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Chapter Text

"Hey, wake up!"

Who is it? Her focus swims in and out of her consciousness. She can't concentrate on anything except for the incredible pain in her abdomen. A spike-like object protrudes from it, ripping the flesh around it apart. She senses something warm soaking the hand that she uses to clutch her stomach.

Blood, her fuzzy mind concludes. She has been stabbed. Has she been gushing out blood like this? If yes, then it won't take long until she bleeds out.

This is pathetic. She just managed to escape her prison two weeks ago. Is she going to die after only tasting fourteen days of freedom?

"Can you hear me?" a deep, rumbling voice resounds.

With her blurry vision, she catches a glimpse of crimson strands in front of her. She blinks weakly, trying to signal to him that she's still awake for now.

"Good. I'm going to pull it out. Can you press on the wound to slow the bleeding?"

Her eyes blink again, feverish. On the next beat, the spike slowly crawls out from her stomach. It takes everything in her to not scream. The puncture spurts more blood at every friction. It throbs as the spike scrapes through her flesh, shredding her tender tissues on the way out. A gurgling, raspy sound croaks out of her mouth as she struggles to endure the pain.

After what feels like centuries of hell for her, she hears a clanking of rock against the asphalt. Her eyes are blurry with tears of ache. Is it over? Is she going to be okay now?

"This is going to hurt. Try not to move."

Before her brain can register his words, white-hot agony sears the area below her sternum. An excruciating heat like no other scorches her abdomen. Previously, it felt like her stomach had been ripped open. But now, it's being roasted alive. She spasms in reflex to the pain, but a hand grips her down in place firmly.

"Just a little more."

When another wave of hot pain washes over her, her eyes roll to the back of her head. The last thing she remembers is the smell of burned flesh and the taste of metallic tang in her mouth.

Chapter Text

Shoto Todoroki slumps to a hospital chair in exhaustion. His hands are still shaking, although the red and green splotches smearing them have already crusted over. In a normal situation, using his fire quirk shouldn't have taken this much out of him. But, under no condition that can be called normal.

Human. He has just pulled a rock spike out of a human. He has just burned a human.

At the back of his mind, he knows it was the right thing to do. The girl he found was fatally injured. The spike had been missing barely a few centimeters from her solar plexus. If he had waited for help to come, she wouldn't have survived.

There was simply no other choice. Blood was gushing out from her like tap water, although he had pressed his jacket over her wound, desperately trying to control the bleeding. But, it didn't stop. It continued to pour out endlessly, soaking his shirt, drenching both his knees in a pond of her life essence.

All that was left for him was to gamble it. On a risky method he never gave so much as a glance.

I don't even know if I burned her too little or too much... I hesitated for quite some time back then. What if it had been too late and she didn't make it as a result?

It is the standard field procedure he learned from his father. Still, ejecting an item from a stab and cauterizing a wound unnerved him greatly. Besides, with his current skill and knowledge, who can say his fire hasn't ended up killing her instead of saving her?

Would I be able to perform the same procedure if required next time? My old man... He must've been more experienced. I wonder how many times he had to pull this off...

Had I been less hell-bent on avoiding him and actually made some time to go over the details, would I have been able to execute it correctly?

Todoroki rests his head on the wall, blowing out a heavy sigh. I can't believe I regret having cut down my time with him, even if it's merely for practice.

His blank eyes stare ahead, mindlessly observing the doctors and nurses walking in and out of the emergency room. A couple of times, they also bring a police officer with them. Strange, is it normal to invite a police officer during a critical surgery?

He doesn't pay attention to how long he has been sitting there, brooding at the end of a hospital corridor, until his homeroom teacher arrives at last.

"Todoroki," Aizawa grunts gruffly, walking up to him with long strides, a tinge of worry flickering in his dark eyes. "Are you all right?"

Todoroki nods, a wave of relief washing over him now that Aizawa is here. When the police asked him to call an adult to accompany him through everything, he specifically requested his homeroom teacher. Calling his old man was out of the question; that old man would just make a ruckus over this.

