Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She’s not supposed to be here.

Not in this country, not in this world—not in this universe damn it.

Shuya’s always know that God has it out for her. But what she hadn’t known before this was that he hated her enough to literally yeet her into a fictional anime with zero context.

Well, if she’s here—might as well fuck shit up.

It happens so suddenly.

At least her transmigration — no, her isekai — wasn’t cliche. Namely as a result of Truck-kun barreling towards her out of nowhere and knocking her ten ways to another universe. No, Shuya simply went to bed one night, and woke up the following morning lying in a filthy dumpster with a tiny feline menace going to town on her finger as if Shuya owed it money.

The dark-haired girl blinked at the tiny kitten, and then twisted her nose at the stench.

“You know what? Can’t even blame you.” She sighed, throwing her head back in defeat. “I probably smell like heaven to you compared to the shit in this trash.”

Shuya would like you to know that it didn’t take her long to realize where she was once she climbed out of the dumpster and coaxed the little kitten into her arms. Something about people with literal shark heads and weird-ass colored hair gave it away.

That was her first clue.

While people back home had brightly dyed hair — heaven knows even looked like real anime characters what with cosplayers wielding the power of nothing but morbid curiosity and makeup — they didn’t just have shark heads. Or fans on their elbows. Or — was that a dildo?

She blushed, averting her eyes and coughing. The kitten meowed judgmentally.

So definitely nowhere in the world Shuya knew about. So she wasn’t kidnapped from her couch and then unceremoniously dumped in a trash can with no recollection as to how or why. Okay, okay — Shuya breathed out slowly — though that might’ve been might better seeing as…you know, she’d still be in her own world.

Her second clue was when she finally stumbled out of the alley into the very, very, brightly colored world no doubt stinking like hell. Only to be immediately approached by a random blonde dude cosplaying as a stereo dressed in what could only be described as the unholy union between black leather and spandex —  who then proceeded to ask her if she was okay and if she needed help.

Worst of all, he looked sort of familiar.

Shuya blinked.

Was — was he wearing an actual speaker?

Choices, choices — oh well. Shuya would prioritize survival.

She gave her best I-am-two-seconds-away-from-freaking-out-but-I--pretend-I-am-still-functioning-as-a-strong-independent-woman smile and told him that not to worry, she was completely fine and she did NOT need help thank you very much. Cuz mama raised no quitter.

It was only once the words were out of her mouth that Shuya realized that something was wrong.

Her mouth was…not moving how it should. Well, it was speaking — it was doing its job, yes — but.

When she tried to make it say ‘thank you very much’ the words that came out were actually a shaky arigato gosaimasu. Which, well — she’d seen enough anime to know what that meant but like —

Why the fuck am I speaking Japanese?

She stared at the blonde weirdo speaking to her, not sure if she was high and just tripping somehow.

Scratch that, why the fuck was she understanding Japanese all of a sudden?

“Um — excuse me, do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Err yes, little listener?” Said the literal light pole of a man. He knitted his brows in concern. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not little.” The reply came automatically, as if on auto-pilot — vaguely defensive. Shuya was not little. She was a strong independent woman, damn it. So what if she was a little short? That was only by tall white people standards! “I’m average.”

The blonde weirdo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m sure you are.”

“But I am.” Shuya insisted.

“Gotcha.”

“But—”

“I trust ya, average sized listener.”

Shuya pouted. “See now when you say it like that, it feels sarcastic.”

That, ladies and gentleman right there, was her third and final clue. She’d hash out the details later, confirm her suspicions and pinpoint her existence in the timeline much, much later. But that ‘little listener’ endearment, alongside the leather-spandex monstrosity, gravity-defying blonde hair and a literal speaker for a statement piece—

“You’re Present Mic.” She said dully.

And Shuya was somehow in My Hero Academia.

Well fuck.

Two hours later, Shuya finds herself sitting in an interrogation room with one cat in her lap, and another human-sized one facing her across the table. There’s also a homeless dude who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. They’re supposed to be cops, Shuya reminds herself, trying her very best not to lose her mind.

Present Mic — yes, that Present Mic — had fucked off after all but dumping her at the police station, hashing out lame excuses about how’d they able to help her better.

Not that Shuya can really blame him — she wasn’t particularly obliging throughout the whole process. After recognizing the pro-hero, Shuya’s mind decided to overload from the information and shut down. Once she woke up, Shuya was informed she’d been passed out for a full hour.

They were on a park bench, Shuya's head on Mic's lap for some reason. If she didn't know he was a hero and an overall good dude, she'd have been very, very creeped out. Still, the passing out. An hour. Yada yada. It was actually a little over half an hour, but Shuya had elected to stay prone with her eyes closed — if only to give herself some time to think.

She’s in My Hero Academia.

That My Hero Academia.

Now that she's here, in this police station, after her little melt down, part of her is still praying that the people sitting in front of her are just a furry and homeless dude — and not Detective Sansa and Pro-Hero Eraserhead from MHA. Method actors, like she’s on some sort of prank show.

But then how would that explain the floating gloves that had cheerily greeted Shuya on her way inside and handed her a cup of coffee?

So Shuya had and will pretend to stay asleep for a bit longer, if only to work out her growing hysteria.

How did I get here? Am I dead? How can I go back?

And a single terrifying thought.

Can I even go back?

And if she can’t, then—

Her fingers stiffen in the kitten’s fur, eyes flickering up towards the men observing her.

Then how I do I survive this?

No, Shuya can’t blame Present Mic at all — she wasn’t making a lot of sense when he’d tried coaxing information out of her. But that’s not entirely her fault, okay?!

It’s not as if she can just casually say that no, he can’t pull up any information on her in their databases because she doesn’t exist in their fucking universe. That she has no name, no identity, no quirk — nothing in this world that marks her existence.

That brings Shuya to her latest dilemma though.

“Do you know what your quirk is, kid?”

Shuya stares at the cat furry officer in front of her, a serene smile frozen on her face.

She could say that she was quirkless, yes. The ensuing discrimination wouldn’t be anything new— Shuya had been a minority student studying in a foreign country whose people definitely didn’t like hers. She could deal with that yeah, but that didn’t mean she wanted to.

So, well — fuck the universe — Shuya is finally gonna bite the bullet and become the compulsive liar she was always destined to be.

“My Quirk is Foresight.”

This makes both men pause, turning back toward her with renewed interest. Shuya does not flinch.

Again, she could say that she was quirkless. She could say that she had any other hard to verify quirk. They’d be forced to believe it because 1) Shuya had no official records because someone not in this universe definitely could not exist on literal government records and 2) they’d only drag her in front of an x-ray in order to confirm whether or not she had that stupid extra toe joint over her dead body and yes, Shuya could and would bite—

There was a third reason though — the reason she’d decided on Foresight over something stupidly safe like Resting Bitch Face.

It’s two months until the U.A. entrance exam. A little less than four months before the USJ.

She is currently stranded in a fictional anime world that is destined to go to complete shit in less than a year with no money, no escape and limited recollection of the manga she’d read ages ago. The only place relatively safe during the War would be U.A. so please, forgive her for trying to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss her way into one of the best safehouses in Japan. Shuya has no intention of making this stupid fight hers — her goal is to survive.

That could mean a lot of things. Like completely running away from Japan for example. Which — nice idea, sucker — but with what money? She doesn't even have a passport here! So that's a nope situation, no running away. Escaping Japan or better yet — Shuya being the meddling bitch that she is and throwing the plot the proverbial middle finger as she fucked shit up for any and all in her path.

She runs her fingers through the kitten’s dirty fur, ignoring the way it claws irritably at her hands.

Choices, choices.

Well, that was to be seen. For now, Shuya is content to bare her teeth and ‘prove’ the existence of her quirk by ‘predicting’ what the U.A. entrance exam would be about and what would happen.

“It’s usually a hit-or-miss.” She gives an easy grin, enjoying the thousand-yard stares of the poor bastards who’d been unlucky enough to interrogate her. “People are real crazy, y’know? You never know what the future will truly be, with the possibility of infinite choices. Best I can do is list out the most probable future. Works on probabilities.”

But then she leans forward, masking her slight hysteria of what-the-fuck-am-I-even-doing with easy confidence. “The physical exam for the Hero Course will have robots. The zero-pointer will be nasty.”

“That doesn’t prove what you’re saying is the truth.” The homeless guy pipes in from the back, completely and utterly unimpressed. Shuya would like to stress that Eraserhead definitely does not look thirty in real life. “Your origins are shady. You could’ve hacked your way into the records—”

“—Or just deduced it based on patterns of previous U.A. entrance exams. Or do a cross-analysis across previous test takers. You guys aren’t particularly slick, y’know?” She grins, shrugging when Eraserhead’s gaze sharpens. “Just kidding. But if you want, I can probably do focused predictions. They’re tricky though, I’m not completely sure how to access them.”

When Eraserhead says nothing, Shuya takes it as a green light and ‘activates’ her quirk.

She places the squirming kitten down, sucks in a deep breath to prepare herself and—

Crosses her eyes.

And then whirls towards a completely unnerved Present Mic with the flair of movie-Dumbledore in the Goblet of Fire. The poor bastard had come inside at some point and had been staring at Shuya all this time as if she’d grown two heads. “You! On the day of the entrance exam, when you’re giving out the instructions — some stuck-up brat with glasses and bluish-black hair will raise his hand and tell you how you didn’t mention that there’s four types of robots instead of three—”

“—Now you’re just biasing his speech—”

“—But!” She cuts Eraserhead off easily, wagging a finger. “He will turn around and scold a curly-haired, green-haired cutie sitting a few rows behind him immediately afterward who’d been muttering to himself. That’s not connected to Present Mic’s actions, is it? Wanna bet on that?”

She meets Eraserhead’s sunken but suspicious gaze head on, allowing him to search for any sliver of deceit. Shuya lets him — cause sure, she’s lying about her Quirk — but she is not insincere. What she says will be the truth, provided she hasn’t derailed the plot too much.

“It’s two months.” She smiles challengingly. “You willing to wait that long?”

Turns out, they are.

Shuya’s well aware why. Mental quirks are rare, and those with premonition are even rarer. In both the manga and anime, Shuya only remembers one character having true foresight — even if it ended up crippling him irreversibly in the end. Sir Nighteye did end up dying after all. Meanwhile, Midoriya Izuku, or Deku’s Danger Sense was predictive yes, but it wasn’t true foresight.

So, for now it kind of doesn’t matter if Shuya turned up out of nowhere with zero memories of how she got here with enough teenage audacity to bullshit her way through police custody. Shuya’s even worked out a way to get past the truth quirk dude. It involves reading a lot of quirkless-but-masquerading-as quirked-Midoriya-Izuku ao3 fics.

Step One: Exist and NOT get arrested. Complete.

While Present Mic and the policemen were easy enough to convince that yes, she was just a harmless itty bitty teenager who was really frazzled by this whole situation — Eraserhead is harder to convince. Probably the underground experience doing him wonders, as always.

But even he softens a little when Shuya asks if it would be okay to take the kitten with her to wherever they were gonna set her up for the next few weeks.

The police suspected that she was a trafficking victim with trauma-induced amnesia, probably connected to some underground shit. Shuya is quick to decide to slowly inch them towards the Shie Hassaikai after pretending to slowly ‘regain’ her memories. She could go in guns a blazing with tons of predictions and information — but the fact was, Sir Nighteye still wouldn’t move in to save Eri until the time was right. Until the probabilities were the highest and the casualties would be lowest.

It was her word against that of a seasoned pro. Guess which one the pro-heroes would trust?

She scoffs under her breath, shouldering her backpack closer.

Besides, until then, blaming her lack of memories — and by extension — decorum on the yakuza was the best way to go. It’s the best excuse she has for the now.

Shuya tries not to think too hard about Eri for the moment.

“This will be your room.”

She blinks.

Even she didn’t expect this. Wow, all those EraserMic dad fics really did end up being true.

Shuya looks around the room. It’s carefully bare, whether because it’s a temporary guestroom or for her whims to decorate, she doesn’t know. It’s smaller that her old room — back in her real home — but the walls are painted in a faded yellow peeling at the edges, there’s a large window on the right, and there’s fresh sheets on the bed. The only indicator that she’s still in EraserMic’s apartment is the polka dot cat clock placed on her bedside table.

She smiles.

It’s a small and sad thing, but it’s sincere and fond.

As expected of her favorite characters.

Truth be told, she’s a little surprised they’d give her a room with a window, given how Shuya’s been deemed a flight risk. Hence the supervision.

“Thanks, it looks good.”

She doesn’t notice the black eyes observing every single of her micro-expressions, brows knitting at whatever they end up seeing.

Instead, what she does notice when Shuya looks back at Eraserhead, is annoyance. “Aw, aren’t you a sentimental dude.”

A hand chops the top of the head gently, but sternly. “Language. I’m older than you. Have some respect.”

Shuya was named class clown once. She was also followed up with another immediately afterward.

Class Petty Bitch.

“Right, sorry.” She grumbles, deflating. “I should probably address a veteran like you with proper respect. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been in the field? Thirty—no, forty years? You look so experienced.”

The baleful glare Aizawa gives her in a moment makes her snicker like a little child.

Well, he does look older in real life.

Her first night in the EraserMic household can be characterized by two major emotions.

One is this overwhelming sense of relief that despite all her lies and the literal garbage start she had in this world — at the very least she’d managed to snag a place to crash for the foreseeable future. Shuya isn’t going to be homeless.

The second emotion is overwhelming loss.

It crashes into her like a wave the moment she shuts her bedroom door and turns to face her unfamiliar surroundings. It’s not her cramped studio apartment — it’s not her childhood room at her parent’s place back home. It’s nowhere near any of those two places.

The realization is quiet, but crippling. Shuya likely won’t make it back home. She’s stuck here, for reasons she doesn’t know and she’s arguably on her own. Sure, Shuya comes in with an overwhelming advantage but—

But this isn’t home.

So she doesn’t touch the bed that night. Instead she curls up in a corner, buries herself in her arms and holds herself to sleep just like that. The same way she did her first night in college as a fourteen year old in a foreign country thousands of miles away from her family and her home.

The only difference is that this time Shuya can’t run back home.

She wakes up the next day with tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Aw fuck.” The black-haired girl groans, stretching out her legs with a low hiss. “I was hoping this would be a bad dream.”

It’s not.

However, thankfully, Shuya is self-admittedly hyper-independent and deeply neurotic and so obviously, she gets over moping very soon. Nothing to be done about it. She grabs the ratty backpack Eraser had dug out for her, fiddles inside it for a change of clothes and her toiletries. Yesterday, without her knowledge, Eraser had gone through the lost-and-found at the station for a few day’s worth of clothes for her.

“We’ll go shopping after a few days.” He’d stated, dropping them in her arms. “Get changed. You’re filthy.”

Shuya was not filthy, but she listened regardless.

Because she’s not filthy, she took a shower last night and does so again in the morning. Eraser doesn’t know shit.

And, as she lets the hot water run down her shoulders, Shuya thinks. She starts planning out her future here — namely how to prevent or at the very least survive the War.

Staying with EraserMic is probably the best outcome out of all of this. Worst case scenario she’d still be on the streets with no money or place to crash. It would have been worse because she didn’t exist on official records, because that meant there’d have been no way for her to get a job without drawing any unsavory eyes. And, even worse, no one would know if she ever went missing.

She shivers, despite the hot shower. 

It’s been a while since Shuya’s watched My Hero Academia, but she still remembers how the Nomu doctor bastard often lurked in these neighborhoods.

Instead, Shuya gets hot meals and a soft bed to sleep in. That’s the dream, isn’t it?

Well…not exactly hot.

Predictably, both Eraserhead and Present Mic were hopeless workaholics. What does that come with? Shuya being left alone for more hours that she really should be, especially since she’s supposed to be the suspect they’re supposed to keep an eye on. They’d stuck to that mindset for all of three days, until Shuya had tripped on her blanket cape and promptly face-planted into the floor.

When Mic finally asked her if she was okay after a moment of hesitation, she’d told him to just leave her there to wallow in her misery.

“Just let me die already.”

Eraser snorted into his coffee, dead as a corpse.

“That can be helped, brat.”

So yeah, they’d warmed up — even Eraser. But the true tipping point was when Shuya dragged herself into the kitchen one fine evening, took inventory of the shit (or lack thereof) in the fridge and decided that well, if these adults wanted to die of starvation, sure—but Shuya was a growing woman who needed more than coffee to sustain her soul.

(Debatable, but okay)

She started cooking.

And something about the idea of returning home to a hot meal somehow succeeded in completely disarming her unlikely hosts—

Okay, it was the cat.

Shuya wasn’t even mad. How could an awkward, knobby kneed human like her ever beat a cute, fuzzy kitty who liked to massacre your fingers at very given opportunity?

“If you like them so much, why don’t you have one already?”

She asks Eraser one evening, as she watches the man play with the kitten in his lap absentmindedly, his attention focused elsewhere on reviewing some coursework. Shuya spies the words 1-A in big bold letters and feels a twinge of pity for the poor bastards. Eraser’s dark eyes flicker towards her, then soften as the kitten meows and bats its paws against his finger.

“Neither of us has the time. It would be cruel.”

“Wow, I really blessed you two, didn’t I?" Shuya choruses, just because she can. "Cooking, cleaning, pet-sitting.”

“Ya don’t have to do that, ya know.” Present Mic—Hizashi, he’d corrected happily after exactly fifty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after meeting her for the first time — pops out of nowhere. His hair is dripping wet, a towel around his shoulders. “You’re here for protection, not—”

Shuya had decided to ignore his correction. It’s better that way.

It wouldn't do to get attached. 

“I don’t mind.” The words shoot out automatically, making both pairs of eyes look at her. She flushes a little. Instead, Shuya focuses on the kitten. “It gets boring during the day. The chores keep me occupied. And I like them.”

Mic looks concerned. “Aren’t you preparing for the entrance exam, little listener?”

“There’s only so much math I can look at before my brain implodes.”

“Touché.”

They don’t offer to help, and Shuya doesn’t ask. She knows they would if she did, but she’s perhaps the person most aware of how taxing hero work is — and to be full-time teachers too at that. Hell, Mic’s working three jobs. They have to monitor her on top of that as well.

It had taken a lot of mental gymnastics for Shuya to come up with a good reason for them to let her apply to U.A. seeing as she’s supposed to be masquerading as a trauma-induced amnesiac who has no memory of anything other than her name, age and quirk. So technically, she’s supposed to be illiterate haha.

Well, I kind of still am...Japanese and all. 

In the end she doesn’t need to at all, because the excuse ends up being delivered to her courtesy of Eraser’s growing eyebags and Mic’s weird obsession with caffeine. The night shifts keeping an eye on her are taking their toll on the two. So the two men sit her down on the couch one day and mention how this isn’t working out.

Shuya stares at them blankly. 

"Okay, should I just grab my stuff or—?" 

They both stiffen, and Mic hastily goes,

“No, no no, kid." He waves off her concerns, though Shuya was mostly being a little shit. Charming guy. "School’s going to be starting soon, little listener, so we won’t be able to keep playing some rad tunes with you because of work. So we think—”

“—It would be best for you to enroll as a U.A. student so that you’re always in close proximity to pro-heroes for your protection.” Eraser finishes blasely. “After all, U.A. is the safest place in Japan outside of Tartarus.”

What kind of comparison is that? I either go to U.A or Tartarus? What the hell did I do? 

Shuya parts her lips, a little thrown off at the offer. 

Well…less work for her.

A part of Shuya wants to laugh bitterly at just how much Eraser and Mic believe in U.A.’s safety. At how easily they’re ready to bring an unknown girl with shady origins into the halls where literal children walk. The Eraserhead and Present Mic of the future would never. Just as they’d know no fortress is truly impregnable.

But it works out for her now, so Shuya makes all the appropriate noises of hysteria, disbelief and grudging excitement as the two pro-heroes crowd her. Later that night, curled under her blankets, she stares at the polka dot cat clock and wonders about where she stands in this world’s future.

The tiny kitten she’d aptly named Bastard decides to curl up next to her out of pity.

Shuya’s already aware her presence is kind of intruding in the EraserMic household, but she isn’t quite sure how to get out until at least she can find a job here. She’s certainly old enough, and she has worked before. Technically, she should be enrolling as a third-year because of her age. But Shuya had been advised to apply as a first year for ease since, again — she’s supposed to be illiterate here. She might be able to skip a couple of grades if she shows progress during the year.

Yes, it hurts her pride as a former medical student. No, she can’t do anything about it, since she needs to get into the school somehow.

That is, of course, if she makes it in.

For all of BNHA’s intricate worldbuilding, there’s very little to no detail about the written exam that she remembers — if at all. Most of the emphasis had been on the physical exam, and everything that occurred before it had been a blur in both the manga and the anime. As if the story before One For All and U.A. didn’t matter.

Well, it did matter.

To her, who’s stuck cursing through integrals she’s sure for a fact they should be learning in their second year — not for an entrance exam. Well, she is applying to the best school in the country — what was it? Plus Ultra?

At least the rest of the exam prep is relatively easy. While not completely holistic, U.A. did pride itself on not just restricting it’s curriculum merely to Japan — opting for something pseudo-global.

That extended to its entrance exam — more specifically, to it’s literature exam. Shuya is dumb for books, regardless of language, time or gender — and she’s a hoe for Bungo Stray Dogs, so yes, she is aware of the more prominent Japanese authors of the past. In the beginning it was kind of weird seeing those names from her own world here, though well over two — three hundred years ago, since these authors had existed prior to quirks. It kind of makes her wonder if this is just her own world but three hundred years in the future.

And well, catching up to more contemporary literature authors wasn’t hard. Shuya has free reign of the spare phone Mic had dug out for her, and again, she’s a hoe for good books.

Science is science, though terribly underutilized in this world. She isn’t sure if these people knew just how tied their quirks were to science. Literally every quirk could be explained by scientific means, though with some generous fantastical leeway. None of it is ever brought up though in all of the curriculum Shuya goes through, so the woman is stuck blinking down at the periodic table memorizing how many electrons there are in a carbon atom. All things she knows of course, but still.

“That comes under advanced quirk theory.” Eraser raises an eyebrow when Shuya asks him. “It’s not an introductory course — it’s usually offered in third year.”

Shuya’s question is why?

The dark-haired man just shrugs and when even Mic has no real answer for her, it hits Shuya like a revelation from the crappy god who threw her in this hell.

“You’re all jocks.” She realizes, horrified. “I’m going to a jock school— I’m living in a world made for jocks. None of y’all have brains, my god.”

In another universe Shuya was halfway through a medical degree despite her young age. She's a certified nerd, the likes of which is unparalleled. She moved halfway across the world at fourteen damn it. Here though, she’s masquerading as a sixteen year old teenager with bird shit-for-brains. She isn’t even sixteen—more like eighteen going on nineteen so, like — what the hell.

God forbid she be too sharp — the jocks would riot, society would collapse, the world would end and Shuya would have no one to save her from the Bastard’s daily assaults.

It does make her think of quirk reliance though. Though Shuya stores those volatile thoughts for a nice rainy day when she has nothing to do but stew in her self-destructive thoughts.

For now, she should really focus on preparing the for the entrance exam.

Speaking of said entrance exam, Shuya doesn’t dare apply for Heroics.

She likes having all of her limbs intact thank you very much and, because Shuya is a certified geek, that naturally means she has no stamina, no strength and no redeeming physical qualities whatsoever. What? She's fine being a stereotype.

Eraserhead had been the first witness to it all, when the twenty minute trek through U.A. to get registered for the exam had left her sweating like a ex-husband paying alimony. She’s pretty sure Nedzu is still cackling away somewhere.

And also, Shuya doesn’t desire to be trained into being what was essentially a child soldier.

The image of Bakugo Katsuki’s tattered corpse in the manga is burned into her brain.

This very logical decision had left both of caretakers surprised and the mole-rat-dog dilemma that was the U.A. principal smiling knowingly. When asked why, Shuya had initially deflected with light hearted jabs, only to quickly realize that they didn’t buy her excuses when their frowns didn’t ease.

So she came clean.

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“The fact that this is legal.” In any other setting Shuya would’ve held back her tongue, been more diplomatic. But this had bugged her in both universes, in both worlds. “You — you guys know that you’re literally raising child soldiers, right? Just with spandex, glitter, and a ton of flair?”

This surprises Eraser and Mic. But Nedzu smiles serenely, paws crossed. He looks very soft and cuddly. Shuya wonders if he’d bite off her hand if she tried to pet him. As if reading her mind, Mic places a hand on her shoulder.

Meanwhile, Nedzu looks amused.

“One could argue that this is their dream. We would only be offering the option of being able to achieve that dream.” He counters with an easy smile. There is no hostility in his tone, despite Shuya all but criticizing hero society. In fact, he looks somewhat pleased. “It is not wrong to dream, is it?”

“It’s not,” Shuya accepts his argument, savoring Nedzu’s words and wondering what the best way would be to lessen the looks of complete incomprehension on Mic and Eraser’s faces without making it seem like she was a villain sympathizer. She was, but that was besides the point! “But — well, you know that teenagers are tricky, right?”

“Myself included.” She puts up her hands in clear admission when Eraser opens his mouth to argue. “I don’t think it’s particularly logical to teach hormonal teenagers at peak stubbornness and pent-up anger how to be able to go out knock out people six different ways.”

That makes them pause. Shuya takes it as the opportunity to continue.

“Without proper counseling, you’re literally putting the gun in the hands of ticking time-bombs.” In Katsuki Bakugo’s case, he was a literal bomb. Shuya still shudders thinking of an alternate reality where he’d decided to go down the villain route. And yet, would that be his fault, given how hero society is structured here?

Was it Tenko Shimura’s fault he was related to a hero?

Shuya hesitates for a moment. “Like — maybe wait until they’re at least adults and have more free brain cells?” She taps her fingers on the tap impatiently, feeling a bit antsy. “Or like when they’re twenty-five and their pre-frontal cortex is done developing? Of course, my criticisms about the fragility and hypocrisy of hero society not withstanding.”

There’s a beat of silence before—

“Aizawa-kun. Yamada-kun.” All three eyes jump to Nedzu, who looks completely and utterly deranged. “You’ve picked up an interesting one. May I engage further?”

Even Shuya knows what that means. So she doesn’t resist when Mic immediately throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and Eraser excuses them hastily before rushing out of the principal’s office.

But, well, if on the days that Mic and Eraser are both too busy to return home — she sneaks out and has a very heated discussion about educational theory over tea with a certain mole-rat, well — that’s just for him and her to know and argue about.

The written exam is stupid.

Stupidly easy.

Even an elementary schooler could’ve done it right if needed. Which begs the question that if the entrance exam to one of the best high schools in the world is so simple — what does this mean for higher education? How are people even doctors, engineers and scientists? What is the standard amount of education for a citizen of this universe? At what point does the education here begin to match that of her world?

The simple answer is: it doesn’t.

Shuya had noticed it fairly early on, but the levels of quirk dependency on all factors of life in BNHA were insane. It was mostly only those with healing quirks who became doctors, and they were often considered the end all of all medical treatment. If they couldn’t save a patient with their healing quirks, then there was nothing left to be done.

Which was bullshit, because surgery exists — because other treatments separate from quirks exist.

Only that…it wasn’t developed as much here, in this world. When Shuya had gotten to the academic papers Nedzu had given her, she’d realized that most research into traditional medical practice had been considered redundant and obsolete in the wake of the rise of healing quirks. Which well, yes — more quirks mean that more unique unforeseen levels of fucked-up quirk injuries that surgeries at the time simply couldn’t handle — but instead of completely dismissing traditional medicine, there just should’ve been more research.

Of course, it doesn’t mean that complex surgeries don’t exist here. Just that if this world is truly supposed to be two hundred years in the future — this is not the level of medical scientific advancement they should be at.

Instead, most efforts had been allocated to mechanical engineering, no doubt for hero support gear. Not even software tech. Which means that A.I. wasn’t even a thing here, beyond simple models. Chatbots simply didn’t exist. Oh how the loss of ChatGPT hurt Shuya’s black soul. But at least she can do aerial gymnastics whenever she wants while cosplaying Ironman. Not that that would be a flex at all though, because apparently quirkless people are simply too ‘fragile’ to be strapped to a two hundred pound metal suit and launched into the sky like a missile.

Tony Stark would be rolling in his grave. The audacity.

The simple explanation for this that she can come up with is that the rise of quirks halted all of sort of scientific progress as society had stop and work out how to adapt to this sudden new development. Typical science experiment shenanigans, introduce new variables and contaminate the testing pool, then you get unforeseen trends. 

The problem is that it's taken society three hundred years to move past stagnation. 

Back to the entrance exam though.

Well, it’s stupidly simple. Shuya is quick to realize she really didn’t need to put as much effort into her preparations as she thought. But the ways the students around her were sweating and blubbering, you’d think they were giving the MCAT.

She’s done a full hour earlier than the rest and Ectoplasm definitely gives her a look (not that she can decipher it) as she hands it in and does her walk of honor down the aisles and aisles of sweating students glaring jealous daggers at her.

She doesn’t pause when she moves past forest-green hair, nervously hunched over the exam sheet.

“Good luck, little one.”

Not that he needs it.

Shuya knows she’s gotten into U.A. before she even opens her letter. The hopeless resignation on Eraser’s face is telling enough.

“Don’t torture Hizashi too much.” He tells her, rolling his eyes.

That however, is news.

“Huh,” Shuya comments as she distractedly rips the letter open. “So Present Mic-san’s gonna be my homeroom teach—HOLY GUACAMOLE—”

She yeets the holographic All Might directly at the wall with surprising arm strength. Once all is said and done, Aizawa definitely admires the dent in the wall that’s dangerously close to the window before bonking her head.

He still comments dryly though,

“People’s first reaction to All Might usually isn’t defenestration.”

Later, over dinner, Shuya would defend herself and say that defenestration was never on the table and if it was, Shuya would be hella good at it, okay—

But in the moment,

“That’s…All Might…” She says breathlessly, obviously taken aback. “What’s All Might doing on my acceptance letter—”

She lies through her teeth like, you know, a liar.

Of course Shuya knows All Might is gonna teach at U.A. —  it’s basically half the plot of the story! She’s been debating how to bring up the knowledge and while she hadn’t expected him to be on the hologram — it worked out because now she had an excuse for why she knew this information.

Then a wave of dread hits her.

And she looks up at a very exasperated Eraserhead.

“Holy shit, is All Might gonna be my homeroom teach—”

“For God’s sake, no.”

“But—”

Eraserhead sighs irritably. “He’s only teaching Heroics this year.”

Bingo.

Shuya blinks. “Oh. So…hero students?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Alright, alright!”

Shuya scrambles, grabbing the back of Eraser’s shirt and pulling him back on the couch. Maybe he’s taking pity on her or maybe he’s feeling particularly generous today, surprisingly he lets her. It kind of shocks her a little, the way he relents so easily.

She gets her answer as to why soon enough though.

“Wait.” She says, staring at the letter in complete disbelief, eyes as round as coins. “…First place?”

When Eraser doesn’t say anything, she implodes.

“What the hell, Eraserhead?!”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected to score high — she was operating with university level knowledge after all — but, but this was still an alternate universe in the future she has no knowledge about aside from rabid fan theories online. Shuya is Shuya, yes, but she is also a stranger — a newbie. So her getting — what the fuck — a perfect score on the paper was more telling of the education system than her skills.

Or maybe not.

She gets her answer again soon enough.

“Your take on hero ethics got you the score.”

Eraserhead says long sufferingly, and dully, Shuya realizes the reason he’s been sticking around all this time is to see her reaction. The realization makes her feel a little…fuzzy. Warm. It’s a strange emotion. She doesn’t like it, Shuya decides.

Then she remembers.

He’s probably read the shitshow that was her exam. Probably graded it even. Wait, why wasn’t she in juvie already? Her take on hero society hadn’t been civil, let alone heroic.

As if reading her mind, Eraser corrects her wryly.

“Nedzu had the honor of grading it.”

Well fuck.

“Also.” Shuya flinches at his disapproving tone, peeking up at him. Eraser is staring at her with a slight frown. “Why do you keep calling us by our hero titles? We are off-duty, and I recall Hizashi giving you explicit person to do so multiple times.”

He’s out of uniform, dressed in a plain black shirt and pink pajamas. Bastard is in his lap, purring against his fingers, back against the arm of the couch opposite to her. This morning, before Mic had left for patrol, he’d slid over a plate of celebratory waffles and ruffled her hair with a cryptic wink.

For a moment, Shuya thinks back to her first night here.

This isn’t home.

But…

Can I even go back?

Eraser — no, Aizawa is still staring at her. Neither of them speak, letting the seconds stretch between them. Then Shuya looks up at him with her signature shit-eating grin and—

“So, about not torturing Hizashi too much — does that mean there’s an acceptable level of torture—“

Aizawa sighs.

Once Shuya gets over the shock of getting the highest score on the written exam, shoves some food in her mouth, gets nearly suffocated to death by Hizashi and finally trudges off to bed for the night — she recalls her next dilemma.

How to tell these idiots not to go to the USJ.

To be honest, Shuya isn’t all that caught up with the manga past the point of Bakugo dying and magically reviving like a bajillion times. As for the anime, it’s been a while since Shuya had watched the thing so the details were pretty hazy. She knows the main stuff, like the big events but finer details — like for example what day the USJ was supposed to happen or like where in Kamino All for One was hiding — were nonexistent in her mind.

She’d purged all that knowledge in favors of turning over to the dark side of any fandom.

Fanfiction.

So between all the Quirkless Deku fics and the Sensei/All for One is Midoriya Hisashi fics— it was safe to say Shuya’s knowledge was probably corrupted by some snazzy ass fanfiction that had no business being as good as it was. That was fine — A-OK, actually — safe for the fact that essentially—

Shuya forgets/misremembers, something goes wrong, world is destroyed, Shuya gets dusted. Game Over.

So she must proceed with caution, and stick to what she remembers for sure. Of course, she could make notes to record what she knows so that she wouldn’t misremember, but English is the only other language she knows and she’s ninety-six percent sure Present Mic is an English teacher. And besides, any code or secret language she comes up with would be elementary at best and Aizawa could crack it like the morning newspaper’s crossword puzzle.

So — ah, the U.A. break in and the USJ. Oh, and the traitor, and Bakugo and Midoriya’s wacky ass relationship. Oh, and all the bone breaking.

One thing Shuya thought was pretty dumb about the original was how underutilized Midoriya’s analysis skills had been. Hence all the Quirkless Deku fics. The little gremlin was clearly a little genius, except that he didn’t know it and nor did the world ever give him the time of the day to find out.

It should not have taken him till season two to develop Full Cowling.

Then again, if she thinks logically, progressing so much with his quirk in such a short amount of time — especially since canonically he was still a first year when the war was in full swing — it’s amazing. It’s cool. And it’s a testament to Midoriya’s talent, not to All Might’s teaching skills or any outside guidance Midoriya had ever gotten. Except maybe Gran Torino. But that was minimal — minimal.

So who’s gonna save the day?

Shuya, of course!

Once she figures how to tip off All Might that All for One is still alive without making him completely abandon all of his non-existent rationality to blind self-sacrifice and getting himself killed. Oh, and the bone breaking thing.

Ugh.

To be honest, she already has a plan for the second.

And it begins with a simple, but innocent errand at the school conveniently the same day and time U.A. is running the physical entrance exam. It had been easy to find out that the physical exam was scheduled two weeks after the written exam.

So the day of, Shuya casually slips out some of Aizawa’s jelly packets from his yellow sleeping bag and waves the two pro-heroes off for work with none the wiser. When the inevitable call comes, requesting her to bring some to the staff room since apparently Aizawa has ‘run out’, Shuya grins like the cat who’s got the cream.

“Come in!”

She pokes her head through the door at the voice, a little hesitant, only to relax when she spots Hizashi in the corner. There’s some other teachers shuffling about, no doubt wishing to die from grading the physical exam results and, not for the first time, Shuya wonders how Midnight is even allowed near teenagers. Instead, she lifts the pink Hello Kitty backpack pointedly.

“Got a delivery for a homeless-looking guy with an obsession with jelly packets? About yay high?”

She makes a vague arm gesture supposed to demonstrate how he’s supposed to be taller than her.

And of course, Vlad King spits out his coffee in the background as Hizashi roars out a laugh that definitely has some of his quirk in it. Shuya’s hilarious. She knows. Aizawa gives her a glare. Shuya takes it as a win.

“Pfft—he’s over there, Shuya-chan.”

Aizawa glowers at Hizashi’s continued laughter, but lightens a little when he sees how Shuya has stuffed the inside of the hello kitty backpack with the very same jelly packets he is so obsessed with. She was generous too, a tiny apology for her scheme.

Shuya grins reliably. “I got you, bestie.”

Aizawa offers his deepest and eternal gratitude of course.

“You’re to head directly back home. Directly.”

See? So heartwarming.

“What’re you waiting for? Get out.”

And Shuya does, because just because Phase One went well doesn’t mean she can slack off! She walks down a few corridors, turns around a bunch of corners, and of course, gets herself completely lost! Oh dear, whatever is she to do, lost in this huge school campus? Well, ask for directions of course!

It’s only logical.

So of course, Shuya knocks and enters the first reliable looking door she sees — and just happens to enter the medical wing where the ever reliable Recovery Girl is ripping Midoriya Izuku a new one after breaking three of four of his limbs in the entrance exam.

Was it unnecessarily complicated? Yes.

Was it stupidly fun? Yes.

“Hullo ma’am, sorry to bother you but do you where the exit is—” Shuya begins casually, before pausing sheepishly when two sets of eyes land on her. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t know I was interrupting.”

“That’s quite alright dear.” Because Recovery Girl is awesome, she offers Shuya a sweet smile. “You’re Eraser’s kid, aren’t you?”

“As much as it pains me, yes.” Shuya sighs long sufferingly and Recovery Girl chuckles. “Let’s say I take after Mic.”

“I would argue otherwise but I digress. How can I help you, dear?”

Shuya scratches her cheek awkwardly. “I’m…kind of lost.”

“Oh that’s good! You can head out with this young man then!”

Bingo.

Shuya’s eyes finally tear away and land on the other person in this room, who’s been sitting quietly in a bit of a daze up till now. No doubt wondering what the actual hell he just did in his exam. “Oh, and this is…?”

Hello safety net.

Of course, Midoriya immediately snaps out of his daze and bows a full ninety degrees all while stuttering and stammering up a red-faced storm. It’s utterly adorable.

“O-Oh, I’m so sorry!” He all but yells, looking as stiff as a pole. “I’m—I’m Midoriya Izuku, it’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Midoriya-kun,” Shuya injects a bit of warmth into her voice. “You must be here for the Hero Entrance Exam, right? That’s so cool!”

Midoriya visibly brightens at her words and then immediately proceeds to turn greener than his hair as he remembers how he’s essentially fucked up his exam. Of course, ever the badass, Recovery Girl does not have time for either of their shit and so she ushers them outside, citing work.

“Now, now, you two can hurry along now! It’s getting late and I’m sure your guardians would want you home by sunset!”

“Yep, thanks.”

Shuya hums, while Midoriya bows again.

“T-Thank you very much for your help, Recovery Girl.”

As the door slams shut in their faces, they both stare at the door for a while. Shuya waits for a full ten seconds before turning to Midoriya with a sheepish grin clearly meant to make him relax and asks if he knows the way back. Of course, being the smartass he is—of course he knows, and of course, being the absolute sweetheart he is, he very kindly agrees to lead her there.

After a few minutes of walking, she casually asks him,

“So Midoriya-kun, what brought you to the infirmary? Except divine intervention to be my savior?”

Midoriya flushes adorably, before scratching his cheek a little. “I—erm, I got injured using my quirk during the exam.”

That’s an understatement.

But Shuya widens her eyes, gasps and makes all appropriate noises someone who isn’t trying to be hero student should. “Woah! That sounds crazy. I didn’t think the exam would be so hardcore that it’d make the students push themselves that hard. What was U.A. thinking?”

Midoriya — bless his little green heart — was so quick to rise to the bait, defending U.A. with surprising confidence. “No! It was all my fault—I don’t have control over my quirk and ended up injuring myself. U.A. has nothing to do with this!”

“I guess so.” Shuya keeps the mock-doubt in her voice, no doubt sure that Nedzu is spying on her somewhere. The bitch. “But like, so little control that you ended up injuring yourself so badly that Recovery Girl’s quirk didn’t work? Your quirk must be crazy.”

Predictably, Midoriya flounders again. It kind of makes Shuya sigh, wondering how the hell One For All was a secret for so long between Midoriya and Yagi. No wonder Bakugo was able to find out so easily — the two were terrible at keeping a straight face.

Shuya tries again when she sees how close Midoriya is to self-combustion. “So, what’s your quirk, Midoriya-kun?”

“It — It’s called Superpower.” Midoriya looks down nervously. “It’s a self-augmentation quirk.”

Shuya gives him a knowing look that succeeds in throwing off the broccoli boy. “Ah…your quirk’s too strong for your body, isn’t it? I’ve had that problem before. It’s such a bitch.”

No one said Shuya couldn’t lie.

It’s for the greater good. The greater good!

“W-wait, you too?” Midoriya’s eyes are wide, shining at the new information. Shuya smiles when she notices his earlier apprehension evaporating. “What is your quirk? Is it also an augmentation quirk? Does it affect your body? How do you activate it? What—”

Shuya cuts him off with a loud laugh, making Midoriya flush with embarrassment.

“I—I’m sorry—”

“It’s a premonition quirk based on probabilities.” She offers not unkindly, running through the shitty explanation she’d come up with for her ‘quirk’. It wasn’t exactly shitty, since it had to be good enough to convince Midoriya, but Shuya liked to exaggerate. “Works through my eyes. But if I look at too many probabilities too far in the future at a time, I can risk going blind. It’s the reason why I’m wearing glasses now.”

She taps pointedly at her specs, noting the way Midoriya pales at the implication of her words. Good. Maybe it’d help free some brain cells for self-preservation instead. “I was dumb a few times with my quirk usage and lost some of my eyesight.”

Little does the poor bastard know, this shitty eyesight is actually the rightful consequence of reading cringy fanfiction under her covers at night while hiding from her rightfully suspicious parents.

“O—Oh, I’m so sorry!” Midoriya stammers. “The recoil must be so painful. It was a rude thing to ask—”

“Not as painful as a self-augmentation quirk recoil.” Shuya shrugs off his apology casually. It’s not as if she actually has a quirk. Just her brains and sheer teenage audacity. “I’d reckon it’s more impressive you’re still trying to be a hero with such a volatile quirk—wait—” Shuya pauses, looking awkward. “Ah, I think that might be too rude. I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun.”

Shuya expects him to stammer a reassurance, or even a denial. Instead, what she gets is him stopping dead in his tracks, making her turn back to face the conflicted teenager with slight surprise.

Then Midoriya looks back up, eyes shining with determination.

“Um…” He trails off awkwardly and Shuya realizes she never gave him her name.

“Shuya.” Wide green eyes meet hers, and Shuya tries her best to be as unthreatening as possible. It’s so hard because the green bean looks like he’s two seconds away from bolting at all times. “Kageyama Shuya. That’s my name.”

If Shuya is going be thrown in an alternate universe with nothing, then the least she can do is choose her own damn name, okay? So if it’s the last name of a certain black-haired volleyball player from a certain sports anime then fuck you — Shuya does what she wants, okay?

“Um, Kageyama-san?”

Shuya zones back into reality at Midoriya’s voice. “Yes, Midoriya-kun?”

“Well—” He hesitates for a moment, before continuing with renewed determination. “Can I ask you how were able to gain a better control over your quirk?”

Bingo.

Let it be never said Shuya didn’t ever do anything for the world. Because this right here — what she’s gonna do here now — is going to make all the bone breaking shenanigans across Seasons 1 through 7 finally worth it. How?

By making it so that they never happen here.

“Well, Midoriya-kun,” Shuya gives him an easy grin. “Have you ever heard about how acetaminophen works in the human body?”

Well, no one said Shuya couldn’t be a geek while saving the world.

Shuya spends an embarrassingly long time drilling information about the centralized distribution of the effects of acetaminophen in the human body into Midoriya. To his credit, the boy looks quite interested about this weird side-quest to his initial question about quirk control. Of course, Shuya isn’t rude — she brings the allegory back to his quirk in a way that isn’t too suspicious.

She’s sure Nedzu is watching her somewhere, probably cackling at how she’s all but accosting this poor random kid about medical science and quirk theory. Bitch.

“So the problem with me was that I was only using my quirk through my eyes.” Shuya says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Never realizing that my quirk works through my entire nervous system. I had to activate my quirk through my entire body, through my brain—all of it distributed equally to minimize the the strain on my eyes alone. It’s more exhausting, and it takes a lot of skill but it’s the only sustainable way for me to use it! Instead of directed or targeted use, I make it centralized! Like how acetaminophen works in your body!”

As the words spill from her lips unrestrained, Shuya is struck by a small realization.

Ah.

It’s been a long time.

It’s been a damn long time since she’s nerded out like this. Shuya feels like she’s been reborn. She’s self-admittedly a huge science nerd, yes — so when she learned about the biological aspect of quirk emergence in BNHA, she’d been very interested in the whole affair, even more so than the actual plot of the manga. She’d gotten her fill of quirk theory while lurking on ao3, but to be in the world itself is completely different.

Shuya’s on cloud nine — who cares that this world is destined to go to hell within a year?

“So I should distribute my quirk through all the parts of my body at the same time.” Midoriya, the adorable green bean nods at her words, looking very thoughtful. “That…sounds very hard. I don’t think I have that kind of control right now.”

“Yep, I don’t know how strong quirk is but,” Shuya shrugs as they finally reach the exit. “I’d reckon the price for going about it wrong is having all your limbs blown off.”

The sheer lack of unperturbedness on Midoriya’s face is frankly concerning. Then Shuya remembers that this is the same dumbass who’d just shattered all the bones in three out of his four limbs and walked it off like a badass. Which, okay — that’s not fair to him — he didn’t know All Might’s quirk was going to be so shitty to him but—

This is the same maniac who kept breaking already broken fingers.

Shuya stares at Midoriya, at the thoughtful but oddly determined glint in his eyes, and she sighs.

“Yeah…you’re a terrifying kid, Midoriya.”

At her words, the green-haired teen glances up at her with clear confusion and slight panic painted on his features. A part of Shuya almost feels bad for her comment. Almost. “W-What? Did I do something wrong—”

It is then that Midoriya steps on something yellow.

It starts squirming. Then it speaks.

“I distinctly recall telling you to go home directly, problem child.”

And Midoriya starts screaming.

“OMIGOSH IT’S ALIVE—”

Shuya smiles serenely at the screaming boy before glancing down to meet the black eyes of the six-foot something yellow catepillar monstrosity on the floor. “Why hello there, strange alien creature. What brings you to Earth?”

Aizawa glares up at her with bleary eyes.

Shuya smiles.

He should really know better by now those glares have no affect on her. Shuya’s more interested in how the hell he got here before them without either of them noticing. Also how big are Midoriya’s lungs — he’s been going on for a good few minutes, damn — and why the hell is Aizawa on the ground of all places—

“Midoriya darling, please shut up.”

Shuya doesn’t notice how Aizawa raises his eyebrow at the endearment, but what she does notice is him turning to the quaking Midoriya who looks like he is two seconds away from just calling it a day and ascending to the heavens. “You.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

Shuya knows for a fact the slight hesitation is because Midoriya still hasn’t figured out if there’s actually a human inside the yellow catepillar monstrosity. Said alien monstrosity has no qualms putting the fear of god in the poor boy though.

“The entrance exam ended hours ago. If you’re done with your treatment with Recovery Girl, you need to leave the school grounds immediately. Don’t loiter around.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

“U.A. isn’t a tourist site for sightseeing. Get out right now.”

“YES SIR!”

As Aizawa continues to terrorize the poor kid, still on the ground in that hideous sleeping bag that makes him look more caterpillar than human, Shuya drawls wryly.

“Will this be your final form Eraser, I wonder.”

She raises her hands in mock-surrender when black eyes snap towards her. “I’m joking, I’m joking. I got lost on the way out and the kid was helping me out. We were both leaving, Eraser.”

Aizawa savors her explanation for a full minute before, pointedly glaring at Midoriya until he gets the hint and leaves first. Not before he blesses Shuya with another overly formal ninety-degree bow at the waist. “K-Kageyama-san, thank you for your advice. I—I don’t know if I’ll s-see you again b-but—”

“Oh we’ll see other again.” Shuya cuts him off smoothly with an easy, confident smile. It’s a little too sure — so much so that it makes both Aizawa and Midoriya pause. “For sure. You should go catch the train now, Midoriya-kun.”

“Y-Yes! Thank you!”

“See ya, kid.”

Shuya waves off the kid, watching him disappear behind the gates before finally turning her attention to the caterpillar cosplayer. “Are you trying to manifest your next life, Eraser?”

Nedzu’s definitely been listening in on their conversation this entire time, so she’d expected intervention from him seeing as he was the only one besides Recovery Girl (and obviously All Might) who knew about One For All on the current U.A. staff. Instead Shuya has her pseudo-adoptive cat dad glaring daggers into her head.

She hasn’t said anything too revealing, has she?

Nah.

Shuya’s got her bases covered.

Then Aizawa’s gaze suddenly cools, and he arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Kageyama, huh?”

Shuya swears.

Hizashi teases her all night long for the last name, Shouta — the damn bastard smirks in his vomit-colored cocoon the entire time. It’s not Shuya’s fault! Apparently there’s some really popular idol in this world called Kageyama who has girls dying for him left and right, dreaming about marrying him. For some reason, these two idiots keep thinking that just because Shuya has a pair of working eyes, a vagina and access to the internet — that she’s the same.

Blasphemy! Sacrilege!

Shuya’s only loyal to her sleep and her sleep alone! And maybe a certain BNHA character she won’t be disclosing at this point in time.

“Aw little listener, don’t be shy!” Hizashi sings in her ear and Shuya briefly wonders if he can arrest her for physical assault off-duty. “It’s normal for girls to have a crush or two on pretty boys!”

“I am not little — wait,” Shuya grouses, before sitting up in pure outrage. “What does me having a vagina have to do with crushes on boys?! You two are gay!”

“We never said boys can’t have crushes on boys.” Shouta pipes in immediately, and he smirks when Shuya glowers at him. “And you are little. You’re below average height.”

“I AM NOT—”

Shuya never really forgives Shouta for that low, low blow to her pride.

What’s even more abysmal is how she can’t even comfortably plan her revenge, because all of a sudden the weeks have flown by like seconds and now Shuya is supposed to pretend to be a responsible adult capable of getting herself to U.A. every morning on time. All while dressed in the abomination that is the U.A. girls uniform and carrying a metric fuckton amount of books that certainly aren’t good for the long-term well-being of her back.

The first time Hizashi shows her the uniform skirt, Shuya hisses for black tights with such terrifying ferocity that it makes even Shouta obey her unquestioningly.

Not only is the skirt stupidly short, but it’s fucking cold in April in Japan. Who the hell would wear the skirt as it is in literal ten degree weather?

Shuya resolves to beat some sense into the mole-rat next time she sees him.

Speaking of said mole-rat, his conversations with Shuya coupled with her entrance exam had resulted in him being interested in her to an uncomfortable degree. Naturally, because the universe hates her, this means Nedzu is out on a mission to make her his ‘personal student’.

What in the isekai wish fulfillment is this?

Shuya blinks at the mole-rat calmly drinking tea in front of her, the smile still frozen on her face, and wonders if all the Quirkless-Midoriya-Izuku-is-Nedzu’s-Personal-Student fanfics are finally catching up to her. This is her punishment for being a shameless otaku. She’s gonna have her brain picked out by a sociopathic rat cosplayer who hates humans.

“So Kageyama Shuya, what do you say to my proposal?”

Behind Nedzu, Shuya can see Hizashi vigorously signaling no and Shouta looking nauseous at the mere idea of her madness being groomed even more by their resident sociopath. “Er—”

Nedzu levels her with a flat look. “I’ll give you access to my personal tea collection.”

“I’m in your care, sensei.”

Shouta slaps a hand on his forehead. Beside him Hizashi covers his face with his hands and audibly groans. Shuya elects to ignore them both.

She’s got a tea closet to raid.

Phase One: Get into U.A Highschool. Complete

Chapter Text

Shuya doesn’t really register it until she’s right in front of the doors, 1-C emblazoned across in large, bold letters.

This is Shinsou Hitoshi’s class.

Shinsou Hitoshi, who’s still fresh off the sting of getting rejected from the hero course, who’s still captain angsty at this point in time, and probably (very likely) hates his own quirk.

She blinks.

Then smiles.

Time to channel some Midoriya Izuku.

Becoming friends with Shinsou Hitoshi is stupidly easy. If Shuya were to put it quite simply, Hitoshi is someone who’s incredibly similar to Shuya herself— in his desperation, determination, and the astonishing amount of eye bags underneath his eyes. Oh, and he likes cats.

It’s an easy win.

Sure, he seems to think his quirk is lowkey a curse, and he’s particularly bitter about the hero course students, but those are all things Shuya can bully out of him when the time comes. However, the more she thinks about his quirk and just how much potential it has, she can’t help but feel a little salty too. Poor boy was done dirty.

Of course, Shuya adopts him.

“Hi, I’m Kageyama Shuya!”

“…Shinsou Hitoshi. Call me Shinsou.”

“Okay, Hitoshi-kun!”

Cue an affronted look.

Shuya grins.

It’s not her fault, okay? She has a thing for strays. It doesn’t help that she’s older than literally all of them, so all of their emotional troubles end up just looking cute to her. Oh, apart from the Armageddon shenanigans later on.

He vehemently ignores her existence for the first week, and that includes all her hilarious quips. But then one day, Shuya does something no one expects.

“Hey Hitoshi-kun.”

Shuya watches the fellow insomniac wrinkle his nose at the familiarity, but elects to ignore him. She’s the one doing him a favor here. “What.”

“Your quirk’s Brainwashing, right?” She fiddles unconsciously with the Rubik’s cube Shouta had gotten her in an attempt to make her stop pestering him, sprawled unceremoniously over her desk. “How long do you reckon you can hold someone under your control?”

She watches his back stiffen before he slowly responds in a low voice. Aw, she may have adopted him, but it seems like he needs some time to warm up to her.

“…I don’t know. The longest I’ve gone is a minute.”

Shuya opens her mouth to retort, only to short-circuit.

“Wait, what?” Hitoshi jumps up when she slams her hands on the desk, wide violet eyes turning to meet Shuya’s wild grey ones. “Dude, are you seriously telling me you’ve never used your quirk for more than a minute—”

“Well, people usually don’t like being brainwashed, y’know?” Hitoshi says dryly.

Oh fuck this.

For once, both Shuya’s thoughts and mouth are in sync.

“Oh fuck this.” She hisses irritably before shuffling closer to the boy, ignoring his bewilderment. “Brainwash me right now. For as long as you can.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said, brainwash me.” Shuya points at herself, looking at him square in the eyes. “This is so fucking stupid. Your quirk is your quirk. Why the hell are people being shitty?”

Shuya’s aware of the eyes of their classmates, no doubt having overheard their one-sided conversation, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s known about quirk discrimination from the manga and the anime—has expressed all the appropriate disapproval regarding it while reading the story—but something about it hits different when she’s actually here, and can see the real-life repercussions of it.

Shuya doesn’t have a quirk, but she supposes if she did, it’d feel similar to how a violin does to its violinist or how a sword does to a swordsman— it's an extension of themselves.

To have someone deny it, even hate it, is like hating a permanent part of themselves constantly.

So Shuya looks Hitoshi square in the eyes and repeats one final time.

“What’re you waiting for?”

There is a pause before something changes in Hitoshi’s eyes, and he purses his lips, giving her an odd look.

“You’re a weird one, you know, Kageyama.”

Shuya snorts. “Of-fucking-course—”

Then her mind goes blank.

When Shuya comes to her senses, she’s halfway through a backflip, and Hitoshi’s in front of her panting like he’s just finished a marathon. Of course, because Shuya’s never been physically inclined and hence, has never learned how to do a fucking backflip—this results in her slamming face-first into the floor just as Hizashi opens the classroom door.

There is a beat of silence, as all the occupants of the room stand, unsure about what to say.

Then Shuya screeches in perfect English.

“HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF—”

“Kageyama Shuya!” Hizashi’s voice is more of a yelp rather than an admonishment as he cuts her off. Shuya just continues to curse in every language she knows (which is admittedly not a lot), grabbing her bleeding nose as she finally sits up. “What in the world is going on here, listeners?!”

One of their classmates—some weirdo with a plant quirk—looks unsurely between the cursing Shuya and the winded Hitoshi. “Er…I think Kageyama asked Shinsou to brainwash her?”

Hizashi blinks before his eyes land on Hitoshi, who looks like he’s just run a marathon. “What? Why?”

“Something about dismantling the self-fulfilling toxic cycle of quirk discrimination imposed by the hypocritical hero society that is adversely impacting quirked mentality and—ahh, I don’t know,” Hitoshi mutters under his breath before sighing in defeat, flinching a little in pain as he pushes himself back to his feet. “Yeah, I asked, but frankly, I lost it after she started comparing hero society to praying mantis mating systems.”

Hizashi blinks at Hitoshi’s admission before turning to the other students in a silent plea for an explanation, only to receive none. They look just as confused as he is.

He sighs helplessly before turning to the grumbling girl on the floor. “Little listener, what’d I tell ya about making friends?”

“Don’t destroy their worldviews and turn them into anarchists?” Shuya grumbles darkly as Hizashi pulls her onto her feet. At his pointed stare, she huffs. “What? I was doing a good thing! Does no one realize the sheer potential of amazing quirks like Shinsou’s? Villainous quirks, useless quirks, quirklessness my ass—I’ll punch in the teeth of whoever says shit like that!”

What she doesn’t notice is that with the blood dribbling down her chin, staining her uniform, and the furious, impassioned glint of her eyes, she looks equal parts terrifying and completely and utterly hardcore to the classroom of mostly hero course rejects. What she does notice is Hizashi’s defeated sigh before he grabs her shoulders and kicks her out of the classroom.

“Wait—Hiza—I mean, Mic-Sensei, what are you—”

“Recovery Girl, kiddo,” Hizashi says firmly, not budging an inch. “Ya took a hard fall, and it wouldn’t be rad of me to not let ya get checked out for a concussion. Here, take Shinsou-kun.”

Shuya blinks as, in the next second, an equally confused Hitoshi is deposited to her side. Grabbing the door, blocking the view of their seriously impassioned classmates, Hizashi gives her one final look.

“We’ve gotta have another talk about what music ya make in the classroom, little listener.”

“But it’s for science!” Shuya protests, forgetting to cover her nose. Hizashi grimaces as he gets an eyeful of blood. It does not pair well with how pale and sickly Shuya looks on a normal basis. Coupled with the nerdy glasses, Shuya just looks deranged. “You’ve gotta understand—think of the possibilities—”

Hizashi just stares at her before sighing tiredly. “I feel like we shoulda signed ya up for the Support Course instead, little listener.”

“Wait, can I do both—”

“Ook—Shinsou-kun, I’m leaving her to you.” Shuya feels a flash of amusement at how quickly Hizashi drops the Present Mic persona in his haste. “I’ve got to start class, so you guys come back whenever you’re done with Recovery Girl.”

“But I’m missing class!”

“Shuya-chan, I know for a fact you speak better English than me. Goodbye now.”

