Chapter Text
“Allow me to preface this with some honesty.”
It’s all in the tilt of his head- in the way his arms are crossed- that Sakia knows exactly what Edgeshot’s going to say before he even continues. It’s in the world’s predictability that Sakia can wall up and scowl before he can blindside her with-
“I wasn’t initially going to give you an internship.”
Yeah, that seems par-for-fuckin’-course.
-----
It’s not to say that Nedzu knows all - Not at the slightest, even! However, he is very aware that his Quirk makes him far more intelligent than a large majority of the human population. This still doesn’t mean he knows all .
But if you were to ask him anyway, Nedzu could very confidently say that he does know all that happens on the U.A. campus.
Not because of his Quirk. Goodness, no- that’s ridiculous . It’s because of the innumerable amount of cameras covering the entirety of the school grounds, of course.
This is, after all, U.A; The Hero School of all hero schools. It would be absolutely asinine to not use U.A’s expansive budget on things like inner security. (Especially after not one, but two break-ins.)
What Nedzu is dancing around here is that there is one very thick file labeled ‘classified; YH’ locked deep in a false-cover cabinet with 6 different alphanumerical codes in his desk that could, very easily, have at least 17 students immediately expelled and facing long-term legal consequences. There are many things that could be said about the absolute giddiness that fills him at knowing that this file is not just a sick hobby- that the evidence within will see the light of day-
Because Yamada Hanako is, of course, demanding that the students who left her a death wish face those legal consequences.
Ha! And she even named the exact trespasses during their meeting. Discrimination and Psychological Abuse, she’d said, Publically.
Nedzu is so very, very glad that Yamada Hanako is the exact type of girl he’d hoped for from her entrance exam essay. Outspoken, smart, and vindictive.
(Nedzu has never, in his many years as the U.A. Principal, wanted to mentor a student ever. But this acrimonious teenage girl was perfect to play as a dragon king in his little shogi game of Tear-Apart-Society.
She is far too much like him to be entirely comfortable.)
Now, what is the most subtle way to suggest to 3 students to start browsing their schooling options post-juvenile jail? Because Sakumoto Taro, Yabuuchi Ibuki, and Ichinomiya Sakue had about a month before their worlds would fall apart!
Nedzu is, of course, withholding this information currently from one Yamada Hanako. Because she was just publicly ousted at Quirkless in the Hero Course. And he is still curbing the media-societal backlash from one little throw-away comment. And U.A. can only handle so many publicity issues at one time. With Bakugou’s chaining at the festival too- Well, this has to be pushed back a bit.
Slowly, now, slowly.
Good things do, after all, come to those who wait.
-----
“Everyone has their costumes, right?” Aizawa’s hands are shoved into his pockets and, for all that the train station is bustling around them, he looks as tired as always. “ Remember, you don’t have permission to wear them out in public yet. And don’t lose them or anything.”
Mashirao’s palm is sweaty around the handle of his hero costume’s suitcase. He makes sure it’s a firm grasp anyway. No matter how nervous he is.
“Gotcha!”
“Speak properly. It’s ‘yes, sir’ , Ashido.”
She wilts, “ Yes, sir…”
If he’s amused, or approving- Aizawa doesn’t show it. He powers on, face still flat. “Make sure you mind your manners with the other Heroes during your internships. Now, get to it.”
Mashirao only manages to take a half-step before he’s stopped.
“Oi.” A hand tugs pointedly at his sleeve.
He pivots just a bit too eagerly to be casual.
(Can he really be blamed, though? She doesn’t own a phone. He won’t be able to talk to her for a week- outside of emails , of all things.)
Yamada Hanako stares at him with an impossibly deadpan expression.
Fortunately, Mashirao is starting to learn the secrecies to her subtleties. Knows that, even though her brows are flat and her lips are slightly downturned, her eyes are sparkling and her hands are loose.
“Yamada-chan?” He chances anyway, just in case he’s wrong.
“This is goodbye for a bit, neh?” And then she tilts her head ever-so-slightly and she smirks- “Don’t get yourself killed, Ahojiro.”
His nose twitches.
(At the very least, he knows these insults are how she shows her friendship. It’s, umm, ‘ sweet’.
… Yeah, he’ll call it that.)
“I mean it.” Her head tilts the other way and this time, there’s the barest peek of canines in her smile. “It’d be really lame of you. So make sure you come back alive.”
It’s probably the closest a girl like Hanako would ever come to telling him to be safe. She’s not exactly nice. Nor is she kind with her words. But- and this is a very strong But- She cares in her own gritty, mean way.
So Mashirao smiles back.
“I will.” His tail flicks behind him, fingertips digging into the handle of his suitcase. “You stay safe too, Yamada-chan.”
Her face does that thing.
Only for a millisecond. A fraction of a blink. It’s-there-then-it’s-gone.
(Not the Sports Festival thing. Gods forbid- No- Not all blank-eyed and expecting. Not guarded and vindicated. Not Proven-Right-Pain.
Slack-jawed like it’s something she’s never heard before. Like she had been when he apologized to her. Raw and open in a way that it shouldn’t be for something this simple.
Mashirao is sickened by the idea that Yamada Hanako has maybe never had anyone wish her a safe return.
)
Hanako smiles a bit more warmly. It’s a bit strained. Like she doesn’t do it often. And only there for a half-beat- before it turns back into a lopsided smirk.
“Alright, loser.” Hip cocked and eyes squinting- Hanako gives him yet another one of her too-wide-on-purpose grins, “We’ve got trains to catch.”
It’s all the vulnerability she can seem to manage- because she pivots without waiting for his response, long red hair fanning out.
He has to swallow. And blink. The tips of his fingers are thrumming.
His mouth moves. “I’ll see you next week!”
She jolts- and half-turns towards him.
Her nod is firm- a softer-than-usual smirk painted across her mouth.
“Until next week.”
Ojiro Mashirao sits in his train seat and hopes that things will go well for Hanako’s Internship.
-----
There are millions of words in the world. Maybe even billions. In particular, there’s gotta be a couple thousand of those that Sakia knows.
The only one that comes to mind when she steps into the lobby for Edgeshot’s Agency?
Pompous.
It’s exactly what she expects and, quite honestly, is disappointing because of that. It’s all just fucking slick-grey tiles and tall windows and goddamned modern. She was hoping for something different. Something a little more Underground-y. But she’s also not a fucking dumbass.
So, yeah, modern lobby.
Sakia sniffs and slinks over to the receptionist’s desk.
The lady doesn’t even wait for a second - voice dismissive and bored.
“Hello, do you have an appointment?” Her nails are still clacking away at the keyboard- excessive and loud for whatever mundane task she’s running through. Her orange hair is perfectly slicked- pink eyes glued to the computer monitor.
Sakia smothers down a sneer. “No. I-”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have any openings today for a walk-in of any sort. My sincerest apologies,” She isn’t the slightest bit sorry- but that’s customer service for you, “We’re terribly busy with an incoming U.A. Intern, I fear-”
“Yeah, me.” Sakia’s not scowling - but half of her mouth is downturned.
The receptionist stills- fingers hovering above the keyboard. She looks over. She blinks thrice like an idiot before she seems to finally understand exactly what school uniform Sakia is, in fact, currently wearing.
“Oh.” Another three blinks. “Oh!”
And her apathetic face smooths out into one of the most practiced smiles Sakia’s ever seen- botox-smooth lines and not-quite-there eyes-
“We’ve been expecting you, Yamada-chan.”
Her toes scrunch in her sneakers.
Yamada- chan.