"They've told me what happened." Aizawa scans his body from head to toe to make sure he’s alright.

Though Todoroki maintains an impassive expression, Aizawa sees through it. He can tell Todoroki is shaken by the gravity of the situation.

"Will she be okay?" Todoroki's questions spill out in a rush, his voice tinged with a tremor. "There was no anesthesia, and I... I wasn't prepared. It must have been excruciating for her. Even after I cauterized her wound, her bleeding hadn’t completely stopped when I brought her here, but I couldn’t do more. If I ended up using too much of my fire quirk—”

"Hey, Todoroki," Aizawa interrupts softly. "What you did was enough to tide her over until she arrived in the ER. Your quick thinking and handling of the crisis saved her life. You did well. Be proud of that.”

"… Thanks," Todoroki replies, feeling a weight lifted from his heart after Aizawa's reassuring words.

Not too long after, a policeman comes to them. He nods to Aizawa before speaking, "So... Shoto Todoroki, is it? I was informed that you are the one who found the girl."

Todoroki nods shortly. "How is she?"

"Thanks to your first aid, she will survive." Upon the officer's confirmation, a wave of great relief washes over Todoroki. His gamble has paid off. At the very least, the girl will live. "I'm glad you didn't waste any time. One minute later and she would have been beyond help. However, I'm here to ask you a few questions, Todoroki-san. Please cooperate. How did you find her?"

Up until now, the officer actually hasn't done anything untypical. However, something feels off to Todoroki. He has no idea what it is, so he decides to comply for now.

"I was actually headed to this hospital to visit my mother. But, when I passed the kids' playground, I saw a body lying on the ground. Perhaps, I wasn't the first to see her. But, from a distance, her injury wasn't visible—partly due to her large coat. I would have assumed that she was sleeping if not for that. It's strange to see a person wearing a winter coat at the beginning of summer. I thought she had fainted from a heatstroke. I didn't expect it to be a stab injury."

"So, by the time you arrive, she was already stabbed and lying on the ground?" the policeman confirms, to which Todoroki replies with a nod. "Did you happen to see her attacker?"

"No."

"Do you... know her?"

Todoroki narrows his eyes at his question, the gears in his brain turning. Something definitely isn't right. This officer hasn't even once mentioned the girl's name, and now he is asking him for her identity instead.

It shouldn't be hard for the police to get that kind of information on people—civilians, heroes, and villains alike. If he resorts to this, could it be that they have failed in identifying her?

Todoroki shakes his head and asks back, "Is there something wrong?"

"There is no official record about her at all," the officer answers with a clipped tone.

As Todoroki tries to process the information, Aizawa speaks up, "No birth records?"

"None." The policeman flips over the documents in his hand, scouring each page. "No school papers, no family registration, no missing person information. No legal traces lead to her."

"That's absurd." Aizawa scowls in irk. "There's no way the police didn't find any clues."

"Actually, we did, but..." The police officer's dark eyes dart to Todoroki immediately. "Eraser Head, I think we should discuss this privately."

"Todoroki is the one involved in this case. I don't see why you can't tell him."

"Well, if you're sure." he nods politely, then begins explaining, "After no hit came up, the investigation department attempted to match her DNA with the villain database—"

"Hold up. Why the villain?" Aizawa interrupts. He knows unregistered people like this girl often come from the villain's side, but usually, the police search for their civilian or hero relatives first.

"Physical signs of... captivity." the man looks away in discomfort. "She sustains shackle blisters around her ankle, and her feet are covered with frostbites."

"Frostbite? But, this is summer." Todoroki puts one hand on his chin, thoughts running miles per hour. Is there any villain with an ice quirk? If only Midoriya was here, he would probably be able to pop out the answer in a second.

"What else?" Aizawa pushes, sensing he still has something to say.

"It's her blood," the man says, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh," Todoroki recalls, his mismatched brows furrowed in contemplation. "I remember now. She did bleed a little green among the usual red.”

