hell.

For a moment nothing happens. Kabuto isn't (completely) crazy, he'd sedated the subjects before bringing them here! Between the weight of the case and a few liters of horse tranquilizers, his little nightmare is having some trouble. Usually he wouldn't be worried about it; he'd just take a bit to chat up his buyer and then they'd be done whenever the little critter decided to crawl out.

Usually he's not playing "Death of a Salesman Roulette".

All for One's hand stills.

All for One frowns, then sighs.

Kabuto chuckles nervously, licking sweat from his lip.

He watches All for One lift two fingers, then falls on his ass.

Fuck, Kabuto whimpers. Did that break my ribs…?

Jenova is one of the more temperamental subjects. She's a bit taller than Kabuto, about a hundred and sixty centimeters, with pale blue skin and black growths that twitch all on their own. Her left arm isn't really an arm: she'd all but devoured her child during the process, filling her left arm with an ever-present hunger and the urge to cry whenever Jenova didn't feed it.

Unfortunately, monsters prefer blood over milk.

Even more unfortunately, the child had developed some kind of squid chasm mouth with tentacle fingers. A pulsing, semi-sentient mass of tentacles and razor-sharp teeth that cried like a human toddler and screamed like something borne from someone's nightmares.

The left arm aside, Jenova is the best subject Kabuto has. Smooth black growth covers her hips, chest and feet, but her curves are all still in place and her human skin is now a pale blue green. Long tentacles dangle from the back of her head, twitching every once in a while, but remaining mostly inert. Her eyes normally glow bright yellow (orange if the child is hungry).

Right now, they're bright red.

"No… touch…" Jenova rasps, turning her head towards the man on the throne. A snap fills the room as her child devours whatever All for One used to attack. Kabuto wonders if this is where he dies- murdered by the mistakes of his creations, how fitting – but Jenova doesn't move.

Kabuto heaves a sigh of relief, wincing at the pain in his side.

When in hell, rely on little blessings, he reminds himself.

"S-sorry, boss man, Jenova is a bit…"

"This one… magnificent," All for One sighs as though he's looking at a famous painting (or maybe, like, a pile of corpses? Kabuto doesn't know what gets this guy off). "Still a bit rough around the edges, but not a complete failure. You called her Jenova?"

"Y-yes sir—"

"How fitting. Truly reminiscent of the original."

"Original?"

"Don't bother, doctor. It was before your time." All for One laughs once, then settles on his throne. "Have you brought a sample of your… monster maker?"

"Of course, sir!" Kabuto stumbles onto his fight, giving Jenova a wide berth as he pulls a sealed container from his coat. "My most refined product for you, boss man."

"Tomura, the case." All for One crooks a finger at the shadows. The demon dressed in hands stalks out with two briefcases- one in each hand.

"Which one, Sensei?"

"Hmmm… which one indeed?" All for One grins sadistically. "Give him the money, for now. Best save the other for later."

"I want to kill him, Sensei."

"Yes, Tomura, but he's here on business. Do you remember what I told you about business?"

"Never get your suit dirty?"

"That's not entirely off the mark," All for One nods thoughtfully, as if he hadn't considered that, then settles back against his knuckles. "But I meant rule number six, not number two."

"Ah. Deal first, clean up later."

"Indeed. The money for our friendly doctor."

Kabuto gasps as the briefcase slams into his gut. A red eye peers through the fingers of the hand on the demon's face, and Kabuto wonders for a moment just how tight this one's leash is.

"The vial?" The demon growls, pushing the case further into Kabuto's gut. Kabuto's hands are shaking so badly that he nearly drops it, but he manages to hold out the sample AND keeps the briefcase from dropping onto his foot.

"You're free to go then, doctor," All for One waves a hand, turning his mangled face towards the vial placed in his left hand as if he can see it (who the fuck knows what the devil is looking at?). "I'll give you a call if we need more of your services."

"R-righty-ho, thanks boss man…! Let's go, Jenova, sweethear— Fuck." Kabuto spins on his heel to find Jenova's right arm bulging at the seams, rippling and twisting as something within gnashes and grinds away.

All that's left of the other four is a puddle on the ground beneath Jenova's tentacles.

"Well, I suppose your trip home will be a bit lighter, won't it?"

"I guess so, boss man… s-sorry about your floor!"

"Don't worry over it- I've spilled worse many times. Cleaning is relatively easy."

Of fucking course it is, Kabuto thinks. Jenova growls as he grabs his briefcase, but she doesn't respond terribly when he slams one side down on her head and does his very best to cram her inside. The arm takes a bit of work, seeing as anything that gets caught doesn't come out in one piece, but Kabuto has done this quite a few times, now, for quite a few buyers. In the end he manages to shut the briefcase, wiping sweat from his forehead and hefting it with a grunt and a wince.

A glance at his watch proves that he's running late.

"Shit, um, have a good day, boss man! Gotta go!"

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All for One watches the monster doctor leave with a smile. He can't really see much of the vial, aside from some of the more interesting particles floating about, but that doesn't matter- he's seen what it can DO, given the proper subject.

"Tomura, Dabi… put that other case away, please. I'm afraid I need a bit of a nap. Oh, and Tomura?"

"Yes, Sensei?"

"Report to the doctor afterwards. I want you get a checkup. Who knows where that man has been?"

"Of course, Sensei."

When they're gone, All for One smiles.

"Tsubasa?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"I'm sending you a vial from my meeting with that monster dealer… Find out what it does to quirks."

"Of course, my lord."

"And doctor? Prepare Tomura for his treatment."

"So soon?"

"Yes, I believe it's time."