She just nods and bites her tongue. It wasn’t even her real name anyway. Didn’t matter if they tacked on a cutesy ‘chan’ to it.
“Right, well,” Receptionist Lady shuffles around for a bit on her desk, “I’m supposed to take you on a tour but first… Aha!”
She holds up a card with Sakia’s fucking student photo on it. What the hell?
“This is your temp badge! It’ll allow you access to the elevators and rooms. You’ve got limited access as an intern- but that shouldn’t be too much of a concern.” She hands the plastic card over between bedazzled stiletto nails, still smiling fake-real.
Sakia takes the card and stares at her picture- very, very calmly reassuring herself that they just got it from U.A’s files.
“...Thanks.” She can’t even remember where she left her stupid tie last- and she’s wearing it in the picture.
“No problem.” Secretary stands- and is shorter than Sakia. In heels. “Now let’s take that tour.”
It’s Sakia’s turn to blink like a fucking idiot. She still manages to pry apart her maw and utter out, “Right. Sure.”
And what is there to say about the tour?
It’s a big fucking office building full to the brim with cubicles. Cubicles of analysts and financers and media people and strategists- but at the end of the day, it’s a bunch of cubicles. Sakia’s not allowed into the cool rooms. None of the support labs or evidence rooms. None of the files rooms either. And certainly not the personal offices to any of the Heroes in this agency.
The cafeteria is sick, though. It’s no Lunch Rush cooking- but Sakia’s dumb fucking badge grants her a free lunch daily. And access to a whole ass basement floor dedicated to gyms too. Hell yeah.
“And, finally, the Sidekick Room.” Receptionist (who still hasn’t introduced herself) gestures grandiosely to the door labeled- well, Sidekick Breakroom.
Sakia offers another noncommittal hum- just like the last 50 times.
“And this is where our tour will be ending, Yamada-chan.” Secretary folds her hands in front of her, a smile still plastered on her unmoving face.
Her bones go cold. The implication is screaming.
The tour didn’t show her Edgeshot’s office. Or Edgeshot.
Encouragingly, like she doesn’t notice Sakia’s slow-growing scowl- “Go ahead and use your badge to enter the room.”
Maybe he’s inside. Maybe he’s inside-
The door beeps and unlocks- and the desk bitch opens the door like she’s eager to be rid of Sakia.
It only takes half a millisecond to see that-
He’s not inside.
“So sorry, Yamada-chan, but Edgeshot won’t be able to see you just yet. He is a very busy man, what with being the number 5 hero!” The smile on her face hasn’t changed a bit- but it reeks of malicious energy (it doesn't, not really. But how can Sakia see that smile and not be bitter?), “You’ll be hanging around here and helping some of the sidekicks in the meantime.”
Sakia can’t bring herself to do anything but sigh.
It’s her own dumbass fault for thinking that this internship wasn’t also going to be faulty.
(Maybe she should’ve taken up Genkousan Books. At least that one was blatant.)
She steps inside and lets her brows weigh heavy at her eyes. Deep and down and- not frowning, no, but the emotional equivalent with just her eyebrows.
Edgeshot will show his bastard face eventually. There’s no way he can avoid coming into his agency for a whole week.
And Sakia’s one determined motherfucker.
-----
She’s shorter than the TV makes her out to be.
Standing still like this? Not darting across the screen and beating her classmates' faces in? Yeah, she’s shorter than he was expecting.
Asano Kiyaru- Or, er, Optimo; the Ballpark Hero stares at the new Intern with disillusionment. This little thing won 3rd in the first-year's Sports Festival. This shorty was apparently averaging 3rd overall in her class too. Including the Heroics class scores.
Even her hero costume is underwhelming. Dark greys and blues that amount to, basically, sweatpants and a sleeveless turtleneck. It’s lackluster. No flare at all. Even Eraserhead had his signature yellow goggles and capture scarf.
She sniffs, like she’s unimpressed too.
“...Right, well. I’m Optimo. I’ll be your, hmm, senpai during this week. I’ve been tasked with giving you a task today. So, ah…”
He pauses. Now… What task would be fitting to distract a simple first-year intern for a few hours..? Can’t be too classified or difficult. Something hard to fuck up-
“Ah! So, we’ll set you up at a desk and have you organize some media reports and other miscellaneous paperwork from the Sidekick Department.” Kiyaru taps at his chin, meeting the little menace’s stare eye-on.
If she’s disappointed, he can’t tell. Not with that mask covering everything but her eyes.
Besides, this works out. Akirako’s been out for a few days because of that run-in with a Villain- All cooped up in the hospital with enough drugs to kill a horse- So she’s behind on her reports and paperwork- And here’s this perfect opportunity for Kiyaru to pawn off that extra work.
“Right. So you can just take a seat… uhhh-” He points vaguely at some open space at the main meeting table, “There-ish. I’ll bring you the papers now.”
God forbid he gives her anyone’s desk space. Never mind Akirako’s . She’d throw a fit if she found out, the absolute diva .
Absolutely betraying her stoic disposition, the intern sulks over to the meeting table. And it’s only because he’s watching her that Kiyaru finally notices the balled-up fists at her sides.
He thinks, very fleetingly, to himself at that exact moment- Huh, there’s the feral Quirkless from the Sports Festival.
The thought is banished away with every other non-impartial thought he has because he’s
Optimo.
He can’t let his personal thoughts on the
Quirkless
get in the way- much less his personal thoughts on
the
U.A. Quirkless Heroics Student
who punched the ever-loving shit out of her classmates on live TV. For God’s sake- she flipped off
Endeavor’s Son.
Kiyaru clears his throat and places down the sizeable stack of paper in front of her.
She looks only at him. Unblinkingly.
(Has that burning inferno been in her eyes this whole time? Just barely leashed back? This whole time?)
“Right, well…” He flicks his thumbnail once-twice, “You’ll need to organize these in categories of ‘good media’, ‘neutral media’, and ‘bad media’. You think you got that?”
He hopes so because this is one of the easiest things he can give her. Otherwise, she’ll have to waste her time organizing a box of paper clips.
She stares at him unblinkingly for a long handful of moments- with
slitted
pupils of all things. Like a cat, honestly. Interesting Quirk genetics must be somewhere in her lineage to give her thin pupils like that-
A shame, then, that she had those interesting genetics amount to nothing-
No, no, nothing.
The brat doesn’t even nod. She just starts. Turns her blaring eyes to the papers and starts reading.
Huh.
Kiyaru doesn’t let her weird behavior bother him. He’s got vague enough memories of his own time as an intern at a Hero Company. He’s certain she was just coming to terms with her grandiose dreams being reduced to paperwork.
It’s always paperwork.
Speaking of-
He turns hateful, hateful eyes to the stack sitting on his own desk.
His desk, most unfortunately, is facing away from her. Which means he has to turn his back on this spiteful little being.
Kiyaru shrugs and sinks into his office chair. It’s whatever. He’s not
scared
of her. He’s
Optimo
and she’s just some Quirkless. He could
totally
beat a little Quirkless girl in a fight. He has a
Quirk
and
Hero License
for God’s sake.
And Optimo has to fill out a bunch of lame reports from his very uneventful patrol rounds.
He sighs heavily- only once, mind you- and sets to it.
--
((Sakia can think of over 20 ways to organize something as complex as The Media- and for this random Sidekick to give her a stack of reports and articles and tell her to organize them into only three?
What the fuck is even neutral media? That shit didn't exist- especially not in Competitive Hero Society.
Lame. Lame lame lame lame lame.
Her expectations weren't even that high but this is somehow below that.