"Green blood?" Aizawa inhales sharply at his comment, eyes flicking to the green blots on Todoroki's shirt. A hypothesis forms at the back of his mind right away. "What is her eye color, Todoroki?"

"Bright green, almost lime," Todoroki answers, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

The erasure hero's gaze immediately flits to the police officer, who nods with a grim expression. "Her DNA matches with her. Eraser Head, your student here has just found Hanakiri’s daughter."

A flash of white and blush-pink swirled before Aizawa’s eyes, whisking him back to his early pro hero career.

His black eyes met fierce, bright green ones. His fingers stuttered around the capturing weapon around his neck. He hesitated only for a split second, but it was a grave mistake. His world spun as his face crashed into the cold ground. A thunderous headache split his skull, and his eyeballs felt like they were freezing in snow slush.

His windpipe was crushed by a petal-like foreleg—deceptively soft yet powerful enough to break his will in seconds. The chokehold vanished as gunshots echoed around them, mingling with her inhuman growl and the green blood seeping into the snow beside him. His eyes rolled back as darkness claimed him.

"Who is Hanakiri?"

Aizawa blinks at Todoroki’s question, the hospital's chatter replacing her savage battle cry and the desperate shouts of his backup team in his mind.

"A villain with a flower mantis transformation quirk," Aizawa answers curtly. "The hunt for her stretches back nearly eight years."

Todoroki feels like his teacher’s answer only raises more questions. "That long and she’s still out there?"

"Hanakiri was hard to pin down. We also were never sure what triggered her appearances or what drove her." the police officer rubs the back of his head, sighing. "She showed up at random times and places in her mantis form. When she did, her reaction time and speed were unbeatable. By the time help arrived, it was usually too late. The victims were already down, like flies."

"Endeavor never told you this?" Aizawa turns to Todoroki, who is quietly processing the information. "Although he failed, he was the only one who came close to capturing her a few years ago before she went under the radar."

Did he or didn't he? Todoroki crosses his arms, trying to recall memories of his father. It's tough because he usually tunes out whatever his old man starts talking, or simply walks out of the room. "Perhaps," he admits, "but I never asked for the details."

"Anyway, let's focus on the current issue," Aizawa hisses sharply. "Why this sudden revelation? If Hanakiri had a daughter all along, why is this surfacing only now? If the timeline aligns, she was around seven or eight when Hanakiri started causing trouble. Where has this daughter been all this time before she was found, nearly dead, by Todoroki?"

"We're still inspecting the matter further." the police officer turns his head to Aizawa and Todoroki with a serious expression. "And now that you know..."

"Yeah?"

"In the near future, we may need your assistance." he nods towards Aizawa. "Only if you're willing and if you allow Todoroki-san to be involved too, of course.”

"I understand you want me to monitor her in case she uses her quirk to harm people." Aizawa clicks his tongue in annoyance. "But, why do you have to drag Todoroki into this?"

"It's for questioning," the officer explains. "Todoroki-san is close to her age. Teens often open up more to peers. Plus, he rescued her. While we conduct our investigation, her spending some time with him may yield more clues. And it could offer her comfort to have someone to confide in. Of course, we’ll only involve Todoroki-san after we confirm that it’s safe to do so."

"I see."

"You don't have to agree, Todoroki-san. But your help would be appreciated. I'm certain the girl would appreciate it too."

Aizawa and Todoroki remain silent, the latter lost in thought, deliberating his decision carefully.

Aizawa patiently waits for Todoroki's answer, even though he knows what it will be. Beneath his cold exterior, Todoroki is attentive and eager to help. There is no doubt he will accept. In addition, this experience may be useful for him in the future.

Talking is not my strong suit, Todoroki ponders, and neither is making friends. If this were me at the start of spring, I’d definitely refuse. But after everything I’ve been through with Midoriya, Iida, and the other 1-A students... I’ve found that having friends is actually kind of pleasant.

Should I reach out to this girl? Otherwise, she’ll be on her own during this, even though Aizawa-sensei will be around. It won’t be easy for her. Plus, I might learn a bit about communication and legal process along the way.