"As you wish, All for One."

The line went dead with a click, and All for One dropped the chemical vial into a puddle of mud that devoured itself shortly after. He laughed in the silence, a deep, belly shaking laugh that shook the building down to its foundation. Of course the doctor would worry, but there was nothing to fear- who else could be in two places at once?

Why not test the best of both worlds?

One would surely heal him.

If only his brother were here to see him TRULY become the Demon King.

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Hitoshi was wrong.

Somehow, in the blur of yesterday's madness, he'd forgotten that attending classes with the heroics students means going to Heroics training. Hitoshi, who hasn't thrown a single punch in his entire life (aside from giving Uraraka that black eye back in the Sports festival), is supposed to train with human weapons. Because that's not bad enough, they already all hate him.

When Aizawa-sensei glares at him at the end of the day, Hitoshi feels the urge to sink into his chair and die. Luckily Aizawa doesn't seem to know what to do with him; either he sits out and watches the day's sparring, or he goes to the lab.

Hitoshi plays nice as they all get dressed. Puts on his uniform in silence, keeps his eyes down, avoids contact with the others- avoids confronting their angry mutters, their confusion, their insecurities. Every time he thinks he should speak up, he remembers the festival and goes into a mental tailspin of his own.

What right do I have…?

What I said to them before…

Didn't I use that guy as a chair?

Am I really trying to…?!

By the time they reach the gym, he's in the middle of his fifth or sixth spiral. He's halfway to the sidelines, where the three teachers (plus Togata) are patiently waiting, when someone grabs the back of his uniform and hauls him into the air.

"What the f—!"

"Can it, extra." Bakugō growls. "Oi, sensei! I'm borrowing this fucker!"

"Don't kill the new kid." Aizawa sighs.

Hitoshi resigns himself to his fate. At this point, his life has flashed before his eyes so many times that it's losing the 'air of nostalgia' and becoming painfully cringeworthy. Not many people have parents who will take them to a cat café on their birthday, let alone invite your so-called friends without telling you, and Hitoshi doesn't know how many times he can relive that evening before he commits ritual suicide.

Especially when he has to relive his parents' apologies immediately after.

Bakugō manhandles Hitoshi easily, despite what little height Hitoshi has on him. Which is a nice way of saying that after carrying Hitoshi to the far corner of the gym, Bakugō flips Hitoshi over his shoulder and throws him onto the mat.

"…Just so I know…" Hitoshi winces as he peels himself from the mat. "What earned me a ticket on Air Asshole? I'd like to never do that again."

"Everyone else is too busy bitching and moaning," Bakugō glances over his shoulder, then back to Hitoshi. "You want to be a hero, right?"

"What's it to you?" Hitoshi snaps. Bakugō's lip twitches ferally before his expression flattens out. A deep breath hisses from his nose as he crosses his arms, and when he opens his eyes again, he looks… calm. Despite looking down at Hitoshi he's clearly not looking down on him.

"Why?"

"Eh?

"Why do you want to be a hero, dumbass?" Bakugō's eyes narrow. Another deep breath. The calm returns.

"Same as everyone else," Hitoshi keeps one knee on the mat, glaring up at his 'partner'. "I want to save people."

"Don't be a bitch," Bakugō replies. "You're not four years old. Gimme a real answer."

"What's it to you?"

"Isn't it fucking obvious?" Bakugō snarls. "I don't bother with extras."

"Fuck off then." Hitoshi growls. "Or get this over with. You brought me over here to get your revenge, right? For the kid in the tube? Just—!"

A metal hand grabs the front of his jersey, hauling him off his knees and onto his toes, barely above the mat. The cracks in Bakugō's calm are obvious but he's clearly fighting to hold onto this new mask- a new persona, one that reminds Hitoshi of a disappointed authority figure.

He's not entirely comfortable with seeing that look on Bakugō's face.

"Look—" Bakugō hisses. "I'm trying to help you, you son of a bitch, and I don't see any of the other extras volunteering!"

With a slight twitch of his arm, Bakugō drops Hitoshi onto the mats. Hitoshi barely keeps his back from hitting the floor. Bakugō growls, rubbing his forehead with his real hand as he tries to wrestle his mask back into place.

"You're… different," Bakugō sighs. "Anyone with eyes can tell you want to be a hero. But the extras are too busy being afraid of your fuckin' quirk or they're betting how long it takes for Cheeks to pay you back for the shit you pulled in the festival."

Gee, if only that narrowed things down, Hitoshi thinks.

"Plenty of people want to be heroes. None of 'em are worth it, in my opinion… but I used to think the same thing about these fuckers, too." Bakugō jerks a thumb over his shoulder, as if he isn't casually writing off eighteen of the smartest people in the country. "I saw it when we fought in the festival- you've got the look."

"'The Look'?" Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. "I never took you for the sappy type."

Bakugō's expression softens.

"Fine. You want me to level with you?" Another breath hisses through his nostrils, and he glances at his prosthetic before he looks back at Hitoshi. "You ain't wrong when you say I'm here because of Deku. 'That kid in the tube', right? We grew up together."

In the brief silence that follows that statement, Hitoshi feels his heart lurch. He has questions, so many questions. Asking Midoriya-san feels wrong, and Eri-chan isn't really warming up to him much beyond saying hello. There's Glasses and the other Gen-Ed kids, but what are they going to tell him?

None of them knew the kid before.

After reading the journal, Hitoshi has more questions than ever before.

"Deku was like you." Bakugō says. "He wanted to be a hero, but he never thought about the price. You have the same look in your eyes- the 'I don't give shit what you say' look. He was quirkless, and he'd never worked out in his fuckin' life. At least you've got a quirk to start with."

