Chapter Text
“Class dismissed,” Iroha Matsumoto said to the first year hero class right before the bell rang. The students instantly leapt to their feet, rushing to get to their lunch break, while Iroha waved them off with a smile. She arranged the class’ papers on first aid during natural disasters into a neat stack and sighed.
“Sensei?” Nejire Hado stood in the doorway, watching Iroha with inquisitive eyes. Those two boys waited right beside the door, one grumbling about lunch, the other with his face through the wall with a goofy smile.
Iroha put the stack down. “What’s wrong?”
Nejire shook her head and said, “Oh, nothing!” She gestured at the boys and herself. “We were just wondering if you will watch us at the sports festival in four weeks?”
“Of course,” Iroha said, a little surprised. “Why the question?”
“Just making sure,” Hado shrugged. “We want our new favorite teacher in the stands.” She grabbed hold of the boys and disappeared down the hallway. Oblivious to the fact that Iroha stared after her, dumbfounded.
With a rueful smile, Iroha shook her head. She tucked the papers under her arm and headed to the staff room. The knot in her stomach tightened with guilt, because of course she would attend the U.A. Sports Festival. Not only would she have a front seat to the future heroes’ abilities, there would be pro heroes in the stands as well. Who knew what kind of intel she’d be able to gather.
Iroha glanced at the scars on the back of her hand, and her throat closed up. It had been four weeks since she’d started teaching at U.A. High School. Although that was the side quest. The ruse. Because if anyone found out she was a villain on a mission, that’d be the end of her. Especially since her target scared her senseless.
She reached for the staff room door, but it already slid open, making her step back. “Oh, hi!” she smiled at the target in question, a chill running down her spine involuntarily.
Those exhausted eyes glanced her up and down before Shouta Aizawa grunted a greeting in return and stepped out of the office. Iroha watched him walk down the hallway. His shoulders were slightly drawn underneath the layers of binding cloth, and his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets.
You wouldn’t think that man was a danger to the Game Changers with the way he overworked himself and napped during his classes to fight off that perpetual exhaustion.
But Iroha knew better. She’d seen Eraser Head fight a few friends of hers. Four against one. The odds shouldn’t have been in his favor, but he had picked them off the street one by one, bound by cloth, and had handed them over to the police. Even from a distance, Iroha had decided right then she would avoid that hero at all costs.
Joke’s on her.
“Matsumoto!” Hizashi Yamada perked up from behind his desk. “Join us for lunch?” He pointed from Nemuri Kayama to himself and beamed at her.
“I’d love to, but I need to get these papers graded before the end of the day,” Iroha said, catching herself disappointed she couldn’t tag along. Normally, she would have had the evening to work, but unfortunately, she was called back to base. And if she were honest, after a long night with the Game Changers, she would not have the energy to deal with the silent disappointment of Aizawa the following morning. At the rate he expelled his students, Iroha wouldn’t put it past him to kick her out if she didn’t put the grades in on time.
Yamada gave her a look. “Don’t mind Aizawa so much, he’ll survive.”
“Why do I have the feeling I won’t?” Iroha retorted with a grin.
“Trust me,” Nemuri Kayama said with a wink. “You’ll be fine.”
“I appreciate it, but I really do have to take a rain check. Tomorrow?” Iroha suggested with an apologetic smile.
“That’s a promise right there.” Yamada pointed two fingers at his eyes and then pointed them at her. “Don’t forget to eat!” And they left.
Iroha sank into the chair at her desk. Neat piles of files and papers were stacked at the sides. A small plant that Iroha had received from Kayama as a welcome present had finally grown enough to peek over the highest stack. And right behind it, next to her computer screen, stood a picture frame of her and Keiji.
They looked so… normal. Like an actual couple. It irked her each time she looked at it, because she knew better.
Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she started on the papers. She disappeared into a flow for the duration of lunch. It was the fourth paper that pulled her out of it when she snorted at one of Mirio's jokes he had snuck into the last paragraph.