“Wait—”

Shuya doesn’t get the chance to protest as Hizashi slams the door, and Hitoshi grabs her arm, dragging her away with surprising force. “Come along now, I’m not missing Present Mic’s class because of you.”

“How the hell are you this strong, you beanpole?!”

“Well…” Hitoshi drawls, pretending to think as he continues to pull her along. “I’m taller than you for starters. I didn’t just give myself a concussion. Oh, and I don’t look like a living corpse 24/7.”

“That’s a contradiction.” Shuya corrects automatically, making him raise an eyebrow. “The fuck is a living corpse? Corpses are dead. That’s what makes them corpses.”

“Wow, I wouldn’t have known. Corpses are dead. Mind. Blown.”

“Oh shut up.”

So yeah, Shuya and Hitoshi are besties now. Hundred percent.

Now that he’s sure Shuya isn’t pestering him out of some morbid sense of curiosity, the boy relaxes around her.

He flicks her forehead to wake her up whenever she falls asleep in class, and she quite literally bullies some self-love into him via a series of inane quirk experiments they really shouldn’t be conducting unsupervised.

Shuya’s invested—she pulls an all-nighter and slams a thick rainbow colored binder in front of him one fine morning, all the experiments color-coded and labelled. If she’d spent more time color-coding and labelling than actually planning out the experiments, then that’s only for her to know.

Hitoshi takes one look at the deranged gleam in her eyes and sighs in resignation.

“What do you want to do first?”

Shuya cackles.

But he never denies her, never stops her. He’s awkward about it; disjointed as if entirely unused to the mere concept of friendship.

“How do your parents deal with a mess like you?”

“I don’t have parents.”

There are moments when his retorts are a tad too sharp, and Shuya sees him immediately regret his entire existence.

“Er—I’m sorry.”

Shuya smiles. As if he’d get rid of her that easily. Besides, she’ll be the mature adult and let it slide.

“Damn, if I’d known you’d be like this, then I’d have pulled the dead parents card earlier.”

He stares at her for a long moment. Shuya stares back, still smiling, unfaltering.

Then Hitoshi lets a small snort.

“What did I even expect from you?”

That little side-quest aside, Shuya’s quickly brought back to reality one fine evening.

The goal was never to prevent the USJ.

One thing Shuya had been debating for a long while was the butterfly effect. Essentially, she changes one small thing, and its impact ends up being tremendous. Which is not all that bad, actually—except for the fact that big changes mean that Shuya can’t rely on her knowledge anymore. So she needs to manipulate these scenarios just so that she can continue to interfere safely in the future.

Her knowledge of the future is all that she has in this world—Shuya can’t let it be taken away from her.

Hence, the goal was never to prevent the USJ, oh no.

It was to prepare U.A. better for the incident. If she stopped them from going to the USJ that day, then she would have no knowledge of when or where the LoV’s next attack would be. Especially since it was Shigaraki Tomura’s interactions with 1-A that had resulted in character development that influenced his decisions as a leader. So, preventing the USJ was a hard no. But at the same time, the costs of the USJ happening were just too high— All Might’s time-limit decreasing, Eraserhead getting injured, and most importantly, the Shigaraki Tomura getting his first taste of defeat.

There was probably more stuff, but Shuya never claimed to know everything.

Right now, if Shuya were to put it quite simply, she’s in a shitty position. For all of EraserMic’s welcome and care, she knows for a fact that Nedzu does not trust her or her shady background one bit. And to be honest, neither do Eraser or Mic. They’re just going along this charade for however long Shuya can reasonably keep it up.

The moment she lets slip that she knows more than she lets on is the day she signs her death sentence.

So she needs a solution that minimizes negative impact from the USJ while still being damaging enough to keep things relatively aligned to the timeline. All while gaining the trust of Nedzu and U.A., so that she may have the power to interfere more prominently later.

No pressure.

The worst part (or the silver lining) is that Shuya won’t be at the USJ. She’s not a hero student. So once she sets up the players on the battlefield, there is nothing she can do other than let it play out. They’ll be on their own, and all Shuya will be able to do is watch—

Someone flicks her forehead. Hard.

“Ow.” She recoils, nearly toppling over her chair. “The fuck was that for?!”

Tired violet eyes gaze down at her, completely unperturbed by the vitriol in her voice. “School’s ended for the day, short stack. Get a move on.”

Shuya’s nostrils flare dangerously. “The fuck did you call me? I am average—AVERAGE!”

“Sure you are…mushroom.”

“Okay, that’s it, Eye Bags—”

To his credit, Shinsou Hitoshi, her fellow classmate and insomniac, avoids all of Shuya’s attacks all the way to the school gates, at which point they must part because of separate ways. Shuya still jabs him in the ribs when he’s not looking, though, and takes vindictive pleasure in the way the lanky bastard immediately folds over like a wet blanket before she bolts back through the gates at top speed, cackling all the way like a hyena.

Of course, being the absolute genius that she is, Shuya forgets one tiny, insignificant detail about the timeline.

Shigaraki breaks into U.A. on the second day of school.

In her defense, she's been a little preoccupied with, you know, not dying and making sure Hitoshi doesn't become a self-loathing anarchist. Speaking of which—bonding over cats had been stupidly easy. Shuya had simply whipped out her phone, showed him a picture of a cat she'd found online (she didn't have a cat, more like a tiny demon, but he didn't need to know that), and boom. Instant friendship, besties forever.

"That's a Maine Coon," Hitoshi had said, actually interested for the first time since they'd met. "They're huge." 

"I know, right? Look at those paws."

And just like that, they'd spent the entire lunch period looking at cat videos like a pair of absolute losers. It was great.

But now, just fifteen minutes later, Shuya is cursing the entire goddamn universe.

Because her period decided to start early. Of course it did. Because the universe hates her.

She's speed-walking back from the bathroom, one hand clutching the emergency hygiene kit Hizashi had awkwardly shoved at her last week ("Just in case, little listener"—she'd wanted to die from embarrassment then, but now she's grateful), and she's in a terrible mood.

Cramps. Bloating. That special kind of rage that only comes with hormones and the realization that she's going to have to deal with this biological nonsense for the next week.

Fucking fantastic.

And then the alarm starts blaring.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me—"

She quickly makes her way down the halls, cursing the size of U.A.’s campus for the nth time. All while wondering if this event took place in the anime, racking her brain to the earlier episodes, before or after Midoriya and Bakugo’s first battle—

She rounds the corner, still muttering curses under her breath, when she nearly walks face-first into someone.

Shuya stops short, blinking up at—

Tall. Lanky. Wearing all black. Messy white-blue hair that looks like it hasn't seen a shower in days.

He's standing in front of the records room door, one hand raised toward it. The other hand is stuffed in his pocket.

And he's scratching his neck. A little too hard for her tastes, raw red skin peeking through pale fingers.

For a moment, Shuya just stares.

Okay. Upperclassman with bad hygiene. Got it. Not my problem. Moving on—

But then he turns, and she sees the hand on his face.

A whole severed hand, just. Sitting there. Like it's a fashion accessory.

And the scratching intensifies. Frantic, desperate scratching that makes Shuya wince in sympathy because ow, that looks painful—

Wait.

White-blue hair. All black clothes. Scratching. Hand on face.

The world tilts sideways.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Oh shit oh fuck oh SHIT—

TOMURA SHIGARAKI IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

Every instinct screams at her to run. To turn around and bolt and never look back.

But her feet are frozen to the floor. Her brain is short-circuiting. And Shigaraki—fucking Shigaraki—is turning his head, red eyes landing on her with mild surprise.

"You—" He starts, voice raspy and a little confused why she’s not running yet.

And that's when Shuya's brain catches up with several very important facts:

1. This is Tomura Shigaraki, future mass murderer and successor to All For One.

2. His hand is currently raised toward the records room door, probably about to break it so Aoyama can steal whatever intel the League needs.

3. She just interrupted him mid-crime.

4. He can decay her with a single touch.

5. She is fucked.

But then—because Shuya's survival instincts are apparently controlled by some deranged improv comedian—her mouth opens, and words start spilling out before her brain can stop them.

"Oh my god!" Her voice is loud. Obnoxiously loud. She gestures wildly at his neck, where the skin is red and raw and bleeding slightly from how hard he's been scratching. "That looks terrible! Have you been to a doctor?!"

Shigaraki blinks. Slowly. Like he's not sure he heard her correctly.

His hand—the one that was reaching for the door—drops slightly.

"What—"

"Seriously, that's some nasty eczema, senpai!" Shuya is already moving, closing the distance between them while being very, very careful to stay out of arm's reach. Her hands are shaking as she rummages through her bag. "You poor thing! Does it itch all the time? That must be awful—"

What are you DOING—

"I mean, I can't imagine having to deal with that constantly, like—" She's babbling now, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "—my skin gets dry sometimes, but nothing like that. Have you tried moisturizing? Antihistamines? Oh! Wait—"

Her fingers close around the hygiene kit. She yanks it open, digging through pads and painkillers with increasingly desperate movements.

Please let there be something useful in here please, please, please—

Her fingers close around something, and Shuya prays it’s not what she thinks it is.

"What are you—" Shigaraki sounds genuinely confused now, his scratching hand pausing mid-motion.

"Ah-ha!" Shuya pulls out a small tub of Vaseline with a triumphant (slightly hysterical) grin. "This! This should help!"

And then—because she's apparently committed to this insane bit now—she chucks it at him.

The tub arcs through the air. Shigaraki's eyes track it with bewildered fascination. It bounces off his chest, and he catches it reflexively with his non-raised hand, all but two fingers curling around it.

"Vaseline!" Shuya announces, already backing away. Her voice is still way too loud, way too bright. "It's great for eczema! Keeps the skin moisturized, prevents cracking and bleeding—my, uh, my cousin used to have the same problem, and this stuff saved her life!"

She's careful. So, so careful. Staying just out of reach. Making sure he can't grab her. Making sure none of his fingers can touch her.

Shigaraki just... stares at the tub in his hand. Then looks back up at her.

For one horrible, frozen moment, their eyes meet.

Red on grey.

And Shuya sees the exact second his brain catches up. Sees confusion shift to suspicion shift to—

RUN.

"Anyway!" Her voice cracks. "I just remembered I left something in the classroom—gotta run—late for class—hope that helps—okay bye!"

She spins on her heel and bolts.

Behind her, she hears: "Wait—"

NOPE.

But Shuya is already gone, practically sprinting down the hallway at a speed that would make her gym teacher proud (if she wasn't about to have a heart attack). Her bag bounces against her side. The alarm is still blaring. And she can't breathe—

Shuya doesn’t stop running until she spots a gaggle of students pushing against one another, and Iida Tenya lies out doggy-style on top of an exit sign of all things.

She’s so panicky that she doesn’t even process that strange sight.

Finally safe, the girl presses herself against the wall, gasping.

Holy shit. Holy SHIT. I just—I just threw Vaseline at SHIGARAKI TOMURA—

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up in her throat. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle it.

Get it together. Get it TOGETHER, Shuya—

She forces herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Okay. Okay. What just happened?

She just had a face-to-face encounter with Shigaraki. Interrupted his infiltration. Gave him skincare advice. And lived to tell the tale.

Either he was too confused to kill her, or—

Or he's going to hunt me down later. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

"Mushroom?"

Shuya nearly jumps out of her skin.

Hitoshi is standing a few feet away, concern etched across his face. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Period cramps," Shuya lies through her teeth. "Really bad ones. I think I'm dying."

Hitoshi winces sympathetically. "Want me to take you to Recovery Girl?"

"No!" The word comes out too sharply. She softens her voice. "No, I'm—I'm fine. Just need to sit down. And maybe lie face-down on my desk for the rest of the day."

"...Okay?" Hitoshi still looks concerned, but he lets her guide herself back to the classroom. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Shuya says, and it's not entirely a lie.

Because she is sure of one thing: she just made herself extremely memorable to Tomura Shigaraki.

And that's either going to save her life or end it.

Probably both.

She slides into her seat, presses her forehead against the cool desk, and tries very, very hard not to think about red eyes and decaying hands and the fact that somewhere in U.A., Shigaraki is probably standing in a hallway holding a tub of Vaseline and wondering what the fuck just happened.

In the records room hallway, Tomura Shigaraki stands very, very still.

In his hand: a small tub of Vaseline.

On his face: the most bewildered expression he's worn in years.

"What," He says to the empty air, "the fuck."

He looks down at the tub. Looks back at where the weird U.A. student disappeared. Looks at the tub again.

Is this a trap? Some kind of hero trick? But she was just a student—

His comm crackles. "Tomura," Kurogiri's voice filters through. "Time to go. The alarm was triggered. Heroes will be swarming soon."

"...Right."

Behind him, the records room door remains intact.

Aoyama will have to try again another day.

Tomura takes one last look at the Vaseline. Then, almost without thinking, he shoves it in his pocket. A portal opens behind him, and then, just as he’s stepping through it, Tomura thinks.

What the hell is eczema?

It’s only once Shuya is done freaking out about her near brush with certain that she realizes that she’s been handed the perfect opportunity on a silver platter.

I gave Shigaraki Tomura skincare advice.

A laugh bubbles up. She buries her face in the desk to muffle it. It does absolutely nothing, and Shuya doesn’t need to lift her head to know her classmates are giving her weird looks.

I'm so fucked.

Her knowledge of the timeline is limited: it’s been ages since Shuya watched the anime. She’d still been keeping up with the manga since it was still ongoing, but sue her if she doesn’t remember all the details from the literal first few chapters of a 400+ chapter manga.

But then—slowly—a thought occurs.

But I'm alive.

She'd been face-to-face with one of the most dangerous villains in the series. And she'd survived. Not because she was strong or smart or special.

Because she'd been so bizarre that he'd been too confused to kill her.

...I can work with that.

Shuya lifts her head, a plan already forming.

That night, for once, all occupants of the EraserMic household are present for dinner. Contrary to popular belief, Hizashi is a rather quiet person. Well, in contrast to his usual hero persona, he’s still very excitable and energetic. Good vibes.

Bottom line is, dinner is quiet but comfortable.

Or at least, it starts that way.

Shuya sits at the small table in the EraserMic apartment, poking at her rice with chopsticks while Aizawa and Hizashi move around the kitchen with practiced ease. They’re stupidly fast eaters, probably because of their hectic schedules. Shuya’s stopped being salty about it, since they do make the effort to slow down sometimes.

This is one of those times; the delicious aroma of miso soup wafts through the kitchen, coupled with Shuya’s famous grilled mackerel and freshly made rice. She cooked, they plated. That was the deal.

Aizawa shoots her a look. “Stop playing with your food.”

She rolls her eyes at just how cliché that is. “Whatever, dad.” Shuya snorts. A little pizzaz for the EraserDad fans. “Should I eat my vegetables too?”

Aizawa glares at her. Shuya just shrugs, making a show of shoving some broccoli into her mouth.

Alright, she thinks, eyeing them both. Let's get this over with.

"You know," Shuya says, breaking the comfortable silence. Her tone is casual, almost whiny. "It's totally unfair that I have to wear U.A.'s terrible uniform while upperclassmen don't."

Aizawa doesn't even look up from where he's serving miso soup. "The upperclassmen still have to follow guidelines."

"Oh yeah?" Shuya leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Then why did I see some random upperclassman today who definitely wasn't in uniform? Like, at all?"

That gets Hizashi's attention. He turns from the sink, dish towel in hand, his expression curious. "When did this happen, little listener?"

Bingo.

"During the media break," Shuya says, keeping her voice deliberately light. "You know, when all those reporters swarmed the gates, and the alarms went off."

Aizawa's jaw tightens slightly. "You ran into a reporter who got through security."

It's not a question, more of a weary statement of fact.

Shuya immediately stiffens, because that is not the direction this conversation is supposed to go. Oh, right, the media broke into U.A. That was what everyone had believed until what happened at the USJ.

"Those pests," He mutters, setting down the soup bowls with a little more force than necessary. "Security should have locked down faster. If the media is getting past the gates—"

"No, no," Shuya interrupts quickly. "It wasn't a reporter. It was definitely a student. Someone around my age."

Hizashi and Aizawa exchange a glance.

"Shuya-chan," Hizashi says gently, that patient, patronizing tone adults use when they think you're wrong but don't want to hurt your feelings. "Are ya sure? Sometimes it's hard to judge ages—"

"I'm sure," Shuya insists, letting a note of frustration creep into her voice. "He was tall, yeah, but he was definitely a teenager. Probably a second or third year."

"Could've been a young reporter," Aizawa says, sitting down and pushing a bowl toward her. "Some of them look younger than they are. Eat."

Shuya picks up her chopsticks but doesn't take a bite. Instead, she lets her brow furrow, her expression troubled. She stares down at her food, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

The adults notice immediately.

Bingo.

"Average-sized listener?" Hizashi looks concerned now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Shuya says quickly. Too quickly. "Just—it was weird, that's all. He looked... off."

"Off how?" Aizawa's eyes are sharp now, assessing.

Shuya shakes her head. "I don't know. Forget it. You're probably right—I probably just can't tell ages very well."

She takes a bite of rice, signaling the end of the conversation.

Aizawa looks like he wants to press further, but Hizashi, ever the angel, shoots him a look, and he backs off. The rest of dinner passes in relative quiet, though Shuya can feel them watching her, concerned about her unusually subdued behavior.

Good. Let them worry. Let them remember this conversation later.

After dinner, Shuya helps with the dishes. It's become routine over the past weeks—Hizashi washes, Shuya dries, Aizawa puts away. The domesticity of it all still feels surreal sometimes.

"Oh, by the way," Hizashi blinks, turning toward his husband. "1-A's field trip to the USJ is tomorrow, isn’t it?"

Shuya's hands freeze mid-wipe.

"Tomorrow?" She keeps her voice carefully neutral. "That's pretty soon."

"We've been preparing for it," Aizawa says, and there's something in his tone—anticipation, maybe, or professional pride. "It'll be good practical training for them. Thirteen's already set up the rescue scenarios."

"Sounds exciting," Shuya manages, resuming her drying motions.

But her mind is racing.

Tomorrow. The USJ attack is tomorrow.

And.

Aizawa's going to get hurt. Badly. His elbow, his eye socket, the skin around his eyes—

She chances a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He's putting away dishes with that same efficient economy of movement, his capture weapon already laid out on the counter for maintenance later. His hair is pulled back in a loose bun, revealing the sharp lines of his face.

She sets down the dried bowl with shaking hands.

"Shuya-chan?" Hizashi's voice cuts through her tumultuous thoughts. "Ya okay?"

"Yeah," She lies, forcing a smile. "Just tired. Long day."

"Well, finish up here and get some sleep, yeah?" His grin is warm, genuine. "School tomorrow!"

"Right. School."

She finishes the dishes on autopilot, then retreats to her room.

As she closes the door behind her, she can hear Aizawa settling on the couch with Bastard, the cat's purring audible even from here. The image burns itself into her mind—Aizawa, relaxed for once, with his hair still in that messy bun, absently scratching behind Bastard's ears while reviewing lesson plans.

I hope you heal fast, Shuya thinks, pressing her forehead against the cool wood of her door. I hope it doesn't hurt too much.

I'm sorry.

She doesn't sleep well that night.

The next day arrives with deceptive normalcy.

Shuya goes through her morning routine on autopilot—shower, uniform, breakfast that she barely tastes. Aizawa and Hizashi are already gone by the time she's ready, off to prepare for the USJ training exercise that Shuya knows will never go as planned.

Today's the day.

Her phone buzzes with a reminder: Chess with Nedzu - 10am.

Right. She has a weekly meeting with the principal.

It had started a few weeks ago, after Nedzu had taken a particular interest in her "unique perspective." Every week, they'd meet in his office, play chess, and debate various topics that often veered into morally questionable territory. They’d carved this time out of her schedule since Shuya had tested out of first-year English.

Hizashi was beyond depressed about it, so much so that Shuya didn’t have the heart to inform her that if she wanted to, she could test out high school-level English completely. She’s pretty sure Nedzu is aware of it already, which is why he seems to delight in presenting her with ethical dilemmas, watching her work through them with that unnervingly cheerful expression.

Shuya suspects he's testing her. Trying to figure out what makes her tick.

Well. Today, she'll give him something to work with.

Alright, let's do this.

Nedzu's private office is exactly as cluttered and organized as always—a contradiction that somehow makes perfect sense for the principal. Books are stacked in neat piles, papers filed with meticulous care, and a chessboard sits ready on the low table by the window.

"Ah, Kageyama-san!" Nedzu greets her with that characteristic smile that shows too many teeth. "Right on time, as always. Please, sit!"

Shuya settles into her usual chair, and they begin their game.

Nedzu opens with his standard strategy—aggressive, unpredictable, designed to throw his opponent off-balance. Shuya counters with careful, measured moves, but she makes sure her attention seems... elsewhere.

She stares at the board for too long between moves. Lets her gaze drift to the window. Worries at her lower lip with her teeth.

After her third distracted move—one that leaves her bishop vulnerable—Nedzu pauses.

"Kageyama-san." His voice carries that particular tone of interest. "You seem preoccupied today. Is something troubling you?"

Hook, line, and sinker.

Shuya blinks, as if pulled from deep thought. "Oh. Sorry, Nedzu-sensei. I was just... thinking about something that happened yesterday."

"Oh?" Nedzu leans forward, his paws folded. "Do tell."

Shuya fidgets with her knight, playing the part of an uncertain student perfectly. "It's probably nothing, but... during the media breach yesterday, I ran into someone in the halls. An upperclassman, I think? He seemed... off."

"Off how?"

"I don't know exactly." Shuya frowns, letting genuine concern creep into her voice. "He was tall, had this white-blue hair, all black clothes. He was scratching his neck really hard—like, hard enough to bleed. And he had this... hand. On his face."

Nedzu's expression doesn't change, but Shuya sees the way his eyes sharpen. "A hand?"

"Yeah. A severed hand, I think? Just sitting on his face like it was normal." She shakes her head. "I thought maybe it was part of a quirk or something, but combined with how he looked, Yamada-sensei and Aizawa-sensei said I probably just misjudged his age. That he was a reporter who got through security."

"I see." Nedzu taps his claws on the armrest thoughtfully. "And you don't believe that assessment?"

"I mean..." Shuya meets his eyes. "I know I look young, Nedzu-sensei. People misjudge my age all the time. But I'm pretty good at telling how old other people are. And this guy? He was definitely a teenager. Maybe eighteen, nineteen at most."

For a long moment, Nedzu just looks at her. Then he stands, moving to his desk with surprising speed.

"Well then," he says cheerfully, but there's steel underneath. "That should be easy enough to verify, shouldn't it?"

His paws fly across his keyboard, pulling up what must be security footage. Shuya watches as he scrubs through the videos, his expression growing more focused with each passing second.

And then he stops.

On the screen, clear as day, is Shuya's encounter with Shigaraki. The white-blue hair. The hand on his face. The all-black clothes. Every detail she described caught on camera. Plus, her literally chucking a bottle of Vaseline at his head. She tries not to cringe at the sight.

Nedzu's smile doesn't waver, but something dark flashes in his eyes.

"How interesting," He says softly. "Kageyama-san, I know every student in this school by face, by name, by quirk, and by academic record." He taps the screen. "This young man is not a U.A. student."

The temperature in the room seems to drop.

"Which means," Nedzu continues, his voice still pleasant but carrying an edge that makes Shuya's spine straighten, "we had an unknown intruder on campus during a security breach. An intruder who made it past our gates, past our sensors, past our heroes, and walked freely through our halls."

He closes the video, then turns to face her fully.

"Kageyama-san, I'm going to need you to head back to your classroom for the day. But first—" His smile sharpens. "Please go to the staff room and ask All Might to come see me. Immediately."

"Is everything okay, Nedzu-sensei?" Shuya asks, injecting just the right amount of concern into her voice.

"Everything is fine," Nedzu assures her, but his paw is already reaching for his phone. "Just a security matter that needs immediate attention. Now, if you would?"

"Yes, sensei."

The walk to the staff room feels surreal.

Shuya's heart is pounding, adrenaline singing through her veins. The first domino has fallen. Now she just needs to push the rest.

She knocks on the staff room door, then pushes it open.

The scene inside makes her pause.

Several teachers are present—Midnight, Present Mic, Cementoss—all of whom turn to look at her with varying degrees of surprise. And in the center of the room, looking like he just scrambled to his feet, is All Might in his hero form.

But Shuya notices the way his costume seems just a bit too loose. The way he's breathing is just slightly too hard. The flush in his cheeks suggests rapid transformation.

He was in his deflated form, she realizes. Had to switch when he heard the knock.

She pretends not to notice.

"Sorry to interrupt," Shuya says, keeping her voice polite and respectful. "But Nedzu-sensei asked me to fetch All Might. He said it's important."

"Ah!" All Might's booming voice fills the room, that trademark smile firmly in place. "Of course, young lady! I shall head there immediately!"

He starts toward the door, but pauses when he reaches Shuya. For a moment, those blue eyes—so bright and earnest—look down at her with something that might be curiosity.

"You're Young Kageyama, correct? From General Education?"

"Yes, sir." Shuya can't quite keep the note of surprise from her voice. Hm, she hasn’t done anything to pique his interest yet.

"I've heard good things about you!" His laugh is big and genuine. "Especially about your quirk! Foresight, isn't it? Remarkable! I once knew someone with a similar ability—and he truly is a remarkable hero!"

All Might's expression softens, becomes almost encouraging. "I have high expectations for you, young Kageyama! Even if you did not get into the Hero Course, with a quirk like that, you'll make an excellent hero!"

For a moment, Shuya just stares at him.

This man—this pillar of peace, this symbol that holds the entire world on his shoulders—is looking at her with such genuine warmth and faith. Like he truly believes she can be great.

Ahhh, you’re too good for this stupid anime.

It almost hurts.

Even if you’re a shit teacher.

"I don't plan on being a hero."

The words slip out before she can stop them, dry and matter-of-fact.

The staff room goes silent.

All Might's eyes go comically wide. His mouth opens and closes like a fish. Even his hair seems to deflate slightly in sheer shock.

"You—but—your quirk—" He splutters, completely thrown. "Don't you want to help people? To save them?"

"I can help people without being a hero," Shuya says, and she can't quite suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. "Not everyone needs to wear a cape."

"But—"

"Nedzu-sensei is waiting," she reminds him gently, hiding her amusement behind politeness.

All Might looks like he can’t comprehend the idea of someone not wanting to be a hero. Bless his heart, he really is like Midoriya. He opens his mouth again, seems to think better of it, then simply nods and heads for the door in a daze.

Shuya waves him off, that smile still playing at her lips.

Sorry, All Might. Not everyone can be the Symbol of Peace.

Nor should they.

The staff room is still quiet after All Might leaves.

Shuya makes to follow, but—

"Oi, average-sized listener!" Hizashi calls out, his grin bright and teasing. "Skipping my class again for Nedzu's weird top-secret training sessions?"

"It's not top secret," Shuya scoffs, turning back. "We just play chess and talk. He likes having someone to debate with who isn't afraid to call him out on his bullshit."

"Language!" Midnight chides, but she's one to talk. Shuya scowls at her, and the woman throws up her hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Who’s the messenger?”

“Eraserhead, of course, from beyond the void.”

Thank you, Midnight, for the segway.

"Ah, right! The rescue training!" Hizashi snaps his fingers. "Yeah, Shouta left about an hour ago with—"

Shuya goes very still.

Lets a flurry of emotions flood her face — surprise, remembrance, realization, and finally, horror.

"Oh no," She breathes out, light and dazed. “Oh no no no—”

Hizashi's smile falters. Shuya almost feels bad for him. "Shuya-chan? Ya okay?"

"The USJ," Shuya says, and her voice has gone tight. "Aizawa-sensei is at the USJ. Right now."

"Yeah? That's what I just—"

Shuya crosses her eyes.

She doesn't actually do anything—can't, really, since she doesn’t have a quirk. But she makes it look like she's trying. Straining. Pushing her "Foresight" to see something.

Maybe it’s the worry, as underlying and faint as it is, mixed in with the guilt. But her knees go weak, and Shuya crumbles to the floor.

"Kageyama!" Midnight is on her feet immediately. "Hey, what’s going —"

But it sells the act.

"Villains," Shuya gasps out, letting real panic creep into her voice. "At the USJ. They're—there are so many of them. And something's jamming communications. They won't know until it's too late—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down!" Hizashi has his hands on her shoulders now, worried. His usual persona long forgotten. "What are you talking about? What did you see?"

"Nedzu," Shuya says desperately, grabbing Hizashi's wrist. "I need to see Nedzu right now. Aizawa-sensei is in danger—they're all in danger—"

"Okay, okay!" Hizashi looks to the other teachers, who are all on their feet now. "Someone get Nedzu—"

But the door is already opening.

Nedzu steps inside, All Might right behind him. They must have heard the commotion from the hall. Though Shuya suspects they might have been coming her way for this very purpose — how better to verify her loyalty than this moment?

"Kageyama-san," Nedzu says, his voice carrying that dangerous calm. "What's happened?"

Shuya doesn't waste time.

"The USJ is going to be attacked," She says, her voice shaking but clear. "Multiple villains. Dozens of them, maybe more. And their communications are being jammed—Aizawa-sensei and Thirteen won't be able to call for help."

The staff room explodes into action.

"How do you—" Midnight starts.

"When?" Nedzu cuts her off sharply.

"Now," Shuya says. "It's happening now. Or—or it will be, any minute. They're probably already there."

All Might's expression has gone serious, all traces of his earlier shock gone. "Young Kageyama, are you certain?"

"Yes." Shuya meets his eyes. "I saw—" She makes a show of wincing, wiping blood from her nose. "I saw the guy from yesterday. The one with the hand on his face. He's there, leading them. And he's done something wrong. Multiple somethings. Creatures with exposed brains—and they're strong. Too strong."

Nomus, she doesn't say. But close enough.

"The intruder from yesterday is attacking the USJ?" Nedzu's eyes are sharp, calculating. "With an army?"

"Yes." Shuya's hands clench into fists. "And they have someone who can warp. Teleportation, I think. That's how they got in, how they'll separate the students—"

"Separate the—" Hizashi goes pale.

"We need to go. Now." All Might is already moving toward the door. "If students are in danger—"

"Wait." Nedzu holds up a paw, his expression thoughtful despite the urgency. "Kageyama-san. The communications jamming. How are they doing it?"

Shuya blinks.

How the hell am I supposed to know? This is your job!

"I—I don't know the specifics. Some kind of quirk, maybe? Or technology? I just know that one of the students — uh, the one with the electricity quirk? — looked like he was trying to call for backup but couldn’t."

Nedzu nods slowly. "Then we'll bring backup preemptively—”

“Wait, wait, hold on for a moment.” Nedzu pauses, looking up towards Midnight. She raises her hands, sympathetic but a little concerned. “I get it, but it’s a bit hard to believe all of this is true.”

“Midnight is right.” Clementoss pipes in, drawing closer. “While it is an off-campus facility, the USJ is one of the most secure locations in all of Japan.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

This time, genuine irritation sweeps into her tone.

“Then try contacting Aizawa or Thirteen right now.” She demands, pushing against Mic’s grip toward Midnight. “There’ll be no reason for them to not pick, right? Right?”

They’re silent for a moment, and Shuya can feel Nedzu’s beady gaze fixed on her. A part of her thinks she should be more in control; letting her emotions loose is asking for problems.

And yet.

“Midnight-san,” He says eventually, keeping his gaze fixed on Shuya. “Please call Eraserhead right now.”

She does as she’s told, putting it on speaker. The call goes out, but it does not ring a bell. There is no signal connection. Midnight’s gaze shifts back towards Shuya, who does nothing to hide her fierce expression.

“No matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be able to contact them.”

As if like clockwork, Midnight tries Thirteen next. Then Vlad King tries. Then Cementoss.

Nothing.

The staff room fills with a heavy, suffocating silence as the reality sinks in. Shuya watches each hero's expression shift from skepticism to concern to dawning horror.

"They're after All Might."

Shuya's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Every eye in the room snaps to her.

"What?" All Might's voice booms, his expression hardening instantly. "Young Kageyama, what do you mean—"

"The League of Villains." Shuya's hands are shaking, but her voice stays steady. "They planned this specifically to draw you out. The students are bait. Aizawa and Thirteen are just—just obstacles to clear before you arrive."

All Might is already moving toward the door, his massive form radiating barely contained fury. "Then I must go immediately—"

"NO!"

Oh hell no.

The word explodes from Shuya with such force that All Might actually stops mid-stride. She lunges forward, grabbing his arm—or trying to, her small hand barely wrapping around his bicep. It will do absolutely nothing to deter the huge man, but it’s the thought that counts. Also, Shuya is not letting all this effort go to waste just because this man never learned to prioritize himself.

"You can't—" Her voice cracks, despite herself. "All Might, you cannot go first. No matter what."

"Young Kageyama, children are in danger—"

"I know!" Shuya's nails dig into his costume. "But if you rush in first, if you go alone—" She makes a show of swallowing hard, forcing the words out. "—they'll achieve their goal. You'll play right into their hands."

"What are you talking about?" Midnight steps forward, confusion clear on her face. "All Might is the strongest—if anyone can handle this, it's him—"

"She's right."

Nedzu's quiet voice silences the room. He's staring at Shuya with those beady eyes, and there's something calculating in his expression. Something that makes Shuya's skin crawl.

"Kageyama-san," Nedzu says slowly, carefully. "You're saying the League has been prepared specifically for All Might's arrival. That they have... countermeasures."

It's not a question.

Shuya meets his gaze steadily. "They know his—" She hesitates, choosing her words with surgical precision. "—his limitations. They've planned around them."

The silence that follows is deafening.

All Might's expression doesn't change, but Shuya sees it—the minute tensing of his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He understands what she's saying. What she's implying.

She knows.

And Nedzu—Nedzu's eyes are gleaming now, sharp and assessing. Because if Shuya knows about All Might's secret, information that barely anyone in the world possesses, information the villains themselves would kill to obtain—

Then there's no way she's working with them.

No double agent would reveal they have that kind of knowledge, not like this. Not to save All Might's life.

Good, think that way.

It makes this so much easier.

"I see." Nedzu's voice is suddenly crisp, decisive. His entire demeanor shifts from cautious skepticism to razor-sharp command. "Midnight, Cementoss, Vlad King—suit up immediately. We're mobilizing for a full-scale villain attack. Ectoplasm, alert all available staff. Present Mic, contact the other hero agencies, we need backup at the USJ now."

The teachers snap into action, years of hero training overriding their confusion.

"What about—" Midnight starts.

"All Might will go," Nedzu interrupts, "But not alone. And not first. We move as a unit." His eyes are still fixed on Shuya. "Kageyama-san has bought us something invaluable—foreknowledge of the enemy's strategy. We'd be fools not to use it."

The staff room erupts into controlled chaos as the heroes prepare. Shuya feels a hand on her shoulder—warm, shaking slightly.

"Little listener." Hizashi's voice is quiet, stripped of its usual bombast. His eyes are red-rimmed behind his glasses. "You—you're sure? About all of this?"

Shuya nods, not trusting her voice.

Hizashi's grip tightens for just a moment—a squeeze that says I'm sorry, I believe you, thank you—and then he's gone, rushing after the other teachers.

And then there are three.

Shuya stands in the suddenly quiet staff room, very aware of All Might's massive presence beside her and Nedzu's unwavering gaze from across the room.

"Kageyama-san," Nedzu says softly. "What else do you know?"

Shuya takes a shaking breath. "Tomura Shigaraki—the one leading this attack. He has a weapon." Her hands clench into fists. "Something capable of killing All Might."

All Might makes a dismissive sound, that trademark smile still in place. "Young Kageyama, I appreciate your concern, but I assure you—"

"I've seen it kill you."

The words fall like stones into still water.

Shuya stares at the man in front of her. She’s not lying — not truly. The Symbol of Paragon, All Might did die a long and drawn-out death. But it all started with this Nomu, at this USJ.

The first crack in the perfect facade.

She hates this society, how it’s structured, how the rot is systemic — but losing All Might right now would be too big a blow.

All Might's smile doesn't falter, but something in his eyes shifts. Sharpens. "Young lady, you can't possibly—"

"I. Have. Seen. It." Shuya's voice is shaking now, but she forces herself to meet his eyes. "In my visions. Multiple timelines, multiple futures—and in every single one where you engage that thing without preparation, you die."

The sight of his broken body, pointing in the direction of the camera.

"Your turn."

"I have nothing else left to give."

She steps closer, tilting her head back to hold his gaze.

I reject that future. 

"So when you see it—when you see the monster with the exposed brain that doesn't go down no matter how hard you hit it—" Her voice drops to a whisper. "—you kill it before it kills you. Do you understand me?"

All Might stares down at her, and for the first time since she's known him, his smile fades completely. The Symbol of Peace looks at this small, fierce first-year student and sees something that makes him pause.

"You speak with such certainty," He says quietly. "Such... intensity. We've barely spoken before today, young Kageyama."

"It doesn't matter." Shuya's voice is hard, unyielding. "Your life isn't your own, All Might. It's tied to the lives of millions of people. If you die—" Her gaze sharpens, cold as ice. "—they die with you. The symbol falls, society crumbles, and everything you've built collapses."

And a literal child is left behind to pick up the pieces.

She refuses.

Shuya refuses that future.

Not on my watch.

So just fucking listen, will you?

The full weight of her words settles over the room like a physical object.

All Might's expression softens, becoming something almost gentle. "My young student... everyone's time must come eventually. A hero's death is—"

"Not. Today."

Shuya cuts him off with absolute finality.

"Your time will come, yes. But it will not be today. Not in some training facility, ambushed by villains, killed by a manufactured monster." She swallows hard. "Not when I can prevent it."

She takes a breath, steadying herself.

"The weapon—it's called a Nomu. Looks like a human, but wrong, mutated. Massive, black skin, exposed brain." Shuya meets his eyes. "The brain is the weak point. If you can destroy that, you can kill it. But you have to hit it hard, All Might. Harder than you've probably hit anything in years. Because it's made to withstand you."

All Might is silent for a long moment, studying her face with an intensity that makes Shuya want to look away. But she doesn't. Can't.

Finally, he nods. Slowly. Seriously.

"I will heed your warning, young Kageyama." His voice carries none of its usual bluster, just quiet conviction. "And I will return safely. You have my word."

"Good." Shuya's shoulders sag with relief. "That's—that's good."

"Now then." Nedzu's voice breaks the moment. He's at the door, looking back at them with sharp eyes. "Shall we go save our students?"

Shuya doesn't go with them.

Obviously, she's not a hero, not trained, and she'd only get in the way. So she does what she's been forced to do this entire time—she waits. Sits in that empty staff room with her hands clenched in her lap and tries not to think about all the ways this could still go wrong.

I did everything I could, she tells herself. The rest is up to them.

It feels like forever. It's probably only twenty minutes.

And then her phone buzzes.

A text from Nedzu: All students are safe. Minimal casualties. Well done, Kageyama-san.

Shuya's hands shake as she reads it. She doesn't even know how he has her number. Then reads it again. And again.

Minimal casualties.

All students are safe.

She did it. She actually fucking did it.

The relief hits her so hard she has to press her forehead against the desk to stop the world from spinning.

Later—much later—Shuya pieces together what happened from overheard conversations in the halls, from news reports, from the way the teachers look at her with something between awe and wariness.

The pro heroes had arrived as a unified force. Not All Might rushing in alone like a reckless idiot, but all of them together — a wall of professional heroes descending on the USJ like the wrath of god.

They'd run into Tenya first, halfway to U.A. The boy had been sprinting for the school, his engines screaming, desperate to get help for his classmates. He'd nearly collapsed in relief when he saw them.

"Villains!" He'd gasped out between heaving breaths. "Inside—they have a warp quirk—the students are scattered—Thirteen and Aizawa-sensei are—"

Thirteen had met them at the entrance, battered but alive. A small gaggle of students surrounding them, trying their best to tape up the hero costume. It was torn, smoking from the edges where Kurogiri's warp had tried to tear them apart. But they'd managed to suck in enough of the villain to disable him, at least temporarily.

"The students," Thirteen had said urgently, voice distorted through their helmet. "They're separated across the facility. The villains used a warp gate to scatter them into different disaster zones."

"How many villains?" Nedzu had asked, already calculating.

"Dozens. Maybe more. And there's—" Thirteen had hesitated. "There's something else. Something big. Aizawa engaged it in the central plaza."

The Nomu.

They'd moved fast after that. Midnight and Vlad King took the Landslide Zone, where Todoroki had frozen an entire group of villains solid. Cementoss to the Collapse Zone, where Kirishima and Bakugo had been holding their own with brutal efficiency. Present Mic to the Conflagration Zone, his voice quirk scattering the villains like leaves. The rest of the heroes poured in like ants, preying on the small-time villains.

And All Might—All Might had gone straight for the central plaza.

Where Aizawa was pinned beneath the Nomu's massive hand, and Shigaraki’s fingers spread wide, all five of them inches away, pressing against Eraser's elbow. One more second and it would have disintegrated into dust, just like in the original timeline.

But All Might had learned.

Had taken Shuya's warning to heart.

Your life isn't your own. It's tied to millions.

So instead of the reckless, showy entrance he might have made—instead of announcing himself, giving them time to react—All Might had simply moved.

One moment, the Nomu was crushing Aizawa's arm. Next, All Might's fist was buried in its exposed brain with enough force to shatter concrete.

The Nomu hadn't even had time to scream.

It was brutal. Efficient. The kind of kill shot that professional heroes are trained to avoid, the kind that goes against every instinct All Might has about heroism and saving everyone.

But he'd done it anyway.

It's cruel, Shuya thinks when she hears about it later. But necessary.

Unbeknownst to her, Aizawa had looked up through the pain and disorientation, through the haze of a concussion and cracked ribs and bruises that would take weeks to heal, and he'd seen it. Seen the Symbol of Peace standing over him, hand still dripping with viscera, expression grim.

"You're safe now," All Might had said quietly. "Young Kageyama was right. Oh Eraser, she has saved you all."

Then Aizawa's eyes had rolled back, and he'd passed out, those words echoing in his ears.

She has saved you all.

Apparently, according to Midoriya, Tomura Shigaraki had been furious.

The plan had been perfect. Scatter the students, overwhelm the teachers, force All Might to exhaust himself, and then unleash the Nomu when he was at his weakest. It should have worked.

But the heroes had come prepared. United. Like they'd known.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Tomura had scratched at his neck frantically, his rage palpable. "They weren't supposed to—how did they—"

That's when Snipe had shot him.

Clean shot to the shoulder, then right through the knee. Tomura had stumbled, more from shock than pain, his hand flying to the wound and screeching at the top of his lungs.

“You fucking—”

And then Midoriya—blessed, reckless Midoriya who'd seen his chance, who’d learned to control his quirk a bit better than in canon—had activated One For All at 2% and launched himself at the villain.

His fist had connected with Tomura's face with a satisfying crack, sending the villain sprawling.

"Everyone!" Midoriya had shouted to his scattered classmates. "The heroes are here! We're going to be okay!"

Kurogiri had barely managed to warp Tomura out before the heroes could capture them. The rest of the villains had either been subdued or scattered, leaving behind only destruction and the taste of a victory that had nearly been a massacre.

The aftermath is... strange.

Thirteen is the worst injured—their suit heavily damaged, some internal bleeding that Recovery Girl has to work overtime to fix. But they'll live. They'll recover.

Aizawa is second. Cracked ribs, a concussion, and severe bruising along his arms and torso. His elbow is intact, though—no shattered bone, no permanent damage. He'll be in bandages for a week or two, but he'll heal.

So much better than the original timeline where he'd almost lost his eye, where his elbow had been destroyed, where he'd been hospitalized for weeks.

The students are shaken but mostly unharmed. A few scrapes and bruises, some minor quirk exhaustion. Nothing that Recovery Girl can't handle in an afternoon.

It's a miracle, really.

Or it would be, if Shuya believed in miracles.

I changed it, she thinks, standing in the hallway outside the infirmary. I actually changed it.

The butterfly effect she'd been so worried about—it worked in her favor this time. The USJ still happened, so the plot is still on track. But the cost is so much lower.

Right.

Right.

She can work with this.

That’s what Shuya tells herself for the next few hours. One by one, the 1-A students file out of Recovery Girl’s clinic, shooting her strange looks for sitting on the ground outside — her back pressed against the wall.

Shuya ignores them — waves at Midoriya once, who looks startled but then goes wide-eyed when he remembers her quirk. He’s rushed off by his friends, though.

Eventually, after a long time, Hizashi pops his head out the door.

“Shuya-chan?”

She raises her head, meets his yellow eyes, and knows. He gives her a half-smile, watching her push up to her feet and follow him inside.

The clinic smells like antiseptic and something floral that Recovery Girl probably uses to make the space less clinical. It doesn't work.

This is her first time here after that time she schemed to meet Midoriya. Shuya's eyes immediately find the occupied bed in the corner.

Aizawa lies there, unconscious, his face half-covered in bandages. His right arm is wrapped from fingertip to elbow, and she can see the edge of more bandaging peeking out from under his hospital gown. There are dark bruises visible on what little skin she can see, mottled purple and yellow.

But he's breathing. Steady and even. His chest rises and falls with reassuring regularity.

Not as bad as it could have been, Shuya thinks, something tight in her chest loosening just a fraction. Not as bad as canon.

In the original timeline, Aizawa had been so much worse. His elbow was shattered beyond repair. His eye socket was fractured. The skin around his eyes was damaged to the point where he'd be wrapped in bandages for weeks. Even if he’d turned up for school the next, for a moment his students had thought—had feared—

This is better. This is survivable.

But it's still her fault.

Shuya moves on autopilot, her legs carrying her to the chair beside his bed. She sits down heavily, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Could I have done better?

The thought whispers through her mind, insidious and damning.

Could I have found a way to make them believe me without question?

She already knows the answer to that, deep down, but it does nothing to quell the tumultuous thoughts. She stares at Aizawa's bandaged face, at the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm sorry," She whispers, the words barely audible. "I tried. I really tried, but—"

The words stick in her throat, thick and choking.

What if I'd missed something? What if my warning had been seconds too late? What if All Might hadn't listened, hadn't gone for the kill shot? What if, what if, what if—

"You saved his life."

Shuya jerks in her seat, head whipping around.

Hizashi is standing in the doorway, and his expression—

There are tear tracks on his face. His eyes are red-rimmed behind his glasses, and his usual bright grin is nowhere to be found. She’d forgotten he was still here, that he’d been the one to welcome her in.

"Shuya-chan," He says, still a little shaky, but warm. "You saved his life. You saved all of them."

And then he's moving, crossing the small clinic in three long strides, and suddenly Shuya is being pulled into a tight, desperate hug.

She freezes, startled, her arms trapped at her sides.

Hizashi's grip is almost painful in its intensity, like he's afraid she'll disappear if he lets go. His shoulders shake slightly, and Shuya can feel the dampness of tears soaking into her shoulder.

“Thank you, Shuya-chan. You saved him.”

Shuya stays still for a long moment, still staring at the unconscious man in front of her.

Then, slowly, carefully, Shuya raises her arms and hugs Hizashi back. It's awkward—she's never been good at this, at physical comfort, at accepting kindness she doesn't think she deserves.

"He's going to be okay," She says quietly, more for herself than him. "Recovery Girl said he'll heal. He'll be back to yelling at students in no time."

Hizashi makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob. "Yeah. Yeah, he will be. Because of you."

They stay like that for a while, neither speaking.

And Shuya can finally admit it.

Damn, I’ve gotten attached, haven’t I?

It’s stupid, ah. And yet, there are feelings she can’t help.

A knock at the door makes them both turn.

Nedzu stands in the doorway, his paws folded neatly in front of him. His expression is as inscrutable as ever, but there's something sharp in his beady eyes. Something assessing.

"Kageyama-san," He says pleasantly. "Might I have a word?"

Shuya's hands clench briefly in her lap, then relax.

Here we go.

She stands, giving Aizawa's sleeping form one last glance. Then she turns to face Nedzu with steady grey eyes.

"Of course, Nedzu-sensei."

Now is the time to capitalize on what happened. Make sure that Eraserhead’s injuries were worth it.

Now, finally, she has their attention.

Now she can start preparing them for what comes next.

Kamino Ward. The training camp. Eri.

Shuya follows Nedzu out of the clinic, her spine straight and her resolve steeled.

Time to get to work.

Nedzu's office is exactly as she remembers it—meticulously organized chaos, files stacked with precision, the chessboard still set up by the window. But this time, someone else is already there.

All Might sits in one of the chairs, his massive hero form filling the space. But Shuya notices the way he's breathing just a little too carefully, the slight tension in his shoulders that suggests the form is being actively maintained rather than natural.

"Ah, Kageyama-san," Nedzu says pleasantly, gesturing to the empty chair. "Please, sit. Would you like some tea?"

Shuya nods, settling into the chair across from All Might. Her legs are still shaky from the adrenaline crash, and the familiar ritual of tea sounds grounding.

Nedzu busies himself with the comically large tea set, his movements practiced and efficient. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken questions, until he finally sets a cup in front of her. It’s the size of his head.

"Are you alright, Young Kageyama?" All Might asks, with genuine concern in his voice. "You've had quite the ordeal today."

Shuya wraps her hands around the warm cup and nods. "I'm okay. Just... tired."

"I imagine so." Nedzu settles into his own chair, his beady eyes fixed on her with that characteristic intensity. "I must say—your warning today saved lives. Prevented a tragedy of catastrophic proportions."

All Might leans forward slightly. "Young Kageyama, I cannot thank you enough. Your foresight—"

"Was lucky," Shuya interrupts, staring down at her tea. "I'm not omniscient. I can only see probabilities, possibilities. Sometimes I'm wrong."

This lie is kind of getting old already.

"But you weren't wrong today," Nedzu observes. "And I must admit, there's something that's been puzzling me."

Shuya looks up to find both of them watching her carefully. This is the moment she’s been waiting for, the elephant in the room.

"It seems," Nedzu continues, his tone carefully neutral, "that you already know the truth about All Might's health."

The silence that follows is deafening.

All Might stiffens, his smile frozen in place. Shuya can see the moment panic flickers behind his eyes, quickly masked by confusion. "Nedzu, I don't—"

"It's okay," Shuya says quietly, looking down at her tea again. "I won't tell anyone."

"Young Kageyama—" All Might starts, but Nedzu holds up a paw.

"How did you know?" The principal's voice is curious, not accusatory.

Shuya takes a sip of her tea, buying herself a moment. "As I said, Nedzu-sensei, while I can see the future, I can only theorize based on my observations." She sets the cup down and chooses her words carefully. Shuya may be smart, but she knows for a fact she’s nothing in the face of Nedzu’s genius. One misstep and he’ll know. "The future I saw... All Might struggled against the Nomu. Badly. Even though it wasn't fighting at its full capacity."

All Might's expression shifts, becoming more serious.

"At first, I chalked it up to you growing older," Shuya continues, keeping her voice thoughtful. "Everyone ages, after all. But then I had time to think about it, and..." She looks up at All Might, her grey eyes steady. "That Nomu would have been nothing to you in your prime. It shouldn't have even been a threat, let alone capable of killing you."

"Killing—" All Might's voice catches.

"So the only logical conclusion," Shuya says, her voice dropping, "is that you're not just aging. You're growing weaker. Far weaker than one should naturally be with age alone."

She’d thought about it before, though, on her first run through the anime. It was a question every BNHA fan had. How old was All Might? How long has All Might been around to be considered the indisputable Symbol of Peace? How long had he been fighting villains that the crime rate is down just by his sheer presence?

Those things could not be built in a day.

But All Might — Yagi Toshinori was only human. And all humans would die in the end, subservient to the sands of time.

Nedzu leans back in his chair, studying her. "And is that the future you saw, Kageyama-san? All Might's death?"

Shuya is quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully: "I saw All Might's deflated form. At the very end." She doesn't elaborate. Doesn't say anything more explicit. Just lets the implication hang in the air.

The image is clear enough in her mind—All Might's emaciated form, pointing toward the camera with the last of his strength. Your turn, he'd said to Midoriya. His final message before—

But she doesn't say that. She doesn't need to.

All Might's face has gone pale beneath his smile. His hands clench on the armrests.

She watches his movements with sharp eyes. They don’t need to know the full truth just yet; this much is enough.

"I see," Nedzu says softly. Then, he does something Shuya wouldn’t expect in a million years.

The mole-rat confusion steps out of his seat toward her, locks his paws behind his back, and bows.

“Thank you, Kageyama-san.”

“—Principal?!”

“You have saved our precious students today.” Nedzu continues, and Shuya is shocked to detect a sliver of genuine gratitude in his voice. “You have saved our teachers. Thank you very much.”

Shuya gawks at the animal like he’s grown a second head. Which might not be as uncommon in this world as one might think, but still.

“Uh.” She coughs awkwardly, scratching at her neck. “It’s alright? No worries?”

Why the hell is All Might smiling like that?!

“If there is anything we can do to repay you—”

Right. Shuya can work with that.

“Don’t let people know it was me.” This makes both All Might and Nedzu pause. Shuya keeps her voice steady, refusing to back down. “So, um, people knowing about my quirk would make me a target. I’m ready for that attention — I don’t even want to be a hero.”

I want to be far, far away from this mess.

She does want to help these people. But Shuya’s knowledge of the future is limited, tangential. The more variables she adds, the more the future changes and the less she can predict.

Her greatest weapon is one that breaks a little every time she uses it.

So, of course, she wants to protect it for as long as she can.

"I see, then it’s settled." Nedzu folds his paws. "Your contributions will be recognized within U.A., but externally, today's successful response will be attributed to... let's say, improved security protocols and hero coordination."

"Yes," Shuya says immediately. "Thank you, Nedzu-sensei."

"However," Nedzu continues, his voice taking on a warning tone, "I must stress the importance of what you've learned today. All Might's condition is a national secret. Perhaps the most important secret in all of Japan. Do you understand what would happen if this information became public?"

Shuya thinks about it. About would — no, what happened if the world knew All Might was weakening, dying. About the chaos. The fear. The villains who would grow bold.

"I understand. I won't tell anyone."

"Not your friends," Nedzu presses. "Not your classmates. Not even Aizawa or Yamada, unless I give you explicit permission."

"I promise," Shuya says, meeting his eyes. "I won't tell anyone about All Might's condition. It's not my secret to share."

Nedzu seems satisfied with this. He nods once, then takes a sip of his own tea.

"Well then," he says brightly, the heavy atmosphere lifting slightly. "I believe we have an understanding. You're dismissed, Kageyama-san. Get some rest—you've more than earned it."

Shuya stands, setting down her teacup. As she moves toward the door, she pauses, turning back to look at All Might.

He hasn't moved, still sitting rigidly in his chair, that frozen smile on his face.

"All Might," Shuya says softly.

He looks at her, and for just a moment, she sees past the Symbol to the man underneath. The man who's been slowly dying, burning himself away for the sake of peace.

"You should take better care of yourself," she says, and there's something almost gentle in her voice. "Your students would be devastated if you died."

All Might's smile wavers. "Young Kageyama, I—"

"They look up to you," Shuya continues, her voice quiet but firm. "They admire you. Some of them even—" She pauses, then pushes forward. "Midoriya would be inconsolable. I think... I think it would break him if you died."

All Might goes very, very still.

"Young—Young Midoriya?" His voice is careful, too careful. "I'm flattered, of course, but I'm not sure why you would think—"

"He really looks up to you," Shuya says, deliberately casual, as if she doesn't notice the way All Might has tensed. "Has this whole thing been about you. It's kind of sweet, actually. Very dedicated fan."

There. Plant the seed. Make it seem like she thinks it's just hero worship, nothing more.

All Might relaxes slightly, though there's still wariness in his eyes. "How do you—I mean, how do you know Young Midoriya?"

Shuya's lips curve into a mischievous smile. "I met him after his entrance exam. He was muttering to himself in the hallway—something about percentages and bone damage—so I gave him some advice about his quirk."

"You... gave him advice?" All Might's voice is strained.

"Mm-hm." Shuya's smile widens. "Told him to try smaller percentages, work up gradually instead of just breaking his bones constantly. You know, basic stuff." She pauses, then adds with deliberate cheerfulness: "Whoever's been teaching him how to control his quirk has been doing a pretty dumb job of it, to be honest. I mean, breaking your bones every time you use your power? That's just—" She shakes her head. "Anyway, I hope my advice helps."

All Might has gone pale. His smile is still in place, but it's become strained, almost pained. He looks like he wants to sink through the floor.

From his desk, Nedzu makes a sound that might be a cough or might be a suppressed laugh.

"Well!" Shuya says brightly, as if she hasn't just delivered a devastating critique of All Might's teaching methods. "I should get going. Thanks for the tea, Nedzu-sensei."

She opens the door and steps out, but not before catching one last glimpse of All Might's expression—equal parts mortified and contemplative, his hero form flickering slightly at the edges.

Sorry, All Might, Shuya thinks as she walks down the hallway, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. But someone needed to say it.

Behind her, she hears Nedzu's voice, carefully neutral: "She makes an excellent point, Toshinori."

And All Might's muffled groan in response.

The teachers talk.

Shuya isn't supposed to hear them, but the walls in U.A. are thinner than people think, and she's learned to be very quiet when she wants to be.  The public opinion of her and her quirk has massively shifted amongst the staff. The student populace, naturally, is unaware of her role in the USJ’s prevention, which works just as fine for Shuya.

Aizawa — Shouta, he amends gruffly — returns home the next day. By the time Recovery Girl is done with him, the only evidence that he was beaten within an inch of his life is the faded scar beneath his eye and the bandages around his hands.

He’s okay.

The USJ event, while huge for U.A., still manages to blow over without incident. Only Shuya knows the true extent of how bad it could’ve been. And safe for a couple of people, she’s also the only one who knows her role in preventing it.

Of course, there are some theorists. There always will be.

Shuya sees poor Midoriya muttering a storm under his breath at lunch more than once, flinching when their eyes lock. She smiles every time. He’s a smart kid — he’ll figure it out. Even Shuya had not been expecting him to unlock Full Cowling, or at least a starter version of it, so quickly. According to the kid, things only clicked in the heat of the moment, punching Shigaraki.

The second person to guess — rather, be completely convinced — is her resident cat-manic insomniac.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Shuya doesn’t bother looking up from her waffles. Lunch Rush has been in a mood lately, only making Western food. “And what, pray tell, did I do this time?”

Hitoshi nudges her with his shoulder, setting his tray down on the table. He gives her a flat look.

“Don’t patronize me.” He scowls when Shuya gives him a shit-eating grin. “You were missing all day. Then the teachers were all gone too.”

“Wow, nice deduction, Sherlock.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, please, any idiot could figure it out.”

Despite his words, Shuya still notes his roving gaze — searching, as subtly as he can manage it, for any injuries, for any point of concern. She huffs out an amused laugh, then lops a hand over his head, ruffling his hair.

These kids are so cute.

It kind of makes her miss her own siblings.

Oh well.

Phase Two: Prevent the USJ Incident. Complete

Chapter Text

The USJ incident earns her All Might's trust and, at the very least, Nedzu's respect.

Shuya's not stupid enough to think that she's won over the principal quite so fast. She does offer to get fact-checked by the walking lie detector, but in a show of goodwill, the Number 1 Hero declines.

Instead, Nedzu, the little shit, bombards her with this.

Shuya’s faced down the worst of what this stupid story has to offer. She’s survived Nedzu’s special tea sessions, the one no sane person would touch with a ten foot pole. She’s even endured Hizashi’s enthusiastic morning greetings at volumes that could shatter glass.

None of that prepares her for standing in front of Class 1-A, as stiff as board. 