Hitoshi is kind of glad Bakugō is the one lecturing him. Bakugō doesn't care what anyone says, so Hitoshi doesn't bother undoing the knots in his throat.

"I don't really give a shit what you do, but the extras are being bitches and Aizawa-sensei doesn't want to get involved unless you've got potential, or some bullshit like that. He's waiting to see if you get off your ass and try." The glare returns. "You wanna be a hero, or are you gonna keep sulking?"

Oh, Hitoshi blinks. Of course, he's looking down on me.

It should be obvious that Bakugō has worked harder than Hitoshi. Only one of them made it into the hero course. But the fact that Bakugō made it into the hero course says a lot. Maybe he has a quirk suited for it, like that lightning kid or the invisible girl, but Bakugō didn't just get in: he'd won the Sports festival, he'd fought actual villains, he'd lost his arm and came back.

People compare Bakugō to a villain. They're not wrong, if you ask Hitoshi, but how many people could have done what Bakugō's done?

(That's your excuse?You used your quirk, now he's unconscious! It doesn't matter what you fucking wanted! —

…Feh, you already knew.)

(Plenty of people want to be heroes. None of 'em are worth it, in my opinion —

…I used to think the same thing about these fuckers too.)

(He wanted to be a hero, but he never thought about the price —

…Isn't it fucking obvious? I don't bother with extras.)

Of course, he's looking down on me, Hitoshi thinks. He's so much closer to it than I am. He's giving it everything he has- his mind, his quirk… his body…

"You're all further along than I am." He mutters, glaring at the mat.

"Keep being a bitch, then," Bakugō scoffs, but he doesn't turn away.

"What, like you?"

"I'm the best," Bakugō's lip twitches. "I've got the right to be an asshole."

"Some bedside manner." Hitoshi grins.

"That bullshit is Deku's specialty."

"Oh yeah? What'd you get in the divorce, then?"

"The brains, the skills…" Bakugō's eyes narrow. "The ability to knock you through the sound barrier."

"Ooh, so scary," Hitoshi groans as he pushes himself up.

"Form up, bitch," Bakugō's prosthetic revs as he cracks his knuckles. "I'm gonna beat this shit into you. Keep up or die."

"Not if I have anything to say about it, Bakugō," Kurobayashi-sensei rumbles. Hitoshi isn't sure when shark-sensei came over or how long he's been listening, which means he needs to assume that shark-sensei has been in on it from the start. Which is deeply uncomfortable, even if they didn't really SAY anything. "If you're rough with Shinsō-kun, then you and I will be having a wrestling match later. Your close quarters techniques still need some work!"

"Fuckin' FINE, sensei." Bakugō scoffs, stepping up so he can kick one of Hitoshi's feet a bit further back.

"Teacher's pet." Hitoshi snickers.

"Shove some sandpaper down your fuckin pants, scarecrow, then tell me you wanna wrestle a shark with arms!"

"You call yourself a teacher with that mouth, Blasty?" Hitoshi yelps as he's thrown off his feet. Bakugō doesn't look like he's moved, but the light in his eyes says that there's more where that came from.

"Learn to throw a punch before you talk shit."

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Something in Momo's chest aches as she looks up at the tube.

Her emotions are difficult to grasp, as if they're dancing just out of her reach rather than between her ribs and behind her eyes. At least before, when things were normal (if you could call "life threatening" normal), she'd known she was depressed. There was a bit of comfort there: knowing her symptoms, giving time to pleasant things to remind herself that life wasn't all doom and gloom.

Getting to know Midoriya-kun was… Nice. It was both a responsibility and a pleasure. There was mystery and a little bit of secrecy, the harmless kind that left her curious and content. Somewhere along the line, Momo stopped thinking of Midoriya as her responsibility and started thinking of him as her friend.

Now, though, the feeling that she's been chasing seems forever out of reach. More importantly, her friend is in danger and she can't do anything. How is she supposed to figure anything out when her friend is gone?

How is she supposed to be a hero when she can't save her friends?

"Yaoyorozu?"

Momo sighs and curls in on herself, wrapping her fingers around her elbows, as she turns towards Melissa. The look Melissa gives her is sympathetic, just short of understanding.

"Sorry, did I space out again?"

"It's no trouble if you need a moment," Melissa turns towards the tube with a small smile. A bit of miserable fondness lingers around her eyes. The base of the machine is white, covered in tubes and screens, while the tube itself is full of green fluid and a deceptively small human. "It's hard seeing someone you care about like this."

Momo makes a sound of agreement.

"You mentioned you had something for me?"

"Well," Melissa waves Momo toward a desk tucked away on the left side of the platform. The cubicle is a comfortable spot in a storm of confusing, terrifying machinery, and Momo clings to it readily. In her office chair, Melissa doesn't look anything like a high school student: she looks just like one of the women out of Momo's books, an office worker or the secretary of someone important. Which, Momo realizes suddenly, fits this woman to a T. "I don't have anything for you yet, per se, but I have a proposal of sorts."

"A proposal?" Momo frowns.

"You've met Maya and Mei-I by now," Melissa glances at the pink duo seated overhead, then back to Momo. "We developed the androids using pseudo-neural networks mapped out to mimic human biology. The project was only built to develop an extra pair of hands for Mei, but I did some tinkering on my own time and I've made a bit of progress on the next development."

Small bursts of light appear on their left, drawing three sides of a white cube and a pair of human silhouettes in pink and red.

"Theoretically we could apply the scanning and sampling methods Mei developed to a second person, given enough data from both subjects. I don't have any idea what would happen if we mapped one person's neural network onto another's, but… well, you're the best chance of making this work."