She leaned back in her chair, caught movement across from her, and almost screamed when she looked up.
Aizawa stood with a cup of coffee in his hand at his desk, an expectant gaze directed at her. “You did not hear me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I— no, sorry,” Iroha said, too shaken to smile. Though, she did not think smiles worked on him anyway. He seemed to avoid any human interaction that wasn’t forced on him by either Yamada or Kayama, and Iroha was pretty sure he hadn’t held eye contact longer than three seconds with her.
He sat down, disappearing from her line of sight. “Well, good,” he said. “I almost thought you made that sound to my question.”
“Soun—” she started to ask, but then realized, and laughed. “Oh, god, no. Mirio made a terrifyingly bad pun.”
Aizawa sighed. “I told him to stop.”
Iroha pressed her lips together so she wouldn't reveal she had told Mirio it was fine, provided that he had to be at the top of her class. “It's fine,” Iroha said, marking Mirio's paper with a 100 and putting it aside. She stood up and looked at Aizawa. “What was your question?”
There was a beat of silence. “I asked if you could attend training tomorrow afternoon.”
“I should be able to,” Iroha said. “I will arrange it with Recovery Girl.”
A nod. His dark, messy hair hid his face in shadows as he pulled up a stack of papers. “I will send you the specifics.”
“Thanks.” Iroha sat back down.
A silence fell over them, only broken by the scratching of pens on paper. A private conversation would have been perfect. Infiltrate, get close, and don't get caught. That was the mission. She should have known that when infiltration had been as easy as breathing, something else was going to be that much harder.
Aizawa did not allow anyone to get close, and Iroha's attempts had resulted in shorter answers and longer sighs.
So, she waited for an opportunity, some opening that would have him warm up to her, and until then she’d accepted that she’d have to play the long game.
When lunch break ended, Aizawa headed back to class, and Iroha relocated to the infirmary, where she assisted Recovery Girl and graded the remainder of the papers.
It was peaceful. Iroha wished it could be this way forever, but she’d quickly discovered that wishes didn’t tend to come true. Not for her anyway.
After putting the grades into the system, the last bell rang. She grabbed all her belongings, ignoring the vibrating phone in her pocket, and made a quick stop at the staff room to drop off the graded papers before she could encounter anyone who would distract her.
“Matsumoto!” Yamada yelled from the doorway, his voice bouncing off the walls.
Sure. Of course. She molded her face into a friendly smile and turned around. “Yes?”
Yamada blocked the entrance, and Aizawa was right behind him, a yellow sleeping bag underneath his arm, and a glare piercing the other teacher’s skull.
“Drinks tonight?” Yamada looked at both of them with a grin. “On me?”
“Can’t,” Aizawa said. “Patrol.” He slunk past Yamada and got to his desk.
“You know, there’s this thing called taking a break,” Yamada retorted, giving Aizawa a judging look over his glasses. He didn’t wait for the response and looked at Iroha expectantly.
Iroha clamped her hand around her phone that hadn’t stopped buzzing. She pulled it out of her pocket, holding it up where the same picture lit up as the one on her desk. “I’m sorry, I can’t either. Date.”
“Oh, come on,” Yamada groaned, rolling his eyes. But he smiled at her when he said, “Have fun, though!”
“Have a nice evening!” Iroha didn’t give him another opportunity to keep her here and left the office. She rushed to the exit and stepped outside into the spring air. The last of the cherry blossoms drifted in the wind, and for just a second, Iroha closed her eyes and tipped her chin upwards to feel the warmth of the sun on her face before returning to reality.
At the gates, Iroha picked up the call. “I’m sorry—”
“I’ve been waiting.”
“I know, I—”
“Car’s at the usual spot.”
The dial tone rang in her ear like an unspoken promise.
#
“Thanks for the ride,” Iroha said to Hiro when he pulled up in the alley an hour later. She fixed a large hoodie over her clothing and pulled up the hood.