Sakia chews on her inner cheeks and sets to organizing by severity and situation first. She'd sooner die than let this bastard believe she couldn't handle a task this simple.))
--
The ache in Kiyaru’s poor, poor back grows more and more miserable by the second.
Sure, he’s been bent over his paperwork for only 30 minutes this far- but he’s been doing paperwork daily ever since he got this job. He’s achy. Achy.
Optimo indulges in the urge to stretch. Reaches his arms upwards and twists his tight back and scrunches up his face- the whole mile. Yawns loud and everything .
He blinks blearily at the ceiling. Babysitting is boring. This is quite possibly the most boring intern ever- really. Not chatty- As a matter of fact, she hasn’t said a single thing yet. The quietest intern ever. She doesn’t even make paper-shuffling noises-
Hold on-
Kiyaru’s spine snaps straight.
He spins around and- Oh-
Oh, hell.
The table is barren.
As in, the intern is missing.
The paperwork he gave her is still sitting at the table- almost forlorn in her missingness- and it’s in many piles- but also, the intern is missing.
“What the absolute fuck.”
Kiyaru’s not high enough in the food chain for this to slide by.
She’s one First-Year. With no field experience.
Kiyaru’s been an Underground Sidekick for damn near 7 years- there’s
no
conceivable way this no-experience,
Quirkless
brat managed to
silently
sneak out the room. Without him noticing!
(And yet, the chair is empty, isn’t it?)
Career-Ending. Almost certified, in fact.
He jerks up.
He has to find her. Before anyone notices. Fast.
Okay. Okay. Where would Kiyaru sneak off to if he was a 15-year-old Quirkless girl?
Shit.
The question doesn’t pose any immediate answers- because where exactly would a silent little brat like that even sneak off? He doesn’t even know her name. There are no leads to this case.
He’s gonna have to use his Quirk.
(Y’know, 10 years ago, a teenage Kiyaru lamented over the fact he didn’t have a flashier, cooler Quirk. This current Kiyaru has never been more thankful than now.)
He stands in the doorway and urges Best Guess as strongly as possible. Left or Right. Left or Right. Left or-
Kiyaru takes a right. Nothing in his senses screams wrong- so it’s gotta be the correct choice here. Hopefully. For the sake of his job.
Not to say he pushes his Quirk to the limits, here- Goes Plus Ultra or anything- But Kiyaru urges Best Guess to its edges and speed-walks as casually as possible down the hall-
Doesn’t pause in front of doors but keeps his senses peeled for even the slightest burble of wrong wrong wrong in his stomach- the topsy-turvy of his uncanny valley- stretches his Quirk until his chest aches-
Optimo takes a not-too-urgent left and his mounting sense of ‘Oh Shit’ grows by the second-
Practically running past countless doors and offices and storage rooms and file rooms and-
WRONG-
He skids to a stop-
He backtracks. One door. Two-
WRONG-
One door forward again and-
Oh, what the fuck, Kiyaru blanches.
It’s the fucking closed-case files room. He barely has clearance to this room. There’s no way this little punk got in here with her little intern badge.
And yet-
And yet Best Guess led him here.
Kiyaru sucks air through clenched teeth and taps his badge against the door’s sensor. The lock unclicks and he opens the door slowly with bated breath.
For a second, there’s nothing wrong with the room. He even thinks that there might be something wrong with his Quirk.
But Best Guess is never wrong. Hasn’t been wrong once. It’s the reason he’d always get 100-marks on multiple-choice questions. The reason he found his wallet after he lost it in a cafe.
So it’s also right in saying that she’s in this room.
(It has to be. Gods, it has to be.)
Kiyaru edges a step in.
Nothing happens. No blaring Quirk senses or anything drastic. He can't see her- not a single strand of that rusty hair hiding anywhere in the room.
She's in here. He knows this.
Another step in. The door closes behind him.
" Psst, kid?" Leaning to look around some of the file cabinets- as if she'll just magically appear. "Hey, come out?"
It's utterly still in the room.
"I'm going to get in Super Ultra trouble if I lost you. So, if you could not be missing..?"
It's like he can sense her. The feeling of being watched is astronomical. She's definitely here. But where ? There’s not a single thing in the room that hints at a moody teen hiding anywhere.
"I won't tell. If I tell, I also get in trouble? So please come out."
And finally-
Something.
The sound of moving tile-
And-
Kiyaru's neck crackles as he snaps to look up at the ceiling.
The tile moves completely-
And she drops from the ceiling.
Kiyaru takes a moment to simply stare at her.
What the fuck.
He’s met dozens of far stealthier-looking Sidekicks and Undergrounds that have far less skill apparently. She’s got bright red hair for goodness sake! How the fuck did she even manage to climb up there in the time it took for him to key into the room- How did she even get in with a fucking Intern’s key card?!
She meets his gaze head-on and he might not be able to see her entire face- but there’s no mistaking the smug gleam in her eyes.
There are classified documents in this room. Stuff that the general media isn’t allowed to know- and Kiyaru has not even the slightest clue what she just snuck her sticky little teenage fingers into.
Not a single one of those file cabinets looks disturbed.
She sniffs.
And then, almost imperceptibly, she tilts her head. Promptingly. Daringly.
Oh boy.
No one told him how annoying having an intern was going to be. Why is he taking care of Edgeshot’s problem?
Kiyaru sighs sufferingly. “How did you even get in here?”
She tilts her head the other way- barely more than 6 degrees. Almost consideringly. But more like how a jeweler considers a cheap gem- like how a cat considers its target. Condescendingly .
And finally- she pulls a keycard out of nowhere.
That’s right, nowhere. Not her pocket- not her sleeve nor her hair nor shirt or nothing- but from nowhere. Because of course she also has skill in sleight of hand.
In bold lettering, at the top of the card, is Akirako’s full government name.
There's no mistaking the look in her eyes. There's a smirk behind that mask.
He can feel a truly powerful headache beginning to brew behind his temples. One of those special ones where it makes your vision blurry and you can’t even think- let alone work .
“Alright, you punk. We’ve gotta take this back to the breakroom. You are not supposed to be in here.” He gestures for the smug little thing to start walking ahead of him. “I don’t even want to know what you rifled through in here. Just get movin’.”
To her credit, she does. Marches right in front of him and it’s in this moment that he’s watching her smug little form that he realizes that she just walks like that too. Her footsteps are completely silent. Something in her costume’s shoes, maybe?
Either way, it’s freaky. She’s like a little delinquent ninja. The most quiet pain in his neck.
(Nevermind that she’s better than most of his coworkers on any Underground mission-)
She’ll be terrifying when she’s finally in the Hero Business. A creeping, silent force whose hands are already flying towards your face when you’ve finally noticed her.
And she’s only just a first year.
Kiyaru thinks there may just be a day where, years from now, he’ll be watching the news and she’ll be a Major Headline Story and he’ll think distinctly of the time she out-ninja’d him to go read-
Oh, hey- now that he’s thinking about it- What name did The First Quirkless Hero choose? He definitely saw it in the company-wide debriefing email but the damn thing is escaping him at the moment.
It’s only fair to know it if she outsmarted him like this .
“Say- what was that Hero name again? Eheckle or something..?”
She flicks a glance at him- not even turning her face so it’s the most side of side-eyes- Even more pointed from how much shorter she is than him.
The only thing that responds for dozens of seconds is the sound of his own footsteps. Not hers, though. Because she slinks like cat- with padded shoes or something that must be keeping her footsteps silent.
She must come to a decision. About him, maybe. Or the circumstance. Or maybe even the entire internship.
And finally, she breathes. “...Ehecatl.”