"Me?" Momo blinks. "But she's— Mei is an anomaly. I'm just…"

Melissa sighs patiently.

"Yaoyorozu, you memorized chemistry texts as a hobby. I get that people with flashy quirks might get more spotlight, but you're more flexible than anyone in the hero course. Todoroki might be capable of large-scale attacks, but that doesn't do much good against Midoriya. Katsuki is useless when you throw enough soap at him."

"Creation isn't like that." Momo huffs. "I need blueprints, hours of practice— I can't make anything complicated enough to be HELPFUL."

"I never said anything about your quirk, Yaoyorozu," Melissa says. She looks haunted, all of a sudden, and Momo can't help feeling as if she's said something to upset the girl. "A person is more than just a quirk. I admire how hard you've worked to be where you are, and how much you have to offer, quirk or not. I didn't ask you here because of your quirk: I asked you to come because I want to help you.

"This isn't guaranteed, but if Mei's processing power can be transferred, then it will take a genius to use any of it. Someone with a near eidetic memory, someone who understands chemistry and engineering enough to apply these things… there's no one else."

"What about you?" Momo glances at the hologram, then back at the blonde woman. "Isn't this more your area of expertise? You developed Maya! Real artificial intelligence…!"

"I mixed my own brain with Mei's to create a child, Yaoyorozu," Melissa chuckles softly, looking down at her shoes. "Sure, I've been helpful here, but I'm grounding Mei's projects. We might have to use my own neural nets to ground the combination, but that might not work."

"Why not?"

"You two have a quirk factor." Melissa lays her glasses on the desk, meeting Momo eye to eye. "I don't."

Momo doesn't know how to respond to that.

"You don't have to go through with this," Melissa says gently. "I know what I'm asking is ridiculous. But I think it might work, considering our experiments with Maya and Mei-I. Recovery Girl supported my hypothesis. If this does work, you'd have access to Mei's mental processing power and most of our inventions. Not all of them are useful for combat, but there are a few: railguns and lasers and electromagnetic field redirection… Just, think about it, okay?"

Momo nods. She tries, and fails, to swallow her uncertainty, as she excuses herself back to the surface. Back to uselessness reality.

-0-
-000-

-000-
-0-

Unnoticed by anyone, a red light in the depths of Hatsume's lab turns blue. The device is one of Hatsume's older inventions from when Monitor was still developing, and the rapid development of Hatsume's lab gradually moved it to one of the deepest corners of storage.

Because it was "completed" before Melissa arrived, even before Hatsume met Midoriya, it isn't listed as a project in Melissa's system. Only Monitor is aware of the existence of this device and the process that begins when the device is activated. A short message runs through his system, lost in the sea of information presented to Hatsume and Mei-I, and so Monitor remains the only being aware of Hatsume's success.

Monitor's thought process is relatively simple: Midoriya's presence serves as a buffer against any possible threat and the process is not marked urgent, so there's no reason to bring it to anyone's attention. After all, he's passed it on to his mother, and the only proof he has is a flashing light and an old OLED screen displaying two words:

[Contact established!]

-0-
-000-

-000-
-0-

No one in the hero course is human.

Hitoshi doesn't understand it. What kind of person can keep up with U.A.'s class material, three days of heavy-duty training, and regular villain attacks? Some of them even get a full eight hours of sleep! It's not fair.

Studying is one of the things Hitoshi is good at, so the class material isn't really a big deal. Not that he would say that out loud; U.A. is one of the most competitive schools in the country, so keeping his grades up is kind of a big deal. Although, usually, he's not attending class with the weights of yesterday hanging on his shoulders.

Yes, weights. Plural.

Fitness is the name of a demon. They offer strength and capability and a sense of self-fulfillment, but the price is blood, sweat and tears. Hitoshi's not quite sure if he'll lose his sanity, too; some of his new classmates are just "Like That". U.A. can't be the ONLY reason they're messed up, right?

That isn't to say that he's the picture of health. He survives the daylight with a thermos of coffee in one hand and an afternoon nap to reward his attendance. Restless nights and burnt eyes are nothing compared to the aches and pains he's sporting now, though none of it compares to the guilt.

Yeah, Hitoshi knows that he might've taken a rest day if not for the guilt. At first, he'd been excited to get stronger and learn some heroic training regimen, but that ran out when he had to drag himself out of bed this morning.

Hitoshi blames Bakugō. Shark-sensei is too nice to be blamed for things.

Even if he's WAY too enthusiastic.

Guilt is the reason that Hitoshi changes into his gym uniform after class. Aizawa-sensei glares at him a bit, but eventually points out which gym is set aside for self-improvement. Kurobayashi-sensei says he'll be around in a little while to supervise, just in case Hitoshi wants to hit the weights again. The thought alone makes Hitoshi's muscles throb in protest.

If this were a story, this would be the part where days, weeks, hell maybe even months pass in the blink of an eye with cool slices of Hitoshi's progress. Protagonists don't spend time learning how to punch things, they just know. They naturally understand how to punch someone, or at the very least they skip over the endless repetitions of proper form.

But Hitoshi is not, nor has he ever been, a protagonist. He appreciates his quiet little life even if he doesn't get to skip training. Protagonists are supposed to live up to expectations and rise to the occasion. They end up on the news and in hospital beds.

Or even in a coma. Maybe floating in a tube of Hospital Juice.

Where were we again? Right: the gym.