“Always a pleasure, kid,” Hiro grinned. He was in his late sixties, dressed to the nines, and had been, in his younger years, a force to be reckoned with. It was cruel to have him drive her around instead of putting him higher in the ranks. She never quite understood why he stayed instead of retiring.
He shifted so he could look at her in the backseat. “Be careful tonight.”
Iroha put her hand on his shoulder. “Always am. Are you—”
He covered her hand with his and gave a pat. Immediately, Iroha’s quirk flared to life, and his body projected in her mind. Healed injuries lit up like fireflies in the night. There weren’t any new ones.
He gave her a knowing smile. “Always am.”
Iroha returned the smile, eyes flicking toward the bright lights further up the alley.
“Call me if you need a ride back.”
“I will.” She stepped out of the car into the shadows and kept her head down as she quickly walked to the arcade. Neon lights flashed in the windows, and a cacophony of music, electronic game sounds, and laughter traveled down the empty street. It was crowded as usual inside.
Groups of students moved from machine to machine, talking loudly and holding onto buckets of sweet and salty popcorn. Parents carried their children on their shoulders, who hugged stuffed animals to their chests with large smiles on their faces.
All oblivious to the world underneath their feet.
Weaving through the crowd, Iroha made it to the back of the claustrophobic hall, pushing past a curtain to the backroom filled with broken machines. She looked over her shoulder to check if no one had followed her, and then punched the buttons on an upright cabinet in the correct order. The wall behind it slid open, revealing a staircase going down.
Iroha took a deep breath and descended four flights, neon signs lighting her way to the short and narrow hallway with a single door at the end. Her fingers trembled when she curled them around the handle. Come on, you got this, she told herself, taking another deep breath. You’re the Wisp.
Squaring her shoulders, Iroha opened the door and stepped over the threshold into the entrance hall. It was high-domed with a faded ceiling mural and had multiple archways leading to different rooms where the Game Changers could prepare, hang out, or rest. A small group stood off to the side, barely glancing her way when she closed the door behind her.
“What’s with the get-up?”
Her spine went rigid, and her heart skipped a beat, right into overdrive. Slowly, she cocked her head to the side with a passive expression. “Work.”
Keiji leaned against the wall, arms crossed, those poison colored eyes trained on her. He pushed off, running his fingers through his light, slicked-back hair, not a strand out of place. His icy expression fixated on her eyes. “Change.”
“I just—”
Keiji reached for her, pulling down her hood, and trailed his fingers along the nape of her neck. He slowly dragged his gaze up and down her body. “Now.”
Iroha lowered her gaze, pressing her nails into the palms of her hands. “Fine,” she mumbled.
His fingers wrapped around her neck, yanking her towards him. He angled her head up and close to his own. “What’s that?” Menthol breath breezed past her cheeks.
“I’ll make it fast,” Iroha said, feeling the poison of his quirk sink into her skin. It scraped inside her veins, moving like sludge and burning her from the inside out. Her quirk pushed back.
Not yet.
Keiji studied her face. “Meeting room in five.” He released her and stalked off.
Iroha rushed to the lockers, grabbed her gear, and locked herself in a washing room. Quickly, she braided her dark hair back and changed into her Will-o’-Wisp costume, which wasn’t really a costume. Cargo pants, leather boots, thermal shirt, fingerless gloves, and a hooded cloak. All black. And a mask which covered the lower half of her face.
She shoved everything she didn’t need in the duffel bag to return to her locker. She did a last check in the mirror and groaned under her breath. Riffling through the bag once more, she got out her kit. Iroha removed the dark brown contacts and stared at her reflection. Two golden eyes glowed back at her. The edges of her irises occasionally moved like a solar flare emitting from the sun, as her quirk obliterated the poison from her system.
After storing her belongings, Iroha arrived at the meeting room right as Keiji stepped up to the table to shush the inner circle. His eyes immediately found hers, and he raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.