"This is Kageyama Shuya," Aizawa drawls from beside her, his tone flat and unimpressed as always. "She'll be assisting with your quirk training until the Sports Festival. I expect you all to show her the same respect you'd show any other instructor."

His eyes sweep across the classroom, lingering with pointed emphasis. "That means manners. Am I clear?"

A chorus of halfhearted "Yes, sensei" responses ripple through the room.

Shuya keeps her expression carefully neutral, but internally, she’s screaming.

Like hell they’re gonna act normal about this — Shuya hasn’t said a word to Bakugo and he already looks pissed at her. And, considering the fact that this man is a raging feminist first and foremost, Shuya knows that if she mouths off to him, she’s bound to get a nice, big explosion to the face.

No one is spared.

Now, the question is, how in the ever living fuck did she get here?

Right after All Might had left the room and Shuya was still fuzzy with feelings, Nedzu had cornered her.

"You want me to do what?"

Shuya had stared at Principal Nedzu across his desk, certain she'd misheard.

"Analyze Class 1-A and 1-B's quirks," Nedzu had repeated cheerfully, whiskers twitching. "Observe their training, identify weaknesses, suggest improvements. Consider it a practical application of your studies."

"With all due respect, Principal, I don't think—"

He had slid a stack of papers near her.

"It will be excellent experience," Nedzu had continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "And I have every confidence in your abilities."

Shuya had stared at the paper, at the name Midoriya Izuku emblazoned in bold at the very top. "Why?"

She already knew why, but like, why?

"Because you have a unique perspective," Nedzu had said simply, not bothering to offer an actual explanation. "And because I believe your insights could help these students reach their full potential. Help them become better heroes."

Shuya had shot him a dry look. “Ah yes, insights from a General Education student who only learned how to read and write two months ago.”

Nedzu beamed over his tea. “Exactly!”

Which brings here now, staring at the sea of suspicious faces before her, and regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

Now, Shuya had planned on meddling but from a safe distance, okay? Preferably ten kilometers way from Izuku at all times. Shiketsu sounds nice this time of the year, even between Baldie and iPhone Face. Shuya accidentally locks eyes Aoyama and wonders how long transfer applications take.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

And she’s supposed to be analyzing their quirks somehow.

That’s actually the easiest part of it.

She thinks idly, roving her gaze over the students while Eraser drones on his usual warnings. The harder part is how to give advice without getting nuked.

Bakugo already looks irritated, but that’s not Shuya’s fault — this early in the anime he’d would always look constipated. Thankfully, or actually sadly, Todoroki’s face is blank, completely uninterested. This is a teenager who will be accepting no advice, thank you very much.

In contrast, her darling, adorable Izuku looks curious, his eyes flickering with recognition but not wary or mistrusting. Shuya flashes him an extra grin for that. He immediately goes red.

Uraraka immediately whispers to Asui. Half the class seems confused, the other half seems vaguely annoyed which — understandable. I don’t wanna be here either.

Shuya’s exaggerating. Class 1-A isn’t that bad, especially not yet. Right?

Right?

Her smile freezes at the sight of Bakugo and Todoroki, and then over at Aoyama and Midoriya. And Shuya sighs.

“Just kill me now.” She mutters under her breath and Aizawa immediately side-eyes her. 

“That can be arranged, Kageyama.” She scowls at him, but he turns back, unaffected. “Now introduce yourself.”

Pinching her nose and trying her best not to snap, Shuya steps forward and folds her arms.

“Kageyama Shuya.” She says shortly. “1-C, Gen-Ed. I like sleeping and cats. Principal Nedzu’s asked me to help with your quirks up until the Sports Festival.”

Aizawa glares at his students. “She’s taking precious time out of her day to help you brats. Don’t act up and respect her.”

This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm fine.

"Any questions?" Aizawa asked, already sounding tired.

Please don't have questions. Please just accept this and—

Iida's hand shoot up, perfectly straight and formal and Shuya tries not to the kick trash can in front of her.

Of course.

"Yes, Iida?"

The class representative stands, adjusting his glasses with mechanical precision. "With all due respect, Sensei, I believe I speak for everyone when I ask: why is a fellow student being assigned to assist with our training? Shouldn't we have a pro hero, or at the very least, you yourself overseeing our quirk development? What qualifications does she have?"

Some of the other students nod in agreement, and to be very honest, Shuya can’t even begrudge them. It’s all Nedzu’s fault after all. Beside her, Aizawa's eye twitches. Just slightly, but Shuya catches it.

Whoops.

“That’s a fair question,” Shuya says, before Aizawa can respond. Best to spare the kids a heart attack. She takes a step forward, tapping a finger on the edge of her frames pointedly. “My quirk is called Foresight.”

Recognition dawns on some of their faces, especially some of the bigger All Might fans like Bakugo and Midoriya. And Shuya smiles thinly.

“I can predict the future by calculating the most probable one out of the thousands of realities I see.” She keeps her voice level, professional. "I’ll be using a toned-down version though. Essentially, I can see what you're doing wrong and help you course-correct before bad habits solidify. That's useful for training, no?"

She pats herself on the back for that explanation. It was actually pretty good for, y’know, a lie. But Shuya knows that the pinnacle of Class 1-A’s quirk journeys look like, and she has a nerdy brain to make up the rest of it.

Despite her reassurance, Iida still looks unconvinced. Several other students exchange doubtful glances.

"But experience—" Ojiro starts, looking a little uncertain.

"Experience matters." Yaoyorozu agrees, leveling a calm but intent gaze on Shuya. “I am still concerned. Is U.A. lacking certified quirk counselors?”

Murmurs of agreement ripples through the classroom, everyone shifting a little.

Shuya felt her eye twitch.

Alright. Fine. You want credentials?

“I’m Principal Nedzu’s private student.” Shuya cuts off Yaoyorozu’s complaint. “And I ranked first in U.A.’s written exam with only two months of preparation. Do you need more confirmation, Yaoyorozu-san?”

The girl looks a little taken a back at Shuya knowing her by name, her face still not used to masking emotions. And Shuya can’t help but soften.

These are literal kids after all.

“You’re the one—?”

Kids she’s going to have to gaslight, gatekeep and girlboss the shit out of in order to make sure they make it out of this war unscathed.

Shuya raises her chin, gives a close-eyed smile.

“I’ll introduce myself again. I am Kageyama Shuya from Class 1-C. I achieved a perfect score on the written entrance exam and currently under the private apprenticeship of Principal Nedzu.” Shuya roves a calm, but firm gaze over each and everyone of the students, bowing slightly. “I will be helping you all improve your quirk control ahead of the Sports Festival. I am your care.”

The she pauses, lifts her head. “Oh, and,”

Shuya curls her fingers, points nonchalantly over her shoulder at the glowering Aizawa.

“…I’m that one’s favorite. Tread carefully.”

The classroom fell silent.

Bakugo's scowl deepens, but now there's a glint of interest in his eyes. Todoroki's blank expression doesn't changed, but he'd stops looking through her and starts looking at her. Midoriya's hand is already halfway to his notebook, fingers twitching.

"Anything else?" Shuya asks sweetly.

No one raises their hand.

From within his sleeping bag, Aizawa's muffled voice drifts out: "Good. Now let her do her job so I can sleep."

Yeah, Shuya thinks, fighting down the hysterical laugh bubbling in her chest. This is definitely going to be fine.

Totally fine.

I'm so screwed.

“—Sero, did you just tape your own face shut — how did you even—”

“—Midoriya, breathe — no, I mean physically breathe, you’re turning blue—”

“—Iida, turn. Turn. You can’t sprint in straight lines forever. Life has corners—”

“—Oh for fuck’s sake Bakugou, you don’t need to blow something up just because I looked at you. Calm the fuck down—”

“—Shoji-kun, thank you for being the only competent person here — no, that wasn’t sarcasm — no, seriously, thank you, you’re keeping me alive—”

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

Well, Shuya had already known the moment Nedzu had slid that paper over to her that this was a shit idea. She’s more so talking about pairing these idiots up for spars, and giving them pointers about their quirks. Simple, right?

The problem is that Shuya forgets to tell them to go in one at a time versus all at once. What do you get then?

This.

Beside her, she hears the human caterpillar mumble.

“Remind me to never let you be a teacher.”

“Remind me to switch your coffee with decaf.” She snaps back instinctively, then turns back towards the mess that is class 1-A. “Oh for fuck’s sake—”

Shuya sighs at the sight of Izuku rolling around in the ground with Ojiro, Todoroki with half his head frozen and Asui trying to drown Mineta, then turns her head and stalks away in the opposite direction. She finds what she wants fairly quickly, a quick blur of blonde absolutely going to town exploding poor Kirishima. He immediately turns, furious at being touched. 

“Hah — the fuck you want, extra—”

Shuya merely grips Katsuki’s shoulders hard, stares him directly in the eyes without a hint of humor and tells him.

“I need you to make the biggest fucking explosion this world has ever seen, dipshit. Can you do that?”

Katsuki is still for a long moment.

Then terrifying grin splits across his face, red eyes gleaming like pools of blood. That’s the only warning Shuya gets to dive the fuck outta the way before—

“HOOOWIITZZER IMMMPPPACCCT!!”

The entire gym explodes.

Oh, did he have the name down for this one already?

Shuya thinks sardonically as she peels herself off the floor like a sticker, trying her best not to sneeze at the ash and debris. As the dust settles, the entire gym is silent, and all of the students are looking at Bakugo with extremely wide eyes and burnt, poofy hair.

The only person who’s been spared is Todoroki, and that’s only because he took the explosion left side first.

She claps her hands and steps forward.

“The next time you don’t listen to me I’m siccing him on your asses.” Behind her, Shuya can feel Bakugo bristle, so she changes her angle. She smiles threateningly. “I’m sure Bakugo-kun would love to do some target practice.”

He goes still and Shuya tries not to roll her eyes. Yep, the idea of hunting down his classmates would be fun to this shitstain. Especially, she thinks dryly as her eyes shift toward Izuku, ones he has a score to settle with.

“This is the end of training today. I’ve got class in like five minutes.”

One of the dumbasses raises their hands — Mineta of all fucking people. Shuya’s still plotting to get his ass kicked from U.A.

“Hey! But you didn’t use your quirk at all!”

Then, because Shuya’s a little shit.

“And waste it on you idiots?” She snorts, instantly ruffling feathers. When the murmuring doesn’t stop, Shuya snaps her fingers. “Our next session is next week. You have until then to write out at least five different ways your partner could use their quirk creatively in a battle.”

“Wait, isn’t that your job? You’re supposed to tell us!”

But Shuya’s already moving, grabbing her backpack and barely tossing 1-A a look.

“Well, I would’ve told you that,” She gives them all a shit-eating grin, then shrugs. “But some people were too busy fighting to listen. Maybe they’ll listen next time!”

“But—”

“Those who listened already know.” She shoots Mineta a cold look, roving her eyes over Shoji, Tokoyami, and surprisingly Bakugo of all people. She pauses, then tosses the blonde an offhanded remark. “You.”

He bristles. “What.”

She curls up a hand, resting it on her palm. “Think about concentrating your explosions in one direction. Kind of like a bullet.”

Bakugo looks half-irritated half-thoughtful at the input, but Shuya doesn’t stick around long enough to see his reaction. Instead she swings her bag over her shoulder and shoots Aizawa a look.

“I’m heading out, Eraser.”

“Don’t loiter in the halls.”

“Of course not, Snipe would have my ass.”

“He would not.” Aizawa sighs, reluctantly peeling himself out of the sleeping bag and standing. “I don’t understand why, but he seems to like you.”

“It’s me being a science nerd.” Shuya snorts, stepping over the threshold. “Alright, Eraser. I’ll see you at home?”

Just to add a little spice.

Aizawa gives her a narrow look, like he knows what she’s doing but is too tired to care about it. Then, after a long moment, he mumbles.

“Whatever. Yes.”

Shuya tosses the gawking students one final grin, then turns and leaves.

“Cool! I’m making fried chicken!”

Shouta’s kids have taken to staring at Shuya.

Whether it’s in the halls, cafeteria or out in the fields, one of them without fail, will always be gawking at her. Then they’ll turn around and murmur into another’s ears, giving her shifty but uncertain looks.

It’s absolutely hilarious, because it’s making Hitoshi antsy that one of them’s gonna jump her at any moment. Which, knowing 1-A, is a very reasonable possibility. But instead of beating her up, they’re more likely to bundle her up and make her sleep for once.

"Kageyama-san!"

She pauses at the familiar loud-pitched voice, turning to find herself in one of U.A.'s main hallways during lunch rush. Students stream around them in both directions, a river of navy uniforms and chatter. "Who—"

"Kageyama-san!" The next second Midoriya Izuku slides into frame, looking a tad bit nervous but still bouncing on his feet. His green hair is slightly disheveled, like he's been running. "D—Do you remember me? I'm Midoriya Izuku, we met at the entrance exam—"

"Ah," Shuya makes a point of raising her brows, clapping her hands in recognition. "The bone-breaking kid!"

Predictably, the little green bean flinches. Shuya gives a crooked grin, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I remember you, kid. Good to see you're on your feet, what with the USJ and all."

Midoriya's face brightens immediately, relief and something like excitement flooding his features. "Y-Yes! Thanks to you, actually — I mean, not directly, but I was able to work my quirk through your advice and it helped against the villains and—" He's starting to ramble now, hands gesturing wildly. "—and I've been wanting to thank you because if you hadn't helped me then —"

Shuya stares at him, a little fond.

This is the same gremlin that routinely breaks his arms, beats the shit out a classmate until they become friends, and nearly nukes Shigaraki for hurting his precious Kacchan. Midoriya Izuku is a cinnamon roll, but he is also the most terrifying thing to walk this earth.

And he’s very, very adorable.

He makes her miss her shit goblin brothers.

“It’s cool, kid.” Shuya can’t help but ruffle his hair. “I’m glad to see it helped.”

He may be adorable, but he’s not an idiot. Her smile only widens at the hungry glint in his eyes, masked by his usual gentle demeanor. This one’s mad for knowledge.

And currently, Shuya is the subject of his interest.

Hmm. She thinks idly, watching him bounce on his feet. To indulge or not to indulge…

“—then I thought about powering up the entire body all at once, but realized that I — uh — would probably just explode so—”

"Oi! Move it, Deku!"

The bark comes a split second before Katsuki Bakugo shoulders past them with enough force to make Midoriya stumble. The blonde doesn't even slow down, his red eyes fixed straight ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Outta the damn way," He mutters, loud enough for them to hear. "Blocking the whole fucking hallway like a pair of—"

The rest is lost in a stream of creative obscenities as he disappears into the crowd, leaving a wake of startled first-years in his path.

"K-Kacchan, wait, I didn't mean to—" Midoriya starts, half-turning like he might actually chase after the explosive blonde. His shoulders hunch slightly, that automatic apologetic posture that makes something in Shuya's chest twist.

He's so used to this, she realizes, watching the way Midoriya's hand lifts like he wants to reach out but doesn't quite dare. I suppose the rejection stings more coming from someone you admire.

Even now, with a quirk and acceptance into U.A., some habits are hard to break.

Though Season 1 Bakugo really does deserve a good ass kicking. Hey, Shuya’s all for BakuDeku — platonic or otherwise. Even a casual anime fan like herself had gotten chills watching the latest season. These two were insane.

Well, Shuya thinks, staring down at the nervous boy. Probably not right now. Later. Much, much later.

As if on cue, Midoriya turns back to her with a strained smile, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry about that, Kageyama-san. I must have been holding you up here, I should probably—"

But he doesn't move, not immediately. Instead, he looks back at Shuya with those earnest green eyes, and she can see the questions building behind them. Questions about her quirk, about the USJ, about how she knew—

"Have you had lunch yet?"

The question comes out before Shuya can second-guess it. Midoriya blinks at her, thrown by the sudden subject change.

"I — what?"

Shuya softens her expression, letting the crooked grin return. Something about the way this kid lights up when someone shows him basic kindness makes her want to protect him from the world. It also makes her want to kick someone, anyone. He's too good, too earnest, too bright for all the darkness that's coming.

Not for the first time, Shuya’s reminded.

These are literal children.

She’s not that much older, but she’s been on her own for a long time. So it’s fine.

It’s fine.

"Lunch," She repeats, jerking her head toward the cafeteria. "You. Me. Come on."

She starts walking, not waiting for an answer. Behind her, she can hear Midoriya make a strangled sound of surprise.

"W-Wait, Kageyama-san, I couldn't possibly — you don't have to—"

Shuya glances back over her shoulder, and maybe it's the lighting or maybe it's just good timing, but the way she moves is effortless. Cool. The kind of casual confidence that comes from not giving a damn what anyone thinks. Her grey eyes catch his, and her grin sharpens into something knowing.

"You have questions, right?"

It's not really a question. More of a statement. An acknowledgment of the elephant in the room—or rather, the elephant in the hallway.

Midoriya freezes mid-step, his eyes going comically wide. For a moment he just stares at her, and Shuya can practically see the gears turning in his head. The realization that yes, she knows he wants to ask about her quirk. About the USJ. About everything.

And she's offering.

"I—" His voice cracks slightly. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again there's something almost awed in his tone. Like she's just done something incredibly cool instead of just inviting him to lunch. "If it's not a bother, Kageyama-san! I would — I'd love to! Thank you so much!"

He looks like the mere idea of being given something is foreign.

It kind of makes her heartache, but Shuya bites the melancholy down and grins wildly.

“Alright then! Chop, chop! Let’s go, I’m starving!”

Shuya doesn’t wait for his response, knowing full well he can catch up to her — quirk or otherwise. Her most recent rabbit hole deep dive had revealed that generations of quirk evolution had resulted in the human exoskeleton becoming much more sturdy to accommodate the strain of their quirks. These people are literally built like tanks, quirk or no quirk — because those traits are still passed down! It’s only gonna get better and better with each generation too!

She tells Midoriya as such, and the boy immediately jumps on the topic.

“Oh, is that the Miyazaki et. al paper? It’s fairly new and was only published in one journal so it’s taken a while for the findings to go around—”

Shuya watches Izuku from the corner of her eyes. He's practically vibrating with excitement now, that nervous energy redirected into pure enthusiasm. It's kind of adorable, actually.

He’s in his element.

The dark-haired girl hums along, realizing idly that Midoriya Izuku would make a good conversation partner. He, at least, chose to use his brain a bit more than the others (well, all the self-sacrifice aside), so lunch would be—

Oh.

Right.

Shuya pauses in her tracks, right at the door of the cafeteria. She glances back at Midoriya, who nearly runs into her and has to do an awkward hop-skip to avoid a collision.

"Ah," She says, and there's something almost apologetic in her tone now. "But I suppose you might have to win over a grumpy cat first."

"A... cat?" Midoriya tilts his head, confusion clear on his face.

Shuya's grin turns slightly mischievous. "You'll see."

Internally, she's already running through the likely scenario. Hitoshi has been sitting with her at lunch for the past week, ever since they officially became friends. And Hitoshi — well. He's not exactly subtle about his opinions on the hero course students.

Especially not Midoriya.

He’s never said it in so many words, but Shuya remembers his disdain for the hero course well. Plus the whole Sports Festival thing. She’s kind of looking forward to that cringy speech and confrontation in front of 1-A.

And yet.

She ducks her head, gives a wry smile.

The kid with the "perfect" quirk for heroics, Shuya remembers the bitter edge in Hitoshi's voice when he'd mentioned it once. The augmentation type that everyone dreams of. The kind of quirk that gets you into the hero course on ideal alone.

Oh, Hitoshi, if only you knew.

It's not fair, of course. It's not Midoriya's fault that he has One For All—well, technically it is All Might's fault for giving it to him, but that's beside the point. Plus, the poor kid literally has a target painted on his back now — will be beaten down, stripped to the bone, completely undone by the same people he’s so determined to protect.

It’s a fate she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

And yet still.

She gives the green-haired teen a quick glance, before turning back ahead.

He’ll continue to smile.

But the point is that Hitoshi sees Midoriya as everything he's not. Everything the world values and celebrates while quirks like Brainwashing get labeled as villainous. She’s still pissed about it, but there’s nothing she can do about it right now. Key word: right now.

This could go very badly.

Or—

Shuya glances at Midoriya, who's still looking at her with that open, earnest expression. Then slaps a hand on his back, making him yelp.

“You’ll be fine! You’re like — the nicest person I know.”

“U — Uh, I don’t think—”

“Shush, lets go in!”

He's a literal ray of sunshine, Shuya thinks with amusement. If anyone can win over a grumpy purple-haired cat, it's this kid.

Besides, they'll need to learn to get along eventually. In canon, Hitoshi and Midoriya ended up as friends — or at least friendly rivals. Might as well speed up that timeline a bit.

She pushes through the cafeteria doors, Midoriya trailing behind her like an eager puppy.

Time to see if the universe's favorite cinnamon roll can work his magic on her favorite insomniac.

Hitoshi is giving her a dirty look. Shuya smiles serenely.

Then,

"Midoriya-kun."

"Yes, Kageyama-san?"

"Shinsou-kun here has a Brainwashing Quirk."

"You, what?!"

Midoriya's eyes go comically wide, his chopsticks clattering onto his tray. His head whips toward Hitoshi so fast Shuya's worried he might give himself whiplash.

"Brainwashing?! As in actual mind control?! That's — that's incredible! How does it work? Is it touch-based? Visual? Do you need to maintain eye contact? What about the duration — how long can you hold someone under? Can you give complex commands or just simple ones? What happens if—"

"Dude, breathe," Shinsou interrupts, leaning back with his hands raised. But there's a slight flush creeping up his neck — he's not used to someone being excited about his quirk.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Midoriya's practically vibrating in his seat now. "It's just — Brainwashing is such a powerful quirk! The applications for hero work are endless! You could de-escalate hostage situations without violence, disable villains before they can use their quirks, coordinate rescue operations by directing civilians to safety—"

"See?" Shuya says smugly, jabbing her chopsticks in Midoriya's direction. "I told you your quirk is amazing."

Hitoshi shoots a glare in her direction and Shuya merely shrugs, unrepentant. Her goal’s to beat in some self-esteem into this kid. If she’s helping Midoriya get over his anxiety at the same time, then what would be better?

"Amazing doesn't even cover it!" Midoriya is pulling out his ever-present notebook now, flipping to a blank page with frightening speed. "Shinsou-kun, please, I have so many questions—"

"Oh god, he's got a notebook" Hitoshi mutters, shooting Shuya a betrayed look. "Where did you even — Mushroom, what have you done?"

"Made you friends!" Shuya chirps. "You're welcome!"

"I didn't ask for this—"

"Shinsou-kun!" Midoriya interrupts, stars practically shining in his eyes. "Does the brainwashing activate on verbal response? So if someone answers you, they're caught? That would explain why you're so quiet—you're being careful not to accidentally activate it on classmates! That's so responsible! And the strategic applications — if you can control when it activates, you could bait villains into responding during combat—"

"How did you figure that out in thirty seconds?!" Hitoshi looks genuinely alarmed now.

"Oh, he does this," Shuya says casually, continuing to eat. "Don't worry, you get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it—"

"And the fact that it's a mental quirk means it probably bypasses most physical defenses!" Midoriya is scribbling furiously now, muttering under his breath. "So even mutation quirks or armor-types would be vulnerable — and if you train to extend the duration, you could theoretically control multiple people at once by staggering the activation—"

"Okay, now I see why you like him," Hitoshi says to Shuya, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "He's just as unhinged as you are."

"Excuse me—"

"Shinsou-kun, have you tried combining your quirk with capture weapons?!" Midoriya looks up from his notebook with an expression of pure manic glee. "Like Eraserhead! If you could immobilize someone and control them—"

“Actually,” Shuya smirks in Hitoshi’s direction, whose eyes immediately go wide. He shoots forward, but is too late to shut her up. “Hitoshi-kun’s a huge fan of Eraserhead—”

“Shut up!”

"What?!" Midoriya looks like Hitoshi just told him Christmas came early. "That's perfect! Then you must be aware of his capture techniques! The synergy would be incredible — you could use the binding to keep them in place while you give commands, or use voice activation to draw their attention before capture—"

"See, Hitoshi?" Shuya grins. "I told you people would appreciate your quirk."

He glowers at her, a little salty. "One hyperactive green bean does not equal 'people'—"

"I'm not hyperactive, I'm enthusiastic—"

"You're definitely hyperactive—"

"Can we get back to the quirk analysis please?!” Midoriya cuts in impatiently, all decorum long forgotten in the pursuit of knowledge. Yep, that’s the madman she knows and loves. “I still need to know about the command complexity parameters and whether there's a difference in effectiveness based on target intelligence—"

Hitoshi and Shuya exchange a look.

Then the purple haired teen sighs, pulls his lunch tray closer, and says: "Alright, green bean. You've got until the end of lunch. Ask away."

The smile that splits Midoriya's face is absolutely radiant.

Shuya watches them start their enthusiastic quirk discussion — Midoriya asking rapid-fire questions, Shinsou actually engaging and looking less bitter than he has in weeks — and she can't help but feel a warm satisfaction in her chest.

Yeah. This is good.

In the end, Midoriya never does get to ask Shuya questions about the USJ. But she doesn’t mind.

And, she thinks, as she watches the subtle smile on Hitoshi’s face.

It seems he doesn’t too.

Word goes around of Shuya’s little side gig with 1-A. 

So, by the time she gets around to her sessions with 1-B, they're already very, very determined to outdo their 1-A counterparts. In Monoma's flamboyant words, they need to crush those 1-A wretches in any and everything. He doesn't really say all of that, because Kendo karate chops and drags him away halfway through, but Shuya gets the message. 

They're amazing to work with. 

Shuya doesn't really remember most of their quirks, safe for a handful including Kendo and Monoma, so she actually has to use her brain for it. Not only is 1-B open to listening, they're receptive and eager about applying her advice. She loves them, especially that Pony girl whose supposed to be an exchange student from the States but has such bad English that it's giving Shuya an aneurysm.  

Did — Did it just get lost in translation, or are you fucking with me here? 

As for her 1-C, at first her classmates are a little aghast by the very idea, thinking stupid stuff like how she’s ‘selling out’ to the enemy. Hitoshi makes such an expressive face at that claim that Shuya cackles, never mind the fact that he’d have said the same a month ago.

She smiles to herself.

The divide between heroics and the rest of the cohort is significant after all. It’s sad, but it makes sense, given how U.A. is, first and foremost, a hero school. She should really get around to bridging that. 

“Er…Kageyama-san?”

It’s during homeroom that Nagisa, one of her classmates with a neat spider quirk approaches her. A couple of the others turn too and Shuya can feel Hitoshi’s sleepy gaze on her as she looks up and smiles.

“Yes Nagisa-chan? How I can help you?”

The tiny girl fiddles with her fingers, looking a little nervous. Then, as if coming to a resolution, she looks up with determined eyes and says,

“What—What should I do to train my quirk for the Sports Festival?”

Shuya stares at her.

At the earnest look on her face, at the determination in all eight of her eyes, unmasked for the first time since they’d started school. Nagisa was a shy, unsure girl.

It’s a strange feeling, what blooms in her heart at that moment. Shuya smiles, then beckons her closer.

“You have a spider quirk, right? Can you produce webs?”

The way the girl lights up is worth everything that comes after. Shuya kicks Hitoshi out of his seat, offers it to Nagisa and the two chat about her quirk for the rest of homeroom. The tensile strength of spider silk is well over 1 GPa, almost as strong as high-strength steel while keeping a degree of elasticity. Nagisa seems surprised to learn that, but freezes when Shuya leans in and mentions swinging from the goddamn webs.

The grin that splits across her face is legendary.

Shuya answers all her questions without faltering, never once thinking about what’s to come or about the eyes on them.

It helps that her favorite superhero back in her world had been Spiderman.

After that little encounter, it’s as if a dam is opened.

“You’ve got a reflective quirk, don’t you? Try blinding your opponents, or even magnifying it to a point to burn stuff!”

“What about a balance quirk? Why balance only vertically? Can’t you do it horizontally too? Walk on the walls, my man.”

“Get angry. That’s it. That’s the solution.”

More and more of her classmates come to her not just asking for advice, but actively strategizing for the Sports Festival. To be very honest, a big chunk of them are still too jaded to engage with the planning, while others are doing with the purpose of ‘showing’ up the hero students rather than the genuine desire to transfer into the hero course.

No, Hitoshi’s ambition is very, very different to this.

He gives her a dry smile once the last of their classmates dissipate. “Are you going to give me lessons now too, sensei?”

Shuya flashes Hitoshi a rare, sincere smile. Then she grabs his arm and drags him out the door, toward the gyms. His eyes go wide.

“Mushroom, what—”

“I’m not going to be the one teaching you.” Is all she says, willing him to follow obediently. “I think you need more, kid.”

“We’re the same age, dumbass.”

Shuya doesn’t deign answering that. If only you knew, brat.

But Hitoshi follows after her, squeezing her arm once in reassurance that no, he’s not gonna bolt. It’s only after that that Shuya lets go of his arm.

They reach Gym Alpha, and Shuya grins as she sees a familiar yellow sleeping bag.

“There you are, Eraser!”

Behind her Hitoshi freezes, his eyes going impossibly wide.

“Wha—”

The yellow monstrosity resting against the wall twitches at her voice, two bloodshot eyes opening to blink blearily up at her.

“You’re late.”

But Shuya doesn’t answer him. Instead, she turns around to grab Hitoshi’s hand and pulls him forward, grinning the entire time.

“I called in a favor.” She says impishly, grey eyes glittering with thinly disguised glee. “Eraser-sensei here would love to teach you some hand-to-hand!”

When Hitoshi finally tears his gaze away from Shouta who’s slowly peeling himself out of his sleeping bag, he whispers out a single, breathless sentence.

“Thank you.”

Shuya, of course, does not rest at all afterward. She’s a woman on a mission, even if Shouta immediately turns to her afterward and drawls,

“You’re doing it too. You should not be this out of breath just walking around campus.”

“But—!”

“No buts. Now go run around the track. You too, Shinsou.”

Hitoshi quickly graduates to direct hand-to-hand with Shouta. Shuya’s still stuck trying to complete a mile without wheezing her guts out. She’s like, sixty-seven percent sure this is Shouta’s revenge for her bullying Nedzu into making him do this in exchange for training the 1-A kids.

Shuya’s still got a favor from Vlad King she hasn’t cashed in yet, but she’s got plans for that, so he’s off the hook for now.

So instead, the woman moves onto her next agenda.

Izuku, naturally, is an absolute sweetheart.

One who is clueless around girls, but still very much a sweetheart.

So when Shuya decides she needs to get him in front of Hatsume Mei ASAP, she knows it'll be like herding cats — if the cats were prone to anxious muttering and breaking their own bones.

Look, Shuya has priorities. And Priority Number One is making sure that Izuku's disaster of a hero costume never sees the light of day again. That thing is a crime against fashion and functionality. She knows the jumpsuit was a gift from his mom, but still. Plus it got shredded at the USJ anyway, so really, she's just being efficient.

The girl already needs ‘models’ to demonstrate her products at the Sports Festival, and even Shuya had felt a little bad for the rundown the madwoman had give poor Iida during their match. In the spirit of sparing Iida the humiliation (and replacing it with Hitoshi’s overwhelming victory), Shuya elects to seek out the mad inventor.

The problem is that Hatsume Mei is notoriously difficult to pin down. The girl is either elbow-deep in some explosive contraption or zooming around campus testing her latest "baby" with absolutely zero regard for safety regulations.

Which is why, Shuya thinks as she lurks near the Support Course building during lunch, I need to figure out how to organically bump into her and—

Something whistles past her head.

Shuya's entire life flashes before her eyes — both of them, actually, original universe included — as a flying camera drone nearly takes her head clean off her shoulders. She hits the ground hard, more from shock than intention, and has just enough time to think oh you've GOT to be kidding me before something collides with her skull with a sickening CRACK.

Everything goes black.

"—completely unacceptable, Hatsume! This is the third incident this month—"

"But Power Loader-sensei, the trajectory calculations were perfect! How was my baby supposed to know someone would be standing there?"

"That's exactly the point! You're supposed to CHECK before—"

Shuya's eyes flutter open to a throbbing headache and the fluorescent lights of what is unmistakably the Support Course lab. Various mechanical parts litter every surface, the smell of motor oil and welding hangs thick in the air, and—

Oh.

Oh.

There she is.

Mei Hatsume stands in front of a very angry Power Loader, looking completely unrepentant despite the tongue-lashing she's receiving. Her pink hair is wild, goggles perched on her head, and her eyes are gleaming with the manic energy of someone who's never met a safety regulation they didn't immediately violate.

She's perfect.

Shuya feels something warm dripping from her nose. She reaches up—her fingers come away red.

Probably from the concussion, she thinks distantly. Actually, no definitely from the concussion. Lets use this.

"—and when she wakes up, you're going to apologize profusely, do you understand me, Hatsume?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Power Loader-sensei," Mei says in that tone that suggests she's absolutely not listening. Well, she’s obviously not, goggles on and scribbling on some blueprints. Power Loader bristles, on the very of exploding.

"Hatsume Mei! Put that damn pencil down right this minute! I mean it!—"

"Aw, come on, Sensei — I'm sure she'll be very understanding—"

That's Shuya's cue.

She sits up so fast her vision swims. Both Power Loader and Mei whirl toward her, identical expressions of alarm on their faces. Well, on one expression — Shuya can’t really see Mei’s eyes through those weird ass goggles. Or are those just her eyes.

Huh.

"Kageyama!" Power Loader rushes over, his mechanical hands already reaching for a first aid kit. "Don't move too fast — you took a serious blow to the head — we’ve already notified Mic—"

Shuya ignores him.

Her eyes lock onto Hatsume Mei like a heat-seeking missile.

Bingo.

And then she lunges.

"Woah—hey—!" Mei barely has time to yelp before Shuya's hand shoots out, grabbing the front of her work shirt with desperate strength.

Shuya's grin is feral. Wide and mad and gleeful, her grey eyes gleaming with unhinged delight. Blood still dripping from her nose. Hair a complete disaster. She looks absolutely unhinged.

It’s alright though, because she’s here to get shit done.

“Your babies…”

Mei blinks behind her massive goggles, confusion flickering across her face. “My—what?”

Shuya’s smirk widens impossible further, completely and utterly deranged.

And then throws her head back and crows at the top of her lungs:

"ARE MINE!"

The entire lab goes silent.

Power Loader's jaw drops. Several students freeze mid-work, tools clattering to the ground. Someone in the back makes a strangled noise.

Mei just...stares. Processing. Then her eyes go wide behind her goggles, and a manic grin slowly spreads across her face to match Shuya's. She leans in, nose to nose, eyes gleaming madly.

“You want my babies?”

"YES!" Shuya's grip tightens on Mei's shirt, pulling her closer. "I want all of them! Every single one!"

There’s a slew of muttering behind them now, Power Loader looking a little faint. One of them is a little louder than the rest.

“They’ve got to know what this sounds like.”

Whatever. Shuya’s all in for gay rights. Especially if it gets her access to Mei’s babies.

Mei looks so deeply flattered, grabbing Shuya’s shoulders. “I’ll give you my best ones!”

"And when I'm done—" Shuya's voice drops to something almost tender. "I'll show the whole school what your babies can do!"

Mei actually squeals. "You're going to make them famous!"

"I'll make them legendary!"

"This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me!"

“SHHHHHUYYAAA—CHAANN! HEY HEY HEY, ARE YOU ALIVE, YO?!”

The lab door slams open — Mic rushing through the door way, eyes wild behind his glasses, just as Shuya grabs both of Mei’s hands, still kneeling on the ground, looks up with stars in her eyes and blood dripping down her nose and declares.

“I promise I’ll take responsibility for your babies, Mei! Choose me!”

“So how did you meet Hatsume-san again?”

“I told her I want her babies.”

At that moment Hitoshi runs into a wall. Shuya shoots him a deeply unimpressed look. He’s unaffected, nose reddening but gawking down at her.

“W—What?”

Shuya just sighs, reaching up to pat his head sympathetically. The only problem is that she’s like, a head shorter than him, so it’s just her awkwardly reaching up for the heavens.

She really ought to ask him what the weather is like up there one of these days.

“The things I do for you.”

"For the last time, you have to participate in the Sports Festival."

"But whyy."

Shouta pauses at that, turning around to fix Shuya with one final, severe glare. "Because it is mandatory for all students."

"But what if I'm sick?" Shuya demands, not backing down at all. Suddenly her face goes slack, and she deadpans, "Oh no, I'm on my period—I can't possibly do physical exercise."

"Nice try," Shouta retorted dryly. "But I'd believe that excuse more if you weren't grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat."

"But this is necessary — no, imperative for my mental health, Sensei! You know what'll happen to my twig arms in between the Hero students and Hitoshi!"

"Take a hike."

"You know I can't!"

Shouta remains unmoved.

Shuya resists the urge to sigh, trying her best to ignore the worsening migraine. Fine, Plan A isn't going to work. She didn't really expect it either—whatever was she going to be able to do by her lonesome against Stain? Then Plan B it was.

"Fine," She stomped her foot on frustration. It barely made a sound. Shouta raises an eyebrow. "I'll even look ahead and show you that I'm gonna have a terrible time!"

She makes a show of crossing her eyes before Shouta can activate his quirk.

"See—"

Crack.

The next thing Shuya knows she's on the ground, her head spinning and a handful of teachers hovering over her with varying levels of panic. She tries to focus on Aizawa, tries to grit her teeth and ignore the pounding headache.

Something feels wrong, wrong, wrong—

She pauses at the look on his face.

"Shuya." He says steadily, despite how wide his eyes are. "Your nose is bleeding."

She raises a single hand and touches her face. It comes back red.

This time Shuya matches Shouta's uncertain gaze with an equally unnerved expression.

Yagi-san, bless his heart, hauls her off to the infirmary in his All Might form. Shuya doesn't have the heart, nor the energy to remind that she's aware of his secret and that he doesn't need to inflate. She's more preoccupied by her spinning vision, the rising nausea and the suffocation in her chest of something being wrong, wrong, wrong—

Shuya can't breathe.

She passes out.

The sky is black.

No — there just isn't any color. Everything is just black and grey. The entire world is black and grey. Her ears are ringing — there's some sort of static muffling — no, dulling the world. She turns her head slowly, sluggishly — as if she's in slow motion. Something holds her down, prevents her from moving freely. She can't breathe. She can't breathe. 

But when she looks at her feet, there are no bonds. Her chest is free. 

Then there's a muffled noise.

Her head snaps up and — and there's two people in an alley. The too-white moon above them casts light upon their features, at the growing puddle of blood on the ground bleeding from the man on the ground. The other stands on top of him, holding a stained sword and frenzied, intense eyes focused on his prey.

Stained. Stain.

Shuya's eyes widen.

She — she's not supposed to be here.

She takes one, slow step back and — and —

That gaze snaps to her and Shuya realizes that it's red — it's blood red in a world of shadows, in a world of blacks and greys and—

And it's hungry for her blood.

But just as those eyes register her presence, as his hackles rises and he pounces — the muffled static finally sharpens into a loud, shrill cry.

You're not supposed to be here. Leave, leave, LEAVE, LEAVE—

Shuya jolts awake.

When she comes to, the sun is setting and Hizashi is sitting by her side. He jumps when he sees her eyes flutter open slowly and pure relief paints his features. "Shuya-chan! You're awake!"

His loud voice makes her flinch and he instantly apologizes. She finally relaxes when she registers his voice.

"…Where?"

"You're in the infirmary." Hizashi tells her once he recomposes himself, as if reminding himself that he's the adult here. His voice softens. "You gave us all quite a scare, little listener."

Shuya turns her blank gaze back to the ceiling, notes that the call light is just as red, red—

"Can — can you bring Eraser-sensei here? Please?"

"Little listener, are ya sure you're okay? Recovery Girl said ya overused your Quirk—"

"No, I didn't."

Quirk? What Quirk?

Shuya's not from this world. She doesn't have a quirk. She's quirkless. She lied.

"Yamada-sensei…Eraser-sensei please, I'm begging you."

There must be something in her voice that makes Hizashi jump up and exit the room after making her promise to stay put in bed. Shuya listlessly agrees, blank eyes still on the ceiling.

Logically, she's aware this episode is nothing important. Shuya's been stressed for weeks now, operating on barely any sleep while overworking herself to the bone between all her commitments. She's fainted before, in her universe, in similar circumstances to this. Has seen some weird ass shit in sleep paralysis episodes as well.

What she saw was nothing new — likely her brain's gruesome version of the Stain-Ingenium incident from how much the topic has been occupying her mind.

So — so —

It shouldn't disturb her as much as it does.

The long shadows, the dripping blood and the red, red eyes—

Shuya's never claimed to be omniscient, despite all her bravado. She's stuck in a world not her own, even if it's fictional. Actually, it being fictional makes it worse, because she knows for a fact things are going to go to shit here. And she's aware they're gonna have a direct impact on her wellbeing. That's why she's been running around fucking up the plot.

But — but, maybe, some part of her deep down has still been treating all of this as fictional, as some grand big adventure.

Only to be given a harsh wake up call.

These people aren't fictional. This world isn't make-believe. This is all real.

It's so stupid of her, and Shuya wonders why the hell it took her to see blood to finally realize this. She prevented the USJ disaster with the flippant swagger of a Doctor Who wannabe — but this is real. She doesn't get second chances. These are real people whose fate she has in her hands.

Like it or not, she is responsible.

When Eraser stalks inside the infirmary ten minutes later with Nedzu, Recovery Girl and Hizashi, Shuya fixes them with a single, silencing look.

And,

"The Hero Killer Stain is going to attack and kill the Turbo Hero Ingenium in Hosu on the day of the Sports Festival. This is the future that will occur unless there is intervention."

After an alarmed Eraser rushes out of the infirmary and Mic gently coaxes Shuya Kageyama home, Nedzu listens to Recovery Girl sigh about troublesome students.

"Her Quirk Factor looks so weak too, especially for her age." The old heroine mourns, shifting through her papers. "That is bound to have physical impacts on her body."

"Weak?"

"Quirks develop with age and use. Quirk Factors reflect that growth." Recovery Girl tells him. "But Kageyama-chan's Quirk Factor looks incredibly fragile, very underdeveloped. As if she's not used it for a long time."

Nedzu's eyes flash. "…Is that so?"

In that moment there is a seed planted, just a single one.

Whether it blooms beautifully or festers rotten instead is to be seen.

That grim incident aside, Shuya spends the next few days being happily pampered by a frantic Hizashi and a guilty Shouta. The latter reassures her that Ingenium has been informed of the matter.

Nighteye has been contacted to verify the prediction too. The two look a little hesitant telling her that, carefully gauging her reaction the entire time. But Shuya doesn’t mind, truly. She’s aware it’s because a prediction coming from a Gen ED student with a shady background is less trustworthy than All Might’s ex-sidekick. She doesn’t really care to be honest, because the dark-haired girl knows Nighteye’s prediction would be similar, if not the same.

Thinking she might be a little traumatized by the whole experience, Shouta awkwardly offers Shuya permission to not participate in the Sports Festival. It takes Shuya a hot minute to remember her flimsy excuse for using her ‘quirk’ and warning them about Stain.

She pauses for a moment, fiddling with her fingers, then smiles and turns down his offer.

“I think it’ll help keep my mind occupied from…other stuff.”

Like the looming death flag over Ingenium’s head and her possible failure to prevent said death.

Up until now, Shuya’s been going around happily changing other people’s fates. Hitoshi, Izuku, even Shouta and the USJ. But there will always be consequences to playing god, and she’s very aware of the butterfly effect.

She…needs to tone it down a bit.

Even as Shuya resolves to do as such, there is a pit in her stomach.

Thankfully Shouta doesn’t push, though Shuya spies a strange mix of emotions on his face that she can’t decipher. So yeah, she gets pampered for the next few days. It was a good thing she decided to drop dead on a Friday, because it means she gets a two-day break from academics and her classmates’ frantic questioning. She had been informed quite a few of them had seen All Might carrying her bleeding, unconscious self to the infirmary.

The number of unread text messages and calls on her contacts aligns as much.

It kind of makes her feel a little bad.

The first text she shoots is to Hitoshi, reassuring him that she’s alive and no, she’s not lying, he does not need to come over to check—

He comes over.

With, uhh…

“Hitoshi-kun.”

“What.”

Shuya squints at the shoe-sized worm squirming beneath his purple hoodie. “What is that?”

Hitoshi sighs, then slowly unzips the hoodie and out jumps the cutest fucking munchkin cat ever. “This is Mochi. She’s mine.”

“Since when?”

Last Shuya had checked (which was literally three days ago) this kid had been dying to get a cat. No, he did not have one the last thing she’d seen him. But y’know what he did have?

A crappy neighbor that neglected theirs.

She squints at Hitoshi, who suddenly can’t meet her gaze.

"Hitoshi." Her voice is dangerously calm. "Did you steal that cat?"

"I didn't steal—" Hitoshi starts, but Mochi chooses that exact moment to meow pitifully and nuzzle into his chest, and his argument dies on his lips. “Kind of?”

"You stole a cat!" Shuya's voice rises. "You — you kidnapped someone's pet! That's — that's literally theft, Hitoshi! What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking," Hitoshi shoots back, his voice going defensive as he cradles Mochi protectively, "that this poor cat deserves better than that shitty neighbor who leaves her on the balcony in the rain without food! I was thinking that someone needed to protect the weak!"

Shuya freezes.

Blinks.

And then absolutely loses it.

"PFFT—" She slaps a hand over her mouth, but it's too late. Laughter bursts out of her like a dam breaking. "That's — that's not how it works—!"

"What?!" Hitoshi's face is turning red now, a flush creeping up his neck. "This is — this is part of being a hero, isn't it?! Protecting those who can't protect themselves!"

"You can't just—" Shuya is doubled over now, clutching her stomach. "Steal cats as hero training! That's — oh my god, your face—!"

"It's not stealing if they're being neglected!" Hitoshi insists, but his ears are burning crimson now. "I'm rescuing her!"

"You're a cat burglar!" Shuya wheezes, tears streaming down her face. "In the most literal sense—!"

"Stop laughing!" Hitoshi's entire face is red now, and Mochi meows in confusion at the jostling. "I'm — I'm being serious here!"

But Shuya can't stop. She's gasping for air, clutching her sides, completely losing it.

"That's it." Hitoshi huffs, turning toward the door with as much dignity as he can muster while holding a tiny munchkin cat. "I'm going home. If you can't appreciate the noble art of cat rescue—"

"Noble art—!" Shuya wails, practically crying with laughter now.

"I'm leaving!" Hitoshi announces, stomping toward the door.

"Wait—wait—!" Shuya tries to stop him, but she's laughing too hard to move.

Hitoshi yanks the door open, still holding Mochi—

And freezes.

Standing in the hallway, hand raised as if about to knock, is Aizawa Shouta. Eraserhead. In full underground hero gear, capture weapon draped around his shoulders, looking tired and vaguely annoyed at being disturbed.

For a moment, nobody moves.

Then Hitoshi slams the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame.

He presses his back against it, eyes wide, his face cycling rapidly through shock, awe, and pure terror. Mochi meows indignantly at being jostled again.

"You—" Hitoshi's voice comes out as a strangled whisper. He slowly turns his head to stare at Shuya with an expression of absolute disbelief. "You live with Eraserhead."

Shuya, still wheezing with laughter, can only nod.

Hitoshi gawks at her as if she’s grown two heads. “You live with Eraserhead.”

“I heard you the first time, Hitoshi-kun.”

“You live with—”

There's a knock on the door. Hitoshi jumps like he's been electrocuted.

"Kageyama." Shouta’s muffled voice comes through the door, dry and unimpressed. "Can you ask the fool pressed against your door if he’s going to stay for dinner?"

Hitoshi groans, looking as if he wants the floor to swallow him whole. Shuya dissolves into fresh peals of laughter, sliding down to sit on the floor because her legs won't hold her anymore.

Hitoshi looks between her and the door, his face a fascinating shade of red, still clutching Mochi like a lifeline.

The second person Shuya texts after Hitoshi is one Hatsume Mei.

She puts her phone down immediately afterwards, waits one, two minutes. Then, in exactly three minutes comes Mei’s lighting fast reply.

Of course I’ll give you some of my babies for the Sports Festival!

Shuya smiles wildly.

If she’s going to take part of this stupid competition, might as well go — uh, what do they say? Plus Ultra!

The restriction is that they need to build it themselves, or have it authorized by a teacher ahead of time. Though Shuya only requests a sturdy stick from Mei, Hitoshi’s support items are little more complicated for either of them to build from scratch.

So they take the other path.

“Oh, you don’t need to submit the form for the staff, I don’t think?” Shuya says when Power Loader asks for her papers. When he frowns, she tilts her head questioningly. “I mean it’s just a stick, no?”

The pro-hero looks at her for a long time.

Then he says.

“Kageyama-san.”

Shuya frowns. “Yes?”

Power Loader says very calmly, very deliberately. “It’s Hatsume.”

“So?”

“It’s Hatsume.” He stresses once more, but the intent goes right over her head. When he realizes Shuya simply isn’t getting it, the man sighs. “Just get me the damn form — wait, I’ll get it from her myself. Off you go.”

That odd interaction aside, the next few days up to the Sports Festival pass by uneventfully. Shuya doesn’t have the ‘need’ to activate her quirk again, and for some reason, her regular lessons with 1-A and 1-B are suspended. The official reason she gets is that it’s too much of unfair advantage to the hero students since the lessons are supplementary. But Nedzu has a strange glint in his eyes when he says it, so Shuya still a bit on edge.

It quickly goes flying out the window though, because the moment for one of her favorite BNHA scenes arrives.

Eijiro is not having a good time. Right after the Sports Festival is announced, their class is surrounded with random students crowding the door, all of them glaring at Eijiro and his classmates. Now, he’s all for some manly challenges, but ganging up like this seems a little rude.

This purple-haired dude though, is extra hardcore for some reason, even if his words are manly.

“—consider this a declaration of war.”

The purple-haired teen pauses then, and looks to the side with an annoyed face.

“Is there something you wanna say?”

It’s only then that Eijiro notices that Kageyama, the prophecy-girl, has been standing off to the side watching the entire interaction with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. At the purple-haired dude’s question, she shakes her head, still grinning wildly.

“Nah, continue.”

To his credit, the dude does not continue. He keeps staring at her, suspicious.

“I’m just trying to imprint this moment in my mind.”

Weird. She’s weird.

Especially when Eijiro notices the popcorn in her hands. He can’t help but ask,

“Where the hell did you even get that?”

And, as Kageyama waves it closer and the mouthwatering aroma of butter and salt hits his nose. Can I have a little?

“Oh I just brought it in an instant packet. Sei-kun was nice enough to heat it up for me!”

Some random dude from the back of the crowd sticks up his hand at Kageyama’s words, and she tosses them a warm smile. “You should try, Hitoshi-kun. They’re heavenly.”

The purple-haired dude — Hitoshi, apparently — levels Kageyama with an incredibly dry look. Then he sighs, the tension broken. “Whatever. Lets go, Mushroom.”

“Aw…but I was waiting for Bakugo’s explosive declaration—”

“—Lets go.”

He drags her away, and the last of Kageyama’s words hit them then. Eijiro looks back to see Bakugo standing there with a furious expression on his face, mouth half open as if he was just about to speak. He slowly clicks it shut.

Then explodes.

“I’M GOING TO BEAT ALL YOU EXTRAS INTO THE GROUND!”

“THERE IT IS! YESSS KACCHAN, YOU GO!”

Kageyama screams from…somewhere, the pair is already at the end of the hall. Eijiro sighs, and immediately moves to block Bakugo from hunting her down. “WHO THE HELL SAID THAT? GET THE FUCK HERE—”

“Calm down, dude. She was joking—”

“I’m gonna explode her face off! That’s a joke too—”

“Jeez, graphic dude.”

Kageyama cackles the entire time.

She makes the mistake of grinning when Hizashi asks her about giving the speech at the Sports Festival. Shouta, who’s sitting right behind him on his desk, narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“No, please let Bakugo-kun do the speech—”

“You’ll do it.”

“What?” Shuya scowls, shooting him a look. “But I don’t want to?”

“I don’t care. You do it.”

“But why?”

At that moment Midnight draws closer, patting Shuya’s back with a knowingly glint in her eyes. “Something tells me, Kageyama-chan, that you know exactly what our dear Bakugo-kun is going to say.”

Shuya flushes, caught, then averts her eyes sheepishly. Only to notice the rest of the teachers, who are levying similar versions of the same knowing look at her, even All Might. She finally scowls, a little annoyed.

“Oh come on, he’s so spicy about it, it’ll be fun—”

She does not get her wish.

Instead, what Shuya does get, is Cementoss over her shoulder proofreading every word of her speech to make sure it’s not inappropriate, strange or vaguely offensive — all as per Shouta’s strict orders. Shuya pouts the entire time.

The day of the festival, no one is more ecstatic that she’s giving the speech than 1-C. And, well, all the student courses who are not in the hero track. So everyone barring forty students, yay!

Walking out of the tunnels into the stadium feels surreal.

The roar of the crowd hits Shuya like a physical wall — thousands upon thousands of voices screaming, cheering, the entire stadium packed to the brim with spectators eager to see Japan's future heroes. The sunlight is blinding after the dim corridors, and for a moment Shuya has to squint against it.

Around her, her classmates from 1-C are buzzing with energy. Literally bouncing on their feet. Nagisa-chan keeps grinning at her with all eight eyes gleaming. Sei-kun gives her an encouraging thumbs up. Even the more jaded students look grudgingly excited.

And Shuya gets it.

U.A. is a hero school first and foremost. The Sports Festival? It's the hero course's time to shine, their chance to show off to the entire world—to scouts, to agencies, to everyone. For the Gen Ed, Support, and Business courses? They're background noise. Extras in someone else's story.

It's even worse for Class 1-C specifically, Shuya knows. Most of them are hero course rejects—kids who now have to watch from the sidelines as others get the spotlight, the training, the chance they desperately wanted.

It's sad, Shuya thinks, watching her classmates' faces light up as they march into the stadium. But understandable.

So to have one of their own giving the opening speech? To have a Gen Ed student front and center for once?

It's insane.

"—AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GIVE IT UP FOR OUR PLEDGE REPRESENTATIVE—" Present Mic's voice explodes through the speakers, somehow even louder than the crowd. Shuya winces. "—STANDING AT A MIGHTY FIVE FOOT SIX, THE GIRL WHO SCORED HIGHEST ON THE WRITTEN ENTRANCE EXAM—KAGEYAMA SHUYA FROM CLASS 1-C!"

Shuya's eye twitches.

Five foot six.

That isn’t even short! You bitches are just too tall!

She shoots a withering look up toward the announcer's booth, where she can just barely make out Hizashi's silhouette behind the glass. She can't see his face, but she knows he's grinning like an idiot.

I'm making you decaf for a month, you absolute bastard.

The crowd's cheering intensifies, and Shuya feels her stomach drop. Beside her, Hitoshi snorts at her expression, then pats her back once—firm and reassuring.

"Go on, Mushroom. Show them what you've got."

Shuya takes a deep breath.

Then she walks up to the podium.

The microphone stands in the center of the stage, and as Shuya approaches it, she can see everyone. The entire stadium spread out before her in a massive amphitheater. All eyes on her. Cameras broadcasting this to the entire nation.

No pressure.

Her gaze drifts down to the front section where the students are gathered. Class 1-A stands out immediately—Midoriya's green hair, Todoroki's distinctive red and white, Uraraka's cheerful face. And right there in the front—

Bakugo.

He's steaming. Literally. Little wisps of smoke curling from his palms as he glares daggers at her, teeth bared in a snarl. The universal expression of that should be ME up there.

Shuya rolls her eyes.

Dramatic as always, Kacchan.

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out the neatly folded speech Cementoss had made her write. Approved, sanitized, utterly boring. All about sportsmanship and doing your best and blah blah blah.

She unfolds it.

Looks down at the careful words.

And then — her gaze flicks up. Catches Hitoshi's eyes in the crowd.

He's watching her. Waiting. And there's something in his expression—a challenge, maybe. She never knows with him. Something between them had changed after she’d introduced him to Shouta for training.

Something like trust.

It’s a strange feeling.

Don't hold back, his eyes seem to say. Be yourself.

Shuya grins.

Fuck it.

She crumples the paper in her fist and tosses it over her shoulder.

Then she leans into the microphone, her grey eyes glittering with mischief, and her smile sharpens into something wild and fierce.

"Don't look down on those around you," Shuya says, her voice carrying clear across the stadium. "You might get surprised how hard they bite."

The Gen Ed section erupts.

"Everyone." She spreads her arms wide, encompassing all of them—Hero course, Support course, Business course, Gen Ed. Everyone. "Let's do our best, yeah? We're all in this together."

The sound that follows is deafening.

The Support Course students are on their feet, screaming. Business Course is whistling and cheering. And Gen Ed — Gen Ed goes absolutely feral. Nagisa is crying. Sei-kun is pumping his fist in the air. Even the jaded kids are grinning.

The hero course looks vaguely bemused at the reaction from the others. Midoriya's smiling that sunshine smile. Kirishima looks just as pumped as the rest, grinning wildly. Bakugo, of course, looks like he wants to explode something.

And Hitoshi—

Hitoshi is grinning right back at her, wide and genuine and proud.

Shuya steps down from the podium, her heart pounding, adrenaline singing through her veins.

Yeah. Worth it.

Midnight takes the stage next, her whip cracking as she introduces the first game. Shuya zones out a bit—she already knows what's coming. The obstacle course. Four kilometers of absolute chaos, specifically designed to test students' quirks and abilities under pressure.

Fun.

"—and with that, let the first game BEGIN!"

Everyone lines up at the entrance to the tunnel. Shuya can feel the tension in the air, students practically vibrating with anticipation. She catches Hitoshi's sleeve and tugs him backward, away from the mass of bodies crowding the entrance.

"Mushroom, what—"

"Trust me," Shuya mutters, eyes scanning the crowd. "Just hang back."

Hitoshi gives her a skeptical look but doesn't argue.

The starting buzzer screams.

Immediately, the entire mass of students surges forward into the tunnel. It's chaos—bodies pressed together, students shoving and shouting, everyone trying to get ahead. Within seconds, the entrance becomes a bottleneck, dozens of students crammed into a space meant for maybe ten.

"Now?" Hitoshi asks dryly.

"Not yet." Shuya's eyes are locked on the front of the pack. "Where's Todoroki?"

Hitoshi cranes his neck, using his height advantage. "Front left. He's — oh, he's breaking through."

Shuya sees it too. Todoroki's ice spreading across the ground, freezing the tunnel floor. In seconds he'll—

"JUMP!"

Shuya and Hitoshi both leap just as Todoroki's ice explodes outward, freezing the legs of everyone still stuck in the bottleneck. Students cry out in shock and frustration, trapped mid-step.

They land hard on the frozen ground. Shuya's boots — special commission from Mei, reinforced with steel and designed specifically for ice traction—grip perfectly. Beside her, Hitoshi's matching pair does the same.

They exchange wild grins.

Then they run.

In front of them, Class 1-A has already broken free, most of them not caught at all—Bakugo blasting himself forward, Yaoyorozu and Kirishima and the others right on his heels. But Shuya and Hitoshi have a head start now, just behind the hero course leaders.

These boots, Shuya thinks gleefully as she runs, feeling the way the steel-reinforced soles grip the ice, are a fucking MIRACLE.

Mei had been ecstatic when Shuya asked for them—something about “testing grip coefficients on frozen surfaces" and "impact resistance in steel-toe construction." Whatever. The point is they work.