The gym is totally empty. When Hitoshi walks in, he finds himself at the corner of a full-sized football field, complete with standard sized goals on either end. Obviously, since this is U.A., the shortest side of the building is still longer than the field. Further in the floor is covered in thin mats (for sparring, as Hitoshi learned yesterday) and workout equipment. Some fluffier mats are set up for gymnastics or something.

In the farthest corner of the gym is a corner for people who don't want to use weights. There are a couple medicine balls and some kettle bells, even some bars and trampolines, but Hitoshi isn't quite that far along. He settles in on the edge of the equipment area and glares at the notebook in his hand.

"If you're gonna teach me, you should at least do it in person." Hitoshi mutters, flipping to the first page. "Who says you can sleep all day and still make my life hell…"

-One hundred push-ups.

-One hundred crunches.

-One hundred squats.

-Ten-kilometer run.

Hitoshi scoffs at the first page. This was Midoriya's starting line, apparently, but the page is covered in question marks and broken sentences. A few pages in, Hitoshi finds what he's looking for:

-Different types of push-ups target different muscles, but they're all based around the original. Start with standard push-ups, putting weight on the knees rather than the toes if I can't handle the full push-up, and then move on to the fancy stuff to reach shoulders and back…

-Crunches are good, but don't reach the entire core. Holding a plank will help, if the form is correct. Side planks and hip raises should be done as well. Leg lifts require the upper core. Not much on lower core Bicycle crunches are good, but lifting the knee towards the opposite side of the body might do more? Lie down and raise legs from the ground, then pull them towards the core (1 rep). Try raising them straight up and pushing hips into the air as well (multiple movements might take time)…

-Russian twists (pick a side, only count when I touch that side). Prone heel touches (pick a side again, make sure I'm using the muscles just below my chest? not quite my upper abs, but further out, around my ribs). While prone, raise knees and rapidly perform crunches (half crunches? What do I call these?). Keep legs straight and lift the hips into the air. No lurching! Momentum reduces the work muscles are doing. Doing it with momentum is better than doing it without, but remember to limit how much you help yourself for best results…

-Squats. Lunges. Front (snap?) kicks. Back kicks. Jumping Jacks, maybe jumping rope? Sideways leg lifts. Mountain Climbers (what are mountain climbers? They don't feel right, maybe I'm not getting my hips into it). Tip toes for calves! Maybe Ballet? Or competitive dance? (Idols are scary, no competitive dance!). Push something large for a short distance while focusing the legs; engage muscles on top of and under the thighs.

-Jumps! What muscles do jumps even work? Do I just… jump?

-Jump fifty times.

-TRY to jump fifty one hundred times (keep it regular! I can barely jump thirty times anyway)

Hitoshi frowns at the page.

Reading through the first ten pages, each one dated and carefully maintained, paints a clear picture of Midoriya. Instead of picking some bullshit workout routine from a video or grabbing something straight from the internet, Midoriya had pieced it all together into something based on his own experience. Each page was more detailed than the last, proposing further steps to reach muscles that hadn't been covered in the beginning.

There are a lot of troublesome things, too. Midoriya had been chewed out by his teachers for this. No one had helped him put this together; plenty of notes suggest that different people might not take to these sorts of things the same way. Even if he's not complaining about the lack of a partner, Midoriya's wish is plain to anyone who reads the book. At the bottom of the first thirty pages is a small note complaining about chronic pain.

Midoriya did this every day.

He did it despite everything. Even his own body.

The notebook hits the mat with a faint slap as Hitoshi pushes himself up, grinning wryly at the ceiling.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into…?"

Momo was hoping the gym would be empty. She's been floating through life today- not necessarily in a particular way, just floating. A haze lingers behind her forehead, clouding the moments when she tries to focus on anything for longer than a few minutes. Usually, she can knock this sort of thing out with a hard work out or an evening in bed, wrapped up in a blanket and good book. The idea of retreating to bed makes her feel a bit sick, so physical punishment it is!

Shinsō is the last person she expects to find in the gym.

Not because he doesn't seem hard working, just… she doesn't know what to expect from him. She knows that Ochako-chan is out to punch him (Ojiro-kun isn't far behind her), that Shinsō is resigned to his fate.

He looks up when she approaches the machines, then quickly looks away. Momo almost waves, but he flips around and starts doing crunches with a vengeance (as much vengeance as a novice can have, at least), so she puts in her headphones, shrugs out of her jacket, and picks a bench press.

After an hour, she's gone through her usual upper body routine, which leaves her core routine… inevitably drawing her towards Shinsō's side of the gym. She's doing inclined crunches when she notices Shinsō standing up, flipping through a notebook.

A very familiar notebook.

She pulls herself off the incline, throws her towel over one shoulder and drifts past the machines.

"Is that…?"

Shinsō jumps a bit.

Up until now, Momo has never seen him without a glare. Seeing the look of surprise on his face makes her wonder if she's really seen him glare. He's an intimidating figure with a powerful quirk and a grudge, so it made sense. But the way his eyes dart between Momo and the notebook, the tint on his otherwise sunken cheeks? It reminds her of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"It's, uh—"

"That's Midoriya's, isn't it?"

"…Yeah." Shinsō flips the notebook shut and scowls at nothing in particular.

"May I see?" Momo tries to smile, though it doesn't last in the face of Shinsō's obvious suspicion. "I've never gotten the chance to read them. Midoriya-kun was always very careful not to let anyone read his notebooks."

"I guess."

Momo smiles as she takes it and flips through it. Shinsō watches her carefully, with his arms crossed, but soon enough Momo forgets about him entirely.