And Kiyaru’s brain zings. He took a course in Ancient Mythologies back in college- it’s been years now but the name is familiar in style and he swears he knows this one. It’s gotta be-
He snaps his fingers. “Oh! Like the god from- from the uhh- Aztec mythos, right?”
Ehecatl nods. “Yeah, the god of winds.”
”Huh, nice choice…” Kiyaru’s brain is scratching at something ominous- but he can’t for the life of him figure out exactly what it is. What is it- about this little quirkless girl and her strange name- what exactly happened in that mythos book he read way back in junior year-?
Ah, doesn’t matter. He’s gotta figure out how to entertain this 3000 IQ brat for a few hours so she doesn’t sneak into another room higher than her clearance.
-----
Ohori Washi just barely ducks away from the fist heading straight for his beautiful face.
Now he’s not normally so bad at fighting- and a measly fist wouldn’t even hurt that bad anyway- but this fist is coated with Spark Joints-
And Washi would never let someone like Sidekick Zasham get a hit on him, the Hero Pinpoint.
He almost thinks it was a trick of the light- that he imagined it because it’s roughly 1pm and he still hasn’t had lunch- too busy sparring with Zasham- but as he turns to dodge yet another swipe at his handsome, handsome face-
And she’s still there.
Lingering in the corner like an apparition- red hair draping around her body like she’s the Grudge- Amber eyes gleaming from under messy bangs- watching them fight like a panther hidden away in the branches-
The U.A. Intern.
Zasham must finally notice too, the unobservant motherfucker, because he finally freezes just the same as Washi did moments ago.
Washi graciously ignores the chance for a cheap shot- no matter how tempting. Instead, he stands straight and turns to address the audience of one.
With a pointed brow and crossed arms, he meets her tiger-eyed glare. His lips part and out comes a stern- “Can we help you?”
He can just barely see it- but her fingers twitch. It’s not like he can observe her expression- she’s got on a cloth mask that completely covers her chin-to-nose- so it makes that little twitch all the more obvious.
He’s not quite certain what it means though. Shock, perhaps?
“Is sparring off-limits for interns?” Her eyes pierce through his like sewing needles- stitching and stitching through the fabric of his soul.
It feels like she’s daring him to deny her.
And what would Washi have to fear anyway? He’s a pro-Hero. She’s a high school first-year. There’s no feasible way she could possibly hope to even win a fight against him.
Still, he supposes it's good practice for her. Maybe that’s why she asked. He casts a quick look at Zasham- just to see if the other is opposed.
And behind the bright orange ski goggles- Washi sees a deep, disgusted scowl.
And he flounders- “Ah, well- uh-”
“Of course.” Zasham’s mouth turns into a sickly smile, “I’d love to spar the U.A. student who got third in the Sports Fest.”
Washi’s stomach turns inside out.
Quirkism..? In this day and age..?
The intern is already stepping forward before he can protest- Chin raised up and perfect-posture ankles striking into the rubber floor with unfaltering certainty-
Washi steps back.
This, after all, is the student who placed 3rd in U.A’s Sports Festival. He’d be damned if she lost to someone like Zasham.
---
(Zasham tucks his face even deeper into his bowl of rice- hunched and shrinking and embarrassed.
She’s a 15-year-old. Who is Quirkless.
Pinpoint has no business telling all of their colleagues so loud and brazenly about how he got his ass kicked.
Even that pretty girl in accounting had heard. Fuck.
All she did was get the fucking slip on him. Complete luck. There’s no way she would beat him in a real fight where he put in real effort!
Right?
)
---
(The fight was over in less than 2 minutes.
Zasham was cocky. Pushed out his quirk from his knuckles to where it was visibly sparking- giving away the element of surprise-
And true to the Sports Fest, she's slippery. Clever too. There is a reason she earned 3rd, after all. A reason she caught Edgeshot’s eye.
Ohori Washi makes sure to tell that pretty woman in Accounting that everyone knows Zasham is into that all it took was one punch to the throat and he was out. )
-----
Subject: Internship, Day 1
Body:
Dear Yamada Hanako,
I hope you are doing well.
This is Ojiro Mashirao, from your class at U.A.
Thank you for your time today.
My internship with Slugger has been very informative and interesting thus far on the true-to-life activities of a Pro-Hero. As of my first day, I’ve received some hands-on training and a chance to try patrolling the neighborhood with Slugger. He’s been a diligent teacher and I am glad to have chosen his agency for my internship.
How are things faring at Edgeshot’s agency? Even now, I think it is incredible that you received an offer from a Top 5 hero. I believe this speaks true to your skill as a budding Pro-Hero. Is Edgeshot a strict teacher? What have you learned on your first day?
I hope to hear your response soon.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
―――――――――――――――――
Ojiro Mashirao
3323-1 Honkojimachi, Shimabara, Nagasaki, Japan
TEL: +81-99-9999-9999
Email: [email protected]
―――――――――――――――――
-----
“I don’t know, man- I’m just stuck. Not even the people in Legal are helpin’ me out. They told me that I might have to wait up to a month for someone to even be free to begin going through all the legal jargon to help me. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Sakia tries not to listen in. Really . But it’s boring and she doesn’t exactly know how to tell Optimo that she’s been done with her paperwork for the last half-hour. There’s nothing to do except listen to this other Sidekick complain about legal troubles.
“I don’t think I’m completely following, man.” It’s only the fact that Optimo’s stupid costume vest is made with polyester that scratch-squeaks when he moves that Sakia knows he’s just crossed his arms. She doesn’t even have to turn around to check.
“Well, you remember how just last week I was out on patrol and missed my return time, right? For the shift change?” This other sidekick’s costume might be made out of latex.
Sakia has her stupid job to thank as to why she even recognizes the sound of that fabric.
“Right, yeah. So near the end of my patrol, there was an incident and, y’know, I dropped in to help with that. Some guy was breaking into a store, dude. And- well, there may have been some property damage but it wasn’t my fault!”
Optimo makes a sympathetic sound. “What happened? What’d you break?”
Sakia starts bending and unbending a paperclip. Traces the line of it with her fingertips. She could, theoretically, re-do the paperwork. But that’s fucking boring- even worse than having nothing to do. Like now.
“ I didn’t break anything! The Villain threw me into a display case and it shattered! There’s even video evidence that it wasn’t my fault and the owner is still suing me!”
Ah, that reminds her of-
And her mouth moves.
“Use Yakuyaku versus Umesaka. It’s a similar case that resulted in a new minor law a couple decades ago. It’s not a commonly used one- but Subsection A-3 should help.”
Sakia drops the paperclip.
The room is silent between all three of them. Complete nothing for at least half a minute- not even the annoying, loud fabrics of their shitty costumes any time they move.
And then-
“...What the hell?” From the sidekick who's been complaining for the last half hour .
She turns around and- ah, it is latex. Blue latex, knee-high boots of all things. Never mind the stupid-struck look on his face to complete the ugliest composition she’d seen from anyone at this agency yet.
And this guy got hired into an Underground-focused agency.
Stealth her ass.
Optimo perks an eyebrow up. “Do you memorize case studies in your free time, Ehecatl?”
Actually, when it’s said out loud like that, that does seem weird. Definitely not something a teenage girl would normally do.
“...Only civil ones.”
She cringes a little after admitting it out loud.
If you think about it, there’s not even anything strange about reading civil cases and how they turned out and what they resulted in. They’re mostly public access and knowing the laws that are created because of these Hero vs Public should honestly be required of all up-and-coming Heroe-
The No-Name jolts like he’s been shocked. “Wait, Yakuyaku? That was my dad’s favorite Hero. Didn’t he have that scandal where he had a car thrown at him and the insurance company tried to hold him liable like 40 years ago?”