Iroha dragged her feet to him and sat down in the chair on his left. His hand gripped her shoulder as he opened the meeting. Members of the inner circle shared new information on heroes and their agencies in the neighbourhood, patrol schedules, significant encounters, and some of the loot they’d managed to acquire. Keiji listened, asking only the occasional question or giving the stage to someone else. Until he finally reached her.
“It’s been a week, little Wisp,” Keiji drawled, tightening the grip on her shoulder. “What have you learned?”
All eyes focused on her.
“They’ve started preparations for the sports festival that takes place in four weeks,” Iroha said, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Ah, yes, the renowned sports event,” Keiji sighed, rapping his fingers on her shoulder. “Get us in.”
Iroha opened her mouth to protest, looking up at Keiji.
He stared icily back.
“I will find a way,” she said meekly.
“What else?”
She took too long to answer.
“What else?”
“It’s been four weeks,” Iroha said carefully. “I’m getting to know them, but they’re still pro heroes. If I act the least bit shady, they will pick up on it.”
The silence stretched in the room.
Keiji moved behind her chair, gripping both her shoulders. He put his head right next to her ear and asked in a low voice, “Where’s my information about the hero?” His fingers brushed a piece of her hair back. “You do know what’s at stake, don’t you?”
Iroha froze. She folded her betraying hands together and squeezed until her knuckles turned white. She wrecked her brain for information. Anything. And realised she did know something. “He is patrolling tonight.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Keiji leaned back, and his hands left her shoulders. He stepped to the head of the table, grinning. “The meeting's over. Prepare to leave.”
The inner circle was up and running as soon as the order had left his mouth. Iroha stood up, but Keiji pressed her back in the chair. “Four weeks and all you have is a patrol?”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t think you understand,” Keiji said with a dangerously low voice.
“He keeps everyone at an arm’s length,” Iroha tried again, desperate for Keiji to understand. “I tried to get close to him. But the more I tried—”
Keiji grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to her feet.
“Keiji—” Iroha struggled to get out of his grip. “Please—”
He dragged her through the hideout until they reached the room she dreaded the most. Pushing back tears, she tried not to flinch when he unlocked the door and kicked it open.
In the dark, two golden eyes glowed. When the light from outside washed over him, Ryuuto looked up with a gaunt expression. Blood. There was blood everywhere. His shackled wrists and ankles were painted crimson, and his pants were soaking wet in the pool of red underneath him.
Still, her twin brother smiled when he saw her.
“Ryuuto—” Iroha stepped forward, only to be pulled back against Keiji’s chest.
“See, I had a feeling,” Keiji whispered in her ear, “you’re not motivated.”
Iroha choked back a sob. “I will get closer to him. I just— I need time.”
“I want something concrete next week, Iroha.” Keiji released her arm. “Or I’ll start removing and burning his legs, so you can’t put him back on his feet again.”
Stumbling forward, Iroha fell on her knees and grabbed a hold of Ryuuto. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her fingers to his skin. The map of his body was as familiar as her own. Her quirk burst to life. She found a stab wound in his right upper leg, a hair away from a major artery, and two broken ribs on his left side.
“I’m okay, little sister,” he mumbled in her hair. The chains went taut as he tried to hug her back, but he couldn’t get further than a few inches. He dropped his hands. “I’m okay.”
Iroha took a deep breath and transferred the wounds to her own body. Gritting her teeth, she felt her ribs cracking and an invisible knife sinking into her leg. Then the pain faded as her body repaired the damage, and it was as if they both had never been injured.
“Ryuuto, why don’t you give the Wisp the boost we talked about for tonight?”
Iroha pulled back and looked Ryuuto in the eyes, a mirror of her own. She took his cold hand, and his irises blazed like solar flares as he activated his quirk.
“You’re okay,” Ryuuto whispered, squeezing her hand, and then let go.
Iroha rose to her feet and turned around to a grinning Keiji.
“Let’s go, little Wisp. We’re going hero hunting.”