"This is how he started out…?" Momo can't help giggling. The notes remind her of Midoriya's rambling. His thoughts are all over the page, as if he was writing these for someone other than himself, but he'd always guarded them jealously. Now she understands a little bit- either he'd been embarrassed that he'd had the wrong idea to start or he'd been scared that others would laugh at his commentary. "It's certainly in character."

"You knew him pretty well?" Shinsō grumbles.

"We were friends," Momo says. "I tutored him for a bit before he came to U.A., and he's been tutoring me in hand-to-hand combat."

Shinsō looks conflicted. He doesn't say anything else as she flips through the book, but his constant shifting back and forth keeps her mind on the present rather than letting her drift away. Momo's smile dissipates as the numbers get larger. The little notes thin out, then turn to questions:

-What's happening to me

-I'm still quirkless, so why?

-I got shot today =(

-We had to buy ANOTHER uniform… I haven't bought hero merch in a while, but eventually I might have to give my allowance back to make up for it…

-According to the construction crew at the shrine, I can lift around 300 kilograms now

-Fire doesn't do it either.

-I think Death Arms is mad because I got stronger than him without getting lumpy. He yells more than the others lately

-The cops are betting on my reaction time now. Hanami-san offered me a cut, is that allowed?

The notebook isn't full. Near the back there are around twenty pages left, and the last page has none of Midoriya's personality. Four pages have explanations of his abilities, all confirmed but without scientific basis, and the last three pages are dedicated to his "final routine": lists dedicated to upper body, core and lower body workouts.

All of the hardest, most physically demanding things ever dreamt of. Times, repetitions, motions to flow between exercises, and detailed artwork to show which muscles are being used. Most of these things should be impossible. No one can do handstand push-ups on their pinky finger, but Midoriya has five hundred reps marked down for each finger and five hundred for fingertip handstand push-ups after that.

"How did you get this?" Momo asks quietly.

"Glas- uh, I mean, Kābā gave it to me," Shinsō growls. "I didn't take it."

"I didn't—" Momo sighs and flips the notebook shut. She holds it out to him with a tiny, painful smile. "I'm sorry if that sounded accusatory."

Shinsō takes the journal back carefully, keeping his eyes on the floor. Momo isn't sure what to say, though she feels like she should say SOMETHING. They've never spoken, but that might be part of the problem. It's not exactly a secret that class 1-A has an issue with Shinsō.

But Momo doesn't have anything to say. She doesn't know what to say to him, just as she's never known what to say to Todoroki. Both of them share this aura: pressure borne from experience and expectation, like a hailstorm brewing above their shoulders. It almost feels as if Shinsō has his hand on a weapon, ready for an attack… or ready to strike first.

She hates this feeling.

Momo hates seeing people like this. She hates the feeling of slurs pelting her shoulders, running down the back of her neck, rolling slowly down her spine, knowing that they'll drip down into the back of her mind and remain, waiting to drown her in nightmares.

These are the people who make her wonder if she can be a hero, either because she can't reach them or because they hate her because they don't want her to reach them.

Isn't Momo part of class 1-A? That would make her Shinsō's enemy, right?

If she never spoke up, does she get a say?

"I'm sorry." Shinsō says. Momo blinks, half twisted towards the machines, when the words register.

"Pardon?"

"I— um," Shinsō swallows, then coughs. He scowls at the floor, expression twisted up in all sorts of different ways, before he takes a deep breath and looks at her with a stiff frown. "I'm sorry. About Midoriya. He's your friend, and I… I didn't want this to happen. For what it's worth."

Momo isn't sure how to feel about that.

Her emotions are difficult to grasp, even more so now that she's only half present in her own skin. Even now, at this very moment, she feels as if she's floating. From here, though, she notices something strange: she knows why Shinsō is apologizing, but she doesn't understand. She doesn't feel like he needs to apologize in the first place.

"Thank you," She says, though it feels almost matter of course rather than something she wants to say. "But you don't need to apologize. It was an accident, right?"

"Yeah, but I used my quirk, you know?" Shinsō mutters.

"I don't blame you." Momo murmurs. "…That sounds strange, doesn't it?"

"Just a bit."

"Everything is out of focus, honestly," She admits. "I was just getting used to being friends with Midoriya, and how crazy everything has been, but now I can't really wrap my head around him being gone."

"That doesn't sound good," Shinsō raises an eyebrow. "Should you really be working out when you're dissociating?"

"It's nothing that bad, I promise," Momo huffs. "Somehow this is just… parr for the course. Ever since we came to U.A. it's been like this: when you get settled, something happens. Everything changes. I'm not sure how to deal with that."

"You guys have certainly had one hell of a year." Shinsō mutters.

"Not me," Momo frowns. "I haven't done anything."

"You're kidding, right?" Shinsō laughs bitterly. "Everyone knows 1-A is at the top of the leaderboard. Villain attacks left and right, people in the hospital, one dude lost his arm… you're top of the class, aren't you?"

"Academics don't help much against villains." Momo murmurs.

"Maybe not," Shinsō shrugs. "I wouldn't know anything about what you guys have gone through. Hell, it just hit me for real yesterday."

"It doesn't feel real, sometimes," Momo confesses, clutching the space over her heart. "Bakugō lost his arm, Muimi-kun died, and now Midoriya-kun is asleep and no one knows why. The school was attacked by a giant robot and Hatsume helped fight them off, but here we are, training to be heroes…"

"I don't think you're gonna get anywhere comparing yourself to Midoriya. Not that I really got to know him before…" Shinsō grimaces. "That came out wrong. I meant, like, have you read this?"

"That's nothing," Momo laughs softly. Bitterly. "Midoriya-kun was so fast no one could see him in action."

