Chapter Text
You busy?
A handful of seconds ticked by after I hit send, measured by the steady drip of water from the awning of whatever store front I was sheltering under. Usually I enjoyed a spring shower - how soft the raindrops were, how it made the air smell fresh, how it pattered over the cityscape. Tonight, not so much. It drummed down from above like the boots of an army coming to declare war on what was left of my patience.
Always! But never too busy to spare a minute if you need one, you know that. What’s up?
My lips screwed up in annoyance; at myself more than anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have texted Hizashi. This was stupid. This whole night was stupid. While my thumb hovered over the screen, and a moment of hesitation became a minute, then two, another text bubble popped up.
Well?? Are you taking a survey, or drunk texting me to come pick you up somewhere?
Then:
Wait. Shouldn’t you be out on a date right now?
With a huff, I tapped out my reply and knew as soon as I hit send, my phone would be ringing. God, I wish I was drunk.
I think I messed things up with Toshinori.
Against my instincts, but with full comprehension it was for the best, I hit send.
Five seconds later, the selfie Hizashi had taken of the two of us at Nemuri’s last birthday party - both flushed from alcohol, him grinning wolfishly at the camera and me glaring at him but with a smile half hidden behind the neck of a beer bottle - flashed on the screen, along with the chipper ringtone he had picked out for himself. I swiped to accept the call.
“Okay, man. Tell me what happened and I’ll tell you how you need to apologize.”
* * *
EARLIER THAT NIGHT
“So did you manage to stay awake for the rest of the Sports Festival?”
“Mhm.” I could tell Toshinori was looking at me but I kept my gaze on the clouds above. Nimbostratus, and low-hanging at that. It would rain soon. It was a good thing the soba place wasn’t too far from his apartment. “Mostly, anyway.”
Laughter, but not the stage laugh from the newscasts that set my teeth on edge. He had a rather nice laugh, when it wasn't a gaudy accessory to his hero costume. “Mic too loud for you to get any shuteye?”
I snorted. “I can sleep through him screaming bloody murder at this point.”
“That so! Have much experience sleeping through the attempted murder of your friend, do you?”
“Worse. I’ve been next to him when he walked into a spider web.”
Toshinori laughed like I was kidding. I glanced up and, while still chuckling, his eyes widened. “Oh! Is he actually afraid of spiders?”
“Any kind of bug, really, but spiders are probably the worst. I’ve seen him face down a half dozen villains alone with a sore throat, but one insect in his vicinity and he’s less than useless.”
“Then I assume he hasn’t worked much with Centipeder, has he?”
I smirked at the memory of the first joint-task mission briefing where Hizashi had met him. I’d practically felt his goosebumps from across the room. “Oh, he has. He puts on a brave face; he’s a pro when he has to be. And as he’d say, he’d hate to offend a listener.”
“He’s a good man!” Toshinori lauded. He slowed and wrapped his fingers around the handle of a door with peeling red paint. The hinges squeaked and a bell on the inside handle jangled. “After you!” He stepped aside and bowed slightly. Cheesy, but effective; it was force of habit for me to hide the smile pushing at my lips.
The establishment, which lacked any sort of signage to indicate a name, was small even by mom-and-pop, hole-in-the-wall standards. Hell, it was barely bigger than the living room of my one bedroom walk-up. Three glossy tables crowded the window overlooking the sidewalk, a few feet from the partitioned counter where the chef and probable owner was working his hands through a gummy pile which would eventually become hand pulled noodles.
With a nod, we were directed to pick whichever we wanted of the two available tables. There was a young man sitting at the table in the corner, deeply engrossed in his phone while mindlessly lifting noodles to his mouth, so we sat at the one closest to the door.
“It doesn’t look like much but it’s the best around.”
Feeling an odd sense of flirtatiousness, I asked, “You talking about me, or the restaurant?”
Toshinori looked surprised for a moment then burst out laughing. The smile I’d been fighting back won and I let it have a few moments on my mouth before tucking it away again.
“I’d say both, but you’re actually quite the looker.” He winked at me, the incorrigible charmer.
I blinked back with determined nonchalance. “I’m not susceptible to flattery, just so you know.”
“Not even if I can confirm you are the best around?” In case I missed his very obvious verbal insinuation, the double bounce of his eyebrows drove it home.
“Hard to be flattered by statements of fact.”
More delighted laughter. “Your humility is truly inspiring!”
“Well, I know a certain Number One Hero who could take some notes on that.”
The laughter dialed down to a chuckle and his smile gained an edge. “Hard to be humble about statements of fact. It’s right there in the title, after all.”
Number One or not, it was debatable just how much his means justified the ends in the long run. “As fair a point as it can be, considering.”