A second before Todoroki speaks up, his gaze flicks to Aizawa questioningly. His teacher nods, giving him a silent agreement.

With a firm resolve in his heart, he decides, "I'll help."

"Great. We appreciate your help, Eraser Head and Todoroki-san." the police officer shakes their hands. "We will follow up about the details later."

Chapter Text

A couple of days later, Todoroki finds himself back in the hospital, following Aizawa through labyrinthine corridors he never knew existed. Along the way, Aizawa updates him on the case. The girl he rescued has been reluctant to answer many questions, divulging only details about the playground incident.

"She was trying to dissuade a kidnapping," Aizawa explains the abridged version of it in a monotone voice. "She stumbled upon two villains trying to abduct a toddler. Using her quirk—likely Praying Mantis, similar to Hanakiri's but with slight difference—she managed to hurt one of them. That's all, though. The rest is like what you already know."

"They attacked her and left her to die?" Todoroki voices the implied question, met with a solemn nod from his teacher. "I expected more resistance, considering she's Hanakiri’s daughter. From what you've said, Hanakiri seemed very formidable."

Aizawa leads him to the south wing of the hospital. Contrary to Todoroki's earlier observations, this area is now patrolled by police officers instead of hospital security guards. Each corridor entrance is guarded, including the one they approach.

Is this a restricted area? We're the only ones here.

"Well, the police thought so too," Aizawa remarks nonchalantly, not bothering to decrease his volume although they pass by the on-duty officer. "However, from what we've seen, it's safe to say that she can't control her quirk."

"So she never trained her quirk?" Such a concept sounds very baffling to Todoroki, who has been driven relentlessly to perfect his own abilities by his old man.

"It seems so. She didn’t know anything regarding Hanakiri’s recent activities either. Hanakiri left her when she was very young," Aizawa recalls. "I don’t know why or how; she refused to elaborate further. The police still consider her a potential threat, though."

"That means she wasn't part of Hanakiri's crimes. In that case, isn't she just an unintended victim in the kidnapping?" Todoroki's question echoes in the dim, vacant hallway. Vacant, not unmonitored. The dome-shaped CCTVs on the ceiling make sure of that. "I guess this isn't the kind of treatment that victims usually receive."

"You have a point, but you have to understand, Todoroki. A lot about her has yet to be uncovered. They can't erase the possibility of her being a bait or even a villain."

They can't erase the possibility of her being innocent too, Todoroki swallows his words. This situation doesn't sit right with him. From what he has heard, there is no solid reason for them to suspect her. None, except one. Is this because of her blood ties to Hanakiri?

Aizawa catches a glimpse of conflict in the boy's expression. It is natural for heroes to want the best for people in need. Aizawa has to admit, Todoroki isn't the only one who is uncomfortable with the development. His moral compass surely is in the right place.

"There's nothing we can do with the current information," Aizawa replies, sidestepping Todoroki's doubts. "That's why your involvement in this case is vital."

"If their speculation is proven to be unfounded, will they stop this biased treatment?"

Todoroki catches a fleeting glower that Aizawa directs to a CCTV before he answers, "Hopefully. Anyway, we have arrived."

In front of them is a ward, a large one-way glass attached to its wall. Prior to this, Todoroki thought one-way glass was strictly used in interrogation chambers. Too see it has been used and modified to subject the girl under a 24/7 surveillance, without even the barest consideration for privacy.

"Is this even allowed?"

"They said it's a security measure," Aizawa replies to him, then taps the glass without a sound. "Look, that's her."

Todoroki's gaze falls upon a small figure across the room. Seated upright on the hospital bed, the girl stares at the wall with an indescribable look in her eyes. As if they were looking at something far away, despite it being merely a couple of meters from her.

Bright green. A shade that's supposed to look radiant, as lively as the grass stretching across the meadows in the summer. Yet, all he can make out from her eyes is a bleakness as dark as the long strands flowing on her back.