"People keep telling me that," Shinsō sighs heavily, glancing at the notebook as if it might bite him. "It sounds like you're comparing yourself to crazy people."

"Crazy might be a bit far," Momo murmurs.

"Call me a heretic, then," Shinsō stands with a grunt, wincing as he straightens up. "You're basically a hero compared to the rest of us, myself included. If you're comparing yourself to the guy who throws glaciers around or the mad scientist creating a robot army, then I think you're getting ahead of yourself. Aren't you smarter than glacier boy?"

"Being smart doesn't mean—"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," Shinsō rubs the back of his neck, glaring at her a bit for the interruption. "Can't see the forest for the trees, right?"

Momo doesn't know what to say to that.

"How about this, then?" Shinsō grabs the notebook and tosses it at her. She yelps a bit, but catches it safely, without wrinkling it too badly. "I'm not bragging or anything, but people tell me that's the recipe for becoming whatever the fuck Midoriya was."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"Nothing around here seems to work like it's supposed to." Shinsō snorts.

"There are plenty of normal people here." Momo doesn't laugh. She isn't amused, because it isn't true, and she is a normal girl, thank you very much.

"Forest for the trees, remember?" Shinsō shrugs, then holds out a hand. "I'll take that back if you don't want it. Apparently 1-A has a hit out on me, so I need all the help I can get."

"They're a bit rowdy, but I doubt anyone will hit you outside of sparring." Momo hands back the notebook, though she can't help feeling a bit bad for Shinsō when she imagines Ochako-chan getting a hand on him during sparring.

"Eh, I deserve it, probably," Shinsō groans.

"I beg to differ."

"You're be the only one who does."

"Midoriya-kun would say the same thing." Momo smiles, and Shinsō looks a bit uncomfortable with her statement but imagining her friend geeking out over Shinsō's quirk makes her laugh a little. "He's a very kind person. I don't think anything would stop him from reaching out to you, even if you'd done something wrong."

"…Really?" Shinsō's expression twists until his frown is etched into his cheeks.

"Mmhmm. He's a real hero." Momo says quietly.

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"You're kind, aren't you Shinsō-kun?"

"Hell no." Shinsō snaps, failing to hide the red on his cheeks. "I'm a villain, remember?"

"A villain in the hero course? Compared to Bakugō, you're a gentleman." Momo's smile fades into something wry. "I suppose no one has said it yet, but as class representative let me be the first: Welcome to class 1-A, Shinsō-kun. I hope we get along."

"Thanks, Yaoyorozu-san." Shinsō chuckles, though it sounds a bit rough. He seems to bounce back and forth between dry and wary, sort of like Aizawa-sensei. Like he's not used to having friends. "And I was serious about sharing the notebook, you know? I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You're not used to working out?" Momo frowns a little.

"Not really? It seems dumb, and the rabid dog already gave me a lecture about training, but it didn't occur to me when I was younger." Shinsō grimaces at the memory.

"I understand that," Momo sighs. "I might be able to help, but I don't think I'll be a better teacher than Bakugō."

"Are you going to sucker punch me for getting something wrong?"

"N-no…!"

"Then you're already better." Shinsō chuckles, then bends down to grab the notebook. "Besides, you're just as ripped as the rest of your class. I was starting here, since the first bit seems way beyond me."

"R-ripped…?" Momo frowns at Shinsō before looking over the page he's chosen. "This is still a lot for a beginner, but it should work if you take it easy."

"Would you mind going through it with me?"

For the next hour, Momo walks Shinsō through Midoriya's old routine. It takes more time than she expects, if only because she's pointing out the specific bits that Midoriya meant for them to reach as he performs each exercise. Her suspicions fade over the course of their time: his comment on her figure left her on guard, but Shinsō didn't hit on her beyond that single compliment.

They head back to the dorms in comfortable silence. Momo doesn't feel any better, really; she still feels detached, and a bit floaty, but she can hit the gym after heroics tomorrow. The only thing that feels different is the lack of animosity or suspicion from Shinsō.

Progress is progress, though.

Shinsō slinks off towards the S-class dorm when they reach the 1-A dorm, and they settle for a wave rather than a farewell. Momo heads straight up to the showers, and then towards the kitchen for dinner. Drifting, same as she has all day, but with something new floating in the haze behind her eyes: A single line from the first page of Midoriya's journal. One that she hadn't noticed until it got under her skin.

Forget about being a hero- just help whoever I can, however I can.

When she plugs in her phone into the charger for the night, she opens Midoriya-kun's contact and smiles at the picture- his goofy smile and the awkward peace sign. Eri's timid smile, one hand clutching the arm that Midoriya keeps around her middle as she throws up her own peace sign.

Maybe I'm not a hero yet, but I can at least do that much, Momo thinks.

-0-
-000-

-000-
-0-

Yeah, no one from class A is human.

They seem human, on the outside, but then you find out that the quiet, maybe-normal one is actually some kind of Amazonian genius with muscles. Not "I go to the gym to keep myself in shape" muscles, but "who needs a bulletproof vest when I've got these guns" muscles. It's one thing when you realize heroes have to be in shape and a whole different thing when you realize that they're all Spartans and Amazons under the colorful spandex and cosplays.

He's lucky that Yaoyorozu didn't force him to go through a whole routine. The whole "muscle activation" thing is weird, but she'd made it fairly easy to understand. Bakugō's bitching about "form" and "only move the muscles you need" actually makes sense now.

All he wants to think about right now is a hot shower.

When he reaches the S-class dorm, he finds everyone at the dinner table. Everyone as in the S-class, Togata's friends from the hero course, and Deku's friends from Gen-Ed. Midoriya-san and Kurobayashi-sensei wave at him from the kitchen as he drifts through the entrance.