Toshinori looked at me with an expression I couldn’t parse, but before he could say whatever was on his mind, a woman in a crisp gray apron emerged from the back room with a tray holding two glasses of water, two mugs of tea, and a single menu which she laid in front of me. She greeted Toshinori by name and inquired after his health. By the conversation, I gathered he had one of his blood-ladened coughing fits last time he was here. He brushed it off as no worry at all, which was hardly surprising, and redirected the conversation by inquiring about a man I assumed was her brother or boyfriend, it was hard to tell while only half paying attention as I perused the menu.
After placing our orders, I sipped on the hot but somewhat weak tea. Well, it was a soba restaurant, after all, not a tea house.
“So, do you still want to hear about the rest of the Sports Festival?” I normally would have shirked my promise to fill him in had he been anyone else, but he wasn’t just anyone else, and I found myself compelled to keep my word.
“Oh! Sure!” He wrapped his fingers around his water glass but didn’t lift it to drink. “I caught the second and third year results but saved the first year’s for you to tell me.”
So I did. The Sports Festival itself had felt endless, despite the energetic commentary from Hizashi whipping the crowd into a frenzy as the kids battled each other for the spotlight. As it always was with the first years, it was only so exciting before it was just the biggest Quirks battling it out and nearly all the subtle and specialty Quirks were left in the dust. The upperclassmen's competitions were usually so much more interesting, seeing as they had learned how to do more than simply be as bombastic as possible.
By the time I had filled him in on the main points of interest, our food had arrived and I confirmed the winners between bites of hot soba. It really was some of the best I’d had. And by the steady stream of customers coming in for takeout orders, plenty of other people thought so, too.
“It sounds like an exciting finale!” Toshinori waved his chopsticks in a circle. “I wish I had been able to stay to watch the rest of it.” He was still avoiding what exactly he’d been doing, and I had no inclination to ask about it, though he did seem significantly more tired than when I’d seen him earlier. Of course, it could be because he got as little sleep as I did last night, and like me, it was catching up to him.
“The final round for the first years is almost always the most oversized Quirk versus the loudest, so you really didn’t miss much more than what it is every other year. History repeats itself, even the boring parts.”
He scoffed a little. “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it, coming from one of the primary hero course instructors? Surely there’s more to it than that.”
I hummed around a mouthful of noodles before swallowing. “I’m not saying no technique was involved. No one wins with flash and fists alone, in the Festival or the real world. Well-” I eyed him as he picked through the dish of steamed vegetables to pluck out a carrot. “Most people don’t, anyway. But you can’t tell me you don’t think some of the more finesse-based Quirks are disadvantaged from the get-go at the Sports Festival.”
“From winning first place, perhaps, but the pros watching decide for themselves what Quirks and skills they value, not just who wears a medal at the end. And no matter what, every student gets the valuable opportunity for work-study after, so it all ends well for everyone, regardless of who makes the podium.”
It was my turn to scoff, and it wasn’t nearly so nice a sound as the one he’d made. “The first years barely know their own limitations or flaws going into the Festival. Rewarding them for barely being able to control themselves in a public forum by putting them in actual harm’s way is hardly what I’d call a valuable opportunity.”
“Oh? You don’t think it’s good for the kids to get real world experience with the safety net of a pro looking out for them every step of the way?” He blinked thoughtfully at me. “What would you call it?”
Every step of the way - an impossibility, if ever I heard one. “I call it asking for accidents. I support the program as an instructor, but personally? No student should be allowed in the field until their third year. At the earliest. I understand the need for them to have hands-on experience, but until they have a more practical understanding of themselves and the pro hero business, their place is in a safe, controlled environment.” I took a vindictive bite of cucumber. “Might as well throw a costume on a Quirkless child and send them out to face a villain.”
Toshinori set down his chopsticks. His face was the most rigid I’d ever seen it, like he was actively masking an emotion for once instead of broadcasting it for all to see. “I know you don’t mean that as prejudiced against the Quirkless as it sounds.”
“No, of course not. It’s probably worse to send out a kid with powerful abilities they’re just learning the potential of than one who already knows their limits.” My stomach felt tight and my head was starting to hurt from actively avoiding the bitter memories of my own work-study. I took a drink of lukewarm tea. “I’m just saying we shouldn’t encourage kids to do more than they’re capable of. They have their whole lives to become heroes. With or without a pro backing them, they shouldn’t have to go on a single patrol when they’re barely teenagers.”
“Ah. I can understand why you feel that way.” Toshinori's head bobbed slowly in agreement. “It’s good for them to get a feel for what the job entails by working with pros, but perhaps pushing it back a year or two isn’t a bad idea. Some of the younger kids can be a bit foolhardy when trying to be like the pros they look up to. It probably is just a matter of time before one rushes in when they shouldn’t.”
A dry ache was making my eyes feel heavy. “Yeah, well, given who they’re usually trying to emulate, I’m surprised it hasn’t become an issue sooner,” I muttered.