The tips of her ears are a bit warm- only because yes, it is that exact case. Even still, she smooths her eyebrows out and keeps her posture slack and casual. It is normal. She can’t back down on this.
“That’s the exact one.” Sakia blinks slowly, bangs just barely tickling at her eyelashes. “The court ruled in Yakuyaku’s favor. If there is really video evidence that you were thrown against your control, you shouldn’t have too much trouble with this.”
The sidekick's face almost looks like he’s about to sprint his way to a shrine and start singing praises.
“You really are a strange kid.” Optimo shakes his head in disbelief.
Sakia decides not to mention that yesterday when she snuck away, she’d been fingers-deep in the agency’s classified court case documents.
She may, after all, have taken one or two of them to study.
-----
Subject: Day 2
Body:
Ojiro,
Your emails are so stiff. Why’re you still writing like this is a business affair? Tone it down, already.
What else have you learned from Slugger? If he’s any good at fighting, you should have him help you with escaping that one pin that always works on you. And ask him about basic laws and rules important to being a Daylight Hero. Patrols are necessary and all- but those can be taught in a class setting. No one is going to have more practical information than an actual Pro.
I haven’t met him yet. For all that this is an exclusive offer, my ‘ever-busy’ bastard of a Pro Hero hasn’t even seen me face to face yet. I spent today sorting fucking paperwork of all things. Again. There are only so many patrol reports I can read through before I think about lighting them all on fire.
On the bright side, the materials that I have access to in this agency are far more interesting than the ones in U.A.’s library.
thanks.
―――――――――――――――――
Yamada Hanako
1290-2 Yokoikami, Kita Ward, Okayama, Japan
TEL: +81-99-9999-9999
Email: [email protected]
―――――――――――――――――
-----
“Allow me to preface this with some honesty.”
It’s all in the tilt of his head- in the way his arms are crossed- that Sakia knows exactly what he’s going to say before he even continues. It’s in the world’s predictability that Sakia can wall up and scowl before he can blindside her with-
“I wasn’t initially going to give you an internship.”
Of course. Of fucking course.
It’s the third day of this damned internship and her first conversation with the ever-elusive, always-busy Pro Hero, Number 5 in all of Japan: Edgeshot, The Ninja Hero-
And his first fucking words to her are ‘I didn’t even fucking want you here.’
3 offers overall. 2 faulty. One real. And the real one wasn’t even all that real in the end.
(Sakia wants to tear this man apart into a pulpy mass of red nothingness. But murder is illegal so, instead, she clouds her mind with foggy blankness and a soldier’s set shoulders. With the nothingness of a brainless pawn. Detached, Empty, Unwavering.)
(
A Shadow’s Tool.)
She nods curtly with her tongue tucked carefully between sharp teeth.
“Right.” Like she’s not biting on her tongue. Like she’s not fist-curled-handed. Like she’s not angry. “Because I’m Quirkless.”
Loud. Open and loud and she’s fucking certain that the entire building full of cubicles and secretaries right outside of this man’s office is listening even with that door being closed- Can hear her say with an even, steady tone that she’s the Quirkless one. The Unwanted one.
And- Even though he’s known for his preciseness, his to-the-pointness, his calm focusness- He’s also tactless.
“Yes.” Pro Hero Edgeshot nods once. “Because you are Quirkless.”
The air is completely silent between them except for the echo-ringing in her ears. Her veins pump boiling water through them. She keeps her face blank because she can’t be mad because she knew this already.
(And even then, the world still disappoints her. Low expectations don’t quite mean low impact, now does it?)
But then they keep sitting in silence and Sakia is not a coward, never a coward- she’s sharp and precise and will always aim for vitals so as he still stands there with nothing in his mouth- Sakia bares her venom-fangs and bites.
“Why did you, then?”
And because- even though she can feign it- because she’s not fully disciplined, because she’s still a teenage rage-machine, because she’s wrath on two legs, because she’s a poised boomslang about to strike death-
She cocks her hip and tilts her chin. And glares.
((She catches the barest, barest glimmer of something in his eye. Amusement. Like she’s funny. Like a volatile 15-year-old girl is a joke. Like Sakia has ever laughed about her own suffering-
Like there isn’t a stolen knife in her boot.))
“My attention was drawn right from the Obstacle Race.” He talks like she’s not glaring at him- Like there’s not batrachotoxin dripping from her bared teeth- “The way you maneuvered yourself gave indication to refined training. Then, of course…”
He tilts his chin a (nd chuckles, silver hair falling over his hitai-ate- ), “You did flip off the son of Number 2 Pro, Endeavor. Which indicated that, perhaps, you were not as disciplined as was suggested by the rest of your performance.”
Sakia very visibly curls her hands into fists. She is very much not as undisciplined as this asshat thinks, though- because she doesn’t punch him. Not yet. No matter how much the bloodsong in her body screams.
Instead, she listens to a grown-ass Pro Hero who doesn’t understand the plights of a Quirkless girl speak.
“And then, in the Cavalry Battle- you handled yourself with a level of subtlety I didn’t expect. And my attention was caught again.”
He gestures slowly with a flippant hand and Sakia reels at the sudden sense of familiarity. The itching call in her brain of Deja Vu but Sakia doesn’t know what here is like a memory- Doesn’t know why the idea of a ninja-man with silver hair and only one eye revealed feels so, so damn familiar-
-(
Wet dogs and fresh eggplants and aged paper that’s been read too many times- A well-loved book in the hands of a professional killer- Tender pages in bloodsoaked fingers- Metal polish and Silver hair and and and-)
“And then Present Mic said you were Quirkless.”
She jolts.
(Her big dumb stupid face plastered over Japan’s biggest jumbotron. The country watches as she marches forward.
Here Begins the Death of Yamada Hanako. With the Birth of a Legacy. The beginning of the End.)
“I thought to myself, ‘What a shame.’…”
Knees jolt.
It’s good that her hero-boots are lined with steel because the weight is enough to stop her from lunging.
“Because you were, quite possibly, the most capable and promising Undeground candidate I’ve seen in years. But you’re Quirkless.”
RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE-
“And then- you made this sign. With your hands. Right before the start of each match.”
Edgeshot pauses and uncrosses his arms and then Sakia’s staring right at the Spar sign. The sign her fingers made without thought. Because her brain prompted it and her brain is smart and somehow, this little thing pulled in an internship . Not her hard work or her skills or her fucking 3rd place metal -
A coincidence .
Sakia stares at his fingers maybe just a bit too bitterly.
“Ye-eah?” Her voice cracks and it’s mostly from rage, she tells herself. “What about it?”
“I was intrigued enough to keep watching,” He retucks his arms crossed again. "I asked U.A. to watch recordings of your performances in your Heroics labs. Your skill and ingenuity in these simulation settings is what prompted me to send you an internship request.”
What little there is of his face twitches. A flickered eyelid. A scrunched brow.
(Oddly, the deepest, deepest part of her is attuned to watching microexpressions. Used to watching only one eye. Used to
Silver and Dogs and-
)
“Your fighting style is… familiar.”
Sakia’s fighting style is made of schoolyard brawls and spiraling dreams. Made of snarling prepubescence and half-imagined delusions. Made of bruised knuckles and martial arts videos.
(Sakia’s fighting style is crafted carefully from applying her weird fucking dreams against would-be bullies. What part of that is familiar?
( Eggplants and dogs eggplants and dogs eggplants and dogs- SilverSilverSilverSilverSilv-) )
“You’re like me.”