"…which isn't that bad, really," Yotsuba shrugs and bumps her elbow into her twin's shoulder. "I don't mind taking over the family business, but Akira wants out. And now that the other families are dealing with the fall out of the Shie Hassaikai we're in a bit of a bind. Grandfather wants to have us manage the clan together instead of letting us grow up."

"Do you have a plan?" Glasses asks.

"Not really," Yotsuba crosses her arms with a huff. "We don't have a lot of power in the clan and our quirk isn't suited for this. Even if we were able to bring in people from the outside, there aren't many people who are willing to get involved with the old families."

Hitoshi stops, fingers half curled around a cabinet handle, then turns around and leans against the counter. Glasses glances his way, then returns to whatever the hell they're cooking up. Sokuchi raises an eyebrow and lifts her chin a bit, in what could be a greeting or a challenge (read: keep walking before I make you wish you could walk).

"You know we're in," Tachibana frowns, tapping her fingers against the table restlessly. "Whatever you two need."

"No one can be involved directly." Yotsuba says gruffly. Despite the rebuttal, she reaches across the table and takes Tachibana's hand.

"Have we already given up on faking death?" Glasses scratches his head.

"Let's keep that for a last resort."

"It's not that hard to fake bullet wounds…"

"You know, it almost sounds like you guys are cops," Hitoshi snorts, quickly raising his palms when the people at the table look his way. "Sorry if I'm butting in, but 'old families' and 'fake deaths' sounds like you're trying to escape the Yakuza or something."

"And?" Yotsuba growls.

Hitoshi is barely able to keep himself from laughing. The longer they stare at him, though, the faster his smile wilts.

"Wait, you're Yakuza?"

"Is that your business?"

"Uh, no… sorry," Hitoshi quickly swallows the words on his tongue, grabs a box of cereal from the cabinet and makes his way towards the stairs. "I'll just—"

"His quirk might help, you know."

"I'd rather keep this in house, thanks."

"Don't you mean in the fa…"

Hitoshi doesn't slow down until he reaches the second floor. That shower will have to wait until they're done in the kitchen. When his door shuts behind him, he leans back against it and sinks to the floor, clutching his box of cereal to his chest.

"This is my life now, huh," Miserable laughter escapes him, quickly followed by a wince.

-0-
-000-

-000-
-0-

Life settles into a routine for the next few weeks. Hitoshi goes to class, gets beaten up by Bakugō, and hits the gym with Yaoyorozu. Glasses and co. are busy with whatever hellish schemes they've cooked up, which somehow involves Midoriya-san, but Kurobayashi-sensei helps Hitoshi settle in.

There are a few things that stand out:

-Uraraka suckers him into sparring and beats his ass so badly that she single-handedly transformed class 1-A's hatred of Hitoshi into sympathy for what they'd unleashed on him.

-Hatsume does some more tests, though none of them are as bad as the first day.

-Aizawa-sensei decides to take pity on him and offers to teach Hitoshi the ropes of his capture weapon. Hitoshi doesn't know Eraserhead all that well, but getting taken under the wing of an underground hero, ANY underground hero, is more than he ever expected. Neither of them enjoys handling emotions, especially other people's emotions, so Hitoshi's reaction will forever be a mystery.

-Melissa gives him a voice changer that works with his quirk, which becomes Hitoshi's most prized possession, closely followed by the capture weapon that he's allowed to use as Eraserhead's apprentice (pending). Midoriya's notebook doesn't count as a treasured possession, but he guards that just as zealously as the other two (you can decide whether he does so out of guilt or respect, just don't make it horny, there's already a pairing guys, I'm begging you).

Those days are relatively plain. Pleasant. Tame.
...

Beyond U.A.'s walls, the heroes of Japan began to lose ground.

-0-

AN: So, here we are! The last chapter before things start to hit the fan. I mean well and truly hit the fan. We have a name for our favorite drug dealer! Though I doubt you guys remember him from back in chapter fifteen. I'm really happy that I can finally start taking all the nasty little tidbits from the last few chapters and start really putting them to work.

In other news, the workout stuff is a takeaway from my own process at the gym and the learning process I went through. I'm not super smart, and I avoided sports in high school... between the unmedicated ADHD and me just being oblivious, a lot of things slipped my mind. So the process Izuku details as Unlimited progresses is... I guess it's an attempt at passing on my process. And a bit of wishful thinking:
Anyone who reads this, who hasn't seriously thought about fitness or who isn't sure where to start, I want y'all to know you're not alone. I've been there. This character, both in canon and HERE, has been there. You can use this as a starting point, or something to look forward to. It's scary asking people for help, or looking silly, but learning a little bit at a time is okay too. The thing that really gets you through it is having a goal and a little bit of tenacity. Even the simple things will work wonders if you really break them down and try. Do it at your own pace. You're all great, no matter where you are or where you want to be.

Y'all should really start paying attention to these post notes. No one commented on my mole people question last month. Now we all have to live with the consequences. I hope you're happy (seriously, though, how are we feeling? are y'all happy? I'm getting a lot more hate mail now that this is getting longer and fresh readers are coming in).

This month's polls are:
-What do you think Momo should do about Melissa's proposition?

-Does anyone want a chapter about Midoriya in his coma, or do we just want to skate through the action? I've already got a bunch of fights to write out, and somewhere around ten chapters to get it done. Lots of people are about to die... or very close to it.

As always, feel free to come yell at me! Ask me things! Talk about stories! I always respond to asks or direct messages, though it might take time in the coming weeks.
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