The rickety chair creaked as Toshinori sat back. His brows were drawn down over his dark eyes, an unfamiliar look of hurt twisting his mouth in the opposite direction of his trademark grin. Shit. I shouldn’t have said that out loud. It was a piss-poor excuse to say I was tired and feeling on edge from trying not to picture a pile of rubble, of scarlet splashed on pale hair, of a smile I’d never see again except in pictures I could still barely look at.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what? Personal?” He asked flatly. “If you didn’t mean to sound like you were blaming All Might for the actions of individuals making their own impulsive decisions, Shouta, I hate to say it but you fell short of whatever you meant it to sound like.” His face was contorted in the closest expression I’d seen on him to being genuinely upset.
I sighed. “I just meant it’s only a matter of time before a kid gets hurt because they can’t tell the difference between wanting to be a hero and actually being one. It’s how kids are. The policies should be changed before any more children have to face the realities of actual trauma because they thought they were able to handle more than they should have to at that age.”
“Hm. I can see what you mean.” He nodded, face pointed upward and eyes passing over the ceiling in contemplation before landing back on me. “But you do think All Might is at least partly to blame. Or should be, anyway.”
“I’m not trying to place the blame on anyone.” I knew my tone was sharper than it needed to be, but too many bad memories were swirling up to mix with my long-simmering dislike of a curriculum which put unprepared kids in real-world dangers for me to temper it. “The hero system has its flaws, like any other profession overseen by the government. But it’s become entertainment, and it lulls the young and inexperienced into wanting fame over results. Even you have to admit that.”
“I don’t disagree there’s room for improvement for the industry to be treated more like the high-risk occupation it is and less like the media spectacle it’s become, but where you see naive students running around unsupervised, I see a few unfortunate incidents due to the negligence of pros and a lack of judgment by their interns.”
“Lack of judgment?” I repeated. “Sure, if you assume every encounter in the real world is planned with briefings and forewarning. If anyone goes in half-cocked after being given all available information, that’s on them. By definition you can’t prepare for the unexpected, but being a hero means you have to deal with the unexpected every day. Kids shouldn’t be put in situations where they might come face to face with a random villain without backup. They haven’t learned protocols and techniques yet; they barely understand their own Quirks. You know how quickly a situation can go downhill, even for a fully trained pro. A partially educated student with delusions of grandeur doesn’t stand a chance if things go south.”
Toshinori lifted his shoulders in the vaguest sort of shrug. “Fair enough. But isn’t it a little extreme to want to drastically reform or completely do away with a program that’s been running successfully for years because a handful of isolated instances of rash behavior led to student injury? It’s not as if there are kids being hospitalized left and right because of the program. Statistically speaking, it’s fairly safe.”
Trying to do the right thing in a shitty situation wasn’t rash, it was practical. Necessary. Unavoidable. Fatal. The muscles in my jaw felt painfully compressed. “So a few kids being injured or worse is a fair price to pay? Just as long as it’s not a significant number.”
“Good grief, no! Of course not! But it’s bound to happen, whether they’re fifteen or eighteen-”
“Huh.” I crossed my arms. “So you think a few years makes all the difference in dealing with trauma, then.”
“No! I don’t, I-“ He blinked. His mouth was a concerned frown. “Shouta, I’m not trying to argue with you. Did-“ Keen eyes looked me over, read me with the perceptiveness of an intelligent and analyzing mind. I loathed how it reminded me of the UA counselors I had to see after the incident, each one trying to convince me what happened wasn't my fault. He lowered his voice. “Did something happen, to you or one of your students…?”
What final shred of resolve I had to remain civil snapped. I didn’t want his scrutiny, and I sure as hell didn’t want his pity. My tone was raw as I bit out my words. “Nothing needs to have happened to me for the willful lack of concern about student safety to disturb me. If you think it’s fine to let minors be injured or killed in the name of education and learning the ropes of being a pro, that’s your choice.” His mouth was slack as I pushed up from my chair. “And it’s my choice to not waste any more of my time with you or this conversation.” I stormed by him, past the couple waiting for their takeout order, and yanked open the door to escape the suffocating room.
I heard the scrape of chair legs on linoleum. “Shouta, wait-“ The door banged shut behind me, cutting Toshinori off.
The first raindrops were starting to fall as I joined the flow of people on the sidewalk. I shoved my hands into my pockets and made for the nearest cross street. Thanks to my years of patrolling, I knew the area fairly well and was more than prepared to try and give him the slip if he attempted to follow. It wouldn’t be easy, ditching someone like All Might, but I didn’t hear the creak of the door or the jangle of the bell. It seemed like he wasn’t going to follow me after all.
If he was giving me space to cool off, or simply letting me walk away from not only the conversation but potentially from this relationship we’d barely begun, I didn’t know. Between the seething anger over an avoidable tragedy from my youth and the numbing disbelief I might have just ruined what could have been the best thing to happen to me in years, I didn’t even know if I wanted him to follow me.
What felt even worse was knowing I probably didn’t deserve it.