No.
No . Impossible-
(SilverSilverSilverSIlverSilv- OldBooksAndBloodAndMetalPolish AndHair That’s Silver- Shishou-SHishou- SHISh- Ka- It’s almost there-! Hata-! SHISHOU-!)
“You have an appreciation for the ancient arts of the Ninja.”
(Vulture stills.
That’s not right. That’s not right at all.)
Sakia blinks. Right. That’s a sensible sentence. Sensible conclusion for him to draw. So why… Why did her brain expect something else? Something different..? What was it expecting?
She wriggles her fingers to rid herself of the ache of tight fists from her joints. Her tongue is swollen and dry.
(The disappointment lingers sourly.)
“Right.” Her voice is hollow but it’s been hollow since she’s entered this room. Yet it’s hollow even to her, now. “I enjoy the Ninja Arts.”
(Saying it feels almost
disrespectful.
She’s not certain to
whom.
)
He nods the most shallow of head-dips but the spattering of bumps on the wall is all she can focus on. Dot after dot after dot of uneven white paint for meters and meters-
“And where did you learn how to fight?”
The question is fair but not fair because he wouldn’t ask it from a kid who has a quirk- from someone like Bakugou- but he asks her because she’s a Quirkless brat with no money and no name and no fame and no quirk.
But she tells the truth because the truth is all there is.
“I’m… self-taught.” Her knuckles ache.
Edgeshot’s hair is white , not silver.
He nods again and some of that white hair shifts because of it. “Hm. I’m eager to see where your self-study has taken you thus far.”
Self-study, he calls it. What a pretentious bastard. She knows that he knows that her self-study involved back-alley brawls with brats who still had loose teeth.
And still, here they are. Here she is.
Edgeshot shifts slightly and maybe it’s because of the buzzing in her joints that she’s completely in tune with his fine, minuscule movements- Notices the slight quirk of his brow because of it- the way his fingers readjust, and his foot moves slightly-
“In 5 hours, you will report to this office and we will have a training session where I will see just how skilled you are.” His tone is final.
Sakia wonders if she can get away with stabbing him during this training.
Gods know she’ll certainly try.
-----
“Above all else, a Pro Hero is a civil servant.”
She’s like a little rat dog- a chihuahua or a terrier, maybe. With frizzy hair that’s loose (which, hmm- he’ll have to direct her to the Designer. Loose hair is dangerous. ), balled-up fists, and teeth that are certainly bared behind the mask covering the lower half of her face.
And even with all that bottled-up rage, the discipline shines through. Feet firm and shoulder-width apart- shoulders pulled back and set- chin tilted up and eyes watching his every breath.
Edgeshot has no doubt that every single one of his moves has been observed.
“If you’re just looking to be famous, you’re in the Hero business for the wrong reason.” Her eyes are attached to his face like a red-hot iron brand- absolutely burning into his own eye. “A Hero has a duty to the public. To protect and serve it.”
She doesn’t budge an inch. Unwavering in her anger. So teenage and righteous- young.
What a precocious brat.
And yet, in this raw, untrained form- she is far more controlled and refined than most of the Heroes working at his agency. Only a first year in high school and she shines with unrealized potential.
She’s Quirkless, of all things.
Shinya almost pities the concept.
Ehecatl untenses and tenses her fingers- rhythmically and almost like she can sense his thought process. Restless and seething in her military-perfect stance.
He doesn’t pity her. Not when she’s fully recognized her goal and it’s severity. Not when she was brave enough to carve out a place in Hero Society just for her in all her Quirkless entirety.
No- he pities the idea that there is no Quirk paired with this raw talent- with this raw brilliance . The closest thing is that Bakugou boy- but there isn’t an ounce of discipline found in that wild thing. No- here, and now, her craftiness is limited in its full potential.
Shinya is certain that this punk child would turn even the most menial of Quirks into a Top 10 worthy display.
And here she is instead with knives.
“Do you understand the severity of this? Your life will be on the line.” Shinya holds her eye contact just as severely. “ Other’s lives will also be on the line. In your hands.”
The grave intensity in her eyes is promising. The weight of the title ‘Hero’ on her shoulders. She nods once that little jerk of her head is familiar and final.
Shinya is certain he’s worn that exact look on his face receiving debriefs.
He wonders if it was this entertaining when he was the teenage intern too. A teenage Shinya nodding at his Pro Hero with a grave little expression on a face that still had youthful fat to it- what a funny thought.
“As such, the tools that you use are not toys.” He casts a glance at the rack of weapons just a few feet behind her- history so rich and ancient that some of the uses have been lost to time. “And they must be treated with respect and intent.”
He’s aware that she knows this. Hours upon hours of footage of her Heroics class’s labs point to this- the way she treats each item in her arsenal reverently- perfect shine and sharp, careful edges- holding back from killing blows on her classmates-
Yet precise and true.
And even though there is unspoken acknowledgment between them, she still nods in assent.
“Go,” Edgeshot waves haphazardly, “Pick something. Try.”
Shinya has no expectations. Or, well, no unrealistic expectations. Her skills, as she stands now, are the pinnacle of budding heroics students- only limited by arsenal and refining. He’d seen her fighting skills in the Sports Fest- her application of weapons in her Heroics Labs-
But how should he expect her to know anything about these weapons?
A dying breed, they were. Tools with rich, ancient history, and hardly any knew how to wield them. He fully anticipated teaching her- she is, after all, his Intern.
What could he possibly expect from this girl except for a few experimental swings of a katana?
And yet, Ehecatl picks up the tanto .
---
(“Go on. Open it.”
She doesn’t. Not right away, at least.
This is different. Serious. He can’t take it back after this- Can’t rip up the contract and can’t walk away- Not after this.
If she opens this, she’s his.
His successor.
“Hesitating? Mah, I thought you weren’t scared..?” He chuckles.
Her teeth clack together and she seethes between their grit. “Shut up, you Lazy Sensei, You c-”
“Shishou.” He’s as serious as the dead. “It’s Lazy Shishou. ”
She looks back at the blade.
Right, he wouldn’t have offered her the contract if he didn’t fucking mean it. She settles her other hand on the sheath and begins to pull-)
---
Her fingers curl around it like it’s an old friend. Almost reverent in it- sitting in silence for a moment just to hold it, with glazed-over eyes and a dead-still stance.
She rolls her wrist once. Thumbs over the textured surface of the cloth wrap- Pressing into the seam of where handle meets sheath- And then she flicks it open.
Ehecatl slates into stance like a rusted machine moving once more- an old master who gave up the blade in youth- like she knows what she’s doing.
He straightens. Just slightly.
One swing. And then two-
Edgeshot’s mouth dries.
Elbows slightly awkward and arms overreaching- and yet, she seems to know.
A tanto is not like a bat. Just where is this girl getting this knowledge from?
Strike, strike- bent knees and arching, graceful swings- sweat down the brow-
And watching her move, here and now- Edgeshot finds himself wondering.
-----
Sakia does not have a phone.
She can’t afford one- and she doesn’t fucking have anyone to call or text anyway. There are free computers at libraries and internet cafes too- so she doesn’t need to worry about a phone for that either.
In an alternate universe- or even a deviated timeline- there are infinitesimal Sakias who have phones- flip phones or smartphones- state of the art with holograms or keypad texting-
And in those timelines- while she’s on her internship at infinitesimally different agencies- she has that phone and one of the few contacts saved on it- Midoriya Izuku- sends her a text and the text is nothing but a linked location and she knows what it is right away-
But Sakia doesn’t have a phone. So she sleeps peacefully through a bloody night.