The best part is that they don’t count as support gear, since you can just buy them off the internet.

If Mei hears that, she’s gonna have Shuya’s head haha.

Overhead, they can hear Present Mic and Eraserhead’s color commentary. Shouta’s spouting some real Proud-Dad shit about 1-A despite the drab and dry tone.

“—They’ve used that fear to drown out that hesitation.”

Hizashi’s voice pipes in then, uncharacteristically calm despite the commentary.

“That’s all well and good, Eraser, but what uh… about them?”

“Who?”

Shuya throws her head back and laughs manically as she and Shinsou go AROUND the fucking robots instead of trying to fight them head on. Lord knows there’s enough idiots fighting them for the robots’ sensors to not pick them up.

They make it past the first obstacle — the zero-pointers from the entrance exam, massive robots that Shuya pointedly does not engage with because she values her life, thank you very much — and skid to a stop at the second obstacle.

The rope field.

It's exactly as horrifying as Shuya remembers from the anime. Massive pillars with ropes strung between them, suspended high above a canyon. No safety nets. Just a very, very long drop.

Shuya stares at it.

Then she stares at her noodle arms.

Yeah, no.

"Alright," she says, dusting off her hands. "I think this is far enough, don't you? I mean, I made it past the first obstacle. That's pretty good for a Gen Ed student. Eraser can't possibly be disappointed—"

"Mushroom."

Something in Hitoshi's tone makes her pause.

She looks up. He's giving her that look—the one that says I can see right through your bullshit.

"You're seriously going to quit now?" The purple-haired boy crosses his arms. "After that speech? After riling up the entire non-hero course population? After dragging me this far?"

"I don't have arm strength, Hitoshi-kun," Shuya protests. "Have you seen my noodle arms? How can you subject me to this?"

"You finished what you started at lunch with Midoriya." Hitoshi's voice is calm but firm. "You finished what you started with Eraserhead. You finished what you started with 1-A's training."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. "Or are you just scared?"

Low blow, cat boy.

Shuya scowls at him. Hitoshi just stares back, unimpressed.

"The farther you get," He says quietly, "The more you can help me succeed. Isn't that what you said?"

Damn it.

He's right. He's right and Shuya hates it.

The goal was always to get him into 1-A before shit hit the fan.

"Fine," she grumbles. "But I still don't know how we're supposed to get across without upper body strength or a quirk—"

"BEHOLD!!"

The shout comes from directly above them.

Shuya looks up just in time to see Hatsume Mei flying overhead on her jetpack—yes, her actual jetpack, because of course she has one—pink hair streaming behind her, goggles gleaming in the sunlight.

She looks magnificent.

She also looks like she's about to crash.

"MY BABIES ARE GOING TO BE LEGENDARY!!" Mei screams as she zooms past. Then, almost as an afterthought, she twists mid-air and hurls something at Shuya's face.

It hits her in the face, knocking her over into Hitoshi’s arms.

“What the fuck, Mei—”

"FORGOT TO GIVE YOU THAT!" Mei's voice is already fading as she disappears across the rope field. "YOU'RE WELCOME!"

Hitoshi helps her back up, then picks up the sheets of paper, frowning. “It's... a manual?”

Shuya squints at it, still rubbing her nose.

Why would my staff need a manual?

She glances back at the weapon strapped to her back — the simple, sturdy staff Mei had built for her. It's just a staff. A stick. A really well-made stick, sure, but still—

Wait.

Oh no.

Shuya flips open the manual with trembling hands. Her eyes scan the first page.

KAGEYAMA CUSTOM COMBAT STAFF: USER MANUAL

WARNING: EXTREME VELOCITY. USE WITH CAUTION.

Voice Commands:

• "Rocket"

• "Boost"

• "MAXIMUM THRUST"

Oh no.

"Mushroom?" Hitoshi is looking at her with growing concern. "What's—"

"She didn't," Shuya whispers.

"Didn't what?"

"She wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?"

Shuya looks up at Hitoshi with wide, slightly manic eyes. "Hitoshi-kun. Do you trust me?"

"Not when you make that face—"

"Great!" Shuya drops the manual and grabs her staff, pulling it off her back. "Because I think Mei turned my staff into a rocket."

"She what—"

Shuya doesn't mean to activate it. She really doesn't.

But apparently her staff has very sensitive voice activation because the moment the word "rocket" leaves her mouth, the staff lights up.

There's a sound like a jet engine powering on.

"Oh fuck—" Shuya barely has time to grab Hitoshi's arm. "HOLD ON!"

"WHAT ARE YOU—"

"MAXIMUM THRUST!" Shuya screams.

The staff launches.

And Shuya, still gripping it with both hands, goes with it.

She manages to yank Hitoshi along at the last second — his hand locked around her wrist in a death grip as they're both suddenly airborne, the staff pulling them forward like a missile, rocketing over the rope field at speeds that are definitely not U.A. approved for student use.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" Shuya's scream is lost in the wind.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MUSHROOM!!" Hitoshi is also screaming, his other hand scrabbling for purchase on Shuya's shoulder.

They're flying. Well, more like being dragged through the air by a rocket-powered staff, but semantics. Below them, students on the ropes stare up in shock as they blur past.

The staff shows no signs of slowing down.

In fact, it might be going faster.

"HOW DO YOU TURN IT OFF?!" Hitoshi yells over the roar of the propulsion.

"I DON'T KNOW! I DROPPED THE MANUAL!!"

"YOU WHAT—"

They clear the rope field in approximately thirty seconds.

The problem is the staff doesn't stop.

They go sailing over the landing platform, over several more obstacles, still screaming, Shuya's grip on the staff slipping, Hitoshi's fingers digging into her arm—

And then, mercifully, finally, the propulsion cuts out.

They drop.

"OOOOF—"

They hit the ground hard, tumbling across dirt and grass in a tangle of limbs. Thankfully, they’d been close enough to the ground that it’s not that high of a drop. The staff skitters away, finally dormant. For a long moment, Shuya just lies there, staring up at the sky, her ears ringing, her whole body vibrating from the rocket propulsion.

Beside her, Hitoshi groans.

"I hate you so much right now."

"That's fair," Shuya wheezes.

In the announcer's booth, Present Mic's voice explodes over the speakers:

"DID YOU SEE THAT?! KAGEYAMA AND SHINSO JUST FLEW OVER HALF THE OBSTACLE COURSE!! THAT'S GOTTA BE SOME KIND OF RECORD!!"

Shuya closes her eyes.

I'm going to kill Hatsume.

No.

I'm going to KISS Hatsume.

Actually—

Both. Definitely both.

Shuya finally gets up.

Every muscle in her body is screaming. Her arms feel like jelly. There's dirt in places dirt should never be. And she's pretty sure she's going to have bruises on her bruises.

But they're—

She looks around.

Oh no.

Oh no.

They're in the middle of the minefield.

Pink markers dot the ground as far as the eye can see, barely visible beneath the dirt. The final obstacle. The one designed to punish anyone who wasn't paying attention, anyone who got too cocky, anyone who—

"KAGEYAMA-SAN!"

Shuya's head snaps up.

Izuku is there — of course he is — green hair disheveled, gym outfit torn, looking worried despite the fact that he's in the middle of a competition. Because that's just who he is. The kind of person who stops to check on others even when he should be focused on winning.

"Are you okay?!" He calls out, waving frantically. "Shinso-kun! Do you need help?!"

Shuya blinks at him, still dazed from the crash landing, trying to get her bearings. Then her eyes focus past him, and—

Wait.

What the hell is he—

Izuku is crouched down, carefully dragging something across the ground. A massive piece of broken metal — part of a zero-pointer from the first obstacle, twisted and scorched. And he's using it to push mines together. Gathering them. Collecting them into one spot.

No green lightning crackling around his limbs. No enhanced speed or strength. Just pure strategy and observation and what the actual fuck is he planning—

Oh no.

Oh no no no no—

"Why—" Shuya's voice comes out as a strangled wheeze. "Why the fuck are you doing this quirkless?!"

Internally, she's screaming.

She trained him! She spent weeks plotting how to secretly help him get a better handle on One For All without shattering every bone in his body! And he did! She watched him improve, watched him learn control, watched him become confident in using it—

And he's not using it. He's saving it. For this. He’s pulling the same shit he did in the fucking anime! For whatever insane plan is currently forming in that self-sacrificing, brilliant, idiotic brain of his—

That absolute MANIAC—

"Kageyama-san, I'm fine!" Midoriya calls back, giving her a thumbs up while still pushing another mine into the pile with the metal sheet. "Just a few more—"

"NO!" Shuya lurches to her feet, ignoring the way her legs scream in protest. "HITOSHI, MOVE—"

She grabs his arm and yanks him forward with strength she didn't know she had.

"Mushroom — ow — what the hell—" Hitoshi stumbles, nearly face-planting as she drags him along. "I think I have bruises on my soul, can you please—"

"MOVE MOVE MOVE—" Shuya doesn't let go, practically hauling him across the minefield, her eyes scanning the ground frantically for the pink markers even as she keeps glancing back at Midoriya.

"Why are you—" Hitoshi blinks at her, still dazed and befuddled, trying to keep up with her manic pace. "Mushroom, what's going on—"

"That idiot," Shuya hisses, navigating around a mine, then another, her grip on Hitoshi's arm like iron. "That absolute fucking idiot is going to—"

She can't even finish the sentence.

Just keeps moving, dragging Hitoshi with her, muttering a constant stream of curses under her breath.

"—stupid self-sacrificing gremlin—"

"Mushroom, you're not making any sense—" Hitoshi tries, but Shuya just tightens her grip and pulls harder.

"Faster!"

"I'm going, Jesus — ow — that's my bad arm—"

They make it maybe ten meters. Maybe fifteen. Shuya's lungs are burning, her legs are shaking, but she doesn't stop until they're far enough away that the blast radius won't—

She risks a glance back.

Midoriya is standing now. The pile of mines is massive—he must have gathered at least a dozen of them in one spot. And he's just standing there, that piece of zero-pointer metal clutched in his hands, staring down at his handiwork.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, he looks up.

Their eyes lock.

Green meets grey.

And Shuya knows. She knows that look. She's seen it in the anime, in the manga, in every single reckless, self-sacrificing moment that makes Midoriya Izuku who he is.

The look that says I have a plan and I'm going to see it through no matter what.

"Midoriya Izuku," Shuya warns, her voice somehow carrying across the distance despite being barely above a whisper. "Don't you fucking dare."

For a moment, he hesitates.

Then that bastard has the audacity to smile at her. That bright, winning, absolutely infuriating smile that's going to get him killed one of these days—

And he jumps.

"MIDORIYA IZUKU, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF—"

But it's too late.

The green-haired maniac leaps directly onto the pile of mines, the metal sheet held beneath him like a makeshift shield—

The explosion that follows is biblical.

A massive BOOM that shakes the entire stadium, a plume of smoke and fire erupting into the sky like a goddamn volcano. The force of it sends shockwaves rippling through the air, and Shuya has to throw her arm up to shield her face from the heat and debris.

And in the middle of it all, silhouetted against the flames like some kind of deranged action hero—

Midoriya Izuku goes flying.

Not just flying. Soaring. Rocketing through the air on a piece of metal from his armor, using the explosion's force to propel himself forward at speeds that should not be humanly possible without a quirk.

He goes sailing over everyone's heads — over the students still carefully navigating the minefield, over the robots, over everything—heading straight toward the front of the pack where Todoroki and Bakugo are locked in their own intense battle for first place.

There's a moment of stunned silence.

Then—

"Holy shit," Hitoshi breathes beside her.

Shuya turns to look at him. He's staring up at Midoriya's rapidly disappearing form with an expression of pure disbelief.

"That kid is insane," Hitoshi says, almost reverently. Then he shakes his head. "Damn, bro. He crazy."

"That's what I've been saying!" Shuya wails, throwing her free hand up in exasperation. "The little gremlin — I trained him to use his quirk properly and he goes and does this—!"

She's not sure whether to be proud or horrified.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

"Can we maybe focus on not dying?" Hitoshi suggests dryly, wincing as another distant explosion echoes across the field. "Because I'd really like to make it through this in one piece."

"Right. Yes. Good idea."

Shuya takes a deep breath and refocuses.

They navigate through the minefield together, moving slowly, carefully. Shuya's eyes scan the ground constantly, looking for the telltale markers, the slight depressions in the dirt that signal danger. Beside her, Hitoshi mirrors her movements, his purple eyes sharp despite his exhaustion.

It's agonizing.

Every step feels like it takes forever. Around them, other students are doing the same — some moving faster, some slower. A few trigger mines and get launched backward with startled yelps. The crowd is roaring, Present Mic's commentary a constant stream of noise that Shuya can barely process through her exhaustion.

"Almost there," Hitoshi mutters. "Just a little more—"

Another explosion erupts somewhere behind them. Shuya doesn't look back.

Just keeps moving.

Step by careful step.

Until finally—finally—they cross the threshold.

The minefield ends. Solid ground stretches out before them, and beyond that, the glorious sight of the finish line. Shuya almost wants to cry. She hates Eraserhead, damn it.

They made it.

They actually made it.

Shuya takes one more step forward.

And then her legs give out.

She collapses onto the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, face-first into the dirt. Every muscle in her body is on fire. Her lungs are burning. She's pretty sure she's going to die.

Worth it, she thinks deliriously. Actually no. Not worth it. Who the hell made this shitty track?

Beside her, Hitoshi drops down too, though with slightly more grace. He sits heavily, breathing hard, purple hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"We did it," He pants.

"Mmph," Shuya says into the ground.

"Mushroom?"

"M' fine," she mumbles, not moving. "Jus'...gonna lie here...forever."

"You can't lie there forever. There are still people coming through. They'll trample you."

"Watch me."

Hitoshi sighs. Then — to her complete shock — he reaches over and pats her head. Just once, brief and awkward, like he's not quite sure what to do but wants to offer some kind of comfort.

"You did good," He says quietly.

Shuya feels something warm bloom in her chest.

She turns her head just enough to look at him, dirt smeared across her cheek, hair a complete disaster.

"You too, cat boy."

He rolls his eyes, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips.

They sit there for a moment, catching their breath, watching as more students pour through the finish line. Some are celebrating, pumping their fists in the air. Others look as exhausted as Shuya feels.

And somewhere in the distance, she can hear Present Mic announcing the final placements.

"AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, FOLKS! OUR TOP FINISHERS—MIDORIYA IZUKU IN AN ABSOLUTELY STUNNING UPSET, FOLLOWED BY TODOROKI SHOUTO AND BAKUGO KATSUKI! BUT LET'S HEAR IT FOR ALL OUR COMPETITORS WHO MADE IT THROUGH—INCLUDING OUR FAVORITE GEN ED DUO, KAGEYAMA AND SHINSOU, WHO FLEW—YES, LITERALLY FLEW—THROUGH MOST OF THE COURSE!"

Totally not biased commentary at all. 

Shuya groans.

She's never going to live this down.

Never ever.

But as she lies there on the ground, Hitoshi beside her, the roar of the crowd washing over them—

She can't help but smile.

Phase 3: Dominate the Sports Festival. Partially Complete

Chapter Text

Once the cavalry battle is announced, Shuya immediately turns to Hitoshi.

"Alright, beanpole. Time to assemble our dream team."

Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. "Our what now?"

"Trust me." Shuya grins, already scanning the crowd. Her eyes land on a familiar blonde from Class 1-B who looks very smug, and a certain sparkly boy from 1-A who looks a little nauseous. "I know exactly who we need."

Five minutes later, she's dragging an extremely disgruntled Monoma Neito and a very confused Aoyama Yuga toward Hitoshi.

"Ciel, qu'est-ce que c'est que ça? Kageyama-san," Aoyama says uncertainly, his hand on his stomach. "I am not sure—"

"Absolutely not," Monoma interrupts, crossing his arms. "I refuse to be on a team with—"

"Monoma-kun." Shuya cuts him off, her grey eyes gleaming. "These are the prelims."

He blinks at her. "So?"

"There's no need to draw attention, right?"

He’s silent for a long moment, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Shuya. She doesn’t flinch, holding his gaze steadily. It’s true, knowing the type of quirk he has, the longer he can keep it under wraps, the better the outcome. Plus, all her quirk counseling for 1-B thus far had to have helped soften him up a little towards her. 

Eventually, Monoma frowns.

"What are you getting at?"

Bingo.

Shuya leans in, voice dropping conspiratorially. "You get to shit-talk the worst of 1-A freely."

There's a beat of silence.

Then Monoma's entire face lights up.

"Bold of you to assume that interests me.” He says, but the gleam in his eyes betrays him. “I'm a simple man, okay?"

"Huh?" Shuya tilts her head innocently. "I thought you'd like the underdog bit. Think about it. The 1-B hidden maestro that humbles the 1-A heroes."

Monoma goes very still.

"…"

"So?"

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. "…You got me, Miss Eyebags. I'll join your team."

"Excellent!" Shuya claps her hands together. "Now, strategic planning time. Monoma, I need you to copy some quirks."

"Obviously. Whose?"

"Yaoyorozu, Todoroki, and Shinsou."

Monoma's eyebrows shoot up, a smirk spreading across his face. "Ambitious. I like it."

He looks terribly satisfied, as if he’s the one with all the advantage here. Especially since to his knowledge, Shuya doesn’t know he can copy a fourth quirk. Shuya lets the dumbass delude himself, knowing that he’d likely copy Bakugo’s quirk to humble him.

If she plays her cards right, even that could work.

Shuya gives him a look. “Obviously. I also know you’re probably holding onto some secrets, yeah?”

Monoma's grin turns absolutely feral. "You're perceptive, Kageyama. I like you."

"Great, we're all friends now," Hitoshi mutters. "Can we get to the actual planning?"

Shuya immediately turns to Monoma.

"I need you to make roller skates. For all three of us."

"All—?" Monoma blinks. "Why—"

"Speed," Shuya says simply. "We need to move fast. Aoyama's our jet propulsion if anyone gets too close. You're our Swiss Army knife of quirks. Hitoshi's our rider and secret weapon. I'm—"

"The brain," Hitoshi finishes, a small smirk on his face.

"Exactly." Shuya grins. "Our strategy is simple. Everyone's going to be laser-focused on Midoriya because he's got the ten million points. While they're all distracted, we grab everyone else's flags and zoom off at top speed."

"That's…" Aoyama pauses, his eyes widening. "That is brilliant, mon ami!"

"I know." Shuya's grin turns sharp. "Now, second question—who should be the leader?"

All three boys immediately turn to look at Shuya.

"…Oh hell no."

"But you're the lightest—" Aoyama starts.

"Somehow that qualifies me?!" Shuya gestures wildly at herself. "Have you looked at your noodle arms?!"

"But—"

"Why not Monoma? He's copied long-range quirks—"

Monoma interrupts her with a single question. "Can you roller skate?"

Shuya blinks. "What?"

"Can you roller skate?"

"…Yes?"

"Then it's decided." Monoma crosses his arms smugly.

Hitoshi groans. "Are you serious right now—"

"Aw, I was hoping to be on top," Monoma sighs dramatically. "But then again, my skills are unparalleled."

Since he’s the only one who can’t roller skate between them all, they eventually wrangle Hitoshi onto the top position as rider, much to his resigned acceptance. Shuya tries not to curse at the weight, and Monoma flashes her an easy grin.

“Try to keep up~”

Shuya scowls despite herself.

“I hate you.”

The cavalry battle starts in absolute chaos.

As predicted, every single team immediately swarms Midoriya's group. It's like watching piranhas descend on prey—vicious, focused, and utterly relentless.

"Now!" Shuya hisses.

Their team moves as one. The roller skates Monoma created—using Yaoyorozu's quirk—work perfectly, letting them glide across the arena at high speed. They dart between teams, Hitoshi's hands flashing out to snatch headbands with practiced precision.

“Hey, why did the whale blush?” Hitoshi screams at one point, making Awase, among others, look up in surprise.

“Huh?”

Bingo.

The madman then smirks and points finger guns at the other. “Because it saw the whale’s bottom! Now turn around and go in the other direction.”

Awase’s eyes immediately go white, and, despite his teammates’ protests, he instantly steers them away without so much as a second glance. Shuya cackles, loud and clear.

“Hitoshi, I beg you. Please sing. “

Hitoshi sucks in a deep breath, then sings at the top of his lungs. “A WHOOLE NEWWW WORRRLLLDDDDD~”

“Hah?” They just happen to pass by Hagakure’s group just then, Jiro looking up with extreme offense. “Who the hell is singing so badly—”

Hitoshi’s voice goes flat. “Trip over that rock. Then go run in the opposite direction. That hurt my non-existent feelings.”

This time even Aoyama cracks a grin. They keep going like that for a while, turning pursuers away while discreetly snatching others points. Never all of them at once, just one or two to avoid detection.

After a while, Shuya hears Shouta’s dry voice over the commentary.

“It seems that other than Midoriya, the rest of Class A is not doing so well.”

Hizashi’s voice cuts in then. "WELL CLASS B NEITHER— HUH, WAIT?”

Only to pause.

And Shuya hears Hizashi practically shriek over the mic.

“WHY ARE MOST OF THE POINTS WITH THIS WEIRD GROUP?!”

All at once, attention snaps to them.

Shuya, Hitoshi, Monoma, and Aoyama.

“WHAT’S THIS FRANKENSTEIN TEAM OF ALL THE COURSES?!” Hizashi is practically losing it, cackling over the mic. Shuya shoots the announcers room a slight glare, and Shouta takes over immediately afterwards.

“We have Aoyama from 1-A, Monoma from 1-B, and Kageyama and Shinso from 1-C all in one team.”

Monoma, of course, takes this as his cue to start monologuing.

"Ah, you've finally noticed!" He spreads his arms wide— or well, as wide as he can while supporting Hitoshi's legs. "You see, while you Class 1-A elitists were so focused on your golden boy Midoriya, you failed to notice the true threat! We, the underdogs, the overlooked, the—"

"MONOMA, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MOVE!" Shuya yells, spotting Shoji’s team changing direction.

Straight toward them.

"—superior intellects have been carefully orchestrating—hey!"

But Shuya's already pushing them forward, the roller skates sending them sliding across the arena. Only problem is, it sends them uncomfortably close to the ONE group Shuya’s been trying to steer clear of this entire time.

And it’s not Izuku.

Monoma, despite her explicit instructions to lay low, spots Bakugo and can't resist. Shuya has to stop herself from groaning when Monoma fucking freezes Bakugo’s hair, just in time for Hitoshi to swipe off some points.

"Oh, Bakugo-kun~!" He calls out in a sing-song voice. "I believe these points belong to us now!"

Bakugo's face turns an impressive shade of purple. "YOU—"

"What's wrong?" Monoma's grin is absolutely savage. "Can't keep up? How embarrassing for Class 1-A's top dog—"

They start zooming away on their roller skates, and Monoma glances back with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "…Oh, what was that embarrassing thing you said—uhh, oh right…"

Bakugo's eyes go wide. "Don't you dare—"

"Well, see you~!" Monoma calls back cheerfully.

"Monoma, Bakugo's gonna have an aneurysm," Shuya points out dryly.

The blonde's grin returns full force. "Worth it."

Only, Monoma’s pissed Bakugo enough that he’s going after them now. Shuya tries not to scream at the roar of absolute rage behind them.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU EXTRAS!"

"Faster!" Hitoshi yells from his perch, spotting another team coming from the left. "Three o'clock—"

"On it!" Aoyama's belt activates, and they jet into the air just as a 1-B team tries to intercept. They sail over the half-and-half boy's head, Hitoshi snagging another headband as they pass.

"MERDE!" Aoyama gasps, his stomach clearly protesting.

They land hard, but the skates help them recover quickly, already moving again.

Throughout the match, Hitoshi's been having the time of his life messing with everyone. Every time someone tries to engage him, he brainwashes them—but deliberately changes up his method each time.

First, he responds to a question and brainwashes the person immediately.

Then he closes his eyes and brainwashes someone anyway, making them think eye contact is needed.

Then he starts humming while brainwashing someone, making them wonder if it's sound-based.

Then he waits for the person's second reply before activating it.

"How the hell does his quirk work?!" Mineta wails in pure frustration.

"Is it verbal? Visual? What?!"

Shuya grins. Perfect.

That’s when it happens. She barely catches it, from the edge of her vision — a flash of red and blonde and—

"MONOMA—" Shuya starts, but it's too late.

Bakugo explodes forward—literally—using his quirk to rocket toward them at terrifying speed. His hand reaches out, fingers mere inches from grabbing their headbands, from grabbing Hitoshi’s neck—

Shuya freaks out.

She doesn't think.

Just reacts.

Her leg swings up on pure instinct, the iron-reinforced boot connecting with Bakugo's face with a sickening CRACK.

There's a moment of absolute silence.

Bakugo goes flying backward, crashing into his own team in a tangle of limbs and explosions.

"KAGEYAMA SHUYA!" Midnight's voice rings out. "That's—actually that's legal! Carry on!"

"Oh my god," Shuya whispers, staring at her foot in horror. "Oh my god, I just kicked Bakugo Katsuki in the face, Fuck, I just kicked Bakugo Katsuki in the face—"

"THAT WAS AMAZING!" Monoma crows. "Did you see his expression—"

"MOVE MOVE MOVE—" Hitoshi yells, because Bakugo is already getting back up, and he looks murderous. But it’s too late, he lunges once more and Hitoshi panics. “They did surgery on a grape!”

Bakugo actually looks confused. “HAH?!”

But that's more than enough for Hitoshi. 

“GO BOTHER THE OTHER EXTRAS!”

For a second Bakugo is frozen in mid-air, just doing…nothing. Shuya stays still, terrified that of all the people, this dumbass would be the one to break out of Hitoshi’s brainwashing out of sheer rage. But Bakugo turns and lands back on Kirishima and the rest, steering them away.

Shuya and her group stay there, still for a moment.

Then—

They bolt.

The final seconds of the cavalry battle are absolute madness. Teams are scrambling, points changing hands rapidly. Out of the corner of her eye, Shuya can see the fervent battle between Shoto and Izuku, but barely pays attention. Somehow—somehow—they manage to hold on.

When the buzzer sounds, Shuya collapses onto her knees, gasping for air.

"Did we—?"

"AND THAT'S TIME!" Present Mic's voice explodes overhead. "LET'S SEE OUR FINAL STANDINGS—IN FIRST PLACE, WITH THE ONE MILLION POINT BAND IS TEAM TODOROKI! MOST SURPRISINGLY, IN SECOND PLACE, WITH AN ASTOUNDING POINT TOTAL, WE HAVE THE FRANKENSTEIN TEAM OF SHINSO, KAGEYAMA, MONOMA, AND AOYAMA!"

Shuya stares up at the scoreboard in disbelief.

They did it.

They actually did it.

Around them, the stadium is going crazy. The non-hero course sections are absolutely losing their minds, screaming and cheering. Even some of the pros are looking impressed.

Ah fucking hell. This was too tiring.

"Mushroom?" Hitoshi's voice breaks through her spiraling thoughts. He's looking down at her with a small, genuine smile. "You okay?"

Shuya looks up at him. At Monoma's triumphant grin. At Aoyama's exhausted but happy face.

And despite the attention, despite the eyes on her, despite everything—

“I kicked Bakugo Katsuki in the face.”

Hitoshi snorts, and Monoma begins cackling.

“Yeahhh…it was nice knowing you, shortstack.”

Despite the ensuing bickering, where even Monoma joins in, the knowledge is stark.

They made it to the finals.

Now comes the really fun part.

Shuya passes out after that.

She’s been feeling weirdly exhausted for the past few days, and the exertion today only magnifies the sudden crash out. It doesn’t really matter really, since the competition takes a break for lunch and Shuya is wiped.

At least she manages to make it to announcer’s box and halfway into Shouta’s sleeping bag before she’s gone. By the time she’s woken up, Shuya has been tucked and zipped securely inside.

Since Hizashi is the only one in the box at the moment, she suspects him to be the culprit.

She stifles a yawn. “How—ah—how long under the duels?”

Hizashi passes over a bottle of water, and Shuya downs it greedily. He offers her a wry grin. “Why am I not surprised ya know the final course already?”

“I mean,” Shuya lowers the bottle, wiping her mouth. “It’s always been a tournament, no? Why would that be any different now?”

Instead of answering, the hero quickly ushers her over to a table, sliding a bento over. Shuya frowns at it in confusion, seeing as she hadn’t prepared any lunch this morning for herself, only to look up to see Hizashi smiling.

“You shoulda seen Sho this morning.” He ruffles her hair fondly. “He was all ‘bout getting some protein in ya before the finals.”

Shuya snorts, but picks up the chopsticks any way.

“I’m surprised he believed I’d make it this far in the tournament.”

“You’d be surprised how much he believes in you, kid.”

There’s an odd lilt to Hizashi’s voice, and it makes her tense. But when Shuya looks up, Hizashi appears as normal as ever, with that easy-going grin and fond gaze. He ruffles her hair again, diverting her attention.

“Eat up now, will ya? Y’all gotta gather downstairs in fifteen.”

Oh shit.

Suspicions long forgotten, Shuya quickly begins shoving mushy rice into her mouth.

She barely has time to get to the tamago before Hizashi’s pulling the bento away, shoving a granola bar and a water bottle in her hands and ushering her out the door. She can barely toss him a word before he slams the door shut in her face, and Shuya’s got to sprint downstairs.

It’s then that it happens.

She rounds a corner, and immediately runs into a flaming dumpster.

“Oh for fuck’s sake—”

“You’d do well to hold that tongue, child.”

Shuya blinks, then tilts her head approximately thirty five degrees upward.

Then promptly curses again.

“Fucking hell, you rat bastard, why the fricking hell are you here—”

Pro-Hero Endeavor, one Todoroki Enji glares down at her, the flames at his nostrils flaring brighter at the continued insult. Still, remarkably, he holds his temper in front of her. Wouldn’t be good for the media image after all. “I am conversing with my son. So if you please—”

It’s only then that Shuya realizes Shoto is right behind him, dwarfed by Endeavor’s frankly excessive height. He could afford to pass down a few inches, okay?

She blinks again.

Then smiles.

“Shoto-kun!” Endeavor barely has time to process it before Shuya’s side stepping past him and slinging an arm around Shoto’s, pressing close and grinning up at him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You can’t leave me alone, you know~ what if I get lost?”

She spits out that last part a bit too poisonously.

Meanwhile, Enji splutters. “S—Shoto? Who is this…woman?”

Yeah, fuck you too buddy.

Shoto is still for a long moment, staring down at Shuya with a blank gaze.

Then he opens his mouth and before he can blow off her scheme, Shuya drags him down by the collar and hisses in his ear. “I am trying to get that flaming piece of garbage away from you. Play along, okay?”

Endeavor’s eyes go wide at the close proximity. “Get away from my son—”

Shoto searches her gaze once more, but Shuya does not falter. Then he nods once, so small its barely noticeable, and then lifts his head. His grip on Shuya’s hand tightens.

“She’s not going anywhere, you shitty old man.” He hisses, then whirls around Shuya and starts leading her away. “Get lost. I’ve got stuff to do.”

When Shuya looks back, she nearly cackles at the sight of Endeavor gawking at the two of them, eyes fixed on the spot where Shoto’s still holding her hand and dragging him after her. He looks like he’s about to clutch his pearls about his innocent son getting a girl.

Well, Shuya pauses for a moment, smiling idly. This one has eyes only for his precious Midoriya. Ah, but that’ll be after this match though.

They make round the corner before Shoto lets go, but Shuya still stops him. He turns toward her, calm but intent.

Shuya gives him a pointed look.

“So.” She begins somewhat awkwardly. “I…kinda already know what’s up with your family?”

Shoto stares at her. "What."

"Yeah, uh—" Shuya waves her hands defensively. "Before you get all murder-y, I didn't eavesdrop or anything creepy like that! I just, uh, you know. Put two and two together? Well, more like two and two and seventeen and maybe a negative five but—"

"What are you talking about."

"Okay, so like, there's the way you don't use your fire, right? Which, like, everyone notices but they think it's a tactical choice or whatever, but it's clearly not that because you'd have to be an idiot to handicap yourself like that in a school setting where you're supposed to be learning—" She's gesturing wildly now. Shuya is very aware she’s doing a terrible job talking her way out of this. "And then there's your dad being a flaming bag of dicks, which, obvious, and the way he looks at you like you're some kind of project instead of a person—"

Shoto's expression grows more incredulous with every word.

"—and then there's the scar, which, okay, training accident my ass, because I've seen boiling water scars before okay, and that's way too messy and localized to be an accident unless you were, like, struggling while someone held—" She cuts herself off at his expression. "Which I'm not accusing anyone of anything because I don't actually know but the vibes are rancid—"

"How do you—"

"—and also you're left-handed but your fire side is your left side which is actually kind of poetic in a really depressing way if you think about the symbolism of rejecting your dominant side—"

"Stop."

Shuya stops. Shoto is staring at her like she's grown a second head.

Before he can say anything else, she slaps a hand on his shoulder. Her expression shifts—no more rambling, no more awkward deflection. Just an intense, almost fierce look of encouragement.

"Listen, Todoroki. You're probably gonna have this beaten into you by a green bean better than I ever could, but remember this, kid." Her grip tightens. "You're allowed to be the most petty bastard ever, but only when it's funny. This?" She gestures vaguely at him, at his left side. "This is just sad. Use your fire. It's yours, not that shitbag's."

Shoto's gaze shifts. Disbelief melts into confusion at the bizarre advice, then something hardens in his eyes at that last part. His voice goes cold. "This is none of your business."

Shuya expects the brush-off. It barely fazes her. 

She just pats his shoulder sympathetically instead of getting offended. "Fair enough. Come see me after Midoriya's match, yeah?"

She starts to turn away, then mutters—still perfectly audible— "Or I guess, I'll go see you. You'll be in no condition to walk."

Shuya pauses.

Ah, she probably shouldn't have said that out loud.

But the damage is done. Shoto's eyes narrow, fixing her with a withering glare. His voice drips ice. "Thanks for the intervention."

He then turns on his heel and leaves.

Shuya watches his retreating back, then sighs heavily. Well, that could've gone worse. She shakes her head and makes her way toward the stadium.

Izuku, I’m counting you, kid.

By the time she emerges onto the field, Shuya’s apparently one of the last to arrive.

The crowd's roar hits her like a physical force.

"JESUS—" Shuya jumps, whirling around with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open in the least flattering expression known to mankind. “What the hell, people?!”

She hears some loud cackling close to the stands, her voice having been loud enough to reach the audience. She shoots them a dry look, then turns over to stalk closer the group.

"—and here's our final contestant, Kageyama Shuya from Class 1-A! We’ve waiting for you~" Midnight's voice purrs over the speakers. "Don't be shy, darling, we're all very excited to see what you can do~"

Shuya pointedly ignores the innuendo and makes her way to where the other students are gathered, scanning the bracket display.

Her frown deepens.

Shit.

The matchups are all wrong. Well, not wrong wrong, but different. Very different.

Hitoshi is up against Sero, not Izuku. And Shoto and Izuku are fighting in the first round. First. Round. Which means—

Her eyes track down her own bracket. Kaminari first round. Then either Iida or Hatsume in the second, though she's fairly certain Iida will win that one. Hatsume, that madwoman is already satisfied with the type of branding Shuya and Hitoshi have been getting her. If everything goes according to plan, she and Hitoshi will face each other in the third round.

If being the operative word.

Beside her, Hitoshi is staring at the bracket with barely concealed dread. His bracket has both Shoto and Izuku in it. Two absolute powerhouses. He gulps visibly, then turns to her with the weakest smile she's ever seen on his face.

"Plus Ultra, right?"

Shuya pats his back sympathetically. "I'll take good care of Mochi after you die."

"You're the worst."

"I'll put flowers on your grave. Very pretty ones."

"I'm not dying—"

"I'm thinking lilies. Or maybe chrysanthemums. Do you have a color preference for your casket?"

"Shuya—"

"I'll make sure they play your favorite song at the funeral. What was it again? 'Bird Sounds on Loop for 1 hour'? Very fitting for someone who's about to get destroyed—"

"I hate you." But he's smiling now, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

"You love me. I'm delightful."

"You're a menace."

"I'm a treasure."

"You're going to be the death of me before I even get to my match."

"See, and I thought Sero was going to do that."

Hitoshi groans, but he's actually laughing a little now. The fear in his eyes has dimmed, replaced with something more determined. "Okay, okay. I can do this. I can totally do this."

"That's the spirit. Just remember—"

"If you make one more death joke—"

"—that Mochi will miss you very much."

"KAGEYAMA."

She's still grinning when the announcement rings out: "FIRST MATCH: SERO HANTA VERSUS SHINSOU HITOSHI!"

Hitoshi takes a deep breath. Shuya gives him one last pat on the back—gentler this time, encouraging.

"Go get 'em, Toshi."

He nods, straightens his shoulders, and walks toward the arena.

Hitoshi wins. Obviously.

Between the training Shouta had been putting him in, plus the fact that Hitoshi practically has a copy of Serio’s tape quirk with his own Hatsume Mei patented captured weapon and the fact that it’s sharp enough to cut tape, at least. Oh, and the brainwashing quirk.

“Hey, what did the duck say to the cow?”

Sero grins. “Hah! I’m not falling for that! You need to make a joke to use your quirk, don’t you? I've been watching you since the Cavalry—”

His eyes immediately go white, and Hitoshi’s voice is flat.

“Turn around and walk out of the ring.”

And that is that. No one is the wiser to how the actual fuck Hitoshi’s quirk works.

Shuya grins and high fives him on his way out, all traces of his earlier anxiety wiped out. For the first time throughout the entire competition, Hitoshi finally looks like he understands why she’d asked him him to hide his activation requirement.

She’d given him the excuse of the entire world watching him perform, including villains. But the purple-haired teen was smart, so of course he hadn’t bought the excuse. But he also hadn’t argued, quietly agreeing to do so.

It’s only when she sees the grin on his face that Shuya finally understands.

He trusts her.

Izuku and Shoto’s battle is as destructive as it was in canon.

Before it starts, Hitoshi leans in and asks her who will win the match.

But surprisingly, Shuya can’t predict the aftermath herself. She squints at Izuku, who she knows has trained enough to be able use Full Cowling with 4% at this point in time. It’s not that much stronger than a experienced fighter, but given Shoto’s dependency on his quirk, it can be a good card.

And yet.

It goes downhill from there.

“What the fuck.” Hitoshi mutters under his breath, horrified at the sight in front of him. “What the actual fuck.”

Shuya very much agrees, eyes glued to the sight of Izuku being hauled away on the stretcher. Full Cowling does absolutely nothing to quell Izuku’s self-sacrificial instincts — instead it only magnifies them. It was easier to digest the gore in anime format but…it’s nauseating seeing in real life.

She resolves to have a long talk with the kid later. This—This isn’t sustainable in the long term, regardless of Izuku’s determination to save people. Suddenly, Shuya is struck by a sudden bout of awareness.

A couple of seasons into the anime, Bakugo Katsuki standing in front of Endeavor and Nedzu, barely biting down his anxiety as he hissed—

“I may not know everything about All Might, but I know that damn nerd better than anyone. They’re both the same type of idiots! You can’t—you mustn’t leave them alone together!”

And the Izuku he’d found right after, cradled close in his arms and profuse apologizes pressed into damp green hair.

“I’m sorry for everything, Izuku.”

Across the stands, Shuya’s eyes lock with All Might. The man looks just as worried as her, but there’s an undercurrent of something else — something absent, something akin to —

Ah, Shuya realizes faintly, You think he went too far, but that he wasn’t wrong. This is what heroes do.

Katsuki’s words resurge again, making her even more nauseous.

They all stay silent for quite a while after the match ends.

Then Shuya shivers.

The only difference that you can’t feel the cold through a fucking laptop screen, so Shuya is practically freezing her nuts off. She mutters a long slew of obscenities under her breath, then snuggles closer to Sei, one of her classmates who has a really neat body temperature quirk.

On any other day, Hitoshi would side eye her for cuddling with a dude like this.

Except the little shit is halfway across poor Sei’s lap himself.

She squints at the sight, muttering. "Gay." 

Hitoshi glares at her and Sei snorts.

“So by whose hands is Shinsou dying today?”

Shuya peels herself off, then pretends to look out with a critical eye. “It seems to be the half-hot, half-cold hellion it seems.”

“Oo—what do you prefer Shinsou?" Sei claps his hands together, a shit-eating grin on his face. Despite having been eliminated in the first round, he doesn't look put out at all. "The heat or the cold? I’m sure Todoroki would be willing to oblige.”

Hitoshi scowls. “I hate you both.”

Sei and Shuya exchange mischievous grins, before Shuya gets up to leave. Sei squeezes her shoulder once before she heads out, shooting her a thumbs up. “Good luck, Kageyama-chan!”

The rest of 1-C choruses in with their encouragements, and Shuya waves them off with a grin.

“I’ll be right back!”

Like hell she will. Shuya’s gonna get electrocuted before she does anything. How the holy hell is she supposed to counter Kaminari’s quirk?

At least Shuya has the mind to grab her staff before she heads off. Though she has lost the manual and has zero idea on how to activate any of the weird functions on the stupid thing. Worst comes to worst, she can use it as a nice, sturdy stick.

“That’s what I fucking asked for but nooo.” Shuya mutters under her breath as she takes her place opposite to Kaminari, who gives her an odd look. “Mei, you really had to give everything to your baby, didn’t you?”

"BEGIN!" Present Mic's voice booms across the stadium.

Kaminari grins, electricity already crackling between his fingers. "Sorry, Kageyama! Nothing personal!"

Shuya blinks, raising her hand. “Ah, wait, but I’m planning on forfeiting—”

But the boy is long gone, hearing not a single word.

Shuya curses.

Yep, I'm about to get deep fried. She tenses, gripping her staff tighter. Maybe if I just stand here and take it, it'll be quick? Do I get points for style if I pass out standing up—

"ONE POINT THREE MILLION VOLTS!"

Okay, now that’s just excessive.

Golden lightning explodes from Kaminari's body, arcing across the arena in a brilliant, terrifying display. The crowd gasps. Shuya doesn't even have time to process her impending electrocution before—

The staff moves.

Not because she moved it. The damn thing practically yanks itself upward in her grip, and Shuya barely manages to hold on as it extends with a mechanical whirr she's never heard before. The wooden surface suddenly gleams with metallic threads she hadn't noticed, and before she can even think what the fuck, the electricity doesn't hit her.

It hits the staff.

More specifically, it hits the staff and then—

"WHAT—" Shuya's voice comes out as a strangled yelp.

—the staff becomes a goddamn lightning rod.

The electricity doesn't dissipate. Doesn't ground. Doesn't scatter harmlessly.

It redirects.

The bolt of lightning arcs back across the arena in a brilliant golden serpent, zeroing in on its source with unerring accuracy.

Kaminari's eyes go wide. "Wait, that's not—"

BZZZZZZZZZZT.

He doesn't even get to finish the sentence before his own attack slams back into him. The crackling intensifies for one bright, terrible moment, and then Kaminari's eyes roll back in his head.

He hits the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Shuya stares.

The staff powers down with a cheerful little beep, settling back into its normal unassuming wooden appearance.

Shuya continues to stare.

The arena is dead silent.

Then Present Mic's voice cracks over the speakers, strangled with disbelief. "DID—DID THAT JUST—"

Midnight's already at Kaminari's side, checking his pulse. She glances up at the announcers' booth and gives a thumbs up. "He's fine! Just knocked out!" Then she straightens, raising her whip. "Kaminari Denki is unable to continue! The winner is Kageyama Shuya!"

The crowd explodes.

Shuya is still staring at the staff in her hands.

What the actual fuck, Mei.

She looks up at Kaminari's unconscious form. His hair is smoking slightly, and he's got the goofiest smile on his face. The "whey" face, as it were.

I—I didn't even—

"WHAT AN INCREDIBLE TURN OF EVENTS!" Present Mic is practically screaming now. "KAGEYAMA SHUYA WINS HER FIRST MATCH WITHOUT THROWING A SINGLE PUNCH! KAMINARI'S OWN ATTACK WAS REDIRECTED BACK AT HIM!"

Shuya slowly turns toward the stands where 1-C is sitting.

She can see Hitoshi's jaw hanging open. Sei looks like he's trying not to laugh. Nagisa is beaming, clapping her hands as hard as she can. The rest of her class is going absolutely feral, cheering and screaming her name.

Shuya looks back down at the staff.

"You've got to be kidding me," She mutters.

The medical team is already loading Kaminari onto a stretcher, his thumbs up and eyes glassy. She catches the "whey" sound coming from his mouth and winces.

I didn't even want to win this, you stupid bamboo stick from hell.

But when she looks up at the bracket display, her name has already moved forward.

Midnight saunters over, eyeing the staff with interest. "Quite the support item you've got there, darling~"

"I didn't know it could do that," Shuya says flatly.

"Clearly!" Midnight laughs, then leans in conspiratorially. "But between you and me? That was spectacular. Very flashy. The crowd loves it."

The crowd can keep it. Shuya just nods numbly and starts trudging back toward the tunnel.

Behind her, she can hear Present Mic still going. "FOLKS, I DON'T THINK KAGEYAMA SHUYA EVEN KNEW HER SUPPORT ITEM COULD DO THAT! THE LOOK ON HER FACE! PRICELESS!"

Mei Hatsume, Shuya thinks darkly as she walks, I am going to kill you. I am going to find you. And I am going to strangle you with your own support gear.

But when she emerges back into the waiting area, Hitoshi takes one look at her expression and bursts out laughing.

"Stop," Shuya growls.

"You—" He can barely get the words out between wheezes. "You looked so betrayed—"

"I was betrayed! By a stick!"

"You won!"

"I DIDN'T WANT TO WIN!"

It kind of goes even more downhill from there.

Hitoshi, poor Hitoshi who has absolutely no context for Shoto’s ultra mommy issues says the single worst thing to say in the moment.

He opens his big, fat mouth and goes—

“Yo mama—”

And promptly gets frozen within an inch of life.

But Hitoshi doesn’t lose, oh no no no.

Because just before Midnight is about to declare Hitoshi unable to continue, Shoto happens to open his mouth to coldly chide him.

“Do not speak of my mother this way—”

His eyes go blank. Hitoshi stammers out his command, teeth clattering against one another.

“T—Turn around and—and walk out of bounds.”

There’s a long stretch of silence at how quickly that’s over. Even Midnight stands there stunned, looking between the two unsurely. Then she asks.

“Uh…Shinsou-kun, are—are you okay in that ice?”

“No. Absolutely not. Todoroki drag your ass here and melt me out of this.”

Shoto is so baffled he does so without any protest. And just like that, two of the strongest contenders are out of the tournament by the second round. Shuya can almost hear Bakugo seething over in the 1-A bleachers.

“He’s going to annihilate that poor girl.” Sei remarked, utterly horrified by the sight of Ochaco facing Katsuki in the ring. “I’m going to witness murder firsthand.”

Shuya snorts harshly, folding her arms. “Oh please, that bastard is a raging feminist. The only one of his kind, really.”

This makes Sei, and some of the other students in 1-C pause — suddenly looking a little relieved. The brown-haired boy half-smiles, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Right, Kageyama-chan. I’m sure that Bakugo-kun wouldn’t hurt a girl—”

“Hah?” Shuya turns to give him an incredulous look, just as Ochaco takes an explosion to the face and goes flying back like a rag doll. “Oh no no, he is absolutely going to beat her ass. That’s gender equality.”

And once he gets his hands on me, I’m dead too.

Across the wall where 1-B sits, Shuya suddenly hears a very familiar deranged cackle. She tries not to shiver, the other 1-C students looking horrified.

“Bakugo Katsuki sees no bitches, all are equal in face of Explodo Boy.”

She’d hated him as a character during the first few seasons. It’s one of the few things Shuya remembers vividly about this anime, despite not having rewatched it in years. The intricacies of the first and second seasons are lost to her, safe for the big events.

But the visceral disgust and revulsion she’d felt for one Bakugo Katsuki was unparalleled. It’s transient, sticking with her through high school and even college.

Just as the sight of his tears in front of All Might, his bowed head in the rain in front of Izuku, and his broken body on the ground — heart ripped out, arm crushed, bones dusted — remained branded into her very soul.

“Izuku…”

“…Can I still catch up to you?”

He’s a character full of contradictions — Shuya had started the anime when she was young, so she’d initially missed much of the nuance his character was written with. So much so that when his character development kicked into full gear post Season 3, Shuya had almost felt blindsided by it. And yet, older, wearier now, suddenly things are a bit clearer.

His panic attack at the mere thought of losing at his first battle against Izuku was a glaring flag for depth. It’s a stark reminder that he, amongst the rest of the students here, are mere children. There is still baby fat sticking to their cheeks, they’re dorks about their nerdy obsessions, they’re child soldiers being trained to kill themselves for fame.

Shuya remembers that one scene in the anime, Katsuki’s fight being televised to the world.

How had Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo felt watching their son tear himself apart, fighting an adult’s battle — with the crippling knowledge that he might not make it back to them?

These are things she can pinpoint now, older and wearier. Shuya has siblings of her own, around the ages of most of these characters. Her first brother is only fifteen, smack dab in his own teenage rebellion. So she knows, she knows.

But she’d been young, a victim of bullying herself, and she’d absolutely loathed him.

Unable to see the tragedy of his reality.

It does not excuse his actions whatsoever, but, Shuya thinks grimly — revisiting My Hero Academia like this, in real time, allows her a secondary lens to examine this world and it’s characters once more. A second chance, to look and recognize them for who they are.

Fuck, at this point, Tomura is only a year and a half older than her.

He dies before he turns twenty-one, a puppet his entire life. Being a hero to those cast outside of society, his chosen family. The same breed as the two of them, she scoffs. Despite the revulsion, despite all the hatred.

So when Katsuki stays there, guarded and palms crackling until Midnight’s call refusing to underestimate Uraraka until the very end — Shuya smiles.

Then she gets up from her seat, and departs to head to her match against Iida Tenya.

The running joke, as it were, is that Shuya keeps winning, despite her best attempts not to.

Shuya’s next match is against Iida.

She expects to lose there, earning a respectable standing in the tournament. Hey, top eight ain’t bad.

If possible, it goes even worse.

She steps onto the field opposite Iida, who looks at her with that intense, earnest expression he always has. His glasses catch the light as he adjusts them with one hand, the other chopping through the air in what she assumes is some kind of pre-battle ritual.

"Kageyama-san! I look forward to an honorable match with you!"

God, he's so earnest it hurts.

"Yeah, uh, you too Iida-kun." Shuya grips her staff, eyeing him warily. Okay, so he's fast. Like, really fast. Engine quirk. I just need to—

"BEGIN!"

Iida rockets toward her.

And that's when it happens.

One moment, Shuya is preparing to dodge. The next, her vision fractures.

And suddenly, Shuya is nowhere and everywhere all in once.

The world slows.

She can see Iida—no, dozens of Iidas. Each one moving in a different direction. One veering left. Another right. One leaping. One sliding low. One feinting. One committing. They overlap and blur and some of them are in sharper resolution than the others and oh does that mean the rest are less likely to occur—

Her body moves before she can think.

She sidesteps. The real Iida whooshes past her, engines roaring.

For a moment, everyone is silent. And Shuya gawks at Iida’s figure in the distance, eyes and wide and wheezing like she’s just run a marathon.

What— She thinks disjointedly, barely coherent. What the hell is happening—

Iida whirls around for another pass and suddenly, Shuya is gone again.

The visions come again. Thirty-seven different Iidas, her mind calculates faster than she can register , each one a possible trajectory, and her mind is screaming as it processes each one, calculating velocities and vectors and probabilities and—

Which one is real which one is real which one is—

Her nose feels warm.

She dodges again. Perfectly. Her body moves with eerie precision, guided by calculations she doesn't understand.

Iida's engines flare brighter, frustration mounting. "Why won't you—"

Another rush. More phantom Iidas. Shuya's vision swims. She can feel something hot dripping down her upper lip now, taste copper on her tongue. Her eyes feel wrong, like she's looking through a dozen lenses at once, none of them quite focused on Iida himself.

She's not looking at him. She's looking at everywhere he could be.

"Kageyama-san, are you—" Iida's voice sounds distant, warped.

He charges again.

Shuya sees eighty-three possibilities this time.

Her brain seizes on the most probable. 78.3% chance he'll commit to a straight dash, trying to use pure speed to overwhelm her. Her body moves. Sidestep. Lean. Shift weight.

Iida goes sailing past her, so close she can feel the displacement of air.

And she can't—she can't keep doing this. The calculations are getting heavier, each one grinding through her skull like broken glass. Her nose is bleeding freely now, dark droplets hitting the arena floor. Her eyes are unfocused, glassy, staring at nothing and everything.

"This is—" Iida skids to a stop, and she can hear the anger creeping into his voice. Not malicious anger. Just frustration. "Are you mocking me?!"

No, I'm dying actually, Shuya thinks distantly. This is what dying feels like.

He charges one more time, engines screaming.

Shuya sees every possibility. Every angle. Every outcome.

And she simply... sidesteps.

Iida goes flying past her, straight toward the boundary line. He tries to stop, engines reversing, but his momentum carries him over.

Out of bounds.

The arena goes quiet.

"I—Iida Tenya is out of bounds!" Midnight's voice rings out. "The winner is Kageyama Shuya!"

Shuya stands there, swaying slightly. Something red hits the marble, and it’s only that Shuya realizes. She touches her face, and when her fingers come away, they’re stained red.

Ah. She thinks faintly. I’m bleeding.

Blood is running down her chin, dripping onto her gym uniform. Her eyes are unfocused, not quite seeing Iida as he stares at her in disbelief.

He looks pristine. Not a scratch on him. Not a single blow landed.

Shuya, on the other hand, looks like she's been through a meat grinder. Blood-streaked face, eyes dazed and distant, body trembling from the strain of whatever the hell her quirk just did.

"Kageyama-san?" Iida takes a step forward, concern overriding his frustration. "Are you—"

Shuya manages a smile. It's weak and probably looks deranged with all the blood, but it's genuine.

"S-Sorry, Iida-kun," she slurs. "Didn't mean to... to..."

Her vision whites out.

The last thing she hears before hitting the ground is Present Mic's panicked voice: "MEDICAL TEAM TO THE ARENA! KAGEYAMA SHUYA IS DOWN!"

And the distant, bewildered shout from Hitoshi: "SHUYA?!"

Then nothing.

Darkness.

That's the first thing Shuya registers. Not the absence of light, but darkness itself—thick and heavy, pressing in from all sides like a living thing.

She floats in it. Or maybe she's sinking. It's hard to tell when there's no up or down, no left or right. Just... nothing.

What happened?

The thought comes slowly, sluggish, like pulling taffy. Shuya tries to piece it together. The arena. Iida. His engines roaring, the blur of motion, and then—

The visions.

Her breath catches. Or would catch, if she could breathe here. Could she breathe here? Shuya isn't sure. Everything feels muffled, distant, like she's underwater but without the wet.

The visions. Dozens of Iidas. Hundreds, maybe. Each one a possibility, a trajectory, a probability. Her mind had calculated them all in real-time, faster than she could think, faster than she could comprehend. The numbers had flooded her skull—percentages, velocities, vectors—and her body had moved on instinct, guided by calculations she didn't understand.

That was...

She tries to make sense of it. Tries to put it into words.

That was the second time.

The thought hits her like a freight train.

The second time.

The first had been Stain. The vision of blood and violence and death, so vivid it had knocked her out cold. She'd chalked it up to stress, to fear, to the sheer overwhelming terror of being trapped in a world where she knew what horrors were coming.

But this—this was different.

This wasn't a vision of the future. This was something else entirely. This was her mind working on overdrive, processing information faster than the rest of the world, seeing not what would happen, but what could happen. Every possible outcome, laid bare before her.

And she'd never felt anything like it before.

So why now?

Shuya drifts—or sinks—contemplating. Her thoughts move slowly, piecing together fragments.

When she'd first arrived in this world, panicking and desperate, she'd needed a cover story. An explanation for why she was there, why she had no records, no family, no history. She'd needed to seem normal. Or as normal as anyone could be in a world of superpowers.

So she'd lied.

She'd made up a quirk.

"Foresight," she'd told Shouta. She'd told the police. A quirk that let her see multiple outcomes, calculate possibilities, predict trajectories. A quirk that didn't exist, that she'd pulled out of thin air because it sounded plausible enough.

A quirk that didn't exist.

Except—

Shuya goes very, very still.

Except that's exactly what just happened.

The realization creeps over her like ice water.

The visions of Iida. The fractured sight, showing her dozens of possible movements. Her mind calculating probabilities—78.3% chance of a straight dash—without her conscious input. Her body moving before she could think, guided by predictions she shouldn't be able to make.

That was exactly the quirk she'd described.

But I don't have a quirk, Shuya thinks, and the thought feels distant, detached. I'm not from this world. I'm not supposed to—

She stops.

Something is wrong.

She tries to push further, to think about how she got here, about what she knows about this world, about the Plot she's desperately trying to—

Pain.

It explodes behind her eyes, sudden and vicious. A splitting headache that feels like her skull is cracking open from the inside. Shuya gasps—or tries to—and the darkness around her shifts.

It's not just darkness anymore.

It's pressure.

Heavy. Crushing. Bearing down on her from all sides, squeezing the thoughts from her head, forcing her down, down, down—

No, Shuya thinks through the pain. No, I need to—I need to wake up, I need to—

The pressure intensifies.

She tries to push against it, tries to will herself awake, but it's like trying to move a mountain with her bare hands. The weight is enormous, incomprehensible, and it's getting heavier.

Why? She thinks desperately. Why is this happening? What's—

And then it clicks.

The fake quirk that's becoming real. The headache when she tries to think about the Plot. The pressure crushing her when she tries to wake up, to escape.

Shuya's eyes snap open—not her physical eyes, but something else, some deeper awareness in this void.

She looks up.

The darkness above her roils. It's not empty. It's not nothing.

It's watching.

The pressure bears down harder, and Shuya can feel it now—not just weight, but intent. Something vast and terrible and utterly inhuman, pressing down on her like the weight of the universe itself.

She knows what it is.

She's always known, hasn't she? Ever since she arrived here, ever since she realized where she was. Ever since she started trying to change things, to save people, to alter the course of events she'd once watched unfold on a screen.

Shuya stares up at the vast, incomprehensible thing crushing her, and her voice comes out as a whisper.

"You—you're the Plot, aren't you?"

The darkness surges.

Shuya wakes with a gasp, lurching upright—

—and immediately regrets it as her stomach roils and her head spins like she's been put through a blender.

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back down. Hitoshi's voice, tight with worry. "You're okay, you're in the infirmary, just—breathe, Shuya."

She blinks, vision swimming. The fluorescent lights are too bright, everything too sharp after the oppressive darkness. She can make out Hitoshi's face hovering over her, pale and drawn, purple hair falling into his eyes.

"Hitoshi?" Her voice comes out raspy, throat dry.

"You idiot," He hisses, but his grip on her shoulders is gentle. "You scared the shit out of me. What the hell happened out there?"

Before Shuya can answer, another voice cuts in—sharp, elderly, and booking no nonsense.

"Shinsou-kun, give the girl some space." Recovery Girl bustles into view, her cane tapping against the floor. She peers at Shuya over her glasses, frowning. "And you, young lady. Do you have any idea what state you're in?"

Shuya blinks at her. "I... passed out?"