I wonder why, his mind probes, searching for a logical explanation. He notes her pale complexion and the infusion line attached to her wrist. Do her eyes give that kind of impression because she's still in recovery and exhausted?

Her injury was severe. The healing process must be taking its toll.

"Todoroki, before you go inside," Aizawa breaks the silence, taking his focus back to him, "there are some things you should know."

"Which are?" he turns his head, listening intently.

"She has been very quiet. It's difficult to get a response from her." Aizawa eyes him with a serious expression. "This may be hard for you, but you will have to coax her into talking. There's a high possibility she will ignore your attempts, but don’t take it to heart and just try your best. Think of it as training for your communication skill."

"Okay."

His recent exam has shed some light on the importance of communication. Perhaps, this is the time to hone his interpersonal abilities. As he grabs the door handle, Aizawa nods shortly to encourage him.

Hot summer air rushes out to the air-conditioned hallway as the door opens. Todoroki glances at Aizawa in confusion, who shrugs his shoulders in return. "She refuses to turn on the aircon. It seems she doesn't like the cold."

As Todoroki bends over to lay his shoes down on the side of the entryway, Aizawa speaks to the girl, who has yet to come out from her own world, "Kid, you have a visitor."

Upon his call, she flinches out of her reverie. Recognizing his voice, she turns her head to nod to him. Her nod is a small gesture that Aizawa is a little proud to receive, because she hardly gives any reaction to the police. Which is perhaps due to their bombarding her with many questions.

However, he never gets that nod. The second her eyes land on Todoroki, she leaps out of the bed right away. Beside it, the infusion hanger crashes to the floor with a loud noise. The needle yanks away from her right wrist, causing blood to trickle down her skin right away.

"No..." she croaks, raspy, her face aghast. Her green eyes zero at the sight of Todoroki, and fear invades the entirety of her voice. Visibly trembling, she backs away from them until her back hits the wall with a thud. "Get— Get away! Get him out!"

This kind of reaction is definitely not one Aizawa expected. Baffled but trying to keep a cool head, he puts his hands in the air, displaying his empty palms to her. "Calm down, we're not here to hurt you."

Then, he motions to the stunned Todoroki. "He is the one who saved you, remember? He's here to talk to you."

Aizawa discreetly elbows the boy, wordlessly asking him to push the emergency button.

"No!" the girl shakes her head, a hand clutching the window railing next to her for support. "He— He’s one of them. I... I don't want to go back."

"Them who?" Aizawa pushes on, trying to get a grasp on the situation. "Go back where?"

"What do I do? I don't want to go back to the underground... I can't go back there..." she mumbles to herself, her gaze flitting everywhere frantically before it stops at one spot. "I have to escape... There’s no going back for m— me… Not now, not ever!"

The moment her frightened eyes dart from him to the window, Todoroki realizes what she is going to do. With an amazing speed, she props herself up the window's railing in one move. The next millisecond, she jumps without even a minute hesitation.

Todoroki watches the events in a crippling shock. A warning yell is caught up in his throat. As her body is disappearing from the window in slow motion, he screams at his body to move, to do something, to save her. However, all his limbs are frozen in surprise.

It is Aizawa who manages to shake off the surprise first. His hero experience has suited him to act quickly in the time of crisis. His capturing weapon shoots out with a blinding speed, snatching her wrists mid-air.

"Tch! Are you out of your mind?" A growl rumbles through gritted teeth, his shoe soles squeaking against the ceramic tiles. "We're on the 30th floor."

Her body weight is one thing, her struggle to break free from his bandages is another. Fighting against the downward force, he heaves the girl back with much difficulty, keeping the bindings around her taut and strong.

"Let me go!" Her green eyes widen in hysterics. Her arms flail desperately, trying to call upon her quirk. "I would rather die than go back!"

"It's no use." Aizawa glares at the girl, red eyes flashing in irritation. He whips his head towards his student's direction. "Have you called the nurse?"