-----
“Oh, I am glad Edgeshot sent you to me- just look at you. ”
Sakia looks down. The dark greys and blues of her hero costume look the same. Stealthy, simple, and durable.
“Not a single bit of your costume is iconic in any sense- except for all that long, red hair you have! Which, by the by, you should have tied up young miss. That’s a wild liability to have for such a close range fighter!”
Edgeshot’s Agency Designer points a perfectly polished finger at her and Sakia’s stomach turns oddly at the critique.
Yeah, sure, Edgeshot told her to visit the designer after this most recent training session- but Sakia thought it was going to be more about the weapons they’d been trying out and not her stupid fucking costume.
Her costume is practical. Gets the job done. Durable and out of the way.
“They’re just clothes. Why does it matter?”
The designer gasps.
“The costume makes the Hero!” She almost turns green in the face. “How could you say that? The iconography of a Hero’s costume makes up their branding and how the public perceives them! Never mind the fact that a well-designed costume will factor in the Hero’s abilities and accentuate them!”
Sakia picks at the thread of her pants. Really, the most practical parts of her costume were the padded, reinforced shoes and kunai thigh pouch, then. Shit.
“Well, I already have a few ideas ready, so let's take a look together and figure something out, hmm?” And the Designer Lady pulls out a design that has bright orange on it and-
“No.” Sakia scowls.
A ninja in orange? Who the fuck has heard of that?! The whole point of her outfit is to lean into the subtly and secrecy of the dark and this lady wanted to put her in orange?
“No?” Designer frowns, “This is going to be difficult, isn’t it?”
Her arms cross. Sakia follows suit.
Designer sighs first. “Okay, then let's take a different approach.”
Sakia’s eyebrow raises. It was bold of this designer to make a new costume design before even fucking meeting with Sakia. This is how she should have started anyways.
Designer pinches her nose bridge before sharpening her eyes like an arrowhead made of obsidian- natural, cut-edge, and dark. Piercing right into Sakia to tear her costume apart like lions into flesh.
The stare makes Sakia feel like hunted meat.
“You will tie your hair up. It's a new wave trend for Daylight Heroes to leave it all out and flowing- but it's unbefitting and deadly for an Underground to have all that loose hair just out.” Designer Lady’s red-painted lips are pressed firmly together. “I will be adding hair ties into the final design.”
She's like a general. A drill sergeant, even. Her word is law here and any backtalk will not be tolerated.
Sakia finds that her back is a little straighter than when she first entered.
“Your design is boring.” Nails tap against the desk. Eyes trail from the tips of her boots to the fly-aways on the top of her scalp. “There's nothing iconic. Not only that, but the utility of your costume is minimal.”
She’s right. All Sakia had really asked for when she sent her costume design in way back when she had first gotten into U.A. was that they prioritized silence and durability for the materials- of her desires to be unseen and unheard-
Of course she didn’t give a shit about the aesthetics. She’s meant to hide in the shadows.
But the utilities..? Beyond the silencing of the boots, there ain’t shit.
“So where do we go from here? Clearly, you want to prioritize a design that blends into the shadows- but there’s nothing there to tell Villains or Civilians that you’re a Hero. Right now, you’re just a kid in sweats.”
(Vulture perks up. There
is
one thing that’s still missing.)
Sakia’s mouth is moving before the idea is even fully formed-
“A mask- Like a kitsune mask but with a simpler design.”
Designer waves a hand flippantly. “Oh, easy. That can be done easily. I mean about the rest of your costume. It needs more .”
“Then take what I’ve already made and improve it tactically. The stealth and practicality of this costume is essential but I don’t know what to change.” Sakia’s nose wrinkles. “I’m not a designer.”
“I can’t have you shooting down my designs like you did the first one, then.” She scoffs, twiddling a pen between her fingers.
The problem was never about a new design. The problem was the last design- bright orange, of all things. Too different. Too loud. Iconic, but at the expense of every ounce of subtlety.
Besides, Sakia likes her current costume.
“Don’t give me a new design. Change this one.” She points at herself as if to really hammer it home. This one or nothin’.
“I see…” Designer sighs, like she’s disappointed. “You’re attached to this one. What about it do you like most?”
Sakia thinks for a moment. She likes it- but why?
The answer is simple. Comfort and maneuverability.
“The sleeveless turtleneck. Dark colors.” She pauses before tacking on- “Tight fit but not constricting. Or revealing. I don’t want to be a sex object. I want to strike fear.”
“Feared…” Designer tilts her head this way and that, taking in the costume before her once more. “Then the design of that mask will have to really scream Ehecatl. You’ll have to look tactical too. You want to blend into shadows but not be nondescript… Hm…”
And then, she snaps her fingers. “The design on the mask, then! That should totally scream Ehecatl- God of Winds. ”
She holds her hands out like someone framing a piece of art.
Sakia’s not exactly seein’ the vision, but as long as the base idea for her costume isn’t too altered, she doesn’t give a shit.
“It’ll be your version of the Eraserhead goggles! The Ehecatl Mask. ” She’s already flipped open a sketchbook and started sketching down a design- pen absolutely racing across the page-
And then she stops abruptly, with her pen hovering just millimeters from the paper.
“What design, though?” Designer sticks her tongue out, just barely, more in contemplation than in teasing, “You got anything? What symbol says Ehecatl? ”
And, well, Sakia’s only really got one thing.
Her fake tattoo.
“This.” And she turns her left shoulder to the Designer.
“Oh, it’s perfect! Wind-like! We’ll put that on the mask and then- hmm,” She starts sketching again, “a little bit of this… change these boots… that metal-cloth band you used in the festival… Aaaand, here, what about this?”
She snaps the book around for Sakia to see.
And Sakia smirks.
“Yeah, I can work with that.”
-----
He’s at home- raging silently in his bedroom.
And no matter how pissed it makes him- he keeps rewinding it. Pause- rewind- play. Over and over and it’s almost obsessive but he would never obsess over something stupid- that’s Deku’s thing-
And yet-
He pauses the stupid video again.
Stares at the bloody mess on the screen- wild copper-red hair and bloodied knuckles and a split lip and broken arm-
And he fucking rewinds.
What is it? What is it?
Of course, he won. There’s no doubt about it. He’s Bakugou Motherfuckin’ Katsuki. Best of the best. He’s the greatest thing to ever grace U.A.’s 1-A classroom-
And here he is anyway, still rewatching his stupid fight with Yamada Hanako.
She’s Quirkless.
It’s such a simple, little fact that really shouldn’t have that big of an impact on him. She’s Quirkless. And to someone like him , it especially shouldn’t mean anything. It’s just a fact. That’s it. 2 words. She’s Quirkless.
So why does it seem like a big deal?
The sky is blue. All Might is the Number One Hero in Japan. Cherry blossoms are pink. U.A.’s Hero Course is the best on this side of Japan. She is Quirkless .
He watches- his hand in her face- sparking and sparking and exploding- the way she skyrockets back- rolls once twice thrice before just sliding like a dead fuckin’ corpse and-
There it is again- She just fucking stops. The same stupid kicked dog she is- curled up slightly with her damned vermillion hair scattered around like a pigeon’s nest- And she breathes nice and slow one time-
And her fingers twitch.
He watches the way his damned fucking knees shake- Fuck this, fuck this-
And her hands plant into the stadium floor- the slap of her palms echoing in the completely silent stadium-
The camera catching her dead-on stare-
Tiger’s eyes locked on her prey- Him- Burning gold centered in a coat of vermillion fur-
Blank eyes carve into his being- Absolutely nothing but cold determination- Her soul demanding that she get up-
Just what is it? Why is this fucking fight pissing him off?