"You're severely anemic and dehydrated," Recovery Girl says tartly, already pulling out medical equipment. "Your blood pressure is in the gutter, your iron levels are abysmal, and frankly I'm surprised you made it through even one match in this condition, let alone two."

"Oh." Shuya stares at the ceiling. That... actually makes sense. When was the last time she'd eaten properly? Or drunk water? Hizashi had tried to make her eat, but she’d barely had time before running out. She'd been so focused on not winning that she'd forgotten basic human needs. "Oops."

"Oops," Hitoshi repeats flatly. "You collapse in the middle of the arena, bleeding from your nose like you're about to have an aneurysm, and all you have to say is oops?"

"I mean, in my defense—"

"You have no defense."

Recovery Girl sighs heavily. "Shinsou-kun, make yourself useful and go get her some water. And one of those electrolyte drinks from the vending machine. The blue one."

Hitoshi looks like he wants to argue, but one look at Recovery Girl's expression has him backing down. He shoots Shuya one last worried look before heading for the door. "If you pass out again before I get back, I'm telling Mochi you don't love her anymore."

"That's a low blow—"

"You passed out in front of the entire stadium—"

"Go!" Recovery Girl shoos him out, and the door swings shut behind him.

The silence that follows is heavy.

Shuya lies in the infirmary bed, staring at the ceiling, and feels... wrong.

Something has shifted. Something fundamental. She can feel it in her bones, in the way her thoughts move, in the strange certainty settling over her like a weighted blanket. There’s a weird energy thrumming beneath her skin, in her very veins. It makes her antsy, a strange sort of awareness potent enough to overwhelm her.

I have a quirk, Shuya thinks madly, and the thought feels true. Not like a lie she's telling herself. Not like a convenient fiction. It feels real, solid, undeniable. The kind of bone-deep certainty that comes from lived experience.

I have a quirk. I've always had a quirk. Foresight. It's mine.

Except—

Shuya's hands curl into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Except she knows that's not true.

Her body tenses, a wave of rage flooding through her. Shuya hisses. 

Yah, who the hell are you play with my mind like this?

She knows it with the same certainty, the same bone-deep awareness. She knows that just hours ago, she didn't have a quirk. She knows that she made up that explanation, that she lied to Shouta and the police and everyone else because she had no other choice.

She knows both things are true, and they contradict each other, and the dissonance is making her head ache.

Something is forcing this, She realizes with growing horror. Something is making it feel natural. Making it feel like I've always had this quirk, like it's always been a part of me.

But it hasn't. It hasn't, and she knows it hasn't, and—

Why?

The question burns in her mind. Why now? What changed? What—

Did it have something to do with the Plot?

The thought surfaces, and immediately Shuya's stomach lurches.

She rolls over—barely makes it to the edge of the bed—and her hands find the small bucket sitting there just in time.

She vomits.

It's violent and wretched, her body heaving as she brings up what little is in her stomach. The taste of bile floods her mouth, and she can't stop, can't breathe—

"Kageyama!" Recovery Girl is there in an instant, one hand on her back, the other holding the bucket steady. "Easy, easy—"

"Okay, that's—ack—petty..." Shuya hisses, trying wipe her mouth, only to vomit again. Shitty ass Plot...

The door slams open.

"What—Shuya?!" Hitoshi's voice, panicked.

She heaves again, tears streaming down her face from the force of it. Her head is pounding, her stomach is screaming, and she can still feel it—that vast, crushing pressure from the darkness, the weight of something watching—

Finally, finally, it subsides.

Shuya slumps back against the pillows, shaking and miserable. Recovery Girl is saying something, checking her vitals, but Shuya can barely hear over the ringing in her ears.

There's another sound. Footsteps in the hallway.

A new voice, calm and measured: "Is this a bad time to visit?"

Shuya's eyes drag open.

Standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame, is Todoroki Shoto. His mismatched eyes take in the scene—Recovery Girl hovering over Shuya with medical equipment, Hitoshi frozen halfway across the room with two bottles clutched in his hands, Shuya herself pale and shaking with vomit in a bucket beside her.

His expression doesn't change.

"I can come back later?”

Shuya groans.

Thankfully, either to ramp up the excitement, or just because they feel bad for one of their quarter finalists being put through the wringer, the next few matches are delayed.

It helps that Shuya had gone second, and by the time Bakugo wins the fourth, she’s already awake. What had felt like eternity had actually been only fifteen minutes. With the break, Shuya manages to rest for about an hour.

That’s somehow more than enough.

Shuya versus Hitoshi.

The two of them walk onto the field together, and the crowd goes wild. Even dimly, Shuya’s aware why. Apparently, the two 1-C students who've made it this far had become something of a sensation. The underdogs. The ones with armed with problematic quirks that could be classified as either villainous or useless in the face of strength quirks battling their way through the ranks.

Shuya wishes she could appreciate it more.

"So," Hitoshi says conversationally as they take their positions. "How do you want to do this?"

"I was thinking you could just knock me out immediately and save us both the trouble?"

"Tempting." He grins. "But where's the fun in that?"

"BEGIN!"

They spar. Actually spar, like they've done a dozen times in training. Or well, Hitoshi has — Shuya never really graduated Shouta’s mile club. But she did take some karate as an elective in high school, so knows how to dodge punches at the very least, even with her heavy body. Hitoshi tries to bait her into responding to his questions — force of habit — but Shuya just rolls her eyes and stays silent, dancing out of reach of his capture weapon.

She's not trying to win. She's really not. But muscle memory is a hell of a thing, and after weeks of training with Hitoshi, her body knows how to counter his moves almost instinctively.

Still, Hitoshi is better. Faster. More experienced. He gets the upper hand, pins her with his capture weapon, and Shuya feels a wave of relief wash over her.

Finally.

"Got you," Hitoshi says, grinning down at her. Shuya can't help but grin back. Second place. No matter what happens from this point onwards, at the very least, you'll be in second place. 

But because she still has a reputation, Shuya snorts. 

"Yeah, yeah. You win. I'm very impressed."

He helps her up, and for a moment, Shuya thinks it's over.

Then Hitoshi glances at the bracket display. At Bakugo Katsuki's name in the other semifinal slot.

His grin turns wicked.

"Actually," He says, far too innocently. "You know what? I changed my mind."

Shuya's brows knit, confused. "Hitoshi—"

He takes three deliberate steps backward.

Her eyes go wide. "Hitoshi, don't—"

Another step.

"HITOSHI—"

He's at the boundary line now, still grinning like the devil himself.

"Good luck with the explosion boy!" He chirps.

And steps out of bounds.

The arena goes silent.

Then Present Mic's voice cracks over the speakers, strangled: "UH—SHINSOU HITOSHI HAS STEPPED OUT OF BOUNDS! THE WINNER IS—KAGEYAMA SHUYA?!"

Shuya stares at Hitoshi.

Hitoshi waves at her cheerfully.

"I'm going to kill you," Shuya hisses.

"No you won't! You love me too much!" He's already walking off the field, still grinning. "Have fun with Bakugo~!"

"HITOSHI!"

But he's gone, disappearing into the tunnel, and Shuya is left standing in the middle of the arena as the crowd slowly processes what just happened and begins to roar.

She looks up at the bracket display.

FINALS: KAGEYAMA SHUYA VS. BAKUGO KATSUKI

"Fuck my life," Shuya mutters.

"I can't believe you," Shuya hisses at Hitoshi the moment she enters the waiting area. "I can't believe you just—you just stepped out—"

"Yep!" Hitoshi is still grinning, looking far too pleased with himself. She resists the urge to deck him. "Best decision I ever made."

"You coward—"

"I prefer the term 'tactically intelligent.'" He slings an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, Shuya. You didn't actually think I wanted to fight the explosion madman, did you?"

And I did? 

Shuya hisses at him. "You're the worst."

"I'm a treasure." He parrots back at her. "Besides, you'll be fine! Probably! Maybe!"

"I hate you so much."

"No you don't."

And the worst part is, he's right. Despite everything, despite the sheer betrayal of it all, Shuya can't actually be mad at him. Not when he's looking at her like that, all mischief and barely suppressed laughter. He doesn’t look put out at the idea of losing at all. Maybe it’s because it’s to her, but the idea that once Hitoshi had equated losing to losing his chance at entering the Hero Course is heartbreaking.

And yet here they are.

Her best friend had virtually thrown the opportunity away himself.

It only reaffirms her resolve.

I’m gonna get this dumbass to the hero course even if I die doing it.

"You owe me so many favors," Shuya grumbles out loud instead.

"I'll buy you ramen for a month."

"Make it two months and we have a deal."

"Deal."

They shake on it, and Shuya tries very hard not to think about the fact that she's about to face Bakugo Katsuki in the finals.

The finals.

Despite all her efforts—despite actively trying to lose—she's made it to the finals of the Sports Festival.

Effectively quirkless.

The thought hits her, and immediately the world tilts.

Dizziness slams into her like a physical blow. Her vision swims, and she has to grab onto Hitoshi's arm to keep from falling over.

"Whoa—Shuya?"

No, something whispers in the back of her mind. Wrong. Incorrect. Do not think that.

The Plot, Shuya realizes with dawning horror. It's the fucking Plot—

"I'm fine," She manages, even though she's very much not fine. "Just—dizzy."

The pressure in her head intensifies, like someone's trying to crush the thought out of her skull.

You have a quirk, the pressure insists. You've always had a quirk. Stop thinking otherwise.

"Oh, you want to play it like that?" Shuya mutters under her breath, ignoring Hitoshi's concerned look. "Fine. Fine. You know what, Plot? You keep pushing me like this, and I'm going to make it my life's mission to make Dustbunny canon. You hear me? I will dedicate every waking moment to making sure Tomura and Mirko end up together. All kinky limb-ripping and all. I'll write it into the fabric of reality if I have to."

The pressure immediately backs off.

Shuya blinks.

"Did you just—" She stares at nothing, incredulous. "Did you just back down because I threatened you with a crack ship?"

Silence.

"Holy shit, you did." A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up in her throat. "Oh my god. Oh my god. The great cosmic Plot is afraid of shipping discourse."

"Shuya," Hitoshi says slowly. "Are you...talking to yourself?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." Shuya shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine now."

"You're not fine—"

"I'm fine, Toshi." She straightens, pushing away the lingering dizziness. "Now come on. Don't you have a third-place match to win?"

The third-place match between Hitoshi and Tokoyami is surprisingly intense.

Hitoshi can't use his quirk — by now Tokoyami knows better than to respond at all. But he's been training with Aizawa-sensei, learning hand-to-hand combat and how to use his capture weapon effectively.

Dark Shadow is a problem, but Hitoshi's capture weapon can cut through shadows when wielded correctly, and the arena lights are bright enough to weaken Tokoyami's quirk.

In the end, Hitoshi wins by sheer tactical brilliance and stubborn refusal to give up. It shuts down any complaints about his quirk being a cheat code to victory.

When Midnight declares him the winner, Hitoshi looks up at where Shuya's sitting in the competitor's box and beams.

Shuya gives him two thumbs up, grinning despite the knot of dread in her stomach.

Third place, She thinks. Hitoshi got third place. That's—that's amazing.

And she's genuinely proud of him.

But now—

Now it's her turn.

"AND NOW, THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!" Present Mic's voice booms across the stadium. "THE FINALS OF THE FIRST-YEAR SPORTS FESTIVAL! IN THIS CORNER, WE HAVE THE EXPLOSIVE POWERHOUSE OF CLASS 1-A—BAKUGO KATSUKI! AND IN THE OTHER CORNER, THE UNDERDOG WHO'S CLAWED HER WAY TO THE TOP—KAGEYAMA SHUYA FROM CLASS 1-C!"

Shuya steps onto the field, and the roar of the crowd is deafening.

Across from her, Bakugo Katsuki looks pissed.

Actually, scratch that. He looks murderous.

"So," Shuya says, trying for casual and landing somewhere around extremely nervous. "Nice weather we're having—"

"If you even think about forfeiting," Katsuki snarls, weirdly on edge. "I will hunt you down and end you."

Shuya blinks. "I—what?"

"I didn't claw my way to the top just to fight someone who's gonna give up!" His hands crackle with explosions, eyes wild. "You better give me everything you've got, you hear me?!"

"I was just going to—"

"DON'T." He takes a threatening step forward. "Don't you dare tell me you're not gonna fight. I've seen you out there. I've seen what you can do. And I'm not accepting anything less than your best!"

Something in Shuya's chest tightens. Her eye twitches, a little annoyed.

I didn’t even do anything though?? It was all this stupid stick!

She hasn’t even started mouthing off yet, and Bakugo is already so bitchy.

She opens her mouth to argue, to tell him that he doesn't understand, that she can't—

"Tch. Figures," Katsuki spits. "You're just like the rest of them. People with shitty quirks who make it this far and then quit when it actually matters."

Shuya goes very still.

"What did you just say?"

Why is he so prissy today?

"You heard me, Sadako! You, shitty Deku, that purple-haired bastard—you all act like you've got something to prove, pushing yourselves until you break, and for what?" His voice rises, crackling with something that might be anger but sounds suspiciously like fear. "You think that makes you strong? You think dying for your goals makes you a hero?!"

And Shuya suddenly understands.

He's not angry because he thinks she'll forfeit.

He's angry because he's terrified of what people like her, like Izuku, like Hitoshi will do to themselves in pursuit of their dreams. The kind of self-destructive determination that doesn't know when to quit, that will keep going until there's nothing left.

It scares him.

And Bakugo Katsuki doesn't know how to deal with fear except for exploding at it.

"You know what?" Shuya says slowly. "You're right."

Katsuki blinks. "What—"

"I do have something to prove." She shifts her stance, gripping her staff tighter. "And you know what else? You're really pissing me off right now."

"BEGIN!" Midnight's voice cracks across the arena.

Katsuki launches himself at her, explosions propelling him forward.

And for the first time—truly for the first time—Shuya activates her quirk.

She doesn't fight it. Doesn't try to stop the visions from coming. She embraces them.

The world fractures.

Dozens of Bakugos bloom before her eyes. All with the same individual level of transparency, but darkening with superimposed images.  One coming from the left with a right hook. One feinting high. One going low. One pulling back for an explosion. The probabilities stack up, calculations flooding her mind—

So the darker your outline is, the higher the probability? 68.4% chance he'll commit to the aerial assault, 23.7% chance he'll fake and go ground-level—

She moves.

Her body knows where he'll be before he gets there. She dodges, sidesteps, predicts every movement with eerie precision.

Katsuki’s explosion misses her by inches.

"What the—"

She sees his next move. Sees twelve possible variations. Picks the most probable.

Right hook, then explosion point-blank, 87.3% probability.

She's already moving, already out of the way before he can execute.

"Stand still, dammit!"

Blood drips from her nose.

She doesn't care.

She can feel it — the quirk working overtime, burning through her reserves, pushing her body past its limits. Every calculation leaves cracks in her skull, every prediction costs her.

But god, it feels good to finally fight back.

"Come on, Bakugo!" She laughs, and it comes out manic, breathless. "Is that all you've got?!"

More blood. Running down her chin now, splattering onto the arena floor.

Katsuki roars, explosions intensifying.

Shuya sees every move. Dodges every attack. Her vision is swimming, her head is screaming, but she keeps going, keeps moving—

She lands a hit. Not a strong one, but enough to make Bakugo stagger.

The crowd goes insane.

"That's—" Katsuki stares at her, eyes wide. He looks thrown off by the mere idea of Shuya landing a hit on him. Understandable, Shuya herself is a little stunned. "How are you—"

And abso — fucking — lutely ecstatic!

"Foresight quirk!" Shuya grins, blood-stained teeth flashing. She brandishes her staff closer, pointing the head directly at Katsuki. "I can see everything you're about to do before you do it!"

It's not quite true — the probabilities aren't perfect, and the calculations are tearing her apart from the inside — but the threat of it is enough.

She sees Katsuki’s expression shift. Sees the moment he realizes what he's up against.

And then he grins.

"Finally," He breathes. "Finally, someone who's actually trying!"

What follows is brutal.

Katsuki stops holding back, and Shuya pushes her quirk to its absolute limits. Blood streams from her nose, her vision goes blurry with unshed tears and exhaustion, but she keeps laughing like a madwoman because this is insane and terrifying and she's probably going to pass out again but—

She's fighting.

For the first time since arriving in this world, she's not running away or hiding or trying to lose.

“SHE’S HOLDING HER OWN AGAINST THE NUKE OF THE HERO COURSE! JUST HOW CRAZY IS THAT FORESIGHT QUIRK?!”

She's fighting.

Overhead, Shouta’s voice comes out calm, but a little dazed.

“No, it allows only her to see versions of the future. But the speed of calculating probabilities, predicting movements, and then dodging them in time — her mind is working beyond the bounds of normality.”

“Wow Eraser…you’re being a little intense today.”

Shouta audibly snorts. “I’m saying that that her quirk only gives her a slight advantage in real-time combat. The sheer amount of information she has to process within seconds can easily end up becoming a disadvantage. And yet she’s doing it, and still keeping up.”

“Eraserhead, are you tell me Shu — I mean, Kageyama-chan is doing math fighting Bakugo?!”

“Hell yeah, I’m a math nerd!” Shuya throws her head back and screams out loud, cackling. “Ectoplasm fucking adores me!”

She barely manages to duck under a explosion, Katsuki screaming. “Pay attention, fucking nerd!”

“Oh shut up!” Shuya snaps, rolling away. “Like you’re one to talk — you go to bed at 8pm!”

Katsuki visibly recoils at that, bristling. “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW THAT?!”

Then he launches himself at her again, and Shuya laughs.

Despite his words, Katsuki is grinning. Even though she knows she's going to lose — even though Katsuki is stronger, faster, has an actual offensive quirk — for just a moment, she makes him work for it.

The final explosion catches her off-guard.

Not because she doesn't see it coming — she does, sees all seventeen possible variations — but because her body is to exhausted to dodge anymore. And even if it wasn’t, Shuya knows full well it’d be too slow to dodge. No amount of training could beat years of experience, after all.

It sends her flying.

She hits the ground hard, skidding across the arena floor until she comes to a stop just inside the boundary line.

The crowd holds its breath.

Shuya lies there, flat on her back, staring up at the sky. She's covered in blood — most of it her own, from the nosebleeds and a split lip. She probably looks demented.

She definitely feels demented.

Katsuki walks over, standing above her. His breath is ragged, sweat dripping down his face.

"Get up," he says.

Shuya laughs weakly. "Can't. I think I broke something. Several somethings."

"Then forfeit."

"Can't do that either. Pride won't let me." She tilts her head, grinning up at him through the blood. "So I guess you'll have to blast me out of bounds yourself."

For a long moment, Bakugo just stares at her.

Then he does exactly that.

One small, controlled explosion, just enough to send her rolling over the boundary line.

"Bakugo Katsuki is the winner!" Midnight announces.

The crowd erupts.

Shuya lies on the ground outside the ring, still staring at the sky, and laughs until it hurts.

"Hey, Bakugo?" She calls out.

He pauses, looking back at her.

"Did this weak extra put up a good fight?"

For a moment, he doesn't respond. Then — despite himself — he snorts.

He doesn't refute it.

The aftermath is a blur.

Shuya gets hauled off on a stretcher for the nth time that day, and with laughably, the title of second place attached to her name. Recovery Girl tuts and frowns once more, but Shuya barely hears her. Apparently Shuya had come out of that with two broken ribs and a metric fuckton amount of bruises. Plus all the blood loss. Which is funny because Katsuki didn’t even cause that.

That was all on her.

Shuya stays silent and obedient while the nurse treats her, sighing in relief when Recovery Girl slaps a big, fat kiss on her cheek. Within seconds, her crippling pain is replaced with an overwhelming wave of exhaustion.

All Shuya wants is to take a goddamn nap.

And yet.

The moment Recovery Girl turns her gaze, Shuya bolts.

There’s far too much on her mind — too much has happened in such a short period of time and she needs to get to the bottom of this bullshit. She needs to get out of here. Needs to find somewhere quiet to process the absolute insanity of the past few hours before she has another existential crisis—

She rounds a corner and nearly runs straight into a wall of flames.

Again.

Fucking hell.

And standing in front of him, shoulders hunched and expression blank, is Shoto.

"—pathetic display," Endeavor is saying, voice dripping with disdain. "Losing in the second round. After everything I've invested in you, this is how you repay me?"

Shoto says nothing, just stares at the ground.

"You refused to use your fire. You handicapped yourself out of some childish rebellion—"

"Hey!" Shuya calls out before she can think better of it.

Both Todorokis turn to look at her.

Endeavor's eyes narrow. "You. The girl from Class 1-C."

"Yeah, that's me." Shuya walks closer, and — without really thinking about it — reaches up and grabs the closest thing to her.

She yeets it at Endeavor's head.

It hits him square in the forehead with a satisfying clang. She only realizes then that’s the ice pack Recovery Girl had shoved into her hands earlier.

"Oops," Shuya says, voice dripping with false innocence. "So sorry about that. My hand slipped."

Endeavor's flames flare, his face going red with rage. "How dare you—"

"Come on, Shoto." Shuya reaches for the two-toned boy. "We're leaving."

"You will not—" Endeavor moves to block their path.

And Shuya's quirk activates.

And deeper, buried beneath the possibilities, something else. Something wrong. Images flash — Endeavor on his knees, flames extinguished, face contorted in despair as everything he's built crumbles around him. A future where his sins catch up with him. Where the dead finally speak.

The quirk shows her the moment. The turning point. The day when Todoroki Enji will wish he had died instead.

Shuya's eyes go distant, unfocused.

When she speaks, her voice is cold. Flat. Nothing like her usual tone.

"It is foolish, Todoroki Enji, to believe that the dead do not speak." She tilts her head, still not quite looking at him. "You have built your empire on suffering. On ashes and screams and broken things. And you think yourself untouchable."

Endeavor goes very still.

"A day will come," Shuya continues, each word precise and cutting, "When you will kneel in the ruins of everything you have created. When the truth will claw its way into the light, dragging your sins behind it. When you will beg for death rather than face what you have done. And I'll tell you this: remember what you have lost already."

Her eyes focus suddenly, pinning him with an icy stare.

"That day is coming, Endeavor. And when it does, you will remember this moment. You will remember that you were warned."

Silence.

Endeavor stares at her, face pale beneath his flames.

He knows about her quirk. Knows she has "prophetic powers." Even if Shuya had only demonstrated the predictive portion of it, they’re still powers of foresight. Of the future.

And for the first time, he looks afraid.

"Now," Shuya says, voice returning to normal. "If you'll excuse us, I have places to be and teenagers to traumatize."

She pulls Shoto past the frozen Endeavor, neither of them looking back.

They make it around the corner before Shoto finally speaks.

"Did you mean that?" His voice is quiet, uncertain. "What you said to him?"

"Honestly?" Shuya lets go of his arm, running a hand through her hair. "I have no idea. The quirk just—it showed me something. And I ran with it."

"Will he—"

"He won't bother you anymore. Not today, at least." She glances at him. "Prophecies are funny things. They have a way of making people paranoid."

She doesn’t mention they often end up being self-fulfilling.

Shoto is quiet for a long moment. Then: "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Shuya grins. "Besides, someone had to put that flaming dumpster in his place."

That gets a small smile out of him.

They walk in companionable silence for a bit, until they find a quiet courtyard away from the crowds. Despite his match being infinitely more crazy than hers, somehow Shoto’s in a better condition than her. Shuya dryly thinks back to that paper on bone density, quirks and evolution — trying not to curse her quirkless, noodle bones. Ah, but now she has a quirk somehow?

Filing that thought for a nice, rainy day, she waves Shoto over, and he patiently helps her sit down on the bench. He’s enough of a sweetheart not to comment on the abominable hiss that leaves Shuya’s lips when she bends her knees.

"So," Shuya says, sighing in relief. "About your fire."

Shoto's expression closes off immediately. "Kageyama—"

"I know, I know. Midoriya already gave you the whole speech, didn't he?" She waves a hand. "The 'it's your power, not his' thing?"

"He did."

"Good. He's better at the inspiring speeches anyway." Shuya leans back, staring up at the sky. "But you know what? I'm gonna give you a different perspective."

"I don't—"

"Did you know Hitoshi almost didn't apply to UA?"

That makes Shoto pause. "What?"

Shuya offers him a wry smile.

I won’t tell you want you have already heard. Instead, I’ll let you broaden your horizons.

"Yeah. His quirk — Brainwashing y'know? People called it a villain quirk his entire life. Said he was dangerous, that he couldn't be trusted, that he'd turn evil." Shuya's voice softens. "He almost believed them. Almost gave up on being a hero entirely."

"But he didn't."

"No, he didn't. Know why?" She looks at Shoto. "Because he decided that they didn't get to define what his quirk meant. They could call it whatever they wanted, but he was the one who got to decide what he did with it. Whether it was used for villainy or heroism — that was his choice. His and no one else's."

Shoto is quiet, processing.

Shuya watches him for a long moment, mulling over her next words. Truth be told, she knows she’s overstepping. Outside of a handful of comments exchanged during the short training sessions Nedzu had set up, the two have barely talked. Despite her clear concern, Shoto has barely paid any attention to her. To any of his classmates.

Or to anyone except for Endeavor, the one person he’s trying to move past.

It’s funny, isn’t it?

"Your fire is the same," Shuya continues quietly. "Endeavor gave it to you, yeah. It's part of his legacy, his 'masterpiece' or whatever bullshit he tells himself. But you know what? The fire doesn't care about that. It just is. What you do with it — how you use it — that's entirely up to you."

"It's not that simple—"

"Isn't it?" She challenges. "Quirks like Hitoshi's have historically been used for villainy. But when he uses it, it's to save people. To be a hero. The quirk doesn't change. The intent does."

"My father—"

"Is a garbage human being, yeah. But here's the thing, Shoto." Shuya's voice goes serious. "Every time you refuse to use your fire out of spite, you're still letting him control you. You're still making decisions based on his sins, his choices. That's not freedom. That's just a different kind of cage."

Shoto stares at her.

"Use your fire," Shuya says quietly. "Not because he wants you to. Not to fulfill his dreams. But because you want to. Because you've decided that you're the one who gets to define what it means. Make it yours. Make it something completely separate from him."

For a long moment, Shoto doesn't respond.

Then, very quietly: "How?"

"I don't know." Shuya admits. "That's something you'll have to figure out yourself. But—for what it's worth? I think you can do it. I think you can take that fire and make it into something good. Something that has nothing to do with him."

Shoto is quiet, but something in his expression has shifted. Softened, maybe.

"Thank you," he says finally. "For — for everything. Today."

"Don't mention it." Shuya grins. "What are friends for?"

Shoto is still for a long moment, as barely processing her words. His eyes are wide, a little disbelieving at the sheer idea of a ‘friend’, searching hers for any sign of insincerity.

He finds none.

Then, Shoto Todoroki breaks into faint, but warm smile. It’s small and awkward, as if unused to the action completely.

It breaks her heart, and Shuya resists the urge to ruffle his hair. Kids, adorable kids all of them.

Then, he pauses and asks.

“But what did you mean by being petty, but only when it’s funny?”

Ah, that she can do.

Shuya leans in, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Hey Shoto-kun, do you have that shitty old man’s credit card?”

Shuya has never soared higher.

Between Shoto and Izuku and Katsuki and Tenya and Nagisa — she’s already euphoric at the degree of success she’s achieved in such a short period of time.

Sure she’s bloody and bruised, has run and screamed more than she’s ever done in her life. But it’s worth it — it’s more than enough seeing the tiny smile on Shoto’s face and the knowledge that somewhere out there right now, Stain is being arrested by pro-heroes and Ingenium will be watching his little brother rank top eight in the Sports Festival.

She’s…happy.

And yet, nothing — nothing compares to this moment.

Standing across the podium in third place is Hitoshi. He meets her gaze and matches the pure euphoria surging through her. And oh, Shuya feels so, so proud.

You made it. You made it.

"Take a picture, Sadako." There's a snort above her and Shuya looks up. Katsuki grumbles petulantly, somehow looking pissed even with a gold medal. "It'll last longer."

He didn’t have the outburst that landed him in chains in the anime. So Katsuki Bakugo stands up top in all in his glory, hands shoved in his pockets and the ugliest fucking scowl on his pretty features. Shuya still has no idea how he manages to look so so fucking revolting despite being blessed with Mitsuki Bakugo’s heavenly genes.

She’s lowkey impressed.

Shuya shoots him a teasing look. "Oh hell, what's pissed in your pants now? Aren't you in first place?"

That does the trick.

Katsuki visibly bristles, looking as if he's ready to explode. "First place? After beating weak extras like you—"

"Group photo!" Shuya immediately cuts him off, shoving him to the side and jumping up the podium before Katsuki can explode. The blonde immediately pushes back, but Hitoshi comes in clutch — slinging an arm over Katsuki's shoulders from the other side. Shuya grins widely, throws up a peace sign. "Smile, shithead!"

The photograph of the winners that hits the newspapers the next day pictures two beaming teenagers and one demonic entity that vaguely resembles a nuclear bomb right before it explodes.

Worth it.

They say the higher you soar, the farther you'll fall.

Shuya and Hitoshi barely escape being roasted alive, the furious blonde hot on their heels as they sprint out of the field. There's a slew of laughter following their antics, thinking of it as fun between friends, which Shuya takes as a good sign. With this, hopefully Tomura wouldn't notice Katsuki's apparent 'villainy' and scout him for the League of Villains.

"Mushroom, duck!"

"That sounds tasty." Shuya muses idly, but does as Hitoshi says — ducking just in time for an explosion to go off where her head would've been. "Kaachan! come on dude, play nice! Some of us are weak extras!"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT—"

Hitoshi throws his head back, chorusing loudly.

"Whaaat? Why? I thought we were close!"

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU SHITTY EXTRA—"

"Gotcha~" Hitoshi sing-songs. "Tsk tsk Kacchan, you shouldn’t be this easy to bait."

Bakugo bristles, eyes widening. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE EYE BAGS—”

Shuya snickers loudly, swerving around the corner just to run into Ochaco and Izuku in the hallway. They both look up in alarm, staring at the explosions behind her.

"Oh, hey you too!" Shuya greets, sliding to a stop behind them. "What's up?"

But instead of returning her smile, they just stare at her. And Shuya detects something quick, almost imperceptible pass through their eyes.

Her smile slides off her face.

No way.

"Ochaco?" Shuya asks, frowning. "What's wrong?"

The girl doesn't answer immediately, and Shuya's hand shoots forward to grab her arm — a little urgent. "Ochaco, come on. Don't scare me—"

Shuya goes silent at the look on the girl's face.

"Shuya-chan."

Izuku’s not anxious or worried like usual. Instead, he looks concerned. And Ochaco—

—she looks terrified.

Ochaco drops the bomb just as Katsuki and Hitoshi round the corner.

"Iida-kun just received news that Ingenium has been attacked by Stain."

Shuya doesn't remember making it to Nedzu's office. All she remembers is scrambling for dear life, her friends' voices loud and worried behind her.

But somehow, someway, she is there.

And slams the door to find the one person she feared the most.

"You!"

Shuya registers the sting before the movement, her back hitting the wall hard, fists clenched in her collar. Iida's eyes, normally calm and polite to a fault, are bloodshot and teary.

"Did you know?"

His voice cracks, raw and desperate. Shuya says nothing. She can't. The words lodge in her throat, heavy and useless. And Iida’s eyes eyes widen in horror.

"You knew." Iida's grip tightens, his knuckles white against her collar. "You told them, right? Right? You warned them about Stain, about Hosu, about my brother—and he's still—Tensei is still—"

He can't finish. His whole body trembles with barely restrained grief and fury.

"Iida-kun." Nedzu's voice cuts through the air, calm but firm. "That is enough."

But Iida doesn't seem to hear him. His red-rimmed eyes bore into Shuya's, searching desperately for something—an explanation, an answer, anything that could make sense of this nightmare.

"You have Foresight!" The words explode out of him, loud and accusing. "You can see the future! You — you must have seen what would happen to him in detail! Every possible outcome! So why — why didn't you —"

His voice breaks.

"Iida." This time it's Shouta who speaks, stepping forward. His voice is rough but not unkind. "You need to leave. You're not in your right mind."

"Not in my right—" Iida whirls toward them, releasing Shuya abruptly. She stumbles but stays upright, silent. "My brother is in the hospital!"

"Which is why you need to go to him," Nedzu says evenly, his paws folded. "Not waste time here."

"Waste — she knew —"

"Iida" Shouta’s voice hardens. "Leave. Now."

For a moment, Iida just stands there, chest heaving. Then, without another word, he turns and storms toward the door, wrenching it open with enough force that it slams against the wall.

Outside, a small crowd flinches back. Hitoshi, Katsuki, Ochaco, Izuku — they must have followed Shuya here. They all stare at Iida with wide, worried eyes as he stalks past them.

"Iida-kun, wait—" Izuku reaches out, grabbing his arm.

Iida rips it away violently, not even looking back. "Don't touch me."

He disappears down the hall, his footsteps echoing like thunder.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

Nedzu appears at the doorway, looking at the gathered students with that same calm, unreadable expression. "I apologize for the disturbance. I need to speak with Kageyama-san privately. Please return to your classes."

No one moves.

"Now, please," Nedzu adds, and though his voice remains pleasant, there's steel underneath.

Slowly, reluctantly, the students begin to disperse. Hitoshi lingers the longest, his violet eyes locked on Shuya's blank face. She doesn't meet his gaze.

Finally, he too leaves.

The door clicks shut.

And then there are three: Shuya, Nedzu, and Shouta.

Shuya remains where Iida left her, back against the wall. She hasn't moved. Hasn't spoken. Her grey eyes are unfocused, staring at nothing.

She looks like she's in shock.

"Kageyama-san," Nedzu begins gently, moving back to his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Shuya doesn't move.

Aizawa exchanges a glance with Nedzu, then approaches carefully. "Kid—"

"What happened?"

Her voice is quiet. Flat. But there's something underneath it—something fragile and cracking.

She finally looks up, and her eyes are sharp despite the shell-shocked expression. "I warned you. I told you Stain would attack Ingenium in Hosu. I told you."

The question hangs in the air, unspoken but deafening: So why didn't you stop it?

Nedzu and Shouta exchange another look. This one lasts longer.

"Kageyama-san," Nedzu says carefully, "Please understand that when we received your prediction, we took it seriously. We did not ignore it."

"Then what happened?" Shuya's voice is still too quiet, too controlled. "Why is Iida Tensei in a hospital bed?"

"We sought to verify your claim," Nedzu explains. "Like you said, we contacted Sir Nighteye — Sasaki Mirai — the pro hero with a foresight quirk similar to yours. We asked him to confirm your prediction."

Shuya goes very, very still.

"He reported that your prediction was false," Nedzu continues, and his voice drops slightly. "Furthermore—"

He pauses, his beady eyes fixed on her with unusual gravity.

"He claimed that you were lying about having a foresight quirk at all."

The words land like a physical blow.

Shuya stares at him, her face bloodless. "What?"

"However," Nedzu says quickly, leaning forward, "I want to assure you that we have evidence of your quirk. Recovery Girl's scans from your earlier examination clearly showed a Quirk Factor, albeit a weak one. So there's no need to worry about—"

No, that's not what matters here.

"You didn't believe me."

Shuya's voice cuts through his reassurances like a knife.

Nedzu falls silent.

And Shuya stares. And stares, wide and wretched.

Ah, this feeling.

This is the first time she's felt like this.

"You didn't believe me," She repeats, and this time there's something in her voice — something raw and betrayed. "I warned you. I begged you. And you didn't believe me."

"Kageyama—" Shouta — no, Aizawa starts.

Too close. Too close still. 

"You didn't warn Ingenium." Her voice is rising now, trembling. "You had my warning. You had weeks. And you didn't — you didn't send anyone. You didn't increase patrols in Hosu. You didn't warn Iida Tensei that there was a serial killer targeting heroes."

She looks between them, and there are no tears in her eyes. Just a horrible, dawning realization.

"Y—You knew, didn’t you? All this time, for the past few weeks — you — you’ve all been doubting me."

Neither Nedzu nor Aizawa speak. They mere gaze at her with impassive faces, streaks of tepid grey painted over to hide any hint of emotion.

Shuya feels nauseous. Suddenly Hizashi’s words from earlier in the day feel like a dream.

“You'd be surprised how much he believes in you, kid.”

Liar. Liars, all of them.

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Aizawa — no, Eraserhead moves. He takes a step toward her, one hand reaching out. His expression is complicated — regret, guilt, worry all mixing together.

"Kid, listen—"

Shuya backs away from his hand.

It's the first time she's ever done that. The first time she's ever retreated from Eraser’s touch.

He freezes, hand still outstretched, something stricken crossing his face. It fractures the composure on his face, splitting forth the sun does through the horizon sky. Blinding, all-consuming.

Unforgiving.

A part of Shuya revels in the hurt.

So she presses on, just as torn and wretched and disbelieving and vindictive.

"I trusted you," Shuya says quietly. "I trusted you to handle it. I thought — I thought if I warned the adults, they'd know what to do. That they'd protect people."

She looks at his hand, still hanging in the air between them, and something in her expression breaks.

"I was wrong."

It's a strange feeling, realizing that they never really trusted her.

Not fully.

When Shuya was six, her brother broke of one their mother's favorite dishes and blamed it on her. That was her first taste of being wronged by someone. Back then, she'd retaliated by placing a frog in his shoes. He got her back by flushing her homework down the drain. Then Shuya tripped him in front of a girl he liked.

It quickly devolved into a fistfight afterward.

She remembered their mother breaking it apart, being sent off with their father to cool down. Her dad, sitting on a bench beside her while she fumed about never trusting her brother again, a little amused by the entire situation.

"Shuya."

His fingers running through her hair, his face splitting into a warm smile. "You're still young, but know this. Trusting people isn't a bad thing."

No, Baba. She thinks now, too far away to ever return home in this lifetime. I made a mistake and now someone is hurt. I trusted others.

"Only a strong person can afford to trust others."

I'm not strong.

And isn't that the story of her life?

All that she had built in her world — her friendships, her name, her career — all of it was gone in the blink of an eye. And Shuya awoke in a world not her own, with nothing but the clothes on her back and memory of what once was. Isn't it true then?

I am the most wretched person in this world.

It was that wish to return, that wish for some degree of normalcy whilst fighting for survival. That wish shaped her desires, drove her to trust foolishly so. And where did that leave them now?

Sasaki Mirai, the renowned pro-hero Sir Nighteye hits the nail on the head.

His first prediction.

Kageyama Shuya has no quirk.

True.

But his second.

Iida Tensei will not be attacked by Stain.

False.

And in flash, everything Shuya has built since the day she was thrown into this world crumbles like a house of cards. And it opens her eyes to her reality — gazing at the stricken expression on Aizawa's face and the stoic composure in Nedzu's.

Never once, even for a moment, have they trusted her.

Shuya has been a fool.

The medal around her neck feels like a collar, burning into her skin like a brand. She sucks in a shaky breath, gaze fixed on the ground.

"I — I need to go."

"Shuya, wait—"

But she's gone already, away from them, away from the office, away from U.A — from reality. So what if they 'trusted' her now, knew that they had been wrong?

That hadn't trusted her when it mattered.

Somehow that was worse.

Phase 3: Dominate the Sports Festival. Complete

Chapter Text

Nedzu extends the holiday after the Sports Festival to three days instead of the initial one day. And for good reason too: by the time the students make it back home after a long day of activities, the incident has hit the news.

PRO-HERO INGENIUM AMBUSHED AND CRIPPLED BY HERO KILLER STAIN. BOTH OF HIS SIDEKICKS KILLED IN ACTION. INGENIUM REPORTED TO BE A COMA.

Right beneath that headline, a smaller one.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN U.A HISTORY, TWO GENERAL EDUCATION STUDENTS CLAIM THE SPORTS FESTIVAL PODIUM. IS U.A. LOSING IT’S TOUCH?

All of Japan holds vigil — for Ingenium, for the Iida family, for Iida Tenya who had performed so well at the Sports Festival before getting the news.

But Shuya hears none of it. Her phone is switched off, thrown in one corner, the dratted medal in another. She doesn't bother locking her door — if they wanted, Eraser and Mic could easily pick it and enter. That was like, the first lesson of infiltration training. But she knows they wouldn't, not now. Not when the wound was so fresh.

She remains in her room for the entirety of those three days, buried beneath her blanket, wandering in and out of consciousness.

The first time she drifts off, she dreams of Iida Tensei's broken body and Stain's blade gleaming above him. The next time, he's replaced with Iida Tenya instead — the same position but no Deku or Shoto to save him. Then it's running through a thick forest, Himiko at her heels, then Kamino Ward being choked to death, All Might's emancipated fist high in the air. A little girl with white hair and apple red eyes — a man with a bird mask, eerily golden eyes and whispered words —

This is for the greater good.

Shuya rolls over and vomits into her trash can.

Each time, she curses the Plot, the people at the center of this damned story, herself—

And yet, the dreams don’t stop. Instead, Shuya finds herself standing in the middle of it all, feeling the fire on her skin and the fingers cradling her close, decaying her into thousands of pieces. She lives and dies, over and over again, an unfailing loop.

And each time, she wakes up in her bed, cold and sweaty.

What the hell?

Hiza — Present Mic knocks on her door only twice. Both times to leave food outside. Shuya doesn't touch it, can barely stomach it. Especially with the renewed reminder of fragile mortality.

The Plot wants to get rid of her by any means.

She can't trust those closest to her. Whatever she does, the universe continues to flow in the way it was meant — butterfly effects be damned. Shuya can't do shit, can't change shit.

The cruelest part is having to go to school the next day.

Shuya is slow but mechanical getting ready for school. The silver medal remains forgotten in a corner, thrown on the floor. When she steps outside her room, for the first time both Eraser and Mic are present to escort her to U.A.

Neither speak to her and Shuya does the same.

There is nothing left to say.

Even if there was, Shuya does not trust herself. The sting of betrayal is still fresh. Though, she supposes as they silently file out of the apartment, it may be the same for them.

Because Shuya is, apparently, a liar and a fraud.

Even if their suspicions had been proven wrong, for a good chunk of the past month, this is what they’d been thinking. Throughout the highs and the lows, bantering over dinner, poring over worksheets, going grocery shopping. This was what they’d been thinking.

All while smiling at her and pretending all was well.

I don’t know these people. They don’t know me. Four months is nothing. Nothing.

A small thought nags at the back of her mind, but Shuya squashes it.

But a year was enough for 1-A to go running with Izuku until the end, no? What’s different here?

Are you just not worth—

She knows they want to say something, to breach the silence somehow. That they feel remorseful of what happened, that it was hard for them too — especially Eraser considering he'd been friends with Tensei. But in that moment, their relationship had been damaged irrevocably.

They know it too.

The commute is just as she expects—silent and uncomfortable, even in the rush hour. Eraser breaks away from their group upon their arrival and heads to the staff room, but Mic stays with her, escorting her all the way to Class 1-C. Shuya already knows what waits for her on the other side of the door, the cheery atmosphere of the Sports Festival long gone.

Why didn't you foresee what happened to Ingenium?

The gazes, a little unnerved, a little accusing.

Why didn't you say anything?

Instead of ushering her through, Mic hangs back for a moment. Shuya looks up, only to see an uncertain look on his face. After a long moment, he speaks.

“He told him, y’know?” Shuya just states at him, unblinked. Mic gives her a wry smile, strangely put-out. “Shouta, I mean. Nighteye aside — Shouta called up Tensei and gave him a heads up —”

Does that even matter now?

As if aware of her thoughts, the blond man softens. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, too fast to catch with the naked eye, something haunted and grieving. He swallows, then grins. “He didn’t wanna risk it, y’know?”

Not like Shirakumo.

Shuya turns back, unwilling to let her resolve shake. But then again, what resolve? She already knows what keeps both of these men up at night, the nightmares that plague their dreams and now, with Tensei, every waking moment of the day.

Knowing full well, if they’d done just a bit more, trusted her a just bit more—

“Don’t be mad at Shouta, kid.” Mic’s voice is quiet, but sad. “He just…he just needs a little time process things. Y’know how he is.”

She knows. And she hates the implication.

That Eraserhead regrets it. That he’d apologize.

Suddenly, the classroom is not as scary anymore. It’s not as suffocating as being in Mic’s presence, held captive beneath the weight of his worry, concern and sincerity. She shakes her head, takes a step closer to the door, a clear dismissal.

He has the grace to respect it.

"I'll see you in a bit, little listener," Mic says from behind her. His hand rests on her shoulder, squeezing once. "Be good, okay?"

Shuya doesn't respond, quietly making her way to her desk. As she slides into her seat, she notices that Hitoshi isn't present yet. She doesn't know if that's better or worse.

No one approaches her. She spies Nagisa and Sei from the edge of her vision, fidgeting and looking uncertain. But they don’t talk to her, or draw closer. They just…don’t say anything — even accusatory. But their expressions, coupled with that of the rest of the classroom, make her feel comfortable for some reason. She can’t pinpoint why, and yet still, somehow Shuya feels relieved.

When Hitoshi finally arrives, he pauses at the threshold, his eyes wide and filled with concern before he urgently makes a beeline for her. But he never gets the chance to say anything, for Mic walks in right after and begins homeroom.

Small mercies.

Shuya ignores Hitoshi's concerned gaze throughout the day, wishing despite herself to make it out without a confrontation. But the universe is rarely kind. By the time lunch rolls around, Shuya is too slow to escape Hitoshi this time.

"Hey."

Shuya doesn't look up from her lunch, even though she hasn't touched a single bite. "Hey."

"You gonna eat that, or just stare at it all lunch?" Hitoshi slides into the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation, his own tray clattering onto the table. His tone is light, casual—too casual.

"I'm building up an appetite," Shuya mutters.

"By glaring at rice?"

"It's a very effective technique."

Hitoshi snorts, and for a moment it almost feels normal. Almost. But then he shifts, and Shuya can feel the weight of his gaze on her face.

"So," He starts carefully, poking at his own food. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Mushroom."

"I said I'm fine, Hitoshi."

"You look like you haven't slept in three days."

"Wow, thanks.” Shuya makes a point of drawling out her words. “Really know how to make a girl feel special."

"I'm serious—"

"So am I." Shuya finally looks up, meeting his eyes with a flat stare. "I'm fine. Can we drop it?"

Hitoshi opens his mouth, then closes it. His jaw works for a moment, conflict clear in his expression. Then, slowly, he nods.

"Yeah. Okay."

Shuya blinks.

That's it? No pressing? No demands for her to open up, to talk about her feelings, to explain what happened?

Hitoshi just picks up his chopsticks and starts eating, launching into some story about one of their classmates doing something stupid in Math even though she was there. His voice fills the silence between them easily, not demanding anything from her. Not asking her to be anything but present.

And Shuya realizes — he's not going to bring it up. He won't ask about Iida, about the accusation, about any of it. Not unless she wants to talk about it first.

Something in her chest loosens, just a fraction.

Thank you, she thinks, and almost says it out loud. But the words stick in her throat, so she just picks up her chopsticks and finally takes a bite of rice.

It tastes like nothing, but she chews anyway.

Hitoshi's still talking, something about Monoma cornering him after the award ceremony touting praise about 1-B, and Shuya finds herself relaxing incrementally. Maybe she can get through this. Maybe—

Movement in her peripheral vision makes her tense again.

Shoto Todoroki enters the cafeteria with his usual quiet grace, tray in hand. His heterochromatic eyes scan the room and land on their table. For a moment, he just looks at them. Then he raises one hand in a small wave.

Shuya's hand lifts automatically, waving back.

"—and then he said, 'I'll show Class A what real strategy looks like,' which, you know, coming from Monoma—Mushroom, you listening?"

"Yeah," Shuya lies, forcing her attention back to Hitoshi. "Monoma's an idiot. Got it."

Hitoshi's eyes narrow, but he doesn't call her out. Instead he just continues, "Anyway, so I told him—"

The cafeteria doors bang open again.

This time it's Katsuki, stomping in with his usual scowl and his hands shoved in his pockets. His red eyes sweep across the cafeteria with the aggression of someone looking for a fight.

They pass right over Shuya without stopping.

He doesn't even glance her way. He grabs food and settles into a corner away from everyone, grumpily starting to eat.

Shuya's fingers relax around her chopsticks.

"—seriously, the guy has no sense of self-preservation. It's like he wants to get his ass kicked—"

She tries to focus on Hitoshi's words, she really does. But she's hyper-aware of every glance thrown her way, every whisper that cuts off when she turns her head. The weight of dozens of eyes on her back, curious and judging and knowing.

The entire school knows.

Of course they do. The Sports Festival podium winners—two Gen Ed students and one Hero Course prodigy—had been the talk of the school. And then Ingenium's attack hit the news the same day. And then Iida had confronted her in Nedzu's office with half their class listening outside the door.

"Why didn't you save him?"

Shuya swallows hard, forcing down the memory with another tasteless bite of rice.

"—which is why I think we should just let him do it and film the whole thing for posterity—Shuya, seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," She says again, but her voice comes out strained. "Just tired."

Hitoshi doesn't look convinced, but he lets it drop. Again. And Shuya is grateful, so grateful she could cry.

She won't, though. Not here. Not now.

The cafeteria doors open a third time.

And this time, it's them.

Izuku enters first, his green hair unmistakable even in the crowded cafeteria. Ochaco is at his side, her expression unusually nervous. And behind them—

Iida Tenya.

Shuya's entire body goes rigid.

Izuku’s eyes find her almost immediately, widening with something like relief. He elbows Ochaco, and she looks over too, her face brightening for just a moment. They both look like they want to come over, like they're relieved to see her there and looking—well, if not okay, then at least present.

But then their expressions shift. Brighten to concern, concern to alarm.

Because Iida isn't stopping.

He's not heading to their usual table, not grabbing lunch, not even pausing. His eyes are locked on Shuya with an intensity that makes her blood run cold, and he's walking with purpose—dark and determined and heading straight for her.

"Shit," Hitoshi mutters, twisting in his seat. "Shuya—"

But it's too late.

Iida is already there, looming over their table with his hands clenched at his sides and something burning in his eyes that Shuya can't quite name.

Not anger. Not anymore.

It’s something worse.

"Kageyama," He says, and his voice is steady. "We need to talk. Privately."

Shuya doesn't move.

Though she knows it already, she searches his eyes for something — anything that hints that Iida isn’t going to do what she suspects he will. But she finds nothing but grim, terrifying determination.

This idiot is on a warpath.

Now she has to convince him not to get himself killed. The cafeteria has gone quiet around them, all eyes turned their way. Even if she wants to, she can’t refuse.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t try.

"I don't—" Shuya starts, but her voice comes out weak. Thready.

"Please," Iida adds, and the word sounds like it's being torn from his throat. "I just—I need to talk to you. Just for a moment."

Shuya sighs, already feeling the headache coming. “Fine.”

"Hey," Hitoshi says carefully, looking between the two of them warily. “You don’t need to—"

"This doesn't concern you, Shinsou-kun." Iida's voice is still unnaturally calm, but there's something brittle underneath. "Kageyama-kun and I need to speak. Alone."

Hitoshi’s expression darkens, immediately on edge. “Like hell it doesn’t concern me—”

“It’s fine, Hitoshi.” Shuya pats the boy reassuringly, slowly sliding of her seat. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Hitoshi still looks irritated but he doesn’t stop her. His violet eyes are locked on Iida, suspicious and protective. Eventually he relents, melting into his seat. "I'll be right here," He says quietly.

Iida turns without waiting, striding toward the cafeteria exit. Shuya offers him a half-smile, then follows Iida on unsteady legs, hyper-aware of the weight of dozens of eyes tracking her movement.

They end up in an empty hallway just outside the cafeteria. It’s not too far away, close enough that Shuya can escape if she needs to — and if Iida gets…too emotional, people inside can hear and intervene. She crosses her fingers and hopes that’s not the case. The last thing they need now, with Shuya already disconnected from the pro-heroes and teachers — is to have a feud with the hero students.

Iida stops. Then turns, his hands clenched at his sides and shoulders rigid, even more so that normal. Shuya lets out a shaky breath, steadies herself for what’s to come.

However, instead of jumping straight in, for a long moment, he just looks at her.

Then: "My brother woke up yesterday."

Shuya's breath catches.

Well there goes my composure.

"The doctors say he'll never walk again. His Quirk—" Iida's voice cracks. He swallows hard, composing himself with visible effort. "His Quirk is gone. Damaged beyond recovery. His hero career is over."

She had expected as much. Iida Tensei had been crippled in canon too, so this isn’t the worst case scenario. He could be dead, Shuya reassures herself. He’s still alive.

The future her quirk had shown her had been infinitely worse.

Still, Shuya says.

"I'm sorry, Iida—"

"You warned the teachers." Iida cuts her off. His eyes are red-rimmed but dry. "About Stain. About Hosu. About my brother."

It's not a question.

Shuya doesn’t respond immediately.

So he found out. It must have been either Aizawa or even Iida Tensei himself.

She nods slowly, and Iida’s expression transforms.

"Then you knew." His hands tighten. "You saw it coming. You have your foresight quirk—you must have seen every detail. Where Stain would be. What he would do. How it would happen."

"I—" Shuya tries to speak, but the words lodge in her throat. “Not that explicitly — my quirk is based on probabilities—”

Only to stiffen at Iida’s next words.

"You let this happen to my family," Shuya stares, frozen, barely processing Iida’s words. His voice is shaking now. "You had the knowledge to prevent it. To save Tensei. And you—you told the teachers and then just—just left it?"

Low blow. That was a low, low blow, kid.

"I trusted them to handle it," Shuya manages, sterner than she intends. "I thought—"

"Well they didn't!" The words explode out of him. "My brother is crippled, Kageyama! He'll never be a hero again! And you—"

He stops. Takes a breath. When he speaks again, his voice is terrifyingly calm once more.

"You have sinned against my family."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Shuya stares at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

"You had the power to save him and you failed. That makes you complicit." Iida's eyes bore into hers. "But I'm willing to give you a chance to make amends."

Shuya just gawks at him, stunned.

Has this guy lost his marbles over the past couple of days?

She had expected a certain degree of hysteria — was even ready to field off his anger and grief. Not only is Iida like sixteen, chalk full of stubbornness, and smack dab in the middle of puberty — he’s also got a massive stick up his ass. She’d always admired his upright personality, especially after the whole Stain situation. But again, this is a child.

Shuya can deal with kids throwing tantrums. She doesn’t know, however, how to field teenagers who’ve just have their entire world overturned and are currently seething with the desire for revenge.

That's when the implication hits. Something cold slithers down Shuya's spine.

"Tell me where Stain will strike next."

Oh hell no.

"Iida-kun—"

"You owe this to my family," He presses forward, and Shuya automatically steps back, unwilling to engage. "You owe this to Tensei. Tell me where the Hero Killer will be, and I'll—I'll consider us even."

"I can't do that," Shuya says immediately, shaking her head. "Iida, please—"

"Why not?" His voice rises, almost desperate. "Why not? You clearly know the future! You saw what happened to Tensei—you can see what will happen next! So tell me!"

"Because you'll—" Shuya bites off the words. Because you'll die, you dumbass. Because you'll go after Stain alone and he'd paralyze you and nearly kill you and if Izuku and Shoto hadn't been there—

"Because I'll what?" Iida demands.

"Because you're clearly about do something reckless," Shuya snaps back, then flinches back at her own tone. She sighs and softens her voice. "Something stupid. Iida, come on. Please, just—just let the heroes handle it. Don't—"

"The heroes failed!" Iida's composure finally cracks, the boy long gone. "The heroes failed to save my brother! The teachers failed! You failed! Everyone failed!"

That stings a little.

Shuya breathes out again, tries to reorient herself.

"I know," She begins carefully. Deep breaths, be the bigger person, this is a grieving child. "I know and I'm sorry but—"

"Then make it right!" He grabs her shoulders, and Shuya flinches at the strong grip. "Tell me where he'll be! I can stop him! I can—"

Her eyes go wide, taken aback.

“—Oi, let go of me!”

“Only if you tell me—”

"I won’t." Shuya says sharply, but her voice is shaking now in the face of his rage. Her stern rejection hits him hard, she can tell, for he reels back with renewed anger. "And you can't, Iida-kun. He'll—you'll get hurt. You'll die—"

"Then I'll die!" Iida shouts, and Shuya reels back as if slapped. "If that's what it takes to avenge my brother, to stop that monster from hurting anyone else, then so be it!"

"Are you insane?!" Shuya's own voice rises. "You—you can't just—"

"I can and I will!" His hands tighten on her shoulders, painful now. "This is my duty, Kageyama! My responsibility as Tensei's brother! As a hero!"

"You're not a hero yet," Shuya snaps without thinking. "You're only a student—"

"And you're not even that!" Iida snarls. "You're General Education! You have no right to tell me what I can or cannot do! You're not training to be a hero, you don't understand—"

Something in her goes cold.

I don’t know it’s like?

Trying her best to survive in this goddamned world, making sure the people around her don’t get hurt, picking and choosing who she is forced to save —

"I understand perfectly," Shuya interrupts, sharp and cold, and something in her voice makes Iida pause. "I understand that you're grieving. That you're angry. That you want revenge. But going after Stain alone is suicide, and I won't—I won't help you kill yourself—"

"This isn't about suicide!" Iida releases her shoulders only to slam his fist against the wall beside her head. Shuya jerks back, her heart hammering. "This is about justice! This is about making things right! And you—"

He points at her, his hand shaking.

"You have the power to help me. You have Foresight. You can see where Stain will be, when he'll strike next. And you're refusing?"

"Because I'm trying to save your life—"

"My life doesn't matter!" Iida shouts. "Don't you understand? Tensei gave everything to be a hero! He saved countless lives! And now he's—he's—"

His voice breaks.

"He's lying in a hospital bed and he'll never walk again. Never run. Never save another person. His dream is over. And you—you could have prevented it. You should have prevented it."

Somehow, in the face of his accusations, Shuya’s convictions fall flat. All that she’s been convincing herself the last few days suddenly evaporate into thing air.

Perhaps it’s true.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have trusted the adults, should have taken matters into her own hands, been more proactive. But that does change the fact that she tried?

"I tried," Shuya whispers, quiet but insistent. Who she’s trying to convince, she doesn’t know. "I tried, Iida-kun, I swear—"

"You didn't try hard enough!" He slams his fist against the wall again. "You told the teachers and then what? Just hoped they'd handle it? Hoped everything would work out? That's not enough!"

"I was a child making a report to adults—"

"You have Foresight!" Iida is in her face now, his eyes wild. "You should have done more! You should have used your Quirk for something good! You should have—"

He stops. Takes a shuddering breath.

"You have a gift," He says, and his voice has gone cold again. Distant. "A Quirk that can save lives. Prevent tragedies. And you're wasting it. Hiding in General Education, refusing to be a hero, hoarding your knowledge like—like—"

"Like what?" Shuya demands. "Say it, Iida. Like a villain?"

He doesn't answer.

But he doesn't have to.

The silence is damning enough.

"I see," Shuya says quietly. Her hands are shaking. Her whole body is shaking. "So that's what you think. That I'm—what? Evil? Selfish?"

"I think," Iida says carefully, looking at her like she’s a stranger. "that someone with your Quirk has a responsibility. A duty to use it to help people. And by refusing—by staying in General Education instead of the Hero Course—you're shirking that duty."

Something hot and furious ignites in Shuya's chest.

"I don't owe you anything," She says, and her voice is shaking with rage now. "I don't owe your brother anything. I don't owe the world anything just because I have a Quirk you deem useful! I’m not your damn keeper, you asshole!"