When Todoroki is about to answer, a few nurses burst inside in a hurry. Aizawa holds the hysterical girl down quickly, allowing the nurses to put sedatives back into her veins. Not long after, she slips into an unconscious state, muscles going slack and whimpers dwindling to a hush.

This is an unexpected development.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Aizawa peels himself away so the nurses can move her to the hospital bed. What is actually going on? Just yesterday, she agreed to meeting her rescuer.

Aizawa swears her eyes even gleamed a little, as if she truthfully wanted to know the person who saved her. But now, she is extremely terrified by Todoroki's presence, that she sees death as a better option.

"Todoroki, are you okay?" Aizawa walks up to him. His gaze, unfocused and distant, holds a thousand unspoken words.

"She's afraid of me." Todoroki's tone is flat, however Aizawa can hear the hurt that underlies his voice.

"No, Todoroki."

"It makes sense. I burned her. With this— my... fire quirk." He looks away. Aizawa can see his disgust of his left side starts seeping right back.

"It isn't that, Todoroki," he counters with a firm voice. "She didn't recognize you."

"What do you mean? She was looking straight at me."

"Listen to me." Aizawa massages his own sore temples. "She described her rescuer as a boy with crimson hair and a fire quirk. I think... earlier, it was your right side that she saw."

"... Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Relief immediately floods Todoroki's mind. It wasn't his left side that frightened her. It didn't terrify her like it did his mother.

He isn't like his father, who imprinted fear in his own family and other people. He didn't use his fire to hurt an innocent person. Flashes of his training with Endeavor pass before his eyes like a broken record.

"But, it doesn't make sense," Todoroki replies in confusion. "If that's the case, then she shouldn't have a reason to be afraid of me."

"The operative word here is 'shouldn't,'" Aizawa emphasizes. The gears in his head are working at a fast pace. "Sorry for the incident, Todoroki. We have to cut it short for today. You can head home."

"Am I still involved in this case?" His student narrows his grey-cyan eyes in question.

"Of course," Aizawa confirms as he parts ways with Todoroki. "I will give you a follow-up later."

There is no way they will pull Todoroki out of this case after what happened. He is the only one who manages to elicit such a reaction from her, even if it is in a negative way. Moreover, Aizawa thinks this possibly will be the key to shed some light on her mysteries.

What did she see in Todoroki? Was it his right eye? Nah, the entryway was too dark for her to distinguish his eye color. Or... was it his white hair?

The clues cross his mind over and over. Winter coat. Frostbite. Captivity. White hair. They all point to a possibility he didn't want to bring up previously. Aizawa puffs out a tired sigh. This is going to be a long, long day.

Chapter Text

She opens her green eyes to see the same bright, white room greet her again. Her gaze darts to various, functional pieces of furniture that equip her— the room. Aizawa, the ever tired-looking man, previously explained to her that the devices are meant to help her ease into the new surroundings, to make her feel comfortable.

A television she doesn't watch. An air conditioner she doesn't turn on. A window she can't open, because there's a safety lock and metal bars installed on it since yesterday. A large wall mirror near the door she feels suspicious about.

As if she would believe him. She doesn't need this illusion of comfort. Although it is an upgrade from where she used to live, a cage is a cage. She knows they will not let her take even a step out of this room.

Is this my fate, going out of one prison just to end up in another? What was the point of escaping?

Her hands tighten their grip on the bedsheets, the fabric a poor substitute for the comfort she craves. The sharp throbbing in her abdomen serves as a bitter reminder of the playground incident—a testament to her futile attempt at heroism.

Right, she thinks bitterly. What was she thinking, trying to save a kid? Using this damned quirk of hers for a good cause is just wishful thinking. Her intervention did nothing to stop the kidnapping, except to get herself in this trouble.

That crimson-haired boy shouldn't have bothered to save her life. It's not that she isn't grateful. But, if she knew this was how her life would play out, she would have rather bled out. It would have been an easy escape, easier than being stuck in the same place for years.

Or even worse, I may get dragged back, her psyche involuntarily whispers. In an instant, an image of the white-haired boy from yesterday crosses her mind. A cold shiver runs down her spine without warning.