It ain’t nothing like his fight with that Half-Half bastard- so why can’t he drop this?
Fuck- He pauses and rewinds again.
Nails with dirt-grit and blood-grime under them. Her sharp teeth that are lined with crimson- that stupid bloody nose she always seems to get just dripping down her chin-
Red red hair that fans out like a cape-
The way she grins feral in his shouting face- All sharp canines when she launches her broken arm into his sternum- and he remembers the fucking breathlessness of it- the way his bastard lungs rattled and struggled-
And then she broke his nose by throwing her big fucking forehead into it.
And there it is again- she lifts her leg up-
And Hesitates.
Hand in her face again- Nothing changes and yet Katsuki is watching himself blow up this feral bitch’s face in the Sports Fest for the Eighth Fucking Time.
She hesitated. Why? Why?
Because as he’s watching her again- broken arm and in this dumb pile of blood and misery- something in her must click because the look in her eye the whole fucking fight is not the same as what the camera catches in her last couple moments-
Nails digging into the concrete- Chin jutted out- Face flat except for barely reigned in Resolve. Nothin’ but pure Will.
A Will like Fire.
Like nothin’ he’s ever seen before-
Hold on. Hold on.
That’s it.
He has seen it before.
That’s the USJ Quirkless -
Katsuki snarls.
Even in the fucking tournament- where thousands of scouts were watching- that bitch dared hold back- And hesitate-
No fuckin’ way.
Katsuki was going to get that fight from her. That fair fight.
That Feral Bitch had no business tearing apart his technique in a way that Deku could only dream of- and then HOLD BACK.
He was gonna see that blank-eyed killer in her even if beat them both to the bone.
And he was gonna win then too.
(Bakugou Katsuki, of course,
understands
how a bitch like Yamada Hanako is in the Hero Course.
Has for a while, in fact. Since she had the
guts
to stab some no-name in the gullet- way back in the USJ.
Doesn’t mean he likes it though. Fuckin’ Crazy Bitch.)
------
((((((((And just when did he stop referring to her as the
Quirkless
Bitch..?))))))))
-----
Polished. Too polished.
Shinya tries not to stare obviously- or at all, really. She’s a prickly thing and even an ounce of attention makes her bristle with telegraphed wrath.
But he can’t not focus in on the dashes of burnt-red in his peripheral.
Edgeshot does not typically patrol this early in the afternoon. The sun is still out, even.
But he owes it to her. 2 days of neglect and paperwork, and the fine-tuning of her skills begets some hands-on experience.
It would be a disservice to both of them if he didn’t take this Intern out for patrol.
And even still, she continues to impress him.
Perhaps a bit rashly, he’d told her to suit up and meet him in his office once more- there is, after all, a balcony off it. Anytime he has a patrol, he leaps off this.
It was only after she met him there that he realized that most Heroes typically do not jump from rooftop to rooftop- instead walking the streets. In fact, she was an intern- likely to have no skills necessary for rooftop parkour of any variety.
How could he expect her to be capable of leaping across alley-gaps? At most, he’d seen in the footage of her labs that she had scaled buildings. Leaping across them was an entirely different beast.
But when he had suggested taking the elevator down-
“Why? The balcony is right there.”
She leaps across each roof with little fanfare or fear.
He is, of course, right there should she fall.
But she does not. No close calls or stumbles. Not an ounce of hesitation in her bones.
Even more so, she doesn’t need any sort of direction.
If Shinya even so much as tilts his hips differently- she’s already changing the angle of her trajectory to follow. Any time he’s paused to scan the horizon- she’s there, crouched over the eave and watching his 6.
She patrols like a Pro.
He watches her tuck and roll perfectly into another sprint and thinks distinctly-
Shinya has a letter to write.
-----
Shota tries not to stress out his heart too often but he really can’t help it if each of the brats he’s in charge of do everything they can to spike his blood pressure.
There’s only so much his poor, tired heart can take, really. At this rate, he’ll be dead before he can even earn a Senior Discount.
First, the damned Stain bullshit- and now this, a letter from Edgeshot.
Shota sighs all the air from his lungs and breaks the envelope’s seal anyways, resigned to see whatever Gods forsaken crap is in this.
To Eraserhead,-
Edgeshot using Shota’s Hero name is foul. This is Hero business- Not teacher business or colleague business, then.
Was it really too much to hope that at least one of the top 5 problem children had a smooth, stress-free internship? Really?
I will start out by saying that extending an offer to this student of yours was the correct choice on my behalf. Yamada Hanako is a stunning pupil. She is certain to take the Underground stage by storm once she graduates.
But- And there must be a but, because why else would Edgeshot send a letter to the school? Specifically for one Aizawa Shota to look at?
I must ask, Is she truly self-taught?
Something about watching her skills strikes familiar. She must have been taught by you in some capacity, no?
If she is truly self-taught, however, this means something truly different. Something I am prone to believe regardless.
Shota finds himself beginning to gnaw on his tongue.
It’s a wonder she hasn’t been snapped up by the Hero Commission. You have a prodigy on your hands, Eraserhead.
Her maturity and sense of reasoning delude her age. She displays an intellect that I cannot find commonly even amongst some of the Heroes employed at my very own Agency. I have seen it myself- and heard reports from those working in my building.
As I’ve been told, she has not lost a game of shogi- and has also helped some of my Sidekicks with their legal troubles.
Her skills in weaponry follow this ideal as well.
We trialed some ancient weaponry during her Internship and I’ve not needed to show her a single thing. She has tried quite a few and in my observation- she’s either a natural talent or has some sort of training.
Her skills with the tanto are by far the most impressive.
I am sending this letter as a warning.
You have a prodigy on your hands. Be cautious.
-Edgeshot
The world settles it’s entire weight on the crux of his shoulders.
He had a feeling already- but hearing it confirmed by another Hero- by the Number 5 Hero, no less- that Yamada Hanako was nothing but stress-
No, no, that Yamada Hanako was a prodigy-
Shota is filled with a sense of foreboding .
With dread.
-----
“I am loathe to say it, but our time has come to an end.”
It’s strange, staring at him through her new mask. She can see everything with it’s fancy interface- and all it does is show her everything she would normally.
The things the Heroics industry does for aesthetics.
“I fear I did not have much to teach you- what with our limited time.”
Edgeshot, this time, stares directly at her- staring right where her eyes would be.
Strangely, the air around him is solemn.
She bites back a scoff. Instead, Sakia flexes her toes in her new boots- traces her thumb across the curl of her knuckles.
What is there to even possibly say here? Goodbye? He was just like everyone else- underestimating her and judging her and- And she was Quirkless, so what did-
“You’re a prodigy. Above that, you’re a hard worker. ”
Sakia stills.
He straightens, no longer leaning and no longer crossing his arms. Edgeshot gives her his full, unwavering attention. “It shows in your discipline and polish. You were a pleasure to mentor.”
Her tongue finds its way between her teeth- What the fuck is she supposed to say?
It doesn’t matter, because he keeps going.
“Regardless of your Quirkless status, you’re certain to become a groundbreaking Underground Hero. I look forward to your debut, Ehecatl .”
With a firm nod, Edgeshot acknowledges her.
Her ears burn- just barely.
Even so, she nods back. Back straight and feet shoulder-width apart.
She’s Ehecatl .
And he acknowledges that.
(And as she turns and heads out of the building- With each goodbye and well-wish from all the other Heroes and Sidekicks-
Sakia thinks that maybe Edgeshot isn’t an asshole afterall.)