"People with power have a responsibility—"

"Fuck your responsibility!" The words explode out of her. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask to see the future! I didn't ask to carry the weight of every tragedy I can't prevent! And I certainly didn't ask for you to blame me for your brother's attack!"

I didn’t ask to be here, away from home, away from my family—

"If you had just told me—"

"What would you have done?!" Shuya demands. "Exactly what you're trying to do now! You would have gone after Stain! You would have gotten yourself killed!"

"At least I would have tried—"

"And you would have died and then where would that leave Tensei?! Where would that leave your family?! Your mother?!" Shuya is breathing hard now, her vision blurring. "You want to make things right? You want to help? Then stay alive! Don't throw your life away on some—some revenge quest that will only make things worse!"

"You don't understand," Iida says, and his voice is hollow now. Empty. "You're not a hero. You'll never be a hero. You don't understand what it means to—"

"To what? Die needlessly? Abandon the people who love you?" Shuya's laugh is bitter. "You're right. I don't understand that. And I don't want to. I’m not like you and I damn well hope I never will be.”

They stare at each other, both breathing hard.

Then Iida says, quietly: "You're a coward."

The word lands like a physical blow. Shuya flinches back.

"You hide behind your excuses and your fear and you let people suffer because you're too weak to do what's necessary." His voice is soft. Poisonous. Its nothing like how she remembers him. "Tensei would never have—"

"Don't," Shuya warns. "Don't you dare—"

"Tensei would have saved people. Would have put himself in danger if it meant protecting others. That's what a hero does." Iida's eyes are cold. "But you? You're content to watch from the sidelines. To let others fight and bleed and die while you—"

"Stop—"

"—hide in your safe classroom and pretend you're blameless—"

"I said stop—"

"—when the truth is you're just as responsible for what happened to Tensei as Stain is—"

"—hey, you’re going too far—”

But Iida doesn't stop.

"You had the power to save him and you failed. You failed my brother. You failed my family. And now you have the audacity to stand there and act like you're the victim—"

Shuya can't breathe. The walls are closing in. The hallway is spinning.

"—when you could prevent so much suffering if you just tried. If you just used your Quirk the way it's meant to be used instead of being so selfish—"

She needs to get away. She needs to—

Shuya turns and starts walking back toward the cafeteria.

"Don't walk away from me!" Iida's voice rises behind her. "We're not done—"

"Yes we are," Shuya says without turning around. Her voice sounds distant even to her own ears. "I'm not—I can't—"

"Kageyama—"

She keeps walking. The cafeteria doors are right there. She’s sure the people inside can already hear their argument but it’s okay. If she can just get back to Hitoshi, back to people, Iida won't—he won't make a scene—

Footsteps behind her. Fast. Urgent.

"I said we're not done—"

A hand closes around her arm. Tight. Too tight. Yanking her back.

Pain lances up Shuya's shoulder and she gasps.

"Let go—"

"Not until you listen—" Iida's face is twisted, desperate, furious—

And then suddenly he's not there anymore.

There's a sickening crack and Iida staggers back, blood exploding from his nose. He hits the ground hard, his glasses skittering across the floor.

Hitoshi stands over him, his fist still raised, his eyes blazing.

"Don't fucking touch her!"

The cafeteria has gone completely silent. Every eye is on them now. Suddenly, Shuya feels arms around herself, and looks up to see Nagisa kneel in front of her with a serious expression on her face. “Shuya-chan, are you okay?”

“Nagisa—” But Shuya never gets to finish her sentence.

Iida pushes himself up, blood streaming down his face. "Shinso-kun, this doesn't—"

"Doesn't what?!" Hitoshi snarls. "Doesn't concern me?! You just grabbed her hard enough to leave fucking bruises—"

Shuya looks down at her arm. There are red marks where Iida's fingers dug in. They're already darkening. Ah fuck.

“Hitoshi, it’s fine—”

But neither boys are listening to her, too far gone in their anger.

"I was just trying to make her understand—" Iida starts, shoving himself back to his feet. His nose is crooked, broken. But Iida barely registers the pain. “You don’t understand—”

"Understand what?! That you're an entitled asshole who thinks she owes you something?!" Hitoshi takes a step forward and Iida takes a step back. "She told you no, Iida! She said she couldn't help you and you—you grabbed her?!"

"This is between me and Kageyama-san—"

"Like hell it is!" Hitoshi's voice cracks like a whip. "You want to blame someone for what happened to your brother? Blame Stain. But don't you dare put this on Shuya!"

"She has Foresight," Iida says, wiping blood from his face. "She has a responsibility—"

"Is she your keeper?" One of the other 1-C students pipes in at that moment — Hikaru, the guy wit hthe balance quirk — scowling at Iida. "Why does she have to 'make things right'? She isn't even a hero student! She doesn't owe you shit!"

Iida bristles and Shuya gasps. "Someone with a Quirk like hers—"

No. Not like this.

"Has a Quirk like hers," Another students interrupts savagely, clustering around Shuya protectively, Hitoshi at the head. "Not yours. Hers. And she gets to decide what to do with it!"

No — he’s grieving. Don’t look at him like that—

"That's not how being a hero works—"

Hitoshi looks around mockingly, then turns back to Iida. "Good thing she's not training to be one then!"

Iida's face twists in irritation. He pushes himself fully to his feet, blood still dripping from his nose. "Then she has no right to hoard vital information—"

"Oh for fuck's—she reported it, didn’t she?!” Hitoshi groans, racking a hand through his hair roughly. “She told the adults! What more do you want from her?!"

"I want her to—" Iida starts, but Hitoshi cuts him off.

"To what? Risk her life hunting down your brother? Personally escort him away from danger? Wrap him in fucking bubble wrap?!" Hitoshi's voice is rising now, fury making it shake. "She's a kid, 1-A! A General Education student! She did everything she could—"

Shuya lets out a shuddering breath, trying her best to control it. **

Calm down. This is not the way.

"It wasn't out of her control," Iida cuts him off, his voice quiet but insistent. "She could have done more. She should have done more. Someone with her Quirk, someone with her gifts, has a responsibility to—"

"To what?" Hitoshi interrupts. "To sacrifice everything? To carry the weight of every tragedy? To destroy herself trying to save everyone?" His voice cracks. "She's too good for the likes of you if you think that's what she owes the world."

Something in Iida's expression shifts. Hardens.

"Too good?" He repeats slowly. "She's hiding in General Education while people die. While my brother lies crippled in a hospital. And you think she's too good for—"

That does it.

Her classmates freeze around her. Hitoshi pauses for a moment. Then lunges for Iida.

"You fucking—"

Shuya’s eyes go wide, shooting forward to stop him. Only to be beaten to the punch.

"Hitoshi—”

“Shinso-kun!”

Arms wrap around Hitoshi from behind. Kirishima. The red-haired boy hauls Hitoshi back with surprising strength, grunting with effort as Hitoshi struggles violently.

"Let me go—"

"Dude, stop!" Kirishima tightens his grip. "You already punched him once—"

"He deserves worse—"

"Maybe! But you're gonna get expelled if you keep this up!" Kirishima plants his feet as Hitoshi tries to wrench free. "Just—just calm down—"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Hitoshi snarls. "Did you hear what he said about her?!"

"I heard," Kirishima says tightly. "But punching him again isn't gonna help!"

"It'll make me feel better—"

"Shinso-kun, please—"

That's Izuku. He's between Hitoshi and Iida now, his hands raised placatingly. Ochaco is at his side, her face pale.

"Please, everyone just—just calm down," Izuku says desperately. "This isn't—Iida-kun, you need to stop—"

"I haven't done anything—" Iida starts, wiping more blood from his face.

"You grabbed Kageyama-san!" Izuku cuts in, and there's an edge to his voice now. Anger. "We saw it, Iida-kun. I know you’re hurting but still. You need to apologize!"

"I was just trying to make her listen—"

"By hurting her?!" Izuku’s voice rises. Makes sense, with his mother and all. He’d be sensitive about how women are treated around him. "That's not—you can't just—"

"She owes my family—"

"She doesn't owe you anything!" Hitoshi roars, still struggling against Kirishima's hold. "Let me go, Kirishima! I'm gonna break his fucking nose—"

"You already did that!" Kirishima grunts, adjusting his grip. "Come on, man, don't make this worse—"

"How can it be worse?! He hurt her—"

"I know! I saw! But you need to—"

"LOOK AT SHUYA!"

Nagisa’s voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.

Everyone freezes.

Hitoshi stops struggling. Slowly, he turns his head.

And finally realizes.

Shuya is on her knees in the middle of the cafeteria floor, Nagisa’s arms slung around her, Sei kneeling forward to coax her into drinking some water. Her hands are pressed flat against the ground, her head bowed. Her whole body is trembling.

And she's shaking her head. Small, jerky movements. Over and over.

No. Please. Stop. Don't fight. Don't get hurt. Please.

All the fight drains out of Hitoshi in an instant.

"Shit," He breathes. "Mushroom—"

Kirishima releases him and Hitoshi scrambles forward, dropping to his knees beside her. Sei lets him, shifting to the side, intentionally blocking Iida’s view of Shuya. The rest of the 1-C students cluster around her protectively while Izuku and the rest talk down Iida.

"Hey. Hey, Mushroom, I'm here." His hands find her arms, rubbing up and down in soothing circles. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Shuya's head lifts slowly. Her grey eyes are unfocused, glassy. But they find his face.

And she lets out a shuddering breath.

"I'm fine," Hitoshi says softly, somehow reading her thoughts. "I'm okay. We're okay."

Shuya's forehead drops onto his shoulder and she just breathes.

In. Out. In. Out.

This situation is not optimal. People who should be allies are fighting because of her. That could be a problem later on. She needs to calm down, then de-escalate this entire situation.

In. Out. In. Out.

She focuses on the rhythm of air moving in and out of her lungs. The steady warmth of Hitoshi in front of her. The solid ground beneath her knees.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Distantly, she registers Iida's voice. Still arguing. Still pushing.

"This isn't over," He's saying. "Kageyama-san, you have a duty. With a Quirk like yours, you have a responsibility to save people. To help heroes. You can't just—"

"That's enough, Iida-kun," Izuku says, but his voice is weak. Uncertain. “This isn’t the time.”

"Isn’t it though?" Someone else pipes up. Shuya doesn't recognize the voice immediately. "I mean—she does have Foresight, right? And she didn't save Ingenium? That's kind of…"

"Messed up," Someone else finishes. With a start Shuya realizes it’s Kaminari.

I’m gonna whoop this idiot’s ass.

"If she can see the future and she just let that happen—"

"She warned the teachers," Ochaco protests. "She did her part—"

"But she could have done more," The first voice argues. This time Shuya registers it. It’s Ojiro. "If she has that kind of Quirk, she should be training to be a hero. She should be helping people."

"Yeah," Another voice agrees. "It's kind of selfish to keep that kind of power to yourself…"

The whispers spread through the cafeteria like wildfire.

She let Ingenium get hurt.

She has Foresight and she's just in General Education?

What a waste of a quirk.

Shuya presses her forehead harder against Hitoshi's shoulder, trying to block it out. Trying to breathe. Aw fuck, this was not how she was hoping this would go.

In. Out. In. Out.

Don't listen. Don't listen. Just breathe. You’re in control.

And then—

Movement.

Someone steps between Shuya and the rest of the cafeteria.

She looks up.

Shoto Todoroki stands there, perfectly still and perfectly silent. Without a word, he places his tray on the table beside Shuya, then turns. His heterochromatic eyes are cold as ice, his expression unreadable. His body is angled to block her from view, from Iida, from the whispering students.

A shield.

The cafeteria goes silent.

Hitoshi stops his soothing motions for just a moment, staring up at Shoto. Then he resumes, his hands steady on Shuya's arms.

"Todoroki-kun," Iida says, and there's genuine confusion in his voice now. "What are you—"

"Kageyama-san is not a hero student," Shoto says. His voice is quiet. Calm. But it carries through the silent cafeteria like a bell. "She does not want to be a hero."

He pauses.

"I respect her wishes. You should too."

Iida stares at him. "But—her Quirk—"

"Is hers," Shoto interrupts. "Not yours.”

"Someone with a Foresight Quirk has a responsibility—"

"To whom?" Shoto's eyes are sharp now. Cold. "To you? To the world? Why?"

"But—" One of the Class 1-A students starts. Shuya thinks it might be Sato. "She could save so many people if she—"

"She chose not to be a hero," Shoto repeats. "I respect that choice. And so should you."

"This is different—" Iida starts.

From his corner of the cafeteria, there's a sharp, derisive snort.

Everyone turns.

Katsuki is leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed, his face twisted in disgust. He’d been sitting silently this entire time, picking at his lunch without much thought.

"Kacchan?" Izuku says hesitantly, unsure about what side the volatile boy is going to take. But Shuya clenches her eyes shut, breathing out slowly. She already knows.

Katsuki Bakugo may be volatile, explosive and a downright bastard. But he is fair.

And he’s also a raging feminist.

"Tch." Katsuki rolls his eyes. "There's already too many shitty extras pretending to be heroes. Running around playing dress-up when they don't have the skills or the guts to back it up."

He looks directly at the whispering students, his red eyes sharp.

"Good on her for at least having the damn self-respect not to stoop so low. Better to stay in Gen Ed than pretend to be half-good at something you suck at."

The cafeteria erupts in shocked whispers.

"Did Bakugo just—"

"—defend someone?!"

"—what timeline is this—"

Even Iida looks thrown. "Bakugo-kun, that's not—"

"Not what?" Katsuki's voice is sharp. "Not what you wanted to hear? Tough shit, four-eyes. If she doesn't want to be a hero, that's her business. Not yours."

"But her Quirk—"

"Is bullshit, dumbass," Katsuki repeats, echoing Shoto but with added cursing. "What, you think just because someone has a powerful Quirk they're obligated to throw themselves into danger? To sacrifice everything for fuckers they don't even know?"

He leans forward, his expression darkening.

"That's the kind of thinking that gets heroes killed. That makes them weak." His eyes narrow. "She's smart enough to know her own limits. That's more than I an say for most of the extras in this damn school."

"Kaachan—" Midoriya starts.

"Shut it, Deku." Katsuki waves him off. "I'm not done."

He looks back at Iida, whose bristling.

"She could have told me directly—"

"And what would you have done, Shitty Eyes?" Katsuki's voice drips with contempt. "Gone after Stain yourself and nagged him to death? What could an extra like you do anyways?”

Iida is silent.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." The blonde snorts, settles back in his seat. "She probably saved your life by keeping her mouth shut. You should be thanking her, not harassing her in the middle of the fucking cafeteria."

Another shocked silence.

Shuya feels Hitoshi’s grip on her shoulders tighten and clenches her eyes shut. Breathing in, out. One final time.

Right, explodo boy did a good job. She lifts her head, starting to shrug off Hitoshi’s grip. Now’s the time for damage control. They can’t let the classes get too fragmented — it’ll only get worse once the war begins —

"Oh, this is rich."

A new voice. Sharp. Mocking.

And Shuya wants to groan. Please, not him.

Monoma Neito pushes away from his table, stalking forward with his hands in his pockets. But unlike his usual theatrical sneer, he looks furious.

"Of course it's Class 1-A causing problems," He says loudly. "Of course it is. Can't handle losing to Gen Ed students at the Sports Festival, so now you have to—what? Harass them? Assault them? Try to force them to use their Quirks for your benefit?"

"Monoma—" Kendo starts, reaching for him.

But Monoma dodges her hand, his eyes fixed on Iida.

"You're pathetic," He says flatly. "All of you. Kageyama-san placed second at the Sports Festival. Shinso-kun placed third. They outperformed almost all of your precious Hero Course students."

"Hey now," Kirishima begins carefully. "I don't think anyone here is trying to—"

"Trying to what?" Monoma whirls on him. "Force a Gen Ed student to compromise her safety and wellbeing? Blame her for a pro hero's injury? Physically assault her when she refuses to comply?"

He points at Iida.

"Because that's what happened. We all saw it. Your class representative grabbed her. Hard enough to leave bruises. And you—" He looks at the gathered 1-A students. "—you're all standing around making excuses for him."

"Iida-kun is grieving—" Ochaco starts, looking a little uncertain.

"And?" Monoma's voice is cold. "That gives him the right to hurt people? To blame an innocent student for something completely out of her control?"

He shakes his head.

"Class 1-A," He says loudly, addressing the entire cafeteria now. "So desperate to be heroes that you've forgotten what heroism actually means. So obsessed with your own righteousness that you can't see when you've become the villains."

That ruffles quite a few feathers, even Katsuki looks a little annoyed. Kaminari’s face darkens.

"Oi, you’re going too far. Take that back.”

“Or what?” Monoma sings mockingly, ignoring Kendo’s grip. “You’re gonna hit me too?”

Kaminari bristles. “You fucking bastard—”

"That's enough!"

Aizawa's voice cuts through the cafeteria like a whip crack.

Everyone freezes.

The underground hero stands in the doorway, his capture weapon already floating around his shoulders. His eyes are blazing red, his Quirk activated. Behind him, Vlad King and Present Mic look equally furious.

"Everyone," Aizawa says, his voice dangerously quiet. "Sit. Down."

No one moves for a moment.

Then, slowly, the students begin to comply. Kirishima helps Iida to his feet, blood still streaming from his nose. Monoma stalks back to the 1-B tables, still radiating fury. Katsuki slouches back in his seat, looking bored now.

Shoto doesn't move. He stays exactly where he is, a silent shield between Shuya and the rest of the cafeteria.

Hitoshi helps Shuya to her feet. Her legs are unsteady, her whole body still trembling. But she stands.

Aizawa's eyes sweep across the scene—the overturned chairs, Iida's bleeding nose, the bruises darkening on Shuya's arm, Hitoshi's bruised knuckles.

His expression is thunderous.

"Someone," He says softly. "Had better start explaining. Now."

Hitoshi opens his mouth immediately, his hand tightening protectively on Shuya's shoulder. "Sensei, Iida grabbed her—"

“Nothing happened.”

Everyone stiffens at the calm, detached voice. Hitoshi freezes, then looks down at Shuya, aghast.

"Mushroom," Hitoshi hisses under his breath, urgent. "Don't—"

But Shuya isn't listening. She lifts her head slowly, mechanically, and meets Aizawa's eyes with a blank, composed expression. When she speaks, her voice is steady. Calm. As if nothing at all has happened.

"Nothing happened, Sensei," She says. "Just a disagreement between classmates. It got a little heated, but it's over now."

Aizawa's eyes narrow dangerously. "Nothing happened."

"That's right." Shuya's voice doesn't waver. "We were just talking. Things got emotional. Shinso-kun overreacted. And my classmates are quite protective. I’m grateful to have them."

"I didn't overreact—" Hitoshi starts, his voice rising in disbelief.

"Hitoshi." Shuya doesn't look at him, her gaze still fixed on Aizawa. "It's fine. Let it go."

"Let it—Mushroom, he hurt you!" Hitoshi's hand gestures to her arm where the bruises are already darkening into ugly purple marks. "Look at your arm! He—"

"Accidentally grabbed me too hard during our discussion," Shuya interrupts smoothly. "I bruise easily. It's not a big deal."

Hitoshi stares at her like she's grown a second head. "Are you serious right now?"

But Shuya just gives him a small, tight smile. One that doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Hitoshi. Really."

She's doing it on purpose, Hitoshi realizes with dawning horror. She's covering for him.

"Shuya—"

"Hitoshi-kun," Shuya says quietly, and there's something in her voice that makes him stop. Something defeated. Resigned. "Please. Just let it go."

And Hitoshi understands.

She feels guilty. Guilty for what happened to Ingenium, guilty for the role she played—or didn't play—guilty for the pain Iida's family is going through. So she's letting Iida take it out on her. Letting him hurt her because in her twisted logic, she thinks she deserves it.

"No," Hitoshi says flatly. "No, I'm not letting this go. Sensei, he—"

"Hitoshi, please." And there it is—a crack in Shuya's composure. Her voice breaks slightly on his name, and her grey eyes are pleading. "Please."

Hitoshi's jaw clenches. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

But he falls silent.

Because what else can he do? She's asking him to drop it. Begging him to let it go. And he—

He can't say no to that look in her eyes.

Aizawa's gaze sweeps across the gathered students, his capture weapon still floating around his shoulders in warning. "Is that what happened?" He asks the cafeteria at large. "A simple disagreement?"

Silence.

Shuya looks up, and meets their eyes — each and everyone one. Deliberately, from Nagisa, Sei and the rest of 1-C to Izuku to Ochaco to Shoto and finally, Iida.

Then, slowly, students begin to nod.

"Yeah," Kirishima says reluctantly, still supporting a bloodied Iida. "Just... got out of hand. You know how it is."

"Emotions were high," Ochaco adds softly, not meeting her eyes.

One by one, the students corroborate Shuya's version of events. Even Izuku, though he looks deeply uncomfortable doing so, gives a small nod of agreement.

Because Shuya and Hitoshi aren't Hero Course students. They're not part of Class 1-A or 1-B's inner circles, not really. Rather, as Hitoshi had said what seemed like a lifetime ago—they’re rivals. They’re people who might take their spots in the hero course, kicking them out in the process.

Shuya knows it’s not something that bothers the majority of 1-A all that much — after all, they had happily welcomed Shinso in the manga. But still, right after the Sports Festival, tensions are still running high.

She breathes out through her nose, steeling herself. Then lifts her head, determined.

Besides, Iida has been through enough. His brother is in the hospital. He's grieving. Making this a big official incident would only make things worse for everyone involved. It’s fine, because Shuya knows well that the boy will bounce back after a while.

So they lie. For Shuya. For Iida. For all of them.

Aizawa doesn't look convinced. His dark eyes linger on Iida's broken nose, on Hitoshi's bruised knuckles, on Shuya’s sharp gaze. His expression is thunderous, clearly not buying a word of it.

But without anyone willing to tell him the truth, without evidence beyond circumstantial injuries, there's nothing he can do.

"Fine," He says finally, but clearly disbelieving. "Everyone sit down and finish your lunch. Iida, Shinso—you're both going to Recovery Girl. Now."

"Sensei, I'm fine—" Hitoshi starts.

"That wasn't a request." Aizawa's voice brooks no argument. "Move."

Hitoshi looks at Shuya one more time, his expression tortured. She gives him a small nod. It's okay. Go.

He goes, but not before shooting Iida a look that promises murder if he tries anything else.

Iida, for his part, says nothing. He just lets Kirishima guide him toward the cafeteria exit, blood still dripping from his nose.

With the source of the conflict now gone, the cafeteria slowly returns to normalcy. The students slowly drift back to their tables and conversations resume, though they're muted, subdued. The tension doesn't fully dissipate, but it settles into something manageable.

Shuya stands there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of a dozen eyes still on her. Then she turns and makes her way back to her abandoned lunch tray.

Her legs feel unsteady. Her whole body is still trembling slightly, adrenaline crash making her movements jerky.

But she walks.

She has to pass by Aizawa to get back to her table.

And as she does—

Aizawa flinches.

It's subtle. Barely a movement at all. Just a slight intake of breath, a minute tensing of his shoulders.

But Shuya sees it.

She knows what he's looking at. Her sleeve is still shoved up, baring fresh bruises on her arm. Finger-shaped. Unmistakable. Evidence of violence that she just dismissed as an accident.

Their eyes meet for a brief, horrible moment.

And in that moment, Shuya knows full well what Aizawa—no, Eraser realizes.

She doesn't trust me anymore.

She doesn't trust him to handle this. Doesn't trust him to fix it. Doesn't trust him to make things right.

So she's handling it herself. In the worst possible way.

Shuya looks away first, her expression carefully blank as she slides back into her seat. She picks up her chopsticks with hands that barely shake and takes a small, mechanical bite of cold rice.

It tastes like sand.

Behind her, she can feel Aizawa still standing there. Still watching her with that thunderous, helpless expression.

But he doesn't say anything.

He can't.

The walk back from Recovery Girl's office is quiet.

Hitoshi walks beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, his freshly healed knuckles flexing and unflexing. Shuya can feel his eyes on her every few steps, can sense the questions building up behind his pressed lips.

Finally, she breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry."

Hitoshi's head whips toward her. "What?"

"For getting you involved." Shuya keeps her gaze forward, her voice quiet. "For—for making you punch Iida. For all of it. I'm sorry."

She’ll have to apologize and thank Nagisa and the rest too. Later. When she can.

"Mushroom—"

"And thank you." She cuts him off gently. "For sticking up for me. You didn't have to do that."

Hitoshi stops walking. After a few steps, Shuya stops too, turning to look at him.

His expression is complicated—frustrated, worried, angry all at once. His mouth opens and closes several times, like he's trying to find the right words and failing.

Then he lets out a sharp snort.

"Yeah, well." He scratches the back of his neck, and a wry smile tugs at his lips. "Someone had to teach that stick-up-his-ass class rep that engine legs don't make you invincible. Figured I'd volunteer for the honors."

The joke falls flat—they both know it. The smile doesn't reach his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders gives away how forced the levity is.

But Shuya understands what he's doing. He's trying to make her feel comfortable, trying to ease the suffocating weight that's been pressing down on her chest since the confrontation. Trying to make things feel normal again, even though they both know nothing about this is normal.

He's a good kid, Shuya thinks, something warm and aching settling in her chest. Too good for all of this.

"Your form was terrible, though," She says, matching his tone. "I've seen Izuku throw better punches."

Hitoshi barks out a laugh—genuine this time. "Ouch. That's just cruel, Mushroom."

"I'm just saying. If you're gonna go around breaking noses, at least do it with proper technique."

“Wait, doesn’t he have an augmentation quirk?”

“Yeah, so?”

“He’s like, primed for beating people up!”

Shuya pauses and looks Hitoshi dead in the eye. “Exactly.”

"Wow, thanks squirt. I feel so much better about myself. " Hitoshi deadpans, and they start walking again.

The silence that follows is easier. Not comfortable, not quite, but bearable.

Shuya doesn't miss the way Hitoshi's eyes keep darting to the bruises on her arm, or the tight set of his jaw every time he notices them. But he doesn't push. Doesn't demand explanations or apologies or promises that she's okay.

He just walks beside her.

And for now, that's enough.

The end of the school day arrives with mercifully little fanfare.

Shuya pulls both Sei and Nagisa aside, giving the two quick hugs and apologizing for the inconvenience. Only to be hit full eight-eyed force by the weight of Nagisa’s glare, Sei sighing beside her as if Shuya’s being an idiot.

“Uh, Nagisa-chan?”

Nagisa’s lip quivers once, then smacks Shuya’s shoulder hard. “You—You big dummy!”

“Hah?!” Shuya flinches, aghast but the girl is long gone, muttering furiously under her breath. She turns toward Sei, incredulous. “What did I do?”

Sei sighs, shaking his head. Then he reaches over and pats that same shoulder, palms heated slightly. “You should take better care of yourself, Kageyama.”

He leaves her there, standing in the hallway, utterly aghast at the entire situation. By the time she makes it back inside, the rest of her classmates all furiously ignore her attempts to apologize — waving her off with varying degrees of annoyance.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kageyama— come off it!”

“How can you think like that?!”

“If you try apologizing again, I’m gonna deck you.”

Shuya reels back, shocked. “Hah???”

She’s confused.

The rest of the day passes like that, and by the end, Shuya’s too exhausted to care. She’s packing up her things, methodically placing each item in her bag while trying to ignore the occasional glances from her classmates, when the classroom door slides open.

"Kageyama-chan! Shinso-kun!" Hiza—Present Mic's voice is bright and loud as always, but there's something strained underneath it. "Can I borrow ya listeners for a minute?"

The entire class goes silent, heads turning to watch as Shuya and Hitoshi exchange glances.

Hitoshi shrugs. Shuya sighs.

They follow him out into the hallway.

Present Mic leads them to an empty classroom, sliding the door shut behind them with a soft click. When he turns to face them, his trademark grin is in place, but his eyes are serious.

"So!" He claps his hands together. "Got some news for you two little listeners!"

Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. "News?"

"Yep! See, normally internship offers are just for the Hero Course students, yeah? But this year—" Present Mic pulls out two envelopes from his jacket, waggling them in the air. "—ya made such a splash at the Sports Festival that some pros took notice!"

Shuya's stomach sinks.

Oh no.

"Ya both got internship offers!" Present Mic announces, holding out the envelopes. "Ain't that rad?!"

Hitoshi's eyes go wide. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously!" Hizashi grins, and this time it looks more genuine. "Here ya go!"

Hitoshi practically snatches his envelope, tearing it open with eager hands. Shuya takes hers more slowly, her fingers careful and deliberate.

She already knows what she's going to find inside.

Hitoshi makes a choked sound.

"Eraser?!" His voice cracks slightly, disbelief and joy warring in his expression. "Eraserhead sent me an offer?!"

"Sure did!" Present Mic grin widens, watching Hitoshi's reaction with obvious fondness. "Said you showed real potential at the Festival. Thinks he can help you refine your technique."

"Holy shit," Hitoshi breathes. His hands are shaking slightly as he stares at the paper. "Holy shit."

Shuya opens her envelope.

There are three offers inside.

The first is from some small rescue hero agency she doesn't recognize. The second is from a hero whose name she vaguely recalls from the background of the manga—someone unmemorable, someone safe.

The third is from Nighteye Agency.

She closes her eyes.

Of course.

Pain lances through her chest—sharp and immediate and damning. Because this is it. This is the proof. Nighteye didn't just lie about her prediction and her Quirk.

He's recruiting her.

Why? To keep an eye on her? To control the narrative? To ensure she doesn't contradict his version of events again?

Or—

Or maybe he wants to see for himself. Wants to use his own Foresight on her, confirm whether she's really a threat or just a delusional child.

Either way, it's a trap.

And Shuya is going to walk right into it.

"You've got until the end of the week to decide," Present Mic is saying, oblivious to the way Shuya's world is narrowing to a single point. "No pressure though! Take your time, think it over, maybe talk to—"

"I'll take this one."

Shuya's voice cuts through Present Mic’s rambling. She pulls out the response form, presses it against the wall, already reaching for the pen in her pocket.

Hitoshi's head snaps up, eyes wide. "Wait, already? Don't you want to—"

"Nope." Shuya's hand is steady as she fills out the form. Name. Student ID. Agency choice.

Nighteye Agency.

"Mushroom, seriously, you should at least—"

"I'm sure." She doesn't look up, just keeps writing. Neat, precise characters. No hesitation.

Because this is her choice. Not the Plot's. Not fate's. Hers.

Nighteye lied. He told the teachers her prediction was false, told them she didn't have Foresight at all. For weeks afterward, the teachers had trusted none of her predictions, considering her a liar — costing her vital ground for future events. And because of that lie, Ingenium is crippled. Iida Tensei's hero career is over.

And Shuya needs to know why.

She needs to understand what Nighteye saw—or didn't see. Needs to figure out why he would sabotage her warning, why he would let a pro hero get attacked when he could have prevented it.

Was it because he genuinely didn't believe her? Or was it something else? Something darker?

The only way to find out is to go straight to the source.

Even if it means walking into the lion's den.

Even if it means facing the man who destroyed the fragile trust she'd built with the teachers.

Even if it means—

"Here." Shuya holds out the completed form to Hizashi.

The pro hero takes it slowly, his eyes scanning the paper. Something complicated crosses his face—concern, maybe, or worry.

"Kageyama-chan," He says carefully. "Are you sure about this? Nighteye's agency is... well, it's intense. And after everything with—"

"I'm sure."

Her voice is flat. Final.

Hitoshi is staring at her like she's grown a second head. "You're seriously going to Nighteye? The guy who—"

"Yep."

"—basically called you a liar and—"

"Mm-hm."

"—is the reason Iida's brother—"

"Hitoshi." Shuya finally looks at him. "It's fine."

Hitoshi opens his mouth to argue, then seems to realize he's not going to win this. His jaw snaps shut with an audible click. Then he sighs, long and suffering.

"You're an idiot," He mutters.

"Probably."

"A reckless, self-sacrificing idiot."

"Now you're just being redundant."

"I'm being accurate—"

"Are you done?" Shuya raises an eyebrow. "Because if you're going to keep insulting me, I'd appreciate a little variety. Maybe throw in something about my hair or my height."

"Your hair looks like a bird's nest."

"There it is."

"And you're so short I'm surprised you don't need a stepstool to—"

"Okay, that's just mean—"

"Little listeners," Hizashi interrupts weakly. His voice sounds strained. "Maybe we should—"

But Shuya and Hitoshi are fully engaged in their bickering now, trading increasingly creative insults with the ease of long practice. It's familiar. Comfortable. A return to normalcy after the chaos of the day.

Neither of them are paying attention to Hizashi anymore.

The pro hero stands there, holding Shuya's internship form, watching the two students bicker with an expression that can only be described as pained.

He doesn’t do a good job of hiding it.

But Shuya doesn’t bother digging into it. Instead she bows once, then follows Hitoshi out of the classroom, leaving the pro-hero behind. No one ever said she couldn’t be a little petty.

The days leading up to the internship pass by with surprising peace.

No villains. No disasters. No life-threatening incidents that require Shuya's intervention. Just the mundane routine of classes, lunch, homework, and sleep. It's almost suspicious how normal everything feels.

Almost.

Because while nothing serious happens externally, internally, Shuya is dealing with a different kind of crisis altogether.

"Mushroom, your nose is bleeding again."

Shuya blinks, then reaches up to touch her upper lip. Her fingers come away red.

Shit.

"I'm fine," She says automatically, grabbing a tissue from her bag. "Just quirk overuse. You know how it is."

Hitoshi doesn't look convinced. His violet eyes are sharp with worry as he watches her dab at her nose. "That's the third time this week."

"Is it?" Shuya tries for casual and probably fails. "I haven't been keeping count."

"I have." Hitoshi's voice is flat. "Monday during Math. Wednesday after lunch. And now. Every single time you've tried to use your quirk."

Because that's exactly what's been happening.

Ever since the Sports Festival—ever since that first nosebleed when she tried to "predict" Katsuki’s fighting—every attempt to use her supposed Foresight quirk ends the same way. Nosebleeds. Headaches. A sharp, stabbing pain behind her eyes that feels like someone is driving nails into her skull.

It's as if something is blocking her.

Which makes sense, in a horrifying sort of way, because Shuya doesn't actually have a quirk. She's not from this world. She's an outsider, a glitch in the system, and apparently the universe has finally remembered that.

I'm not naturalized yet, She thinks, pressing the tissue harder against her nose. The Plot recognizes me as an anomaly, yeah, but I suppose shoehorning me in would take time.

"You need to go to Recovery Girl," Hitoshi is saying, his brow furrowed. "This isn't normal, Shuya. Quirks shouldn't—"

"I'm fine," Shuya interrupts, perhaps more sharply than intended. She softens her tone. "Really, Hitoshi. It's just growing pains. My quirk is still developing, remember? Recovery Girl said my Quirk Factor was weak."

It's a flimsy excuse. They both know it.

But Hitoshi, bless him, doesn't push. She really needs to get him an appreciation gift or something. He’s the best. His next actions only further solidify Shuya’s thoughts.

Hitoshi just sighs and pulls out another pack of tissues from his bag, tossing them onto her desk.

"Just... be careful, okay?" His voice is quiet. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

Something warm and aching settles in Shuya's chest. "I know. I will be."

She won't. But he doesn't need to know that.

Though something tells her he doesn’t quite believe her either.

Something else changes in the days following the cafeteria incident.

Shoto Todoroki starts sitting with them at lunch.

Not every day—he still spends most lunches with Midoriya and his group—but at least once or twice, he'll quietly slide into the seat across from Shuya and Hitoshi with his lunch tray, his heterochromatic eyes unreadable.

He doesn't say much. Just eats his soba in silence while Nagisa rambles about whatever catches her interest that day. But his presence is... grounding, somehow. A silent show of solidarity that Shuya didn't know she needed until it was there.

And then there's the day Kendo Itsuka approaches their table with Monoma Neito in tow.

"Mind if we join you?" Kendo asks, her smile warm and genuine. "Our usual table is full today."

It's a lie. Shuya can see the 1-B table from here—there's plenty of room.

But she nods anyway. "Sure. The more the merrier."

Monoma slides into the seat next to Shoto—who had joined them that day—and for a moment, Shuya braces for the inevitable 1-A versus 1-B clash.

It doesn't come.

"Todoroki-san," Monoma says politely, inclining his head. "How are you finding the internship preparations?"

Shoto blinks, clearly as surprised as everyone else. "...Fine. You?"

"Excellent!" Monoma's smile is sharp but not mocking. "I'm interning with Vlad King. Should be educational."

"That's good."

And that's... it. No snide remarks about 1-A. No dramatic declarations about 1-B's superiority. Just a normal, cordial conversation between two students.

Hitoshi catches Shuya's eye across the table, his expression screaming what the hell is happening. Across the cafeteria, both 1-A and 1-B are collectively flabbergasted, their jaws hanging slack from pure shock. 1-A and 1-C still makes sense, since after the incident, her classmates including Sei and Nagisa hold a certain degree of respect for the dual quirk user. But 1-A, 1-B and 1-C all together?

Sprinkle Mei from Support on the top and you’ve got a shitshow right there.

Shuya just shrugs. She's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Kendo, for her part, seems pleased by Monoma's restraint. She launches into an animated discussion about her own internship offer, and soon the table is filled with chatter about hero agencies and training regimens and what to expect.

Shuya freezes, hesitates for a moment, then looks up.

“Kendo-san.”

“Ah—just call me Itsuka!”

“Fine.” Shuya accepts it easily. “But only if you call me Shuya.”

“Of course, Shuya-san! What were you saying?”

Shuya licks her lips, a little hesitant. Then takes a look at Kendo’s beaming face and sighs, resigned.

I guess I can’t help but meddle.

“You’re…planning on interning with Uwabami, right?”

“Yes!” Kendo smiles, clenching a fist with a determined look on her face. “I didn’t manage to make it to the tournament, so I’m going to use this opportunity to get some good experience.”

Oh you sweet summer child.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Shuya says bluntly, making the others at the table pause. When all gazes turn toward her, Shuya tries not to flinch. “Um…I’m pretty sure Yaoyorozu-san is also signing up for Uwabami, right?”

“…Yes? But why do you say so. ”

Shuya sighs, placing down her chopsticks. “You want experience, right? Uwabami is…not particularly known for her fieldwork. And both of you have such cool and unique quirks, so there’s bound to be people out there who can offer more…targeted feedback.”

For a second Shuya holds her breath, awaiting rejection. She’s surprised herself at how timid she’s being, then smiles ruefully to herself. Iida really was a madman, he managed to shake her this badly.

But instead of Kendo getting offended, Shuya is surprised when the girl leans in — looking very, very interested.

“Alright, Shuya-san. Who do you recommend?”

Shuya stares at her, aghast at her eagerness and Monoma snorts at the look on her face. Across the table, Shuya sees Sei and Hitoshi exchange quick, knowing grins before they continue eating. No one else pays attention, staring at her like she’s under a lens. Slowly, but surely, Shuya relaxes.

And answers.

“Well, you might want to reach out to Uraraka-san from 1-A for this, but Gunhead’s Agency teaches modern combat techniques that could heavily supplement your martial arts background—”

Kendo listens the entire time without turning away, peppering in some of her questions. Shuya lets her brain exercise, pulling out possibilities, arguments and analysis in a way it hasn’t in a while. Right, she used to like analyzing the quirks in this show.

It's... nice.

Normal, even.

For a moment, Shuya lets herself relax into the conversation, laughing at Hitoshi's terrible jokes and listening to Kendo's enthusiastic plans. She almost forgets about the nosebleeds, about Nighteye, about the voice recorder burning a hole in her bag.

Almost.

And then her nose starts bleeding again. God damn it.

"Shuya-san!" Kendo's voice is alarmed. "Your nose—"

"I'm fine," Shuya says quickly, already reaching for the tissues Hitoshi keeps shoving at her these days. "Just quirk overuse. Nothing serious."

"What? Are you using your quirk 24/7 or something?," Monoma says, and there's genuine concern in his voice. "Just go see Recovery Girl—"

"I said I'm fine." The words come out harsher than intended, and Shuya immediately regrets it when she sees everyone flinch back. She takes a breath. "Sorry. I just—I've been to Recovery Girl. She said it's normal for developing quirks. Growing pains."

It's the same excuse she gave Hitoshi. The same lie.

But it seems to work. Kendo nods slowly, though the worry doesn't leave her eyes. Shoto just watches her with that unreadable expression, and Shuya wonders—not for the first time—how much he's figured out.

"If you're sure," Kendo says finally. "But if it gets worse, please see a doctor, okay?"

"I will, promise." Shuya lies, then chuckles. “I’m already tired of washing out the bloodstains from the shirts.”

It works to lighten the mood immediately.

Later, before school lets up that day, Shuya quickly catches Yaoyorozu Momo on her way out.

“Hey, can we talk for a moment?”

The black-haired girl blinks for a moment, then a gracious smile crosses her face. “Of course, Kageyama-san. I was hoping to talk to you anyways.”

This makes Shuya pauses. “Huh? Why?”

Yaoyorozu doesn’t answer immediately, only giving Shuya a small smile as she guides them to a more secluded area across the compound. Then she turns, taking Shuya’s hands in hers and bows her head slightly.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Kageyama-san.” Shuya stiffens immediately, but Yaoyorozu presses on, black eyes gentle but determined. “I was not present for the incident, but I heard later and I would like apologize on behalf of Class 1-A.”

Oh yeah. The quirk blaming.

Shuya had nearly forgotten it.

“No—um, it’s alright.” She says awkwardly, resisting the urge to scratch her cheek. Yaoyorozu still has her hands clasped in hers, looking down at her with beautiful eyes. Fuck, she’s pretty. “It’s no big deal. I understand where they were coming from—”

“Still, be as it may,” The girl insists firmly, refusing to entertain any arguments. “It was wrong and I have had a talk with them. This incident will not repeat.”

Shuya stares at the girl in front of her for a long moment.

She’d deliberated for a long time whether or not to reach out to her. But Yaoyorozu had one of the coolest quirks in the entire series, had the work ethic and brain to back it up and was an absolute sweetheart later on in the series.

She swallows once, then looks up.

“Alright, Yaoyorozu-san. Thank you.”

A smile splits across the girl’s features, and Yaoyorozu shakes her head. “No, thank you.”

They stay like that for a moment, then Shuya awkwardly asks. “Um, can you let go of my hands now?”

“What? Oh? Oh! I apologize, I must have gotten too caught up—”

Adorable.

While Yaoyorozu frets about her perceived rudeness, Shuya absentmindedly massages her wrists. Then turns her gaze toward her. “Hey, Yaoyorozu—”

“—Call me Momo!”

“Alright, Momo-chan. Have you heard of Pro-Hero Fatgum?”

Despite the wholesome moment with Momo, who Shuya leaves with a lot to think about, her mood is quickly dampened the moment she returns home—to the apartment.

That evening, after another silent dinner where Eraser and Mic tiptoe around her like she's made of glass, Shuya finds herself unable to stay in the apartment.

The walls feel too close. The air too stifling. The weight of everything—Nighteye, the internship, Eri, the universe literally trying to reject her existence—pressing down on her chest until she can't breathe.

"I'm going for a walk," She announces, already pulling on her shoes.

Mic looks up from where he's washing dishes, concern flickering across his face. "Little listener, it's getting dark—"

"I'll be fine." Shuya doesn't look at him, doesn’t bother bristling at the ‘little’ in listener as she normally would. "I'll stay in public areas. I have my phone. I'll be back in an hour."

She's out the door before either of them can protest.

The evening air is cool against her flushed skin, and Shuya breathes it in gratefully. She starts walking with no particular destination in mind, just letting her feet carry her through familiar streets while her mind churns.

The nosebleeds are getting worse.

That much is undeniable. What started as occasional inconveniences have become a constant problem. Every time she even thinks about trying to use a quirk she doesn't have, her body rebels. Pain. Blood. A physical reminder that she doesn't belong here. It’s like being on her period 24/7. Very annoying.

Maybe this is the universe’s way of expelling me, She thinks, hands clenched in her pockets. Like an infection. A foreign body that needs to be removed.

It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. She's a glitch in the system, an anomaly that disrupted the Plot. Of course there would be consequences. Of course there would be a price.

She just didn't expect it to hurt this much.

Shuya walks for a long time, lost in thought, barely registering where her feet are taking her. It's only when she smells salt in the air and hears the gentle crash of waves that she looks up and realizes where she is.

Dagobah Beach.

She blinks, taking in the clean sand, the clear water, the distinct lack of trash and debris that once filled this place.

And then she laughs.

It's a quiet, slightly bitter sound, but genuine nonetheless.

Because of course. Of course she ended up here.

This beach—this pristine, beautiful beach—was once a garbage dump. A place so polluted and abandoned that no one wanted to come near it. And then Midoriya Izuku, Quirkless and desperate and determined, spent ten months hauling away every piece of trash by hand.

Ten months of backbreaking labor to prepare his body for One For All.

Ten months of transforming something broken into something beautiful.

Shuya walks down to the water's edge, her shoes sinking slightly into the soft sand. The waves lap at her feet, cold and refreshing, and she just... stands there for a moment, letting the sound wash over her.

Midoriya cleaned this entire beach, She thinks, looking out at the horizon. He was told he couldn't be a hero. Told he was worthless, useless, better off dead. And he still tried. Still fought. Still believed.

And he won.

Shuya doesn't have One For All. Doesn't have All Might's approval or support or even knowledge of her existence. She's just a girl from another world, fighting desperately to survive in a story that was never meant to include her.

But maybe—

Maybe that's okay.

Maybe she doesn't need to fit perfectly into the Plot. Maybe she doesn't need the universe's approval or naturalization or whatever cosmic bullshit is causing her nosebleeds.

Maybe she just needs to keep fighting.

"Do you think miracles exist?"

Her voice from what seems forever ago echoes in her mind, soft and hopeful and so, so fragile.

I do, Shuya thinks, older and wearier now, watching the sun dip below the horizon. I have to.

She stays at the beach until the sky turns purple and gold, until her phone buzzes with a concerned text from Mic, until the cold starts seeping into her bones.

And then she turns to leave—

"Do you need blood?"

The words slip out before Shuya can think better of them.

The girl freezes. She's small, blonde, with twin buns and a face that would be cute if not for the feral wariness in her amber eyes. She's been watching Shuya from behind a cluster of rocks for the past five minutes, probably thinking she was being subtle.

She wasn't.

Toga Himiko stares at Shuya like a cornered animal, her body coiled and ready to bolt. She doesn't respond, doesn't move, doesn't even breathe.

She’s nothing like how Shuya remembers from the canon story, none of that happy-go-lucky, insane behavior.

Then again.

Eventually, the future villainess says only one word. Her hands are shoved up her sleeves, no doubt ready to pull out her knives if in danger.

“How?”

Shuya lets out a soft sigh, keeping her posture relaxed and non-threatening. "It's not hard to figure out, you know. Even without my quirk." She tilts her head, grey eyes assessing. "You've been eyeing my throat for the past few minutes. Either you're a vampire—which, fair, I guess—or you have a blood-related quirk."

Himiko's eyes narrow dangerously, but there's curiosity there too. Suspicion.

These people are no longer characters, Shuya thinks, remembering the weight of Iida's grief, the pain in Aizawa's eyes, the warmth of Hitoshi's friendship. They're real people. Doomed by a fate I must break.

This—this is the first step.

"What blood type do you like best?" Shuya asks, as casually as if she's asking about favorite ice cream flavors.

Himiko's mouth opens slightly, confusion flickering across her features. Then, almost against her will, she whispers: "Type O."

Shuya groans, pressing a hand to her forehead dramatically. "Of course it is. I'm gonna be so dizzy." She pushes herself to her feet, brushing sand off her pants. "Come on."

"…What?"

"Blood donation center. There's one a few blocks from here." Shuya starts walking, then pauses to glance back. "You coming or not?"

Himiko just stares at her like she's lost her mind.

Maybe she has.

But after a long moment, the blonde girl follows, keeping a careful distance between them. Her body language screams distrust, suspicion, danger—but she follows nonetheless.

The donation center is nearly empty at this hour, just a bored-looking nurse at the front desk who barely glances up as they enter.

"I'd like to donate blood," Shuya announces. "Two bags. And I need to purchase a bag of type O."

The nurse blinks. "You want to... purchase blood?"

"For medical research," Shuya lies smoothly. "My school project. Here's my student ID and payment."

It takes some convincing and probably violates several regulations, but money talks. The U.A badge does too — how could one ever deny a hero hopeful? Not for the first time Shuya thanks the universe that the school I.Ds don’t list the class for privacy reasons. Not that it’d matter — Shuya’s face has been plastered all over TV for the past few weeks. Twenty minutes later, Shuya emerges from the donation room feeling lightheaded and triumphant, a sealed bag of type O blood in her hands.

Himiko has been sitting in the waiting area the entire time, looking like she's two seconds away from bolting. When Shuya holds out the blood bag to her, she just stares.

"Here." Shuya's smile is tired but genuine. "Though fair warning, you probably won't like my blood that much."

"Why—" Himiko's voice cracks. She clears her throat, eyes fixed on the blood bag like it might disappear. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're hungry," Shuya says simply. "And I can help. Come on, let's get some food. Actual food. I'm starving and dizzy and if I pass out in the street, Mic will never let me hear the end of it."

She starts walking, not waiting to see if Himiko follows.

This time, the blonde girl catches up faster.

They end up at a cheap fast-food place, the kind with flickering fluorescent lights and cracked vinyl booths. Shuya orders enough food for three people and slides into a corner booth where she can watch the door.

Himiko sits across from her, the blood bag hidden in her school bag now, her expression still guarded. Wary.

"So," Shuya says, dunking a fry in ketchup. "Vampire or mosquito?"

"…What?"

"Your aesthetic. Are you going for vampire or mosquito? Because the whole—" Shuya gestures vaguely at Himiko's outfit. "—schoolgirl thing reads more vampire, but the personality gives off mosquito energy. No offense."

A startled laugh escapes Himiko before she can stop it. "Mosquito energy?"

"You know. Persistent. Hard to get rid of.” Shuya waves her fries around, then pauses, a considering look on her face. “Kinda annoying but ultimately harmless if you just give it what it wants."

"I am not harmless," Himiko says, and there's an edge to it. A warning.

"Sure you're not." Shuya's smile is knowing. "That's why you've been following me this entire time instead of just taking what you need."

Himiko's eyes flash, a rare display of annoyance. "I could have—"

"But you didn't." Shuya takes a bite of her burger, chewing thoughtfully. "Because you're not a monster, Himiko. You're just hungry."

The use of her name makes Himiko freeze. "How do you—"

"Foresight quirk." Shuya waves a hand dismissively. "I know lots of things. Like how you probably followed me because you saw me on TV and assumed I’d be an easy target. Like how you probably don't have anywhere safe to stay. Or anyone who actually gives a damn whether you're okay."

The silence that follows is heavy.

Then Shuya pushes the second burger across the table. "Eat. You look half-starved."

For a long moment, Himiko just stares at the food. At Shuya. At this impossible situation where a stranger is buying her dinner and blood like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Then, slowly, she picks up the burger.

They eat in silence for a while. Shuya can feel herself getting drowsier—blood loss plus emotional exhaustion is not a great combination—but she pushes through it.

"I can get you blood," She says eventually. "Every other months or so. I'm only human, you know. Can't donate more frequently than that."

Himiko's eyes go wide. "You—what?"

"Blood. I can get it for you. Not mine specifically, obviously, but type O is pretty common. I can—"

"Why?" The word is almost desperate. "Why would you do that?"

Shuya meets her eyes steadily. "Because everyone deserves to eat. Even if their diet is... unconventional."

"You don't know me," Himiko says, and there's something fragile in her voice. "You don't know what I've done—"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes—"

"Why?" Shuya challenges. "You're here now. You're alive. You need help. That's all I need to know."

Himiko stares at her for a long moment, something complicated and painful crossing her face. Then she looks away, picking at her food.

"I'm serious." Himiko's eyes are sharp now, almost concerned. "People like you—people who help monsters like me—they always end up regretting it. You'll get hurt. Or worse."

"Probably," Shuya agrees. "But that's my problem, not yours."

They finish their meal in companionable silence. Once they walk out of the fast-food joint, Shuya shoves her hands in her pockets and asks lightly.

“Do you have somewhere to crash?”

This time, instead of being put off by her off-brand kindness, Himiko smiles — sharp and quick, but genuine.

“You shouldn’t be so kind, Shu-chan.” She says lightly but it’s more of a warning. “You’ll only end up getting hurt in the end.”

Shuya just smiles tiredly. "Then I guess I'll have to be careful, won't I?"

Himiko walks her to the station. When they finally part ways after exchanging numbers—Himiko disappearing into the crowd with one last confused, wary glance back—Shuya stands alone on the platform and lets out a long breath.

"I'm the cruelest person in the world right now," She mutters to herself, watching the trains pass by. "Nothing matters more than my own survival."

But even as she says it, she knows it's a lie.

Knows it in the way her chest aches when she thinks of Iida's grief. In the way she can't stop seeing Eri's terrified face in her mind. In the way she just gave blood and money and kindness to a girl who will become a villain, just because she could.

Because at the end of the day, Shuya cares. Despite everything—despite the universe trying to reject her, despite the nosebleeds and the pain and the constant fear—she still cares.

And maybe that's the most dangerous thing of all.

She turns and heads home, decision already made.

The day the internships are to begin, Shuya corners Izuku just as he’s about to head out the gates. The boy looks up, startled, a flicker of guilt and concern in his eyes.

“K—Kageyama-san?”

But Shuya does not care.

She reaches out to grab his forearm, ignoring the way his eyes go wide at the sudden touch, meeting them squarely. She does not flinch, giving him an intense, meaningful look.

“He will do something incredibly stupid.”

Izuku pauses, confused but still listening. Shuya continues, voice low but intent.

“You must not rush in blindly, Izuku. You must not.” She insists, feeling strangely desperate. Her grip on Izuku’s arm tightens. “Promise me. You must tell the pro-heroes. You must not go in alone. ”

I don’t think I could deal with more blood on my hands.

Izuku is silent for a long moment, green eyes carefully roving over her face. Shuya doesn’t know what he finds, but it makes him press his lips into a fine line, anxiety forgotten, and scarred fingers curl over the deathly grip on his arm — squeezing once, twice.

“I won’t.” He reassures her, face set into determination. “I promise.

Phase Four: Do Damage Control. Oh, and Stain. 1/3 Complete

Chapter Text

A couple of days before interships begin, Shuya spots Hitoshi in the hallway after homeroom, his purple hair sticking out even over a sea of colorful heads. It helps that he’s built like a light pole. She’s been meaning to catch him — the form for the internship placements was due by the end of the day, and she’d overheard Sei loudly congratulating him on getting an offer from Majestic.

Not Eraserhead, who she knows he has an offer from. Who is perfect. Who Hitoshi idolizes, has been training under for the past month now. It's the opportunity of a lifetime.

Except when she calls out to him, he flinches.

"Hitoshi."

He stops, shoulders tensing. Doesn't turn around.

Shuya narrows her eyes and quickens her pace, cutting him off before he can escape. "We need to talk."

"I have lunch—"

"Now."

She grabs his sleeve and drags him into an empty classroom, shutting the door behind them. Hitoshi won't meet her eyes, hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw set in that stubborn line she's come to recognize.

"You're not taking Eraserhead's offer."

It's not a question.

Hitoshi's silence is answer enough.

Shuya's stomach drops. "Hitoshi, why?"

"I have other options—"

"Bullshit." She steps in front of him, forcing him to look at her. "You've wanted to train with him since the Sports Festival. This is everything you've been working toward."

His jaw clenches. "Things change."

"What changed?"

"You know what." His voice is sharp, bitter. Purple eyes finally meet hers, and there's something fierce and protective burning there. "I'm not interning with someone who hurt you, Shuya. I'm frankly offended you'd think I would at all."

Oh.

Oh.

Shuya's breath catches. "Hitoshi—"

"Majestic offered me a spot," He continues, voice hard. "Said he was impressed with my performance at the Festival. That he could use someone with my quirk for investigative work."

"And you said yes." The words taste like ash.

"I said I'd think about it." He crosses his arms defensively. "I'm still thinking about it."

For a long moment, Shuya is silent. She simply can’t bring herself to speak. She merely stares at Hitoshi as if he’s grown two heads. Maybe he has, and the one holding all the brain cells decided to implode, leaving behind nothing but bullshit.

She’s known, all this time, that Hitoshi considers her his closest friend at U.A. Maybe even all through middle school as well, considering how shitty the people around him were up till now. And she reciprocates the feeling, she really does. In this world that's not her own, even though her connection with him started out of her wanting to speed up his plot-run, he’s perhaps the only sense of normalcy she has left.

The only real friend — connection — she has, now that she’s lost both Hizashi and Shouta.

I can’t lose you, too.

"Don't be stupid."

Hitoshi's eyes flash. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Shuya steps closer, her own anger rising to match his. "You're throwing away a good opportunity because of me? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It's not stupid to have standards—"

"It's stupid to sabotage yourself!" She wants to grab him, shake him. "Majestic is—he's not—" 

Who the hell is this dude? Who cares? It’s not Eraserhead. It’s not Aizawa.

"You won't learn anything useful there. Not compared to what Eraserhead can teach you."

"I'll work around it." His voice is stubborn, final. "I'll make it work."

Shuya gawks at Hitoshi, thrown off. She simply can’t understand, can’t comprehend just what would possess the boy to do something as stupid as this. He’d been working his entire life for an opportunity like this — this would be his gateway into the hero course, achieving his dreams.

And yet, she knows exactly, doesn’t she?

Just how much do you mean to these people? What have you done to gain such—

"Why?" Shuya's voice cracks despite herself. "Why would you do this?"

"Because you matter more than some internship!" The words burst out of him, raw and honest. Hitoshi glares at Shuya as if she’s the one being nonsensical. "Because I'm your friend, and friends don't just—they don't just ignore when someone hurts you—"

"And what, you're going to protect me by throwing away your future?" Shuya laughs, sharp and bitter, making no attempt to rein it in. "By giving up on everything you've worked for? That's not protection, Hitoshi. That's just guilt. And it's stupid."

Hitoshi flinches like she's struck him, and Shuya is plunged back into reality.

Fuck.

She takes a step back, regretting her harshness up till now. This is a kid, he was doing it with good intentions, she’s older—

I—

Shuya softens her voice, stepping closer. "Listen to me. Whatever happened with Eraserhead—with the adults, with Nighteye, with all of it—that's on them. Not on you. You don't owe me this kind of sacrifice."

I want nothing more than for you to succeed.

Hitoshi looks uncertain. "I'm not—"

"Yes, you are." Her eyes are steady, clear. Shuya reaches out to grab his arm, squeezing it. "You're sacrificing your training, your growth, your chance to learn from someone who actually understands your quirk. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you're a good friend?"

"That's not—" His voice wavers.

"The best gift you can give me isn't loyalty." She pokes him in the chest, meeting his gaze intently. "It's not sacrifice. It's doing well. Being the best hero you can be. And you can't do that with Majestic. You need Eraserhead."

Hitoshi reels back, half-confused, half-disbelieving. "But he hurt you—"

"And I'm still here." Shuya's voice is firm, waving her arms as if to demonstrate. "I'm fine. I'm handling it. What I can't handle is knowing that I'm the reason you didn't become the hero you're supposed to be."

Hitoshi is quiet for a long moment, conflict warring across his face. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to be a good friend."

And oh, the way she softens.

"You are a good friend." Shuya's throat tightens, and she’s reaching out to take Hitoshi’s hands in her own, squeezing them reassuringly. "The best. Which is exactly why you're going to march yourself down to the faculty office and resubmit that form with Eraserhead's name on it."

"Shuya—"

"No buts." She lets go and crosses her arms, scowling. "Do you really think wasting your potential helps me? Do you think watching you struggle with a hero who can't teach you anything is going to make me feel better?"

He's silent.

"Hitoshi." Her voice is gentle, reassuring. "I need you to be the best hero you can be. Not for me. For you. For everyone you're going to save someday. Don't let my problems hold you back."

Hitoshi just stares at her for a long moment, purple eyes searching her own for something — anything that betrays her true emotions.

But he finds nothing — Shuya makes it so — and something in his expression finally cracks. His shoulders slump slightly, and she finally catches it — that flash of excitement he'd been trying so hard to hide. That bright, eager hope he'd buried because he thought it would hurt her.

He'd wanted this. Wanted it so badly but had been willing to give it up just to spare her feelings.

Shuya's chest aches.

Aw fuck. I’ve been a bad friend to you, haven’t I?

"I should probably..." Hitoshi ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should probably go resubmit that form. Before Eraserhead gives the spot to someone else."

"Good idea."

He moves toward the door, then pauses. "Shuya?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She waves him off with a smile, trying to make it reach her eyes. "Get out of here already, beanpole."

He doesn’t need to be told twice, rushing out as fast as he can. Shuya follows him out of the classroom, then watches him disappear down the hallway. His steps are lighter now, shoulders straighter. There's an energy to his movement that hadn't been there before.

She's relieved to see it.

She's sad to see it.

She's both, and neither feeling makes sense.

"You're a good friend, young Kageyama."

Shuya startles at the new voice. She spins around to find a familiar tall, skeletal figure standing on the opposite end of the hallway — Yagi Toshinori in his true form, all sharp angles and hollow cheeks. His eyes are warm despite the shadows beneath them.

"All Might—" She blinks, straightening instinctively. "I didn't—how long were you—?"

"Long enough." Yagi draws closer to her, as silent as a shadow. It’s such a sharp contrast to his larger-than-life persona that it throws her off. "That was very kind, what you did just now."

Shuya doesn't know what to say to that. Kindness feels too generous a word for what just happened.

Yagi studies her for a moment, his expression contemplative. Then, almost carefully, he asks:

"Would you join me for tea, young Kageyama?"

Shuya stares at him, caught completely off guard.

Of all the things she expected today, this was not one of them.

"Tea?" She repeats slowly.

"Tea," Yagi confirms, that gentle smile never wavering. "I find it helps after difficult conversations. And I recently procured a new blend that I would like to try out with you."

Shuya stares at him, searching for his true intentions. But there's no threat in his words. No hidden agenda. Just an invitation from someone who somehow understands exactly what she needs right now.

Shuya swallows hard.

"...Okay," She says finally. "Yeah. Tea sounds good."

Yagi smiles, a little awkward but warm nevertheless.

The idea of All Might is inescapable.

He's the quintessential hero—the Superman of this universe, the gold standard by which all others are measured. His image is plastered on billboards, merchandise, and news broadcasts. He’s been around so long that he defines what a hero is: invincible, unstoppable, larger than life. Society simply doesn’t remember a time when All Might wasn’t the Symbol of Peace, even though, bafflingly, he couldn’t have been a hero for more than forty years. And yet, this is a testament to the sheer amount of influence this man holds.

Even in person, in his All Might form, he's overwhelming — booming voice, blinding smile, presence so bright it could eclipse the sun itself.

In the same vein, he’s perhaps the primary reason why the entire world goes to shit. Shigaraki Tomura was the first crack. All For One came swinging, but the only reason society’s foundations were so brittle and weak was All Might himself. And it wasn’t even intentional.

More than anything that quirk-stealing nutsack ever achieved across two lifetimes.

All Might is a paragon. A god wrapped in red, white, and blue.

But Yagi Toshinori?

Shuya watches him potter around the small faculty kitchenette, all sharp angles and hollow cheeks, fumbling slightly with the kettle as he pours hot water over tea leaves with the careful attention of someone who's still learning. He mutters something under his breath — probably about the temperature — and adjusts his grip on the teapot.

Yagi Toshinori is human.

A surprisingly kind, thoughtful man. A little stupid, a little awkward, yes — his inexperience with teaching students is glaringly obvious half the time. But he's earnest. Endearing, even.

He tries, simple as that.

You can hate what All Might represents — more god than human, an impossible standard, a symbol that crushes as much as it inspires. God knows Shuya does, and damn, Tomura Shigaraki has some choice words for him —

But you can't hate Yagi Toshinori, who fiercely insists that Shuya sit down while he makes the tea because it would be rude otherwise. Who makes his successor cute little bentos for lunch, and carries around little embroidered handkerchiefs to hand out to anyone who needs them.

The contradiction makes her head hurt.

"Here." Yagi places a cup of tea in front of her with a gentle smile, the ceramic warm against the table. Steam curls upward in lazy spirals, almost hypnotizing. “Be careful, Young Kageyama. It’s hot.”

But instead of sitting down with his own cup, he just…lingers there in the air, half-bent over, watching her with expectant eyes.

Shuya stares at the tea. Then at him. "...Do you want me to drink it?"

"Oh! Yes! I mean—" He fumbles, nearly spilling his own cup. "Only if you want to! No pressure! But I did make it specifically for you, and I'd hoped—but of course you don't have to—"

She takes a sip to put him out of his misery. It's... actually pretty good.

"It's good.”

Yagi beams, and he's so genuinely pleased that Shuya feels something uncomfortable twist in her chest. "I'm so glad! I've been practicing, you see. I have a lot of free time now that I can't do hero work full-time, and I thought—well, everyone drinks tea, don't they? And I’m not allowed caffeine after my injury, so green tea seemed like a good skill to develop—"

He's rambling. This is the exact moment that Shuya realizes with dawning horror that Yagi Toshinori, All Might, the Symbol of Peace, rambles when he's nervous.

Huh, not much difference between you and Midoriya, eh?

Shuya blinks, staring at the cup for a moment before looking up at him. "Why are you doing this?"

Yagi blinks, caught off-guard. "Doing... what, Young Kageyama?"

"This." She gestures between them. "The tea. The conversation. I've noticed all the teachers giving me a wide berth lately."

"Ah." The blond skeleton finally settles into the seat opposite her, nursing his own cup close to his chest. He offers her a thin, but understanding smile. "Well. We thought—that is, the faculty discussed—we believed it would be best to give you some space. To process. After the... events."

Shuya snorts despite herself, the sound bitter. "Wouldn't have to if you all fucking listened."

She expects a reprimand—some scolding about her language or attitude. Then again, he’d never curbed Bakugo’s behavior, able to see through that veneer of uncouthness. So Yagi just hums, a low, contemplative sound, and doesn't deny it.

Shuya's eyebrows shoot up, despite herself. She stares at him, searching his face for—what? Defensiveness? Excuses?

There's nothing. Just that same gentle understanding, tinged with something that might be regret.

After a long moment, Yagi speaks. "I heard you plan on interning with Sir Nighteye."

Ah. So that's what this is about.

Shuya finally realizes the true purpose of this little tea session. She puts the cup down with a soft clink, leaning back against the sofa cushions and crossing her arms. "So what if I am?"

Yagi takes a careful sip of his tea, his expression diplomatic, neutral. "He's a good hero."

Shuya quirks her lips dryly, unable to help herself. "I dunno about that. You two broke up, didn't you?"

The effect is immediate and spectacular.

Yagi chokes on his tea, spluttering and coughing, his skeletal frame shaking with the force of it. Tea sloshes dangerously in his cup as he sets it down with fumbling hands, and Shuya feels a genuine spark of amusement flicker to life in her chest.

Didn't Horikoshi confirm this dude's bisexual or something? I was hoping for some representation. 

" Young K-Kageyama!" He wheezes, his face flushing. "That's—we didn't—it wasn't—!"

Shuya watches this disaster unfold with genuine amusement. "You're really bad at comforting people, you know."

"You're really bad at comforting people, y'know," Shuya says, her lips twitching despite herself.

Yagi looks up at her, a little put out at his obvious failure. He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "I suppose I am, aren't I?"

"How do you usually comfort Izuku?" She asks, genuinely curious.

Yagi's expression softens immediately at the mention of the boy. Shuya eyes him like he’s some particularly interesting specimen. "Young Midoriya is... simpler. A hug and some encouraging words usually do the trick."

Shuya snorts.

"Well, I'm a bit harder than that, sorry." Her tone is dry but not unkind. "I don't have that whole All Might's biggest fan thing going on, after all. Or the successor thing."

She pauses, then adds pointedly, "Or the All Might's favorite student thing."

That gets the man to react, spluttering.

"I don't have favorites!" To his credit, Yagi looks genuinely distressed. "I care about all my students equally! Young Midoriya just needs more support because of his late quirk development and the physical strain of One For All! We’ve been very covert and inconspicuous—"

"You really haven't," Shuya says dryly. "Half the school knows you've taken Izuku under your wing. They don't know about One For All specifically, but the favoritism? You two should be better about hiding it. Seriously."

"We're discreet—" Yagi protests weakly.

"You make him bentos," Shuya deadpans. "With little cut vegetables shaped like bunnies. And then give them to him like a schoolgirl in love. You light up like a Christmas tree every time he does anything remotely impressive. Last week, you gave him a thumbs up so enthusiastically in the hallway that you pulled a muscle and had to go see Recovery Girl."

“…How do you know about that?”

She flashes him a wry smile. “Eraser complains. And the bentos are cute.”

Or at least he used to. Things are a bit tense at home lately.

Yagi's mouth opens and closes soundlessly, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. "

That's—! I just—!" He deflates slightly, shoulders sagging. "Now that I can't do hero work all the time, I have more free time, and it gets... boring very quickly. I don't like feeling wasteful. Useless."

The admission is quiet, almost vulnerable, as if not meant to be heard at all. And Shuya feels something in her chest soften despite herself.

Ah. There it is.

The loneliness of a man who defined himself by his work for so long that he doesn't know what to do without it. And isn’t that a thought? The more she likes Yagi Toshinori, the more she hates All Might.

A colder, crueler part of her wonders who Midoriya Izuku loves more — the bright, shining All Might, or the exhausted, lonely man beneath?

She shakes the thought away, knowing it’s unfair to the boy, and speaks.

"Izuku is a good kid.”

Yagi's expression shifts, becoming tender and warm in a way that makes him look less like a skeletal former hero. Shuya watches him smile down at the cup in his hands. "Yes... he is."

They're silent for a moment, Yagi absorbed in his own thoughts about his successor. Shuya picks up her tea again, letting the warmth seep into her palms. Perhaps she understands now why he’d pulled her aside for this weird tea session. Yagi Toshinori may not be All Might, capable of lifting buildings and beating up villains. But he’s still a hero, though, in all the ways that matter.

So she speaks.

"Don't worry."

Yagi looks up, curiosity flickering in his sunken eyes.

Shuya meets his gaze meaningfully, her grey eyes steady and clear. "I won't break."

I refuse to.

Yagi observes her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he lets out a soft sigh and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, it seems like I've been caught."

Shuya laughs, mirthless and sharp. "You weren't doing a good job of hiding it. The tea? The concern? Please."

"I suppose not," Yagi admits with a rueful chuckle. "I've never been good at being lowkey. Or covert."

Shuya shoots him an incredulous look, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. "All Might? The Symbol of Peace? Seven feet something wrapped in red, white, and blue? That guy? Covert?"

Yagi has the grace to look embarrassed, ducking his head slightly. "When you put it that way..."

"There is no other way to put it," Shuya says flatly, but there's a hint of warmth in her voice now. "You're about as subtle as a brick through a window."

"Fair enough."

He sends her off with promises of more tea. Shuya doesn’t have it in her heart to deny him or to even resent him. Not in the way she does Shouta, Hizashi, and Nedzu. Yagi Toshinori is the type to feel so guilty that you can’t help but forgive him. Not that Shuya is nice enough to do so immediately.

The only thing is — it says a lot about his character that he is the first to do so.

That’s more than what she can say about most of the idiots here.

Shuya glares at the ceiling, right in the direction of the hidden camera she knows that Nedzu has installed.

Little sociopathic bastard.

The next day, she ruffles Hitoshi’s hair on her way out of class. Once he’d gotten her blessing, it’s as if a dam has been broken. The dumbass has been excited all week about his internship with Eraser, despite already being trained by him. Shuya doesn’t get it, but she shakes her head fondly regardless.

“Good luck, beanpole.”

She’s on her way past U.A.’s gates when a booming voice calls out behind her.

"Kageyama-san!"

She turns to find a tall blonde boy jogging toward her, his smile so bright it could probably power a small city. Mirio Togata, third-year, one of U.A.'s Big Three, and ah — Shuya remembers with a slight jolt —  Nighteye's prized intern.

Right. He was Nighteye’s kid.

"Hi!" Mirio's grin somehow gets wider as he catches up to her. "You're heading to Nighteye's agency, right? We can go together!"

Shuya blinks, a little thrown off. "I... sure?"

"Awesome!" He falls into step beside her with an easy, cheerful energy that makes Shuya feel exhausted just looking at him. "It's your first day, right? Don't worry, everyone at the agency is super nice! Well, mostly. Nighteye can be a bit intense, but he's a great hero!"

If you say so.

"Uh-huh," Shuya says noncommittally. Then belatedly, “I’m in your care, Mirio-senpai.”

“Woah, I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Shuya snorts. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know you, senpai?”

“Oh?” Mirio gives an easy grin, wiggling his eyebrows. “What are people saying about me?”

Shuya flashes him her best shit-eating grin. “Well, for one, they say you’ve got a kink about flashing women, especially your juniors at U.A—”

“—Eek, Kageyama-san, no!”

Shuya cackles.

They make their way to the train station, and Mirio fills the silence with cheerful chatter about the agency, about his own internship experience, about how excited he is to have another student joining them, and about how he definitely only flashes people strategically, okay?

He pointedly doesn’t mention the incident in the cafeteria, where he, alongside other upperclassmen, had likely witnessed her public meltdown. But then again, lunch is set at different times across the three years, so he might not have seen it.

Shuya smirks ruefully. As if.

It’s frankly annoying, but hero students have the most flexible schedules in the world. Like hell, at least a couple of them hadn’t passed by that shitshow. At least Mirio’s too good a guy to bring it up first.

It makes the transit much easier; Shuya had expected to drown herself in her thoughts the entire time. Then, as they board the train, he says, "Hey, Kageyama-san, why did the scarecrow win an award?"

Shuya stares at him. "What?"

"Because he was outstanding in his field!" Mirio delivers the punchline with such genuine enthusiasm that Shuya doesn't have the heart to tell him it's terrible. “Get it?”

She still does, though, of course.

"...That's awful."

"Right?!" Mirio beams like she's just complimented him. "I've got more! What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

"Please don't—"

"A fsh!" He pronounces it without the 'i' sound, grinning like an idiot.

Despite herself, Shuya feels her lips twitch. Just a little.

"You're ridiculous."

"I'll take that as a compliment!" Mirio's energy is relentless, throwing out one terrible dad joke after another for the entire train ride. "Why don't scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything! What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, it just waved!"

By the time they reach their stop, Shuya's headache has intensified, but there's also a strange warmth in her chest. Mirio's kindness is... genuine. Uncomplicated. He's not trying to get anything from her or figure her out. He's just being nice.

It's disarming.

It’s also a reminder of why she’d loved him as a character so much. Season 4 of the anime was her favorite for a reason: it was Mirio’s debut, Eri’s rescue, and — Shuya flushes a little — of — of course, the introduction of her favorite character.

“—So then Hado-san just got those and Tamaki could only manifest chicken feet for the rest of the week, haha!”

Her — Her ultra-favorite character.

“Right.” She says distractedly, and Mirio’s brows shoot up when he notices the flush to her cheeks. He immediately grins, a little mischievous. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing!” He sings, then quickly rushes forward to avoid her gaze. “We’re here, Kageyama-san!”

“Just call me Shuya, senpai.”

“Shuya-chan, then!”

The Nighteye Agency is housed in a sleek, professional building. As they enter, two heroes immediately approach—a tall man with what appears to be centipede-like features, and a young woman with blue skin and a hero costume that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

What a good day to be a bisexual.

"Mirio! You're back!" The woman — Bubble Girl, Shuya realizes — greets them warmly. Then her eyes land on Shuya. "Oh! You must be the new intern! Kageyama-san, right?"

"That's me," Shuya says, managing a polite smile.

"I'm Bubble Girl, and this is Centipeder!" She gestures to the tall hero beside her. "Welcome to the agency! We're so excited to have you!"

Centipeder nods gravely, speaking from…somewhere. How the fuck is he alive? How does biology work for him? Does he even have bones?? Or an exoskeleton?

"It's an honor to work with another student from U.A.” He says, reaching out to shake her hand. Shuya immediately squeezes, trying to work out the bones. He looks a bit amused at her attempt. “Mirio has been amazing so far.”

"Of course I have!" Mirio laughs, slapping a hand on Shuya’s shoulder. She yelps, then glares at him. "U.A.'s the best!"

Centipeder lets go of her hand, and Shuya mourns the loss of figuring out the bones vs exoskeleton debate. Only for the hero to catch her eye knowingly.

“I’m sure you have questions. I’d be willing to answer, but let's get you settled in first.”

Shuya beams, nearly forgetting why she’s here in the first place.

…She’s a nerd, okay?

After that, Bubble Girl rushes her over to get her paperwork completed. Mirio follows after them, using patrol as an excuse to hang around a bit longer. As they chat, Bubble Girl leans in conspiratorially. "Fair warning, Nighteye's been in a mood lately.

That makes Mirio pause. “Oh really, what’s wrong with the Sir?”

Centipeder sighs from across the room. “You remember the Ingenium case, right?”

Shuya visibly stiffens.

She can feel Mirio’s gaze on her, but the senior says nothing.

“Yeah! What’s up with that?”

“Well, he's been obsessing over the Hero Killer case,” Bubble Girl sighs, stamping the last of Shuya’s paperwork. “—keeps saying he's going to head to Hosu himself to capture him."

Shuya's blood runs cold.

Hosu. Stain.

"Really?" She keeps her voice carefully neutral. "He's going after the Hero Killer?"

"Yep!" Bubble Girl doesn't seem to notice Shuya's tension. "He's been tracking the pattern of attacks. Very determined to bring Stain to justice, especially after what happened to Ingenium..."

She trails off, glancing at Shuya with sudden uncertainty, as if remembering that Shuya was connected to that whole mess.

"Right," Shuya says quietly. "Of course."

So Nighteye is going after Stain in Hosu. Just where I warned them he would be. And he still didn't believe me.

The irony would be funny if it weren't so damn infuriating.

"Anyway!" Mirio claps his hands together, breaking the awkward silence. "Kageyama-chan, you should probably go meet with Nighteye! His office is upstairs." His grin takes on a slightly mischievous edge. "Oh, and here's a tip—try to make him laugh! He's a lot easier to work with if you can get him to smile."

Shuya stares at him. "Make him laugh?"

"Yep! That's what I had to do!" Mirio gives her a thumbs-up. "Good luck!"

Absolutely not.

Shuya has no intention of performing for Nighteye's approval. She's not here to entertain him or prove herself worthy. She's here for answers.

She makes her way upstairs, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. When she reaches Nighteye's office, she pauses for just a moment, steeling herself.

Then she knocks.

"Enter."

The voice is cold, clipped. Professional.

Shuya opens the door and steps inside.

Nighteye's office is immaculate—organized to the point of obsession. Every file is perfectly aligned, every surface spotless. And behind the large desk sits the man himself, his sharp yellow eyes fixed on her with an intensity that makes her want to take a step back.

She doesn't.

She might’ve taken him seriously if it were not for the fact that every inch of his ‘spotless’ walls was covered in All Might posters and merch. Suddenly, the man in front of her looked a little pathetic, especially in his attempts to be intimidating.

"Kageyama Shuya," Nighteye says, not as a greeting but as a statement. An acknowledgment of her presence, nothing more.

"Nighteye-san," Shuya returns, keeping her voice steady. “Vista reporting for duty.”

Sei had helped her come up with the name. It was Italian for ‘sight’, which was a little on the nose, yeah, but not as blunt as say, Bubble Girl and fucking Sugarman. She’s still not planning on being a hero, despite Nedzu’s best attempts to shoehorn her into the Hero Course. But she’d still needed a hero costume and code name to do this internship.

Hence, Vista, a sleek black and grey jumpsuit, Momo, and Mei had teamed up to make for her. It’s nothing special, given the short notice, and repurposes a lot of what Shuya already had from the Sports Festival — like the reinforced soles and the staff. But Momo had insisted vehemently on a single addition, despite Shuya’s protests.

“This is a token of my friendship.” She’d said, eyes glittering with determination, and Shuya had relented. “Please accept it.”

Thin, skin-tight gloves that didn’t hinder her movement in any way. But Momo had worked her magic inside, arranging the carbon fibers in such a manner that they absorbed kinetic energy from movement without minimal waste, only to rebound it back directly through her fists. It was an elementary version of the Black Panther suit Shuya remembers seeing in the movies, but given the complexity of the task, plus the sheer strain on Momo to make the carbon fiber in the first place—

Yeah, she’d cried.

It was not cool at all, wet and snotty and hiccupy. Momo’s smile had been bright and warm, so all was good. Mei, that madwoman, had just cackled the entire time.

The memory of her friends soothes her nerves a little. At least, whatever is left unburnt from the past few weeks of absolute agony at the hands of the man in front of her.

Shuya stares at Nighteye, eyes dull and listless.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Nighteye's eyes bore into her, assessing, dissecting, calculating. It's like being examined under a microscope.

Finally, he speaks.

"I'll be direct. I don't want you here."

Shuya blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Nighteye leans back in his chair, his expression cold. "I didn't send you an internship offer out of genuine interest in training you. I sent it because I need to keep an eye on you."

Well. At least he's honest.

"Why?" Shuya asks, though she already knows the answer.

There's a pause. Nighteye doesn’t answer immediately, as if unwilling to do so.

Shuya tilts her head, studying him with those sharp grey eyes. "I heard you're going to Hosu. To catch Stain yourself."

Nighteye's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

"Is that guilt, I wonder?" Shuya's voice is soft, almost conversational. "Because you dismissed my warning and now you're trying to make it right—"

"Enough." Nighteye's voice cuts through the air like a blade, suddenly harsh, his composure cracking. He leans forward, yellow eyes blazing. "You have no right to speak of matters you know nothing about. No right to presume—"

"But my prediction was correct, wasn't it?" Shuya interrupts quietly. "Stain attacked Ingenium. And how he’s active in Hosu. Just like I said he would be."

“That was a fluke, and it doesn’t matter what you say.”

“Why?”

"Because you're a liar," Nighteye snaps, the words sharp and final. "You don't have a Foresight quirk. You never did. I checked. I don’t know how you managed to trick Nedzu, but whatever game you're playing—whatever scheme you're running—I won't let it interfere with my work or endanger my agency."

The black-haired girl just stares at the hero, tired and resentful.

In any other situation, I’d be on your side about this.

But.

Shuya tries not to scoff.

Joke's on you, dickhead, the universe itself decided to shove a quirk in me.

Still, something hot and furious flares in Shuya's chest. "I'm not—"

"I don't owe you an explanation," Nighteye interrupts, his voice sharp. "And I don't owe you my trust. You will keep your head down, you will stay out of my way, and you will not spread any more of your false predictions. Do I make myself clear?"

Shuya's hands clench into fists at her sides. "You're treating me like a criminal."

"Because you might as well be one," Nighteye says coldly. "False hero intelligence, interfering with hero operations, causing panic and misdirection—all of that could be considered criminal activity. The only reason you're not facing charges is that you're a child and because U.A. vouched for you."

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing.

"But I'm onto you, Kageyama. Whatever you're planning, whatever your endgame is—I will figure it out. And when I do, you'll face the consequences."

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Shuya wants to laugh. Wants to throw his own failures in his face, wants to demand why he lied about her prediction, why he let Ingenium get hurt when she warned them.

But she can't. Not yet. Not without proof, not without a plan.

So instead, she takes a deep breath and meets his eyes steadily.

"Is that all?" Her voice is carefully controlled, betraying none of the fury churning inside her.

Nighteye's expression doesn't change. "You'll be doing basic patrol observation and paperwork. Nothing important. Nothing that could cause damage if you try to sabotage it. Centipeder will supervise you. Don't make me regret giving you this opportunity."

Opportunity. As if this is a favor and not a trap.

"Understood," Shuya says through gritted teeth.

"Then get out of my office."

Shuya turns and walks out, her spine rigid, her hands still clenched into fists. The door closes behind her with a soft click.

Only when she's alone in the hallway does she let herself breathe.

He doesn't trust me. He never will.

But that's fine.

Because I don't trust him either.

She stays at the agency for the rest of the day, shadowing Centipeder as he handles minor incidents and paperwork. The work is mind-numbingly boring, clearly designed to keep her occupied and out of the way.

But Shuya doesn't complain. She observes. She listens. She learns.

Because if Nighteye thinks she's just going to sit quietly and accept his judgment, he's sorely mistaken.

This is just the beginning.

The week settles into a routine.

Monday through Wednesday follow the same pattern. School ends, and Shuya makes her way to the agency gates where Mirio is inevitably waiting, that bright smile already in place. The train rides blur together—Mirio filling every moment with chatter, terrible jokes, stories about his classmates, and questions about her day. It should be exhausting. Sometimes it is. But more often than not, Shuya finds herself relaxing into his easy companionship, the knot of tension in her chest loosening just a fraction.

At the agency, they change into their hero suits. Shuya's is simple, practical—nothing flashy, which suits her fine. Then Mirio sweeps her out onto patrol, Centipeder too buried in paperwork to supervise directly. For a few hours, they walk the streets, Mirio pointing out landmarks, explaining patrol routes, and waving at civilians who recognize him. He's so earnest, so genuinely good, that Shuya feels something in her chest ache.

He deserves better than what's coming, she thinks, watching him help an elderly woman with her groceries. Better than Nighteye's expectations. Better than losing his quirk.

After patrol, it's back to the agency for paperwork with Bubble Girl. The heroine is patient, kind, walking Shuya through incident reports and patrol logs. It's tedious work, but Shuya doesn't mind. It gives her time to think. To plan.

If Mirio is the highlight of her internship—and he is, his cheerful presence a balm against the hollowness that's taken up residence in her chest since the Sports Festival—then Nighteye is the shadow. She sees him rarely outside of set times. He's always in his office, always working, always watching. When their paths do cross, his yellow eyes track her with cold calculation, and Shuya meets his gaze with steel in her own.

He trains her every day.

Not kindly. Not gently. But thoroughly.

Shuya doesn’t even know why. Maybe it’s to break her down, force her to admit the truth. Or maybe it’s to verify her claims about actually having a quirk. He does manage to confirm it, but by the sheer look of horror on his face, you’d think Shuya had killed a puppy.

“You—” He had reeled back, suddenly looking terrified. “You didn’t have it before— how could you get it so suddenly—unless, don’t tell me—”

Then he’d frozen, a slew of emotions passing over his face. Shuya had just stared at him, dry and irritated, already aware his thoughts were heading in an annoying direction.

“No, I did not get it from All For One.” The way Nighteye had flinched then was almost cathartic. Shuya had given him a dry look. “Don’t give me that look—yes, I fucking know about the evil demon lord wannabe who’s gonna fuck up hero society within the next year—”

From that day onwards, he began seeing her in a different light.

Shuya didn’t care for it either way — she still hated his guts. He was mean to Izuku. Or he would be. No amount of tragically dying or wholesome NightDad fics could fix that.

Well, not as if I can tell him the Plot is literally forcing a quirk into me in order to tone down the butterfly effects of my changes to BNHA canon.

"Your quirk is Foresight," He says on Tuesday, his voice clinical as they stand in the agency's training room. "Show me."

“What does it matter?” Shuya scoffs, still a little bitter. “You don’t believe it exists either way.”

“I don’t think it's Foresight, as you claim it to be.” Nighteye corrects her coldly. “Perhaps you will finally admit it.”

Like hell, I will.

Shuya's nose bleeds almost immediately when she tries. The familiar stabbing pain lances through her skull, and she staggers.

"Pathetic," Nighteye observes coldly. "Again."

"I can't—"

"Again."

She tries. Fails. Bleeds.

"Your Quirk Factor is weak because you don't use it," Nighteye says, watching her dab at her nose with a tissue. "Use it or lose it, Kageyama. That's how quirks work."

Except I don't actually have one, Shuya thinks bitterly. Unless it's convenient, huh?

But she tries anyway. Because what else can she do?

By Wednesday, the nosebleeds are less immediate. By Thursday, she can hold the attempt for almost thirty seconds before her body rebels.

It's not real Foresight. She's not seeing anything. But her body is... adapting. Learning to accept the fiction that the universe is trying to force onto her. The quirk that shouldn't exist but somehow does because Reality itself is bending to accommodate the anomaly.

Her Foresight, as weird and eldritch as it is, has some key differences from Nighteye’s Mirai. She’d forgotten that his quirk was also called Foresight, but it's not like she can change it. But regardless of the same name, they’re still very different. For one, Nighteye needed to touch someone to look at their future, and he could only do it once for an hour a day. And it was through the lens of the person it was used on, so it offered a rather limited scope.

Well, at least, in comparison to Shuya’s.

As far as she knows, her Quirk has no limits, save for the extreme physical strain — eye fatigue, crippling headaches, and the nosebleeding. So much nosebleeding.

But still, she’d quickly grown used to all the nose bleeding. Shuya even thinks she pulls it off well, actually. Her Quirk, much like Nighteye’s, worked best on a single target. But the key distinction was that it would pull up hundreds of possible realities — both near and far in the future — all at once. The brain input was insane, capable of driving any normal person into a coma.

That, and Shuya’s in no hurry to find out whether or not she could go blind from using this stupid thing.

It’s kind of funny, actually: Nighteye’s quirk has strict limitations, but no recoil or consequence, whereas Shuya’s is limitless but also literally pushes the limit of what the human body can fucking handle.

Maybe that’s where her naturalization into the story kicks in — some of that quirk genetics and evolution kicking in. Bone density, Shuya groans. It’s always fucking bone density.

Her brain is adapting to the Plot, making her a ‘character’ of the story.

It makes recalling what she knows about BNHA canon much harder — some of the finer details of the anime and manga becoming hazy — but also lessens the strain of using Foresight. From that point onwards, it’s Shuya’s own intellect and brilliance that allows her to sift through large amounts of information in such a short period of time — calculating realities with the highest likelihood of coming true, and then predicting them out loud.

So we do get to use math in real life. 

It’s still problematic, though, because this assessment is based on her own assumptions — rather than an objective outcome of her quirk. Yes, quirks can be tricked or bypassed, like how Shuya had done with Tsukauchi’s truth quirk — but they’re still objective and unbiased. If Shuya makes a single mistake in her calculations, the future will deviate highly from her expectations and her preparations.

When Shuya relays this to Nighteye, he is silent for a long time.

Then he starts pushing her harder in training, offering her the following reason.

“What if…you can test out full futures, like a demo or simulation, before they even occur?”

Picking and choosing elements, forming a reality of her own, and running constant simulations. Shuya knows it well before Nighteye even having to say it — the mental load would be insane.

But it would be the biggest cheat code Shuya could ever have.

She idly wonders if doing crack would help speed things up.

Hey, it’s a legitimate thought, okay?

That’s the only reason she puts up with his training.

"Better," Nighteye says on Friday morning, and there's no warmth in the word, but there's acknowledgment. "You might actually be useful tonight."

Shuya wants to laugh. Or scream. Or both.

Instead, she just nods and follows him out of the training room. Right outside, Mirio slaps a hand on her back and immediately slides a box of apple juice over to her. Shuya slams that shit down like it’s a shot of vodka, making him splutter.

“PWAHAHAHA—”

She knows the weekends would mean longer shifts at the agency. More patrols, more training, more time under Nighteye's scrutiny.

She also knows she'll never get to make it until that point.

When was it? The fourth — maybe fifth day of the internships?

Thursday comes too quickly.

Nighteye calls a meeting that morning—Mirio, Bubble Girl, Centipeder, and Shuya all gathered in the conference room. His expression is grave as he spreads a map of Hosu across the table.

"I'll be traveling to Hosu on Saturday morning," he announces. "The Hero Killer has been sighted in the area. I intend to apprehend him."

Shuya's blood runs cold.

There it is.

She intends to put up a fight for the chance to accompany him there. Nighteye knows nothing — rather simply does not care for it. For her. Even if she has to disobey orders and sneak there on her own—

But then Nighteye does nothing that no one expects.

“Mirio. Kageyama. Be prepared, you will both accompany me there.”

When Shuya jerks up, Nighteye is already staring at her — cold, knowing.

He knows.

Not what will happen — he can't, because his Foresight showed him nothing. But he knows she knows. He's testing her. Waiting to see if she'll warn him, if she'll slip up and prove she has information she shouldn't.

It's a trap within a trap.

Mirio looks between them, confusion flickering across his features at the sudden tension. "Sir? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all," Nighteye says smoothly, though his eyes never leave Shuya's face. "I simply want to ensure our new intern gets proper field experience. Isn't that right, Kageyama-san?"

Shuya's jaw clenches. "Of course, Nighteye-san."

"Good." He turns back to the map. "We leave at sunset. Be ready."

“You are the one who tipped off the heroes about Ingenium.”

Sharp yellow eyes gaze down at her from across the desk, no doubt methodically picking out every single piece of information they can from her body language. The mood had been weird ever since Nighteye’s announcement, a strange tension between them that had quickly driven Mirio and the rest out to spare them the details.  She’d quickly follow him into his office afterward and now stands in front of his desk, arms locking behind her back stiffly.

Shuya stares at Nighteye stonily, keeping her expression neutral.

“And you’re the one who refuted my claim.”

There’s an unspoken ice in her words.

You’re the reason Ingenium is crippled.

Shuya had warned them; she’d begged and begged Eraser—had told Nedzu, Mic, and anyone she could get to listen. She could have warned Tenya—he was right there—but she didn’t, because they had told her they trusted her words and they’d take care of it.

To trust the adults.

What use was it now—all of those warnings, all of those false promises of trust—when all was said and done, a good man lay comatose, and an innocent child swore revenge even on the pain of death?

So Shuya stares at Nighteye in the eyes defiantly, unflinchingly.

This is the reason I never liked you in the manga, Nighteye.

His lip curls downwards in displeasure at whatever he finds in her expression.

That’s a lie, parasite. Why won’t you be more honest?

“You see,” He folds his fingers, leaning back with the practiced leisure of someone who’s been hiding how he is controlled by his paranoia for far too long. “I don’t believe you have Foresight, Kageyama Shuya.”

I was sad. Shuya thinks silently, resigned. But I never liked you.

In any other situation, Shuya would’ve been terrified to be caught lying by the literal dude who knows the future. Nighteye was literally the worst person to be around—sidelining Tsukauchi, of course. But this was not that situation, and this is not the Shuya from back then.

“You believe, you say.” Her grey eyes are sharp like steel blades, reflecting a cold, cutting anger that could slice through any pretense of calm that was presented before her. Shuya leans in, her voice low and dark. “Your foolish, inane beliefs have cost a man his legs, a family their son, a child his brother. All because you believed wrong.”

“You talk as if Ingenium is dead.”

“Ingenium is dead.” Shuya cuts him off immediately, ignoring the way Nighteye’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “The pro-hero Ingenium is dead because another pro couldn’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to even consider the fact that there might be another person out there who could use the same quirk as him. Iida Tensei is another matter.”

Sir Nighteye — no, Mirai Sasaki looks at her with a thunderous expression.

And she knows in that moment, it’s not Ingenium he’s talking about, but rather someone taller, blonder, weaker.

“A hero does not cease being one just because they are a victim, child.” He spits out venomously, hands curling into fists. “Ingenium did his duty, and he will be remembered for it. He can retire proudly now.”

“And what of Iida Tensei?” Shuya shoots back, grey eyes shifting like pools of pure mercury. “What of Iida Tensei, who is crippled and essentially Quirkless for the rest of his life? Who will wake up every morning with phantom pain—will spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair?”

Nighteye frowns. “You make no sense—Ingenium and Iida Tensei are the same—”

“They are not!” The dark-haired girl finally loses her temper, slamming her fists on the table and shouting. “They are two separate people! One is a facade, and the other is a living, breathing person with a family, with a dream, with a life. That you took away from him because you couldn’t make that distinction!”

Nighteye is silent, a flicker of something — something resembling guilt passing through his eyes. As if he, himself, can recognize it.

Somehow, that is worse.

Shuya stares at the pathetic, paranoid man in front of her, her voice dropping down into a low, venomous hiss. “But that’s not the first time…is it, Mirai Sasaki?”

Nighteye flinches violently.

“You forgot the man that existed behind the facade,” She continues slowly, lowly—her voice a mere whisper. But the way Nighteye looks at her with wide eyes, it might’ve been thunderous. “All you cared about was maintaining the pedestal, about deluding yourself so that you’d never have to see your hero fall. It was never about Yagi—hah, it was never even about All Might or the world either.”

She meets his eyes squarely. “It was only ever about you.”

“SHUT UP!” Nighteye finally explodes, shooting forward to grab her by the front of her clothes — eyes wide and frenzied. “Don’t you dare speak of matters you have no idea about, you little brat! I am his biggest fan—his greatest supporter! The likes of you have no right to criticize me! All Might exists for the people as the Symbol of Peace—”

Shuya just watches.

She’d never liked Nighteye — not how he had treated Yagi (not All Might, never All Might), not how he had treated Izuku or Eri, but above all, how he had treated Mirio. She knows full well she’s being a bit unfair now — after all, Nighteye was the one to call out All Might’s recklessness and push him towards retirement. He’d wished for Yagi to do what Shuya herself wished for him. Had seen and disapproved of the same self-sacrificial traits that she is actively trying to beat out of Izuku.

And that all that he did afterward — mistakes and all — was fueled by grief and the knowledge of his own impending death long before All Might’s.

And yet.

He might have had a change of heart later on for his protege, but it didn’t change how the reason Nighteye had chosen Mirio as his intern had been to essentially groom him not as a hero, but as the next All Might. Mirio’s own motivations literally never meant anything, since Nighteye was too busy projecting over him to ever consider anything else.

Maybe she can be a little more charitable. Maybe she’s being a bit too harsh, too biased, and cruel. But the sting of betrayal and loss is still fresh, and Shuya is tired.

On one hand, she has this man who was obsessed with the idea that the best way to honor his favorite hero would be to rip out his guts and stuff him up like a doll so he’d be immortalized forever. Only the stuffing is Mirio, collateral. His grief at All Might’s future demise was so great that he had started obsessing over the future to the point of neglecting the present.

And yet.

She glares daggers at the man in front of her.

You loved Mirio, didn’t you? You couldn’t help but love that child.

On the other hand, she has Yagi.

Yagi — poor, foolish Yagi, who has been All Might for so long that he has no idea what to do with what little of Toshinori had been left when he’d been finally forced to confront it.

Yagi had carved out all that was him, wrapped the bleeding shell of himself in red, yellow, and blue, and had presented it to the world for the sake of a fragile peace. It was horrific, but it was still fine because Yagi had made that choice for himself.

Nighteye wanted to dump it on Mirio.

Had wanted Mirio to become more ideal than human, just like All Might. A concept. A paragon.

How can you want that fate for someone you love?

“He exists for the people as the Symbol of Peace?” Shuya begins softly, stormy grey meeting frenzied yellow. “So once All Might is done killing himself trying to shoulder the burden alone and dies alone beneath the weight of his own legacy, more god than man—you wish for another to do the same?” 

“That is what it means to be a hero!”

“That is what it means to be a sacrificial lamb!” Shuya hisses, nostrils flaring. “That is what it means to bear your neck for the knife of the same people you protect! A hero protects the people, but who protects the hero?!”

“A HERO DOES NOT NEED TO BE PROTECTED!” Nighteye roars, throwing Shuya away from him with all his force. She hits the floor hard, hissing in pain, but ignores it as she looks up at the oracle, who looks more demonic than human in the moment. “A HERO IS OMNIPOTENT, UNDEFEATABLE!”

“What are you, five?” Shuya hisses, shoving herself back to her feet and advancing. “Heroes are human too! They can get hurt, they can die!”

“Then they are not true heroes!”

“Then who is? All Might?” She challenges, eyes flashing dangerously. “The man I foresaw dying alone, choking on his own blood in a ditch with no one around him?”

Nighteye reels back as if struck, pupils, trembling dangerously. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP—”

And Shuya does something she’s not proud of.

She presses on relentlessly, despite his clear panic.

“The man who can only do hero work for three hours a day because he lost all of his stomach and half of his lungs—”

“I SAID SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH—”

No. Not today. Not anymore.

“The man who just found out for the first time in his life that he loves tea?” Shuya cries, her voice growing louder and louder. “ The man who makes cute bentos for his successor? The man who always tries to hide his bloody coughs because he doesn’t want to worry his students or coworkers? That man?!”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

Slap.

The first thing she registers was metal in her mouth, then the stinging pain. The second thing is the man above her, hand still raised and breathing heavily with wide, furious eyes that burned so violently that they threatened to burn her alive there and then.

And the third, an overwhelming sense of calm resignation, settled over her.

What’s the point now? When all is said and done?

Shuya tastes the blood, savors it, and the ringing in her ears—and then turns back towards him.

Do you think Midoriya Izuku was also a fake hero, for crying, getting hurt and almost dying, but saving people anyway?

“You lied.”

She says softly, quietly—all of her anger gone.

“You lied about Ingenium and that I didn’t have Foresight.”

He just stares at her, unmoving.

“Not because you believed I was lying, or because I didn’t actually have it.” She continues, steady and calm, grey eyes meeting his. “But because you knew I would call you out for your mistakes.”

Shuya pushes herself back to her feet and faces the pro-hero with a harrowed gaze. “Because you weren’t ready to be told you were wrong. That everything you’d worked for so hard was useless. That you’d wasted time with your stubborn convictions. Well congratulations. You did it.”

He flinches back, half-horrified at his actions, half-incensed at her audacity. And Shuya?

She feels nothing.

“You said the future can’t be changed? Fuck that shit.” She clenches her fist, shakes it in front of him — grey eyes withering with the rage of a thousand storms. “My Quirk effectively rejects all you’ve ever known, assumed about the world, doesn’t it? Well fuck that and fuck you. I’ll rewrite this goddamn ending, even if I have to walk over you to do it.”

A part of her is not talking to Nighteye at that moment, but something much greater, heavier — cosmic. Shuya looks into the abyss, and the Plot stares back, wary and threatened.

Fuck you. Fuck you all.

Nighteye’s expression fractures, and he looks so terribly sad. So terribly lost. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, almost on the verge of tears. As if he, himself, had lost all hope.

“You can’t. I’m telling you, you can’t—”

But Shuya does not care.

“Fucking watch me.”

She casts him one final, forbidding look — a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek.

“I hope you won’t regret the innocent blood on your hands, hero.”

And leaves.

When she steps outside the agency on Thursday, Mirio and the other sidekicks are only just returning from a late lunch. It’s a true coincidence, and Shuya can feel in her bones the exact moment Mirio’s eyes land on her cheek and the realization hits.

She doesn’t offer an explanation. She doesn’t owe them one.

Instead, she smiles.

It occurs to her she’s been doing that a lot lately.

“I hope you all enjoyed lunch. I have to get going now—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Kageyama-san, wait—”

She doesn’t wait for their reply, turning and leaving immediately.

The voice recorder in her pocket feels unbearably heavy.

She makes it back home around midnight.

Shuya doesn’t know where the hours go by, but somehow, it’s midnight, and she’s standing in front of the door to the EraserMic apartment. At that point, it’s well past the normal hours for a work-study, let alone an internship. Nighteye’s agency wasn’t that far away from U.A. — about an hour one way — so there’s no excuse for her to give for returning so late.

Especially since she’s supposed to be under surveillance.

Shuya bears no delusions about that anymore.

So she’s already expecting Eraser to be sitting at the kitchen island when she slides open the door. Instead, she finds Hiza—Present Mic.

He flashes her a tired smile.

“There ya are, little listener. You’re late.”

He’s not in his hero costume, hair down and braided. But he’s still wearing jeans, and his red jacket is thrown over the counter as if he’d just returned home. It’s a Thursday. Hizashi—Present Mic does radio shows on Thursdays and Sundays.

Shuya doesn’t cross the threshold, one hand gripping the strap of her ratty backpack. The one Eraser had dug out for her at the police station.

She hadn’t bothered getting a new one.

Mic is still waiting for her response.

“I had a long day.” She says, finally, making a move for her house slippers. “You know Nighteye.”

Shuya can feel his gaze on her swollen cheek. He’s silent for a long moment, then states neutrally.

“That’s a nasty bruise.”

Shuya doesn’t bother elaborating. “It is.”

“Have you gotten it checked out yet?”

But he doesn’t let the matter drop, strangely insistent. Shuya keeps her gaze averted, fiddling with her backpack for something, anything. Just so that she doesn’t have to look.

“No, I didn’t have the time.”

Instead of pressing for further details, Mic slides out of his seat and reaches for a drawer. Then, just as she’s trying to escape to her room, he blocks her path.

This time, Shuya actually looks at him.

He gives her a half-smile, raising a first-aid kit.

“Let's get that patched up, yeah?” There is no judgment in his eyes. No suspicion. It only makes this harder. “Then you can get to bed.”

Shuya opens her mouth to say something — to reject him, to offer flimsy excuses — only to pause.

Because Mic looks like he’s worried.

About her.

She closes her mouth then once, just once, nods.

His smile widens.

“Let's go, little listener.”

He sits her down on the old couch, taking a perch on the coffee table right in front of her. The first-aid kit sits by his side, opened and half-empty, a testament to both his and Eraser’s careers. It doesn’t matter how often they’d fill it; it would always be empty.

None of it would be wasted.

Shuya lets Mic do this thing, only barely flinching at the disinfectant stinging against her cheek. Nighteye’s nails must have nicked her; Shuya had barely noticed in the heat of the moment. Peeking up, past Mic’s shoulder at the mirror on the wall reveals a rather nasty bruise blooming against her cheek. There’s no mistaking it; it looks like she’d gotten punched. Hard.

Nighteye’s hands were large, Shuya muses tiredly. It made sense. He was tall.

The bruise he gave would be large, too.

“There. All done.” Mic pulls back after a moment, waving his hands with a flourish. “A neat job too, if I must say.”

“Thanks,” Shuya says quietly, then grabs her things and makes her way to her room.

Then, just as she’s about to cross the threshold, she hears his voice.

“Shuya-chan.”

Despite herself, Shuya responds. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

Shuya clenches her eyes shut at the words, lower lip quivering.

Ah, if only it mattered anymore.

“I believe you, Shuya-chan.”

Perhaps that’s why.

Perhaps it’s the still abating sting of the disinfectant, the lingering touch of a dead man, the futility of her convictions.

“Sasaki Mirai reported your claims to be false.”

Perhaps that’s why Shuya says, without looking back once.

“It’s okay. Goodnight.”

Phase Four: Do Damage Control. Oh, and Stain. 2/3 Complete

Chapter Text

The bruise on her cheek wouldn’t fade away by the end of the week, but that doesn’t really matter. Because something else takes its place.

Mirio's kindness.

It's relentless in a way that Shuya finds both comforting and devastating. Every terrible dad joke, every bright smile, every genuine laugh—they chip away at the hollowness in her chest bit by bit. He doesn’t ask about the bruise, but she catches him watching her with something soft and worried in his eyes.

He’s easy to talk to, or rather easier, because Hitoshi still is her closest friend in this universe. It makes sense, they’re around the same age — Shuya only being a couple of months older — so the maturity and experience that comes with it, even a little, is bound to make a huge difference.

With Mirio, Shuya doesn’t feel like she’s around children she needs to protect and guide.

Hitoshi, Izuku, Shoto, Katsuki—

All of them are way too young.

So much so, it makes the burden of the future even harder to bear.

"Hey, Shuya-chan!" Mirio calls out during their Friday patrol, waving at her from where he's helping a kid retrieve a balloon from a tree. The kid's laughter rings out bright and clear as Mirio phases through the branches. "Did you hear about the mathematician who's afraid of negative numbers?"

Shuya sighs, but there's no heat in it. "What about him?"

"He'll stop at nothing to avoid them!" Mirio delivers the punchline with such enthusiasm that even the kid groans.

Despite herself, Shuya laughs. It's small, quiet, but genuine.

And Mirio's answering grin is so bright it could put the sun to shame.

This is why Shuya thinks as they continue their patrol. This is why I can't hand over the recording so easily.

Because if she exposes Nighteye, the agency goes down with him. And Bubble Girl, who patiently teaches her how to file incident reports with the care of an older sister. And Centipeder, who always makes sure she stays hydrated during long patrols. And Mirio—

God, especially Mirio.

He doesn't deserve to lose his mentor, his agency, his faith in the system, all because Shuya needs to prove she was right.

But without proof of Nighteye's lies, no one will believe her next prediction. And there are so many more disasters coming. Kamino Ward. The League of Villains. Eri herself.

Not that I can even guarantee they’d believe it. Shuya thinks bitterly. Why else would a dirtbag like Endeavor be allowed to go on for so long?

People high up in the chain were bound to know, or at least suspect, what was going on in the Todoroki household. And they did nothing, likely because of the “good” that Pro-Hero Endeavor provided society. It outweighed the abuse on his family, making them necessary sacrifices for the greater good — the price one had to pay.

I guess it ended up being too steep a price once Dabi entered the field.

Shuya sighs. The weight of the recording in her bag feels like an anchor dragging her down.

The train to Hosu is quiet.

Mirio tries to lighten the mood with his usual jokes, but even he seems subdued. The weight of what they're about to do—hunting the Hero Killer—hangs heavy in the air.

Shuya sits by the window, watching the city blur past, and thinks about choices.

She could warn them. Could tell Nighteye exactly where and when the Nomus will attack. Could prevent the entire incident before it starts.

But then he'd know. He'd know she has information she shouldn't have, information that his Foresight couldn't corroborate. And he'd use it against her—proof that she's lying about her quirk, evidence to have her arrested or worse.

And she still needs Eri saved. Still needs Nighteye alive and working the Shie Hassakai case.

So I let it happen, Shuya thinks, her reflection staring back at her in the window. I let the Nomus attack. Let people get hurt. Because the alternative is worse.

The voice recorder burns in her pocket.

"Shuya-chan?" Mirio's voice breaks through her thoughts. He's watching her with concern. "You okay? You've been quiet."

She forces a smile. "Just nervous. First real villain encounter, you know?"

"Hey, don't worry!" His grin is back, bright and reassuring. "I'll keep you safe! That's what senpai are for, right?"

Something in Shuya's chest cracks.

I'm sorry, she thinks, looking at his earnest face. I'm so, so sorry.

Hosu at sunset is beautiful in a way that makes Shuya's stomach churn.

The sky is painted gold and red, like it's already bleeding. The streets are crowded with civilians heading home from work, cashiers closing up shop, and families with children. All of them unaware of what's coming.

Nighteye leads them to a rooftop with a clear view of the district. He spreads out his map, marking patrol routes and known Stain sightings.

"We split up," He announces. "Mirio, take the eastern district. I'll cover the west. Kageyama, you're with me."

Of course I am, Shuya thinks. He wants to keep an eye on me.

"Sir," Mirio says hesitantly. "Are you sure we should split up? If Stain appears—"

"Then we converge on his location immediately," Nighteye cuts him off. "We have comms. Now move."

Mirio nods, casting one last concerned glance at Shuya before he phases through the roof and disappears.

And then it's just her and Nighteye.

"You're very quiet, Kageyama," Nighteye observes as they begin their patrol. "No predictions? No warnings?"

Shuya's hands clench in her pockets. "Oh, please, we both know you’re just here because you feel guilty."

Nighteye is silent. Then he opens his mouth.

"Save it," Shuya interrupts harshly. "Today I’m going to prove it to you—the way we can change the future."

Nighteye stares at her for a long moment, his expression twisting.

You'll have bigger problems to worry about, Shuya thinks. Other than me.

Because she can feel it. That crawling sensation at the base of her skull that means something is wrong. The plot is shifting, realigning, preparing for the event she knows is coming.

Any minute now.

But before he can say anything—

The sky splits open with fire.

One moment, the city is peaceful. The next, something massive and black crashes into a building three blocks away. Then another. And another.

Screams erupt through the streets as civilians scatter. Glass shatters. Metal groans. And through it all, that horrible, animalistic shrieking that could only come from Nomus.

"What—" Nighteye's eyes go wide, his composure finally cracking. "Nomus? Here? But the intelligence said—"

He whirls on Shuya.

"Did you—"

But Shuya is already moving, already running toward the chaos because she knows—she knows—where Iida will be. Where Midoriya will be. Where the real danger lies.

"Kageyama! Stop—"

But she doesn't. She can't.

Behind her, she hears Nighteye shouting into his comm. "Multiple Nomu-class villains in Hosu! I repeat, multiple Nomus! Requesting all available heroes—Mirio, convergence point alpha—Kageyama, damn it, STOP!"

She doesn't stop.

She runs.

The alley is dark when she finds it, wheezing and dying from all the emergency stairs she’d had to climb up to reach the roof easily.

Too dark. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that means someone is about to die.

Shuya peeks down carefully, making sure to stay as hidden as possible over the ledge.

The scene that greets her is worse than she imagined.

Todoroki Shoto is on the ground, his heterochromatic eyes wide with frustrated fury as he strains against invisible bonds. Paralyzed. Beside him, Tenya lies in a similar state, his face twisted in horror and self-loathing.

And Izuku—

Izuku is barely standing. His hero costume is torn, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. Green lightning crackles weakly around his legs as he positions himself between Stain and his fallen classmates, but even Shuya can see he's at his limit.

Stain stands before them like a specter of death itself, blade gleaming, that terrible smile on his face.

That’s weird. Shuya notes, training a sharp gaze on the boy. Given his progress with One For All—

Then her eyes land on Tenya, and realization blooms.

Oh.

It’s because of me.

Her confrontation with Tenya had only made him even more stubborn and reckless, heading into battle without a second thought. And now both Izuku and Shoto are at death’s door, saving his ass.

This fucking Plot—

Shuya's hand flies to her phone. Her fingers shake as she pulls out two identical messages she’d typed out in advance. The only change she makes is the location:

To Mirio: Alley behind Shimura General, NOW. Someone's going to die.

To Hitoshi: Hosu, alley behind Shimura General. Bring Aizawa. Emergency.

She hits send on both.

"You children," Stain says, his voice carrying that righteous fervor that makes Shuya's skin crawl. "Playing at heroism. Chasing glory and fame instead of true righteousness. You will die today, starting with the fool that dared seek me out!"

Oh fuck—

Shuya doesn't think, just acts.

Her hand closes around the first thing she finds on the roof—a broken microwave, discarded behind a couple of boxes. It's heavy, awkward, but adrenaline makes her strong.

The Hero Killer's blade whistles through empty air.

And then he's climbing. Up the wall with inhuman speed and grace, sword raised high, positioning himself for a diving attack that will end this fight. That will kill Tenya, who lies helpless and paralyzed on the ground.

Shuya's arms burn as she hefts the microwave over her shoulder.

Please work. Please, please, please—

She throws.

The microwave arcs through the air in a graceless tumble. For one horrible moment, Shuya thinks she's going to miss. That Stain will dodge, that this desperate gambit will fail, and he'll kill them all.

But still, she throws her head back and screams at the top of her lungs.

"Izuku—wheeze — duck!"

Stain's attention snaps to her for just a fraction of a second. His eyes widen in recognition. "You—"

Then—

CRACK.

Metal meets skull with a sickening crunch.

Stain's eyes roll back in his head. His grip on the wall loosens. And then he's falling, a good dozen or so feet, crumpling to the ground in a heap, sword clattering from his limp fingers.

Silence.

Nobody moves for a long moment, all of them frozen in shock. Then all of them — Tenya, Izuku, Shoto, and some pro she can’t remember the name of — all of them look up at the roof, where Shuya is doubled over, wheezing.

Then Izuku makes a strangled sound. "Did—did you just—"

"Microwave," Shoto says faintly from the ground, his voice filled with disbelief. "You defeated the Hero Killer. With a microwave."

"It was—wheeze—the first thing—wheeze—I found," Shuya gasps, doubled over with her hands on her knees. Her lungs are burning, her legs feel like jelly, and she's pretty sure she's about to pass out. "I'm not—wheeze—made for running. Or—wheeze—throwing appliances. Oh god, I think I'm dying."

"Kageyama-san!" Izuku climbs up the wall with remarkable ease, concern overriding his exhaustion. "Are you okay? How did you—how did you know to come here?"

Instead of answering, she grabs him by the collar and begins shaking him angrily.

“You—wheeze—you piece of shit— wheeze — I fucking told you—”

Shuya lobs an arm around him, and he quickly goes to support her.

“I’m sorry!” To his credit, Izuku does look remorseful. “I remembered your words, but by then it was too late and—”

Yeah, the Plot would never make it easy, would it?

She tries to regulate her breathing, forcing words out between gasps. "You—wheeze—sent your location—wheeze—to all your contacts, right? I saw it. And I remembered—wheeze—from Aizawa-sensei's forms that—wheeze—Iida-kun's internship was in Hosu. Wasn't hard to—wheeze—connect the dots. Used my quirk to narrow down—wheeze—where you'd be."

It's a flimsy excuse. A patchwork of half-truths stitched together with desperation.

But Izuku just nods, relief flooding his features. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Kageyama-san, if you hadn't—"

“—If you’re that thankful, then get me off this damn roof, Midoriya.”

“R-Right!”

True to all the bunny allegations, Midoriya quickly sweeps her into his arms and drops down the roof. They hit the ground gracefully, and he lets her down. Shuya pats his arm approvingly as he does so. “Good job, now—”

A sob cuts through the air.

Shuya's head snaps toward the sound.

Tenya is crying.

Still paralyzed on the ground, unable to move anything but his eyes and mouth, tears streaming down his face as he stares at her with an expression so devastated it makes Shuya's chest ache.

"K-Kageyama-san," His voice cracks, thick with grief and guilt. "I'm so—I'm so sorry. What I said to you, what I did—I was so awful, so cruel, and you still—you still came to—"

"Iida-kun," Shuya says softly, kneeling beside him despite her trembling legs. "It's okay."

"It's not!" The words burst out of him, desperate and anguished. "I grabbed you, I hurt you, I said terrible things—and you still saved my life! You're a better hero than I'll ever—"

"I'm not a hero," Shuya interrupts gently. She reaches out, hesitates, then carefully wipes the tears from his face. "And you were grieving. People say things they don't mean when they're in pain."

"But I—"

"We'll talk later, okay?" She gives him a small, tired smile. "Right now, we need to make sure Stain stays down."

She turns to Shoto, who's watching her with those sharp, assessing eyes. "Todoroki-kun, how much longer until you can move?"

"Not sure, I was the last to get paralyzed." He says, still eyeing her. "What do you need?"

"When you can move, help me restrain him properly. We need rope or—" She glances around the alley, spots a dumpster. "—wire. Anything to bind his arms and legs. Multiple layers. And we need to keep him face down so he can't lick anyone's blood. Oh, and maybe ice him. He’s known to have weird bouts of strength."

Shoto’s eyes widen slightly. "You know his quirk mechanics."

"I told you," Shuya says, forcing steadiness into her voice. "Foresight. I saw—possible futures. Outcomes. Some of them showed me how his quirk works. Plus, I’ve been interning with a hero who’s on this case."

Another half-truth. Another lie of omission.

But Shoto just nods slowly. "Understood. If you can just make me sit up…”

Shuya does as she’s told, letting Midoriya take care of tying Stain up with the wires. Once he’s done, Shuya angles Todoroki so that he sends a wave of ice toward the villain, freezing him with a block of ice below the neck.

She finally breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Good jo— Izuku-kun, Iida’s crying again.”

“I—Iida-kun!”

“—I’m so sorry, wah! You—You all are injured because—”

Shuya decides to tune the boy out for now. She plops down on the ground, letting the still-paralyzed Todoroki use her like a backrest. She pauses.

“Huh, you really are half-hot, half-cold.”

Todoroki’s voice drifts from the other direction, placid as ever. “Is this new information?”

Shuya looks down. “Not really. Just kind of cool, I guess.”

They’re interrupted by the sound of running footsteps, which makes them all tense.

"Shuya!"

Hitoshi bursts into the alley like a purple-haired whirlwind, Aizawa right behind him. His eyes are wild with panic, scanning the scene — Stain unconscious and frozen to the ground, three paralyzed heroes, including Native and Iida, Midoriya barely standing, and the paralyzed Todoroki and exhausted Shuya sitting back pressed to one another like he’s her sock puppet.

"I'm okay," Shuya says quickly, raising a hand. "We're okay. Stain's down."

Aizawa's eyes sweep across the alley, his capture weapon already unfurling. But as his gaze lands on Shuya, something complicated crosses his face. His eyes narrow, flicking between her, the unconscious Stain, and the paralyzed students.

He knows.

Shuya can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes sharpen with that underground hero assessment. He's putting the pieces together—her convenient arrival, her knowledge of where to find them, her understanding of Stain's quirk.

Her excuses are bullshit, and he knows it.

But before he can say anything—

"What is the meaning of this?!"

The temperature in the alley spikes dramatically.

Endeavor stalks into the space like a walking inferno, flames crackling around his shoulders, his expression thunderous. His eyes land on Shoto on the ground, and something violent flashes across his face.

"Shoto! What are you doing on the ground like a—"

"He's obviously paralyzed, dumbass. " Shuya cuts in, her voice sharp despite her exhaustion. She pushes herself to her feet, letting Todoroki flop over like a vegetable again. “Eek, sorry, Todoroki-kun.”

Endeavor immediately shuts up at the sight of her, eyes going wide. Shuya scoffs.

Yeah, remember me, bitch?

“It’s fine,” Shoto says, voice muffled, face first down on the ground. “Are you okay?”

A little sheepish, Shuya quickly rolls him over onto his face, letting Hitoshi help her hold him up. “Ah, thanks Hitoshi-kun.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Once Shoto is secure, Shuya remembers she’s supposed to be intimidating Endeavor and straightens, positioning herself between Endeavor and the students. "Stain's quirk. Blood-based paralysis. They all fought to protect each other and Native, who was Stain's target this time round. They're heroes.”

Endeavor's eyes snap to her, and Shuya feels the weight of his scrutiny like a physical thing. She refuses to flinch. At that moment, a tiny old man — oh, that’s Gran Torino — steps forward.

"And you are?"

Wow, you’re tiny.

As if already aware of her derailing train of thoughts, Gran Torino raises a brow, unimpressed. Actually, he looks one wrong word away from kicking her in the face, student or no. She kind of appreciates the dedicated bitchiness. All are equal — whether you’re All Might or a quirkless nobody.

Ah, but I have a quirk now. Kinda. 

It's still hard to get used to that. 

"Kageyama Shuya. General Education, Class 1-C." She meets his gaze steadily. "I came to help."

"General Education?" Endeavor's lip curls, as if suddenly remembering Shuya’s in Gen Ed. "What is a general student doing in the middle of a villain attack—"

"Shuya-chan!"

Before Shuya can respond, she's suddenly swept off her feet.

Mirio crashes into her like a tidal wave of worry and relief, arms wrapping around her in a suffocating hug that lifts her clear off the ground. She lets out a startled squeak, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe for entirely different reasons.

"Thank goodness you're okay!" Mirio's voice is thick with emotion, his grip almost crushing. "When I got your message, I thought—I was so worried—you could have been killed—"

"Mirio-senpai—can't breathe—" Shuya wheezes, trying to squirm out of his grasp. "Senpai, please—"

"Oh! Sorry!" He loosens his grip slightly but doesn't let go, pulling back just enough to look at her with wet eyes. "Are you hurt? Did he cut you? You're not paralyzed, are you?"

"I'm fine," Shuya insists, finally managing to wriggle free. She stumbles back, flushed and flustered. "Seriously, I'm—wait, how do you know his quirk paralyzes people?"

Mirio beams. “Sir used his quirk to check what was happening to you, and immediately sent me over!”

Ah, that would do it.

Shuya pauses, then asks gingerly. “And where, pray tell, is the esteemed Sir?”

Mirio gives her a sunny smile, squeezing her even more tightly, making Shuya wheeze. “He’s getting ready to strangle you for the stunt you pulled.”

Shuya is silent for a moment. It's...really unnerving hearing Mirio say that with such a bright, angelic smile. She wonders what his shit-talking villains game is like, then remembers where she is. 

“Oh goody — wait—gimme a sec—Eraser!” The pro-hero in question looks up then, his gaze sharp, but Shuya refuses to back down. “Keep an eye on Stain. We didn’t knock him out hard enough for him to stay down forever.”

Behind her, Shoto mutters under his breath. “You knocked him out with a microwave.”

Hitoshi, who’s still holding him up, is disbelieving. “She did what?”

Shuya ignores both of them, training a determined, almost pleading gaze on Aizawa. He’s silent for a long moment, then relents. “Fine.”

That matter sufficiently handled, Shuya turns toward Mirio, trying her best to weasel out of his death grip. “Hey senpai, you wanna—just—”

A groan cuts through the air.

Everyone freezes.

Stain's eyes snap open, wild and bloodshot. The ice around him cracks slightly as he strains against his bonds, and even restrained, even defeated, there's something terrifying about the way his gaze sweeps across the gathered heroes and students.

And then he laughs.

It's a horrible sound—wet and raspy and filled with that manic conviction that makes Shuya's skin crawl.

"Look at this!" Stain's voice rings out, commanding attention despite his prone position. "Children playing hero! Where are the REAL heroes?! Where are those WORTHY of the title?!"

His eyes blaze with righteous fury as he struggles against the ice.

"This is exactly what's wrong with hero society! Fake heroes everywhere—glory seekers and fame-hounds who don't deserve to call themselves—"

"Oh my god, shut up!"

The words explode out of Shuya before she can stop them.

Everyone—everyone—turns to stare at her.

Mirio's hands are still on her shoulders from checking her over. His eyes go wide with shock. Aizawa's capture weapon twitches. Endeavor's flames flicker with surprise. Even Hitoshi, who knows her better than anyone, looks stunned.

And Shuya?

Shuya is done.

Done with the nightmares. Done with the pressure. Done with everyone—Nighteye, Endeavor, Iida, the universe itself—putting impossible expectations on her shoulders. Done with self-righteous murderers spouting philosophy like it justifies the blood on their hands.

Her filter is off.

"You want to talk about fake heroes?" Shuya's voice is loud, sharp, cutting through the alley like a blade. She yanks herself free from Mirio's grip and stalks toward Stain's frozen form. "You want to talk about people who don't deserve the title? Look in a fucking mirror, you fucking asshole!"

"Kageyama—" Aizawa starts, his voice carrying a warning.

But Shuya doesn't stop. Can't stop. The words are pouring out of her as if a dam has burst.

"You know what, Stain? I actually agree with you on one thing." She throws her hands up, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Fake heroes DO need to be purged from the system! Heroes who only care about fame and money and glory—they're a problem!"

Stain's eyes widen slightly. Around her, Shuya can feel the shock rippling through the gathered heroes.

Did she just—

Is she agreeing with the Hero Killer—

"But you?" Shuya's voice drops, cold and cutting. "You're not solving anything. You're just a hypocrite with a sword and a god complex!"

"How dare—" Stain starts.

"How dare I?!" Shuya laughs, and it's a harsh, bitter sound. "How dare you, you slimy piece of shit. You talk about purging fake heroes—but who are you killing? Small-time heroes! Street-level pros! People who are just trying to make a living and help their communities!"

She takes another step closer, and Aizawa's hand shoots out to grab her shoulder, holding her back. She barely notices.

"Tell me something, Stain—how the hell is killing bottom-tier heroes going to fix systemic corruption in the hero industry?!" Her voice rises, echoing off the alley walls. "The fake heroes you hate so much—the ones gaming the rankings, taking bribes, covering up scandals—they're all at the TOP! They're the ones with power and money and connections!"

Shuya's breathing is harsh now, her chest heaving with anger and exhaustion and something that feels like it might be hysteria.

"If you really had the balls—if you actually wanted to change something—you'd go after THEM!" She throws her arm out, pointing at Endeavor without thinking. "You'd go after the top ranks who have enough power and influence to do whatever the hell they want and get away with it! You'd go after the Hero Commission that covers up scandals and silences victims! You'd go after the actual corrupt system instead of killing the small fry who have no power to change anything!"

The silence that follows is deafening.

Endeavor's flames roar higher, his face going dark with fury. Todoroki, still paralyzed on the ground, stares at Shuya with wide, shocked eyes. Midoriya looks torn between horror and awe.

And Stain—

Stain is staring at her with something that might be respect.

"You..." His voice is quieter now, thoughtful. "You understand. The corruption runs deep—"

"Oh, please, spare me your cringy bullshit," Shuya snaps, cutting him off harshly. "You talk about true heroism, about worthiness—but you pick your targets based on who's easy to kill, not who actually deserves it! You're not a revolutionary, you're just a murderer with good PR and a god complex!"

"The problem," Stain says, his eyes gleaming with that terrible conviction, "is not just the fake heroes. It's the standard they fail to meet. It's—"

"All Might."

The words fall from Shuya's lips before she can stop them.

And the alley goes silent.

"What—" Izuku’s voice cracks.

"The real problem," Shuya continues, and she can feel everyone's eyes on her now, can feel the weight of what she's saying, but she can't stop, "isn't fake heroes. It's having one perfect paragon that everyone else is measured against!"

"Kageyama," Aizawa's voice is low, warning. "That’s enough."

But Shuya is too far gone. She knows it’s a gamble, saying these words out loud in this world. And yet, the words keep coming, sharp and cutting and true.

"You put All Might on this—this pedestal so high that no normal person can reach him! He's not a hero anymore—he's a god! An ideal! And what happens when you make someone a god?"

She looks around wildly, at all the shocked faces staring at her.

"You make everyone else feel like failures for not measuring up!" Her voice cracks. "You make people like Endeavor—" She gestures at the Number Two hero. "—torture their own families trying to reach that impossible standard! You make people like Stain—" She points at the Hero Killer. "—start murdering anyone who doesn't meet it!"

"That's—" Midoriya starts, his voice desperate. "All Might is—"

"All Might is a person!" Shuya cuts him off angrily. "He's a human being who has to carry the weight of the entire world on his shoulders because you—because ALL of you—" She gestures wildly at everyone. "—decided he had to be perfect so you could rest easy! That he had to be this symbol instead of just—just a man!"

She then turns a forbidding eye towards Stain. But in that moment, it’s not him that she sees but Nighteye.

“All Might’s human despite all our collective delusions. He’s not gonna be here forever. When he’s gone, then what happens, dipshits?!”

Silence.

There’s nothing to respond to, not for a lack of arguments. It’s fairly obvious the next generation should take over. And yet, Shuya can see the disbelief in their eyes, how none of them — even Endeavor — can envision a future where All Might isn’t holding society by the balls.

"Having one god-like paragon—it puts them on a pedestal no one can reach! It burdens the person pretending to be god! And what happens when that god falls?!" Her voice rises to a shriek. "What happens when All Might can't be perfect anymore?! When he's human and makes mistakes?! Even if he so much as trips, the entire system collapses because you built it all on ONE PERSON!"

And I've seen it happen, she doesn't say. I've watched your society crumble when All Might falls. I've seen what comes after. I've seen the chaos and the war and the devastation.

But she can't say that. Can never say that.

So instead she just screams  very eloquently: "Are all you people STUPID?!"

The silence that follows is absolute.

Stain is staring at her with something like wonder. Endeavor looks like he's been slapped. Aizawa's grip on her shoulder is tight, restraining. Izuku’s face is pale and he has tears streaming down his cheeks.

And then, without warning—

The sky darkens.

A shadow passes overhead, huge and fast and wrong.

Shuya's head snaps up just in time to see it—black skin, exposed brain, massive wings like a twisted pterodactyl, diving straight toward—

She lets out a sigh of pure annoyance.

"Oh for fuck’s sake—!"

She doesn't think. Just acts. Her hand shoots out, grabbing Izuku’s costume and yanking him sideways with strength she didn't know she had left. They both hit the ground, hard. 

The Nomu's claws close on empty air.

There's a sickening whoosh as it passes through the space where Izuku was standing a second ago, its talons scraping against the concrete and leaving deep gouges.

For a moment, there's stunned silence.

Then Shuya lets out a long, irritated sigh.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

She pushes herself up, still keeping Izuku behind her, and turns to face the assembled pro heroes with an expression of pure, unadulterated done.

"Did none of you see that coming?!" Her voice is shrill with disbelief. "It's a flying monster! The size of a car! Coming from the SKY!" She throws her hands up. “Are all of you fucking blind?!"

Endeavor bristles. "How dare you—"

"How dare I?!" Shuya whirls on him. "I'm a General Education student! I don't have enhanced senses or decades of experience or a fancy hero license! I never signed for this shit. I am a civilian, dipshits! Tell me why I had to take down the literal Hero Killer with a fucking microwave, then save your trainees' asses from a literal Nomu while you—" She gestures wildly at all the pro heroes. "—you were all standing around with your thumbs up your asses!"

"Kageyama-san!" Izuku scrambles to his feet, his face flushed. "Thank you—thank you so much—if you hadn't—"

"Don't fucking thank me, Midoriya!" Shuya cuts him off, her voice rising again. "This shouldn't have happened! There are at least six pro heroes here!" She counts on her fingers. "Six! Plus Mirio-senpai! And none of you noticed?!"

The Nomu screeches overhead, circling for another attack. Shuya throws her head back and screams.

“Oh shut the fuck up!”

Endeavour immediately moves to stand in front of Shuya, his expression serious despite the situation. "Kid, you need to get back—"

"Oh, now you want to protect people?!" Shuya's laugh is slightly hysterical. "Where was this energy thirty seconds ago?!"

"Kageyama—" Aizawa's voice carries that warning tone again.

But Shuya is on a roll now, pointing up at the circling Nomu with wild gestures.

"This! This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Her voice carries across the alley, and she notices more phones pointing at her from above. Good. Let them record this. "This is what needs to be pulled out of the system! Pro heroes so focused on looking heroic that they can't even protect the students standing RIGHT NEXT TO THEM!"

Endeavor's flames roar higher. "You presumptuous little—"

"I'm not here to provide SOLUTIONS!" Shuya cuts him off, her voice cracking. "That's not my job! I am a child! A barely legal student who shouldn't have to point out basic situational awareness to PROFESSIONAL HEROES!"

The Nomu dives again.

This time, Aizawa's capture weapon snags it mid-flight, yanking it off-course. It crashes into the opposite building with a screech of rage.

"See?!" Shuya gestures wildly at Aizawa. "That's what you're supposed to do! Why did it take you this long?!"

"Because," Aizawa says through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing red as he holds the Nomu down with his scarf, "I was making sure you didn't get yourself killed running your mouth!"

"Oh, so it's my fault you weren't doing your fucking job—"

"SHUYA-CHAN!"

Mirio grabs her around the waist, lifting her clear off the ground even as she continues to gesture angrily at the pro heroes.

"Put me DOWN—"

"Nope!" Mirio's voice is strained but firm as he literally throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes then begins carrying her away from the gathered circle of heroes. "We're leaving now! Before you get arrested for—for—I don't even know what, but definitely SOMETHING!"

"I'm not done—"

"Yes, you ARE!"

“No, I’m not—”

“—Yo, can someone shut up this midget?”

Shuya immediately turns around at the comment, rage burning anew. “Who the fuck said that—”

Her mind goes blank.

Dully, from beyond the haze, she hears a familiar, sarcastic voice. “Alright, let's shut up for a bit and let the nice senpai haul you away, shall we? You can thank me later.”

That’s the last thing she remembers.

Behind them, Endeavor moves to engage the Nomu properly, flames erupting. Aizawa barks orders into his comm unit. The paralyzed students are being loaded onto stretchers by paramedics who must have arrived during Shuya's rant.

And through it all, phones keep recording.

“Are—are you saying you defeated the Hero Killer…by dropping a microwave on his head?”

“It’s really not that hard to comprehend.” Shuya drawls a little while later, sitting inside an interrogation room, picking at her nails. “I was on a roof, saw the bitch going after my boys, and had a microwave on me.”

“Your boys—” Tsukauchi chokes on his words, then shakes his head. “Who—who the hell just has a microwave on them?”

Shuya snorts, shooting him a sardonic look. As if he's the one being unreasonable.  “Of course, I do. I’m not a heathen.”

The poor police officer in front of her blinks before turning to his colleague, who looked just as befuddled, if not more.

“True,” He says dazedly. “Everything she said is true. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

A renewed smirk stretches across Shuya’s face, and she tilts her head slightly to the side, shooting them a knowing look. “We done here? I’d like to visit my idiots now.”

Nekomata looks between her and Tsukauchi uncertainly. “W—Well—”

“Let her go.” The officer with the truth quirk sighs in pure resignation, turning his eyes upward and mouthing to himself. “Microwave, what the hell—”

Shuya grins, cold and sharp.

“I deeply respect you.”

Is the first thing Shoto says to her the next time they see one another. The second thing is,

“Please call me Shoto. Can I call you older sister?”

I’ve already been calling you that off and on anyway, but…

Shuya hangs her head to the side, still a little salty after getting scolded by not one, not two, but three different pro-heroes in a row. She’d been accosted immediately after leaving the interrogation room. Nighteye looked like he was about to have an aneurysm by the end of it, especially after seeing her complete lack of remorse. It kind of made up for all he’d put her through the past month.

She squints her eyes suspiciously. “Why? That’s weird.”

Shouto has stars in his eyes.

“You can insult my father as often as you like.”

Shuya snorts. “I already do that. You just haven’t seen it before.”

Shouto looks even more pleased, if it were even possible. He’s looking at her with such hero-worship that makes her half scared; he’d start doing the creepy All Might rituals Shuya knows for a fact Izuku does in his room in secret. To make things worse, the green bean is watching all this go down with approval in his eyes.

“Really?” The two-toned boy asks in wonder.

“Yeah, we have a club.” She frowns, a little unnerved by this whole experience. “It’s called the Endeavor?—More—like—Endwhore Club. You should join.”

“I—I can?” Ugh, he looks too adorable to reject with his wide eyes and disbelief mixed with a tinge of hope. Shuya scowls at the boy, then sighs. Ugh, I hate being older.

“Yeah, kid, sure.”

She pauses, then adds dryly, "Membership fee is one embarrassing story about your old man."

Shoto's face lights up like she just offered him the world. "I have many."

"Perfect." Shuya pats his shoulder approvingly. "Welcome to the club, Todoroki-kun."

"Shoto," He corrects immediately, still looking at her with that unsettling hero-worship. "Please call me Shoto."

"Right. Shoto-kun." She says it slowly, testing the name. It feels strange, too personal—but after everything that happened in that alley, formal distance seems pointless. "You can call me Shuya."

He furiously shakes his head, looking very serious. “No, you are my One-sama now.”

Shuya stops, visibly cringing. Then turns.

“Shoto, dear?”

“Yes?”

“Do you address your older sister that way?”

“No but—”

Before Shoto can respond with what looks like more stars in his eyes, the door to the hospital room slides open.

"Kageyama-san!"

Tenya practically barrels in, still wearing his hospital gown, his legs bandaged but functional. She’d been quick enough with the rescue that his hand wasn’t as badly damaged as in canon, meaning he can thankfully retain full mobility. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the moment he sees Shuya, his face crumples.

"—I need to apologize again—" He bows so deeply that Shuya worries he'll topple over. "What I said to you, what I did—grabbing you like that, blaming you for—I was so wrong, and you still saved my life, you saved all of us—"

"Iida-kun." Shuya holds up a hand, her voice gentle but firm. "We already talked about this. You were grieving. People say things they don't mean when they're hurting."

"But I hurt you—"

"And you've apologized. Multiple times. All the time. Too many times." She gives him a tired smile. "It's fine. Really. We're good."

"We are not good."

Everyone turns.

Hitoshi stands in the doorway, his arms crossed, his purple eyes locked on Tenya with an expression that could freeze hell. Though the bandages had come off a while back, Shuya can still spot some leftover bruising on his knuckles from the cafeteria incident.

And he looks very ready to add more.

"Hitoshi—" Shuya starts.

"No." Hitoshi's voice is flat, cold. "He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises. He cornered you in a hallway. He made you feel like you were responsible for his brother's attack." His jaw clenches. "So no, Mushroom, we're not 'good.'"

Tenya flinches like he's been struck. "Shinsou-kun, I—"

"I don't care if you were grieving," Hitoshi continues, taking a step closer to Tenya, who looks terribly ashamed. "I don't care if you're sorry. I don’t care if the world is biting your ass. You hurt her. And the only reason I'm not punching you again is that she asked me not to."

The tension in the room is suffocating.

Then Tenya lowers his head, repentant. 

"I realize I have done Kageyama-kun a great disservice." He states quietly, "I was not acting in a manner befitting a hero. In fact, I have already confessed to Aizawa-sensei about what happened at the cafeteria, and will willingly take punishment." 

You did what?

But Hitoshi only snorts, unfazed. "And that somehow makes up for it?"

Shuya sighs, rubbing her temples. "Hitoshi, I appreciate the whole protective best friend thing, I really do. But can we maybe not do this right now? I'm tired, I'm in a hospital, and I'd really like to go home without witnessing another fistfight."

Hitoshi's expression doesn't soften, but after a long moment, he backs down. Barely. "Fine. But if he tries anything—"

"He won't." Shuya's voice is firm. She looks at Tenya, who's still bowing, his whole body trembling. "Right, Iida-kun?"

"Never," Tenya says hoarsely. "Never again. I swear it."

"Good." Shuya claps her hands together. "Then we're done here. Everyone can stop apologizing and—"

The door slams open.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, what now?

A tall man in a police uniform strides in, his expression stern and official. Behind him, several other officers file into the room, and Shuya tries not to groan at what’s about to come.

Police Chief Kenji Tsuragamae. The dog-faced chief of the Hosu Police Department.

No, Shuya's not being rude or racist with that description — the dude quite literally has a dog head and paws. It's actually kind of jarring. Not cute at all like cat boy Sana. 

"Todoroki Shouto. Iida Tenya. Midoriya Izuku." His voice is clipped, authoritative. "I need to speak with you about the Stain incident. Now."

"Wait—" Izuku scrambles up from where he'd been sitting by the window. "But we already gave our statements—"

"This isn't about statements." The Chief's eyes are hard. "This is about illegal quirk usage. You boys used your quirks in public combat without supervision or authorization. That's a violation of—"

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

Everyone turns to stare at Shuya.

She's on her feet now, and there's something dangerous in her grey eyes. Something that makes even the Police Chief pause.

"You're seriously doing this?" Her voice is quiet, but it carries. "Now? Here? Without their guardians or legal representatives present?"

The Chief's jaw tightens. "This is a police matter—"

"These are minors," Shuya cuts him off sharply. "Fifteen and sixteen years old. And you're confronting them about potential criminal charges without a single parent, guardian, or lawyer in the room?" As the only uninjured student besides Hitoshi, Shuya jumps to her feet and takes a step forward. "That's not just shitty procedure, Chief. That's illegal."

"We have the authority—"

"To question adults without representation, sure. But these are children." Her voice rises, sharp and cold. She cocks her head to the side, eyes challenging. "Or did you conveniently forget that part of the law when you decided to come in here and intimidate a bunch of traumatized teenagers?"

The Chief's face darkens. "Young lady, you need to watch your tone—"

"No, you need to watch yours," Shuya snaps back, impatient. It's actually good that he turned up now: she'd been itching to vent out her frustrations somehow, and one of the most bullshit aspects of the Hosu Incident in the canon anime is a great stress reliever. "These boys didn't use their quirks to capture Stain. They used them in self-defense to escape a villain who was actively trying to kill them. That falls under emergency quirk usage laws. Section 47, Subsection C of the Hero Public Safety Commission regulations — quirk usage is permitted when a citizen's life is in immediate danger, and no licensed hero is available to intervene."

Yeah, she knows the fucking legal code. It was the first thing she had to go through before committing to the internship with Nighteye. She’s a civilian after all.

Shuya crosses her arms, glaring at the Chief with undisguised contempt.

"Or did they not teach you that at the police academy?"

The room is dead silent.

The Chief's face has gone red. "The boys engaged the villain in combat—"

"The boys survived," Shuya corrects coldly. "There's a difference. And if you're looking for someone to charge with illegal quirk usage—" She spreads her arms wide. "—charge me."

"What—" Midoriya's voice cracks.

"I'm the one who took down Stain," Shuya continues, her eyes never leaving the Chief's face. "Not them. Me. And I didn't need a quirk to do it. I used a microwave."

The silence that follows is absolute.

"A... microwave," The Chief repeats slowly, as if he's not sure he heard correctly.

"Yep." Shuya's smile is sharp. And just to be even more petty, she cocks her head to the side and channels her best Monoma impression. It comes on a little too easily for comfort. "Threw it at his head from a roof. Knocked him out cold. What’s the matter? Didn’t get the report about how a civilian defeated the Hero Killer?"

She lets that sink in for a moment, watching the Chief's expression cycle through disbelief, confusion, and dawning horror. Then steps forward, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"So tell me, Chief—what does that say about the competency of the heroes and the police?" Her voice drops, cold and cutting. "That a General Education student had to take down one of the most dangerous serial killers in Japan with garbage because none of you were fast enough to stop him?"

The Chief's hands clench into fists. "You have no right—"

"I have every right." Shuya's voice is hard. "I was there. I saw what happened. And now you're standing here trying to criminalize three kids for surviving instead of going after the actual villains who are still out there."

She takes another step forward, and several officers shift nervously.

"So here's what's going to happen, Chief. You're going to leave these boys alone. You're going to file your report stating that they used their quirks in self-defense under emergency circumstances, which is completely legal. If you have any actual questions, you're going to wait until their guardians and lawyers are present, like the law requires. And finally," And here, Shuya actually stresses the words, "for the love of all that is holy, you are NOT going to give Endeavor credit for this capture.”

The Chief's jaw works for a moment. Then: "And if I refuse?"

Shuya's smile is all teeth. "Then I'll make sure every news outlet in Japan knows that the Hosu Police Department tried to charge the victims of a serial killer while ignoring proper legal procedure for minors. I'm sure that'll look great for your department."

For a long moment, the Chief just stares at her.

Then quietly, but firmly, he states.

“They must be punished for their recklessness, however.”

“—And I’m gonna whoop their asses the moment we get back to U.A.” Shuya promises darkly, making Tenya and the rest stiffen. The Chief maps out their reaction thoughtfully, though he still looks a bit irritated by her gall. “However,”

Stormy eyes flash dangerously, Shuya’s voice warning. “These students are not yours to discipline.”

For a long moment, the police chief is silent — the two holding each other’s gazes in a tense standoff.

Then, slowly, he turns to his officers. "Everyone out. Now."

They file out without a word, and the Chief pauses at the door, looking back at Shuya with something complicated in his eyes. Not quite respect. Not quite anger. Something in between.

"We'll be in touch," He says finally. "Through proper channels."

"Looking forward to it," Shuya says dryly.

The chief of police has nothing to say to that, so the dog-man mumbles his thanks to the teens for protecting the city and taking down a massive threat before making a quirk retreat. There’s a brief moment of silence as everyone processes what just happened, then Shoto mutters hotly under his breath,

“That mangy mutt could’ve led with that first.”

“Indeed, he could have,” Shuya nods, plopping down on the bed next to Izuku. She lies back, sighing and resting an arm over her face tiredly. “Too bad anyone with half a brain cell could see that all he was trying to do was scare you and intimidate you into making decisions you needn’t have. Also, Shoto, that is a slur — please don’t repeat that.”

“But that’s what my old man calls him?”

Shoto blinks, nonplussed, and Shuya remembers then that most of his vocabulary must have come from his parents. One who's the product of a long family line of quirkist eugenics, and the other the eugenic scientist himself. Makes sense. She resolves to fix his language later.

She twitches, voice flat. “And that’s the type of guy you wanna quote, kid?”

That hits the boy hard, actually unnerving him. “I—I do not.”

Shuya shoots him a thumbs-up, approving. “Keep working on that, kiddo. You’ll get there.”

She assumes the conversation is done there — Shoto certainly looks very thoughtful (read: disgusted) — but then Izuku lets out a shaky breath. "Kageyama-san, that was—"

"Stupid," Hitoshi interrupts flatly, drawing deeper into the room. He silently nudges Shoto, and the boy folds his legs to make space. "That was stupid, Mushroom. You just threatened the Chief of Police—"

"Someone had to." Shuya cracks open an eye to stare at him. "They were trying to intimidate you guys into confessing to crimes you didn't commit."

“But we kind of did?” Shoto tilts his head, breaking out his thoughts. “Iida tried to kill Stain.”

The boy in question flinches, and Shuya just raises an eyebrow. “I know this one’s the type to punish himself ten times harder than anyone else could. Forgive me for trying to minimize that.”

"But you—" Tenya's voice is small, confused. "You took credit for Stain's capture. That means—"

"That means I'll probably get in trouble, yeah." Shuya sighs, sitting up and rubbing her face. "But I'm not a hero student. The consequences for me are less severe. And honestly? After everything that happened, I don't really care."

“But—”

“If it makes you feel better, I do plan on kicking your asses when we get back to U.A.” Shuya sighs, noting how both Tenya and Izuku flinch again. Shoto’s just as shameless as ever. She glares pointedly at Izuku, who suddenly can’t meet her eyes. “And you. I remember specifically telling your dumb ass to not go in alone. I knew this one was a lost cause—” She jerks a hand toward Tenya, scowling. “—but you’re in a world of trouble, mister. I literally warned you.”

Because Izuku is a little shit through and through, he mumbles under his breath. “I—I sent out a message though—”

“Hah? Am I hearing this right? You actually trying to justify—”

“N—No, I—”

“I should’ve let your sorry asses there and saved myself a fucking microwave—”

A dry voice cuts in at that moment, Hitoshi sounding unimpressed. “Didn’t you just pick it off the roof?”

“And? She and I emotionally bonded.”

He raises a brow. “There’s a she now?”

“So what if there is, shitstain?” Shuya snaps, jerking her head up a little just to glare at him. The boy is unfazed. “Her name was Erica, and she had dreams, okay?”

“Oi, are we sure this one’s still not high on drugs or something?”

“The fuck did you say—”

"Wait." Shoto's voice cuts through the chaos, his eyes sharp. "You said the Chief was violating procedure by questioning minors without guardians."

"Right."

"But you didn't include yourself in that argument."

Shuya pauses, then realizes what he's getting at. Ah. Shit.

"That's because I'm not a minor," She says carefully.

Everyone stares at her.

"What?" Izuku’s voice is small, brows knitting in confusion.

"I'm eighteen," Shuya says slowly, and the words hang in the air like a bomb. She does some quick mental math and finds herself surprised. "Oh.” She blinks. “Closer to nineteen now, actually. So technically, the Chief could question me without a guardian present."

The room erupts.

"Eighteen?!" Hitoshi's voice cracks, his earlier composure thrown out the window. "You're eighteen?! How—you're in the same year as us—"

"Late bloomer," Shuya says with a shrug, just to be a little shit. The looks of sheer incredulity on their faces are actually really funny. "Started school late due to... circumstances. It happens."

"But that means—" Midoriya looks like his brain is short-circuiting. "You're technically an adult—"

"Technically, yeah."

"Then why are you in General Education?!" Tenya looks bewildered. "If you're an adult, you could—you could apply to agencies directly, or—"

"I could do a lot of things," Shuya reminds him gently. "But I chose this. For my own reasons."

Tenya stops, a series of complicated emotions passing over his face. But then he realizes where she’s nudging him, and his face shifts into understanding. “Of course. Your reasons. Nothing is more important.”

But Hitoshi and the rest are not so easily satisfied.

Thankfully, before anyone can press further, the door opens again.

This time, it's Nighteye.

His expression is thunderous as his eyes lock onto Shuya. "Kageyama. We need to talk. Now."

Shuya stiffens, then sighs. "Yeah. I figured."

She follows him out of the room, ignoring Hitoshi's worried look, Midoriya's concern, and Shoto's sharp gaze.

In the hallway, Aizawa is waiting.

His expression is complicated—worried, frustrated, and something that looks like dawning realization. When he sees her, something in his face cracks.

"Kid—"

"Don't." Shuya's voice is tired. "Just... don't."

They end up in an empty hospital conference room. Nighteye closes the door, and the click sounds like a death sentence.

For a long moment, nobody speaks.

Then Aizawa says, quietly: "You didn't trust us."

It's not a question.

Shuya doesn't answer.

"The reason you didn't tell us everything," Aizawa continues, his voice rough. "The reason you didn't give us details, didn't push harder—it wasn't because you couldn't. It was because you didn't believe we'd trust you enough to act on it."

Something in Shuya's chest tightens.

"You thought," Aizawa says, and his voice cracks slightly, "that we'd do exactly what we did. Doubt you. Choose to believe someone else over you."

"Can you blame me?" Shuya's voice comes out sharper than intended. "You did doubt me. You did choose Nighteye over me. And Ingenium paid the price. Forgive me for not being willing to repeat that nice little incident."

Nighteye's jaw tightens. "If you had given us more information—"

"I gave you everything I could!" Shuya whirls on him, furious. "I told you where, when, and who! What more did you want? A fucking play-by-play?"

"The truth," Nighteye says coldly. "About how you knew. About where you got your real quirk."

Oh for fuck’s sake.

"My real quirk," Shuya repeats slowly, eyes narrowed. "You mean the Foresight quirk that you claimed didn't exist? The one you used your reputation to discredit?"

Nighteye doesn't flinch. "I stand by my assessment. What you have isn't true Foresight—"

"Doesn’t fucking matter? It’s still a foresight quirk, you asshole!" Shuya's voice rises. "If it isn’t, then what do you call what just happened in Hosu? I knew the Nomus would attack. I knew where Stain would be. I knew Iida would go after him. How do you explain that?"

"Educated guesses," Nighteye says flatly. "Pattern recognition. You're intelligent, I'll give you that. But true Foresight—"

"Is what you have," Shuya finishes. "And therefore, if it doesn't work exactly like yours, it doesn't count. Is that it?"

Silence.

Nighteye and Shuya glare at one another, stuck in a stalemate. She kind of wants to reach over and snap his shitty glasses in two. Pretentious bastard. Something tells her he wants to snap her like a twig in return.

Is she being petty? Yes. Is she justified? Also yes.

For reasons still incomprehensible to her, he’d used his quirk and then somehow predicted that Shuya didn’t have a quirk, which put her in this mess in the first—

She freezes then, eyes going wide.

“…Kageyama?”

Shuya's breath catches, her mind racing through the implications. Nighteye's quirk—Foresight—requires touch. Physical contact. She'd read about it, remembered it from canon with crystal clarity.

He never touched her.

Which means—

"How did you know?"

Her voice cuts through the tense silence like a blade, low and dangerous. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

Nighteye blinks behind his glasses. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said," Shuya enunciates each word with deadly precision, her grey eyes burning as she looks up at him, "how the fuck did you know?"

"Kageyama—" Eraser starts, a warning in his tone.

But Shuya doesn't look away from Nighteye, doesn't acknowledge Aizawa's intervention. Her chest is suddenly tight, suffocating, and ah — she recognizes this emotion, it’s rage — "How did you find out I didn't have a quirk?"

Her voice sharpens. "Who did you use your quirk on?"

"Kageyama, that's enough—" Aizawa tries again, more forcefully this time.

Shuya ignores him completely, her gaze locked on Nighteye like a targeting laser.

For a long moment, Nighteye observes her carefully, his expression unreadable behind those ridiculous glasses. She doesn’t know what exactly he detects on her face — other than pure, seething rage, that is. But something in his posture has shifted at the sight of her. He's no longer dismissive. No longer condescending.

He's wary.

Then, neutrally: "Eraserhead."

The single word lands like a stone in still water.

Shuya's gaze drags slowly to Aizawa. The underground hero has gone still, his dark eyes fixed on her with something that looks unsettlingly like trepidation. Their eyes meet for a brief, loaded second before she looks back at Nighteye.

"I saw a future moment," Nighteye continues, his tone clinical, detached. "One where you confessed directly to Aizawa that you did not possess a quirk. The vision was quite clear."

He leans forward slightly, his eyes glinting behind those ridiculous glasses. The challenge in his gaze is unmistakable. "So tell me, Kageyama-san—am I lying now?"

The emphasis on the last word is deliberate, cutting. A callback to her earlier accusation.

Shuya is silent.

The seconds stretch out, tension coiling tighter and tighter in the small room. Aizawa shifts slightly, uncertain.

Then, quietly: "Check again."

Nighteye straightens, taken aback. "W-what—"

Shuya's eyes lift, burning with an intensity that makes even the seasoned pro hero hesitate. "Check again."

"Kageyama, what are you—" Aizawa starts, confusion coloring his voice.

"Use your quirk," Shuya says, still looking at Nighteye. "Touch Eraser and look again. See if that future is still there."

Nighteye's jaw tightens. "That's not necessary. My predictions are—"

"Check. Again."

"Kageyama, that's enough—" Aizawa steps forward, his hand reaching for her shoulder. His voice carries a warning edge. "Nighteye's quirk has a daily limit. You can't just demand—"

But Shuya doesn't even glance at him. Her grey eyes stay locked on Nighteye with an intensity that makes the air feel thick, suffocating. Every muscle in her body is coiled tight, her jaw set in a way that screams barely-contained fury.

"I said," Each word drops from her mouth like a stone, cold and hard and final, "Check. Again."

Something in her voice brooks no argument. For a long moment, Nighteye just stares at her, clearly warring with himself. Then his gaze flicks to Aizawa, who looks just as confused as everyone else but gives a slight nod of permission.

Nighteye reaches out and presses his hand to Aizawa's shoulder.

His quirk activates.

And immediately—immediately—every muscle in Nighteye's body goes rigid.

Shuya watches with cold satisfaction as the color drains from his face. His breathing becomes shallow, eyes going wide with something that looks horrifyingly like fear.

Aizawa notices instantly. "Nighteye—"

But the pro hero doesn't respond. Can't respond. He's locked in the vision, watching something that only he can see. And from the way his hands are trembling, the way his entire body has gone stiff with shock—

It's not what he expected.

Shuya doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just watches with that same cold, intense focus as Nighteye's composure completely shatters before her eyes.

Good, she thinks viciously. Suffer.

The vision breaks.

Nighteye stumbles backward, his hand falling away from Aizawa's shoulder like he's been burned. For a moment, he just stands there, breathing hard, staring at Shuya like he's seeing her for the first time.

Like he's seeing a monster.

And in the next instant, Nighteye lunges forward and grabs Shuya by the collar, yanking her half out of her seat. His face is twisted with something between fury and terror.

"What did you do?!"

"Nighteye!" Aizawa is on him in a heartbeat, his capture weapon wrapping around the hero's arms, yanking him back. "Let her go!"

His voice is a growl, protective and dangerous. Shuya tries not to think about it, about the rage in his eyes. The protectiveness.

Instead, she tries to focus on vindication.

But Nighteye doesn't seem to hear him. His eyes are wild, frenzied, locked on Shuya's face. "What did you do?! How did you—that's impossible—impossible—"

“Nighteye, I swear to god, get your fucking hand off my kid.”

Aizawa pulls harder and actually manages to force Nighteye's grip to loosen a bit. But Nighteye and Shuya ignore him completely, locked in their own battle of wills.

Shuya lifts her chin, meeting Nighteye's horrified gaze with cool defiance.

"It was different now, wasn't it?"

Nighteye's hands tremble against her collar.

Then Shuya's expression shifts—something cruel and satisfied curving her lips.

"Your prediction was wrong."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back as if she'd actually struck him, looking like someone just told him the sun won't rise tomorrow. His entire worldview—everything he believes about fate and destiny and the immutability of his Foresight—is crumbling before Shuya's eyes.

Wrong.

And she watches it happen with cold, merciless satisfaction.

Aizawa finally manages to pry Nighteye's fingers from Shuya's collar. The hero stumbles backward, dropping heavily into his seat. He looks like hell has warmed over—pale, shaking, his carefully composed mask shattered completely.

"How?" The man asks hoarsely. "How did you—"

"That's enough," Aizawa cuts in, his voice hard. "Nighteye, you need to leave. Now."

But Nighteye isn't looking at him. He's still staring at Shuya, his face pale, his breathing uneven. Like she's something alien. Something that shouldn't exist.

“Does it matter?”

She takes a leans forward, and even with Aizawa between them, Nighteye flinches. Shuya waits until he dares to bring his gaze back up to meet hers, her voice low and dangerous.

“It changed, didn’t it? That strict, immutable future of yours?”

The two Foresight users stare at one another across the desk. Wary. Assessing. Both understanding that on some fundamental level, something has shifted, that the rules of the game have changed.

Internally, Shuya tries not to think about the truth—that Nighteye's prediction had probably been accurate once. Before she developed her quirk. Before the future changed. He hadn't lied, not truly. Just been...inaccurate. 

But she's not going to tell him that.

She's too petty for that.

And besides—let him stew in the uncertainty. Let him doubt his perfect, infallible quirk.

It's the least he deserves.

The room falls into tense, suffocating silence — neither side willing to speak first. Shuya savors the horror on Nighteye’s face, despite the failing composure he's trying to keep. Aizawa hovers between them, quirk still activated and red eyes glaring specifically at Nighteye.

She’d feel a bit touched if he didn’t turn on her and ask,

"How did you know to be in Hosu?"

Shuya's hand clenches in her pocket. The recorder feels like it's burning through her skin.

This is it. The moment of truth.

She could expose Nighteye here. Could play the recording, prove he lied, prove she was right all along. The hand on her collar, his momentary loss in composure in front of Eraserhead would certainly help her case. 

But Eri's face flashes through her mind. Small, terrified, those red eyes filled with so much pain—

Later, Shuya tells herself. After the raid. After she's safe.

So instead, she says.

"Midoriya sent out a location ping. To all the contacts on his phone. I’m sure you have it too. I saw it and remembered from Uraraka mentioning in passing that Iida was interning in Hosu." She meets Aizawa's eyes steadily. "I put two and two together. Figured if Midoriya was in danger in Hosu on the same day Iida was there, it had to be related to Stain. So I contacted Mirio-senpai and Shinsou and came to help."

It's a decent cover story. Plausible enough.

Aizawa doesn't look convinced, but he nods slowly.

Nighteye, however, finally seems to recover enough to pipe in. His yellow eyes bore into hers, accusing. "You knew more than that. You knew the Nomus would appear. You knew exactly where to find them in that alley. You knew—"

"I made educated guesses," Shuya throws his own words back at him, just to be petty. "Pattern recognition. I'm intelligent, remember?"

Nighteye's expression darkens. "This isn't a game, Kageyama—"

"You're right, it's not." Shuya's voice drops, cold and hard. "Tell me, Nighteye—now that you’ve seen what I’m capable of — was Tensei's sacrifice worth it?"

The question lands like a physical blow.

Nighteye goes very still. "What—"

"You said the future can't be changed," Shuya continues, and there's something dangerous in her grey eyes now. "That my warning was false, that Ingenium wouldn't be attacked. But he was. And now he's crippled. So was it worth it? Was maintaining your pride, your reputation, your belief that you're the only real precognitive—was it worth Iida Tensei's legs?"

"The future is immutable," Nighteye says, but his voice wavers slightly. "What I saw—"

"Barely changed," Shuya finishes. "With all my efforts, it only barely changed. That's what you're thinking, right?"

To make yourself feel even a bit better about yourself?

Nighteye's eyes widen. "How did you—"

"Because that's what always happens with the butterfly effect," Shuya says quietly. "Something small now will change into huge waves later. That's what I've done, Nighteye. I've started the ripples. And the waves—" She meets his eyes steadily. "—have finally begun crashing. And I'm at the center of it all."

The words hang in the air between them, heavy with implication.

"So I’m gonna say it again. One last time. You have two choices," Shuya leans in, grey eyes glittering with a strange power. "You can stand by my side and help me navigate what's coming. Or you can stand in my way and die uselessly when your time comes."

Nighteye's face goes pale. "Are you threatening me—"

"I'm stating facts." Shuya's voice is steady. "I've seen your future, Nighteye-san. And I know you have too—which is why you’re so prissy and depressed all the time. I know exactly when and how you die. And I'm offering you a chance to change it."

For a long moment, Nighteye just stares at her. The reveal of his impending death barely seems to faze him, as if he’s long come to terms with it. Rather, the death of All Might had shaken him more. It kind of makes Shuya bitter, seeing firsthand how little this man values himself.

Is this like a genetic trait in all heroes?

Then, his voice barely a whisper: "How far can you see?"

Shuya meets his eyes, sharp but meaningful.

This time, when she speaks, her voice is not hard or cold. No.

It’s sad.

"I can see the end."

The training camp. Kamino. Eri. The Meta Liberation Army. Aoyama’s tears. Izuku disappearing through a portal. Katsuki’s broken body. All Might being torn apart by All For One. Izuku and Tenko, hand in hand, even as his arms crumbled to dust. Dozens of portals overtaking the stormy sky, a slew of “ganbare, Izuku!”. The final battle, the final sprint, the final push forward and—

—the final punch.

And peace.

With too much lost and nothing gained. As Mirio would say.

“And I reject it,” Shuya says softly, quietly. “I reject that future.”

Because all of them deserve better than that ending.

The words fall like stones into still water.

Nighteye takes a step back, something like fear flickering across his face for the first time. Because he understands what that means. Sees the weight she's carrying, the knowledge burning behind those grey eyes.

"The end," He repeats faintly. "Of what?"

"Everything," Shuya says simply. "If we're not careful."

Aizawa's hand lands on her shoulder, gentle but firm. "Kid—"

"I'm tired," Shuya says, and suddenly she feels exhausted. "Can we... can we do this later? I just want to go home."

For a moment, it looks like Nighteye will press further. But then he just nods, something complicated passing through his expression. He looks like he has some thinking to do. Good, Shuya won’t do it for him.

"Your internship is suspended," He says finally. "Effective immediately. You will not return. Mirio will see you out."

"Understood."

Mirio is waiting in the hallway, and the moment he sees Shuya, his usual bright smile is dimmed with worry.

"Shuya-chan."

"Hey, senpai."

They walk in silence for a while, Mirio's hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders uncharacteristically tense. Once they reach the room where Shuya’s belongings were stored, Mirio stops.

Finally: "I'm sorry."

Shuya glances up at him. "For what?"

"For the hard time you've had under Sir Nighteye." Mirio's voice is quiet. "I—I've worked with him for years. He took a chance on me — despite my lack of quirk control, y’know? So I thought he was just being a bit of a hard ass because you had potential." He lets out a shaky breath. "But the way he's been treating you, the things he said about your quirk—I don't know if I can—"

He cuts himself off, looking uncharacteristically troubled.

Shuya stops walking. "Mirio-senpai."

He looks down at her.

"Nighteye is important," She says carefully. "More important than you know. What he's working on—the cases he's investigating—they matter. They need to succeed."

And he makes you, at least, happy.

"But—"

"But," Shuya continues gently, "that doesn't mean you should sacrifice yourself for him. Stand by his side. Support him. But put yourself first. Your dreams, your goals, your wellbeing—those matter too."

You are Lemillion, destined to save a million people.

Mirio's expression is confused, concerned. "Shuya-chan, I don't understand—"

"You will," Shuya says. "Eventually. Just—just promise me you'll remember what I said, okay? When things get hard. When you have to make impossible choices."

At least with you, and you alone, he is happy.

So, do not doubt—

She reaches out and squeezes his arm. "You're a good person, Mirio-senpai. Don't let anyone—even Nighteye—make you doubt that."

For a long moment, Mirio just looks at her. Then, slowly, he nods. "I promise."

"Good." Shuya manages a small smile. "I'll see you back at school?"

"Yeah." His grin returns, smaller but genuine. "See you at school, Shuya-chan."

They part ways at the hospital entrance, and Shuya is about to head back up to bid the boys goodbye when a familiar capture weapon wraps around her shoulder.

Sighing, she turns to find Aizawa behind her, his expression grim.

"We need to talk," He says.

Shuya twitches. "I thought we already did—"

"Not like this." He jerks his head toward a quiet corner of the parking lot. "Come on."

Shuya shrugs off the capture weapon, then follows, exhaustion making her steps heavy.

Why does everyone and their mother want to talk to me today?

Literally. Tenya’s mother had clung to Shuya’s front for like fifteen minutes before the sheer mortification on his face had convinced her to let go of Shuya. That was after Tenya himself had sobbed a long slew of apologies into her arms. Shuya had come out of that encounter with the front of her shirt soaked to the bone.

Tensei had not visited yet, for which Shuya is grateful. She doesn’t think she’s ready to face him just yet. Not without feeling split between pure rage and crippling guilt.

Better to leave that confrontation to another day.

When they're alone, Aizawa crosses his arms and fixes her with that underground hero stare that probably makes villains confess to crimes they didn't commit. He doesn’t speak immediately, and Shuya busies herself watching the cars speed by, a little kid playing with their dog in the distance, and the color of the foliage near—

"Your refusal to tell us everything," He says quietly, breaking the tense silence. "It resulted in people getting hurt. Native almost died. Iida was nearly crippled."

Shuya's jaw tightens, but she doesn't respond. Would he believe her if she’d told him that her interference before had worsened Iida Tensei’s fate? And that this — even with Tenya’s injuries — was a far better outcome than the canon already?

"If you had just trusted us—" Aizawa continues, unaware of her dilemma.

"Have you ever seen a city burn to the ground?"

The question stops him cold in his tracks.

Slowly, Shuya meets his eyes, and there's something old and terrible in her gaze. Something that doesn't belong in the eyes of an eighteen-year-old girl.

"Have you ever smelled a burnt corpse, Eraser?" Her voice is quiet, almost conversational. "Ever stood in the ruins of something that used to be beautiful and watched the smoke rise while people screamed? Over and over again, in a loop you can never get out of—can’t change, no matter how hard you try?”

Aizawa's expression shifts, something like alarm flickering through. "Kid—"

“Have you lived through your own death? Felt the flesh burn off your skin, your body torn to pieces, smoke in your lungs?”

And she watches, tiredly, as Aizawa—no, Shouta reels back as if struck.

That first night, right after the Sports Festival. She’d only slept for what, like ten hours? A full night’s worth of sleep. Within those ten hours, Shuya had seen hundreds of futures against her, an eldritch entity pushing and pushing and pushing against her skull, hoping that she’d finally kneel over and give into fate.

It’s a last resort.

To show her own fate, should she continue to struggle.

The taste of ash in her mouth, her body disintegrating into millions of pieces, and cold, red eyes staring down at her. A piercing laugh in the background, her name a piercing cry on Izuku’s lips.

Another voice whispering her name, one buried deeper within the conscious, younger and higher-pitched and disbelieving. Older, scratchier, body turning to dust beneath their frantic touch

No, no, no, no, you can't leave me P̸̧͎̳̟̭̝̻͔̍̓̆̽̌̈́̅̅̃̊̔͆̋ļ̷̛͈̰͙̀̈́͐͒̌͆̆̾͌̋̍̈́͘a̵͕̞͒̑͒͌̑̄̄̅̏̿̾̚͘y̶̛̛͉̹̩̘̼̺̹̳̝͍͗̈́̒̋͑̿͗̔̉̿e̶̝͌ṝ̸̨̛̺̲̯̯͔̼̘̾̑͐̽͌̈́̈́̓́́͝ ̶̧̧̪̠͓̳͚̥̬̿̈́̀̅̏̆̋̌̀͆́̕̕͝T̷̩͙̟̘̰̗̋̽̌̾̊͠ẅ̴̖̦̣̰̼́̄́̊̂̾̈o̵̧̨̢̢͈̫̳̝̦͓͚̣͚̲͛̋͑̌̐́͒ͅ—

"I have," Shuya says simply instead, ignoring the pressure against her skull. "Every time I activate this damn quirk, I see every possibility of the future— good and the bad. I risk going blind with every try and yet still, I do it to see the futures where we miss victory by the skin of our teeth, where our greatest heroes are torn in half like cheap paper. And you know what?” She scoffs, low and dry. “I have to keep looking, over and over again at that torture, feel every second of it as I’m there in person — if only to find out where they went wrong so we don’t repeat that mistake.”

Her hand clenches at her side. “So, can you imagine how it feels when you trust people with the right information, at the right time, with the best outcome on a silver platter, and they just throw that opportunity away?"

She looks up at Aizawa, and her eyes are hollow.

"I can imagine it. It resulted in an innocent man getting crippled."

The words hang between them, heavy with implication and pain.

"I'm not going to risk it again," Shuya says quietly. "I can't. Because next time—next time it might not be a coma. Next time, it might be a city burning. It might be Izuku losing his arms or Katsuki getting his heart ripped out. And I can't keep seeing that over and over again—"

Her voice cracks despite herself, and Shuya immediately goes silent, unwilling to cry in front of him.

Aizawa stares at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches out and pulls her into a hug.

Shuya stiffens, surprised—almost nervous at the sudden warmth.

"I don't know what you've been through, kid," Aizawa says quietly. "But I'm sorry. Sorry we didn't trust you. Sorry we made you feel like you had to carry this alone."

Shuya doesn't respond. Can't respond. Just stands there and lets herself be held while the weight of everything crashes down on her shoulders.

Then she melts into it, burying her face in his capture weapon. And the tears come in full force.

“You—you idiots—I—I worked so fucking hard—”

“It’s all our fault,” Shouta says quietly, holding her close. “We were illogical.”

Shuya hiccups, then cries harder.

I miss—

I miss my family. I miss my mom and dad and my brothers, and ah, I should have called them at least once before I—I disappeared— why did I put it off for so long, why did I—

They stay there like that, Shuya sobbing into his shirt until she has no tears left to shed. After what feels like an eternity, Aizawa pulls back, his hand resting on her head.

"Let's get you home," He says gently.

Shuya nods, too tired to argue.

That night, she crawls out her window and sits on the emergency stairs.

It’s suffocating at home, despite her teary reconciliation with Shouta and Hizashi. Upon their return home, Hizashi had taken one look at her red-rimmed eyes and absolutely melted, sweeping her into his arms and mumbling a slew of apologies. Shuya had let him, silent as stone. Then, after a long time, she’d raised her arms and hugged him back, burying her head into his shoulder.

I’m…tired of being sad.

The betrayal still stings a little, and Shuya still has a metric fuckton amount of things to deliberate over without sobbing every five minutes.

She saved Iida, though.

She saved Tenya.

Shuya doesn’t really know at what point she started actually caring for these people. Perhaps it was the day she fainted and had that weird dream about Stain. How she’d realized that these weren’t just fictional characters anymore but living, breathing people whose lives she was so callously playing with. Sometimes she regrets gaining that awareness, because it makes her path for survival so much harder, both literally and emotionally.

But Shuya cares. She hates that she does, but she cares.

It’s the same as signing her own death sentence.

She’s no better than Nighteye in that sense; she’s just using people for her own agenda. It doesn’t matter if she cares about them—she is sure in some warped way Nighteye loves Mirio. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. You can love someone and still use them for your own interests.

The dilemma for Shuya comes in the fact that, because she is an idiot, she cares too much and for too many. And when that happens, the weight of this recorder becomes heavier and heavier. Because then Shuya is forced to choose—who matters more?

Not to the plot, not to the world—but to her.

Because she no longer has the excuse of this being a fictional world, nor that of trying to maintain the plot. The only thing that matters is that she has the knowledge, and now she must decide who to sacrifice to maintain that knowledge for the greater good.

She lets out a shaky breath and feels her legs give way beneath her. Her back hits the wall.

That phrase—greater good.

It’s always tickled her senses, but never more so now. It implies the existence of a judge, of a scale upon which fate is weighed. Who is the judge—who weighs the scales—Shuya doesn’t know.

It’s not her. It can never be her. She doesn’t want it to be her.

Even if she must.

So the recorder — coupled with the CCTV footage of the meeting — is all damning evidence of Nighteye’s lies. If she hands them over to Nedzu as promised, she’d be proving her innocence. But at the same time, she’d be condemning Nighteye and his agency, where Mirio and the rest worked. Nighteye, who had been working on the Shie Hassakai case for years, was the only reason the Shie Hassakai raid was successful, and Eri was saved. Eri—the price was little Eri.

But if she doesn’t hand this recording in now, then no one will trust her warnings in the future. Sure, she’d managed to gain some clout with Aizawa and the pro-heroes involved in this incident. But it won’t make the players she needs move — because they’re the ones who are still iffy about her entire situation. Fuck that, Nedzu doesn’t trust her.

Shuya needs Nedzu for her plans.

She’d be outed not as someone who lied about her quirk—but as someone who’s Quirkless in a world where Quirkless people were treated more animal than human. Even if she has a quirk now, and they were able to find a quirk factor, again, it doesn’t matter. Because this is a world where quirks can be easily given and taken, and Shuya is someone with a shady background and a convenient diagnosis of amnesia.

Nighteye’s suspicions about her being tied to All For One were not illogical; even Shuya can admit that, as salty as she is about the entire situation.

And yet, at the same time.

Kamino Ward, Destro, Shigaraki—no one would believe her about what’s to come. Best-case scenario, she’d be imprisoned.

The choice, as always, is in her hands.

“Hey, Plot.”

Shuya tests the words out loud; they feel odd and foreign on her tongue. She glares tiredly at the sky. “What the hell do you even want from me?”

Why did you even bring me here?

But surprisingly, for once, the Plot is silent. Unmoving. Absent. As if it has nothing to say to her, nothing to force her into doing, or to fight her about.

No questions to answer, and no grace to give her, a stranger in another world.

She sits there for a long time, on those emergency stairs outside her bedroom window, braced against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest.

Then slowly, the sun spilling over the horizon sky, Shuya begins to move,

Slowly but surely.

Once, Shuya had trusted the adults to make that choice for her—had trusted them to believe her unconditionally because she thought they cared, because she’d have believed them unconditionally too.

“Why do you call us by our hero titles?”

She clenches her eyes shut as if struck, but grits her teeth and presses on.

“Call me Hizashi, average-sized listener!”

But it was foolish, it was naive—because Shuya might have known these people on pages and on the screen long before she arrived in this world—but they’d only known of her for a few months at best.

She knew they’d never betray her. But they didn’t know if she would betray them.

The only solution then is to foster that trust — make sure they never doubt her again.

Once again, the choice is in her hands.

“Do you think miracles exist?”

Shuya closes her eyes, remembers snowy white hair and apple red eyes, and makes her decision.

I do.

I have to.

Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t.

Phase Four: Do Damage Control. Oh, and Stain. 3/3 Complete