Was he here to take me back? Did they manage to track me that easily?

If yes, unless she does something, she will have to kiss peace goodbye soon enough. She rolls on the bed anxiously, crippling fear coursing through her veins.

"Isn't it only two days since you last visited?" a police officer asks, sitting straighter on a chair near the entrance of the hallway once he spots Todoroki. "You’d better invest your time in your own best interests, like studying for school or your quirk training. Both you and that pro hero shouldn’t waste your time on her, hee-haw."

"Hee-haw"? Todoroki's grey-cyan eyes flick to the man, appraising the short, dark brown mane running from his head to the back of his neck and the large, pointed ears standing on the top of his head.

His long face reminds Todoroki of a horse... or a donkey? He is a biped, with his hooves galloping lightly against the floor, unadorned with horseshoes. Strange how a mutant quirk changes people's appearance, isn't it? However, he supposes it isn't important right now.

"Where's Aizawa-sensei?" Todoroki brushes off the policeman's comment. His teacher is unusually missing from his spot in front of the girl's room.

"Eraser Head just now went out." the officer points to a direction with his thumb. "Says there's an important call with U.A."

"Thanks." Todoroki turns to walk down the hallway.

"Be careful when you visit Hanakiri’s daughter. She’s dangerous," the man says, making Todoroki stop in his track. "Don’t get attached and stay on your toes. Keep in mind that she can turn on you at any second. And inform me once she does anything suspicious."

Todoroki narrows his eyes in curiosity. "Have the police finally found evidence?" Because, if yes, then Aizawa hasn't updated him on it.

"Not yet, but eventually we will." the officer pops his knuckles with a strange, dark gleam dancing in his gaze. "From my time in the police force, apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Like mother, like daughter. To me, it's clear enough from that fact, hee-haw!"

"Scientifically, villainy is confirmed to be not hereditary," Todoroki replies with a clipped tone. "It's unreasonable to think of her as dangerous based on that sole premise. You shouldn't believe it."

"You think that’s the only reason?" the donkey-mutant cop doubles over and lets out a loud guffaw, one hand over his own stomach and his voice strangely hollow. "Of course not. It would have taken a bloody lot more than that to convince me, wouldn’t it?"

Why is he laughing? Todoroki throws him a confused look, not getting his point. There is nothing funny in his previous words. "I don't understand. Your opinion is biased."

"Biased, eh? Suit yourself." the officer shrugs his shoulders. "Just don't say I didn't warn you if something really happens."

Todoroki doesn't waste another second there. He heads straight to the girl's room. Before entering, a part of him questions his decision. Isn't it better to wait for Aizawa? But, he sets it aside. What is he worrying about? Nothing will happen as long as he keeps a safe distance.

The girl is sitting on the bed, facing the entryway when he comes in. At the glimpse of him, she quickly dips her head. Todoroki notices her grip on the glass she's holding tightens.

"Hey," he says awkwardly, trying to greet her.

The girl doesn't answer, shrinking away from his stare instead. The tremors racking her body are barely visible.

Compared to her abysmal reaction at their first encounter, this can be considered an improvement, right? She doesn't even scream today. Was she just shocked yesterday? Todoroki takes a step forward, misreading her body language.

It is then his eyes land on the small splatters of blood on the upper abdomen area of her hospital gown. He immediately throws caution to the wind and approaches her in alarm. "Why are you bleeding? Did your cauterization wound reopen?"

He is about a couple of steps away from her when she dumps the entire content of her glass onto his face. Water splashes his face all of a sudden, and even though it isn't hot and there is no sound of a boiling kettle ringing in the room, he can't help but recoil in surprise.

The water isn't hot, but it burns his skin, and his gut twists on instinct. Something inside him snaps as the not-hot droplets splatter on his face, dripping together with the last bits of his composure, his mother's voice echoing in his ears.

"— Shoto's... That child's left side sometimes looks very unsightly to me—"

Scalded face as painful as a thousand needles. Ice so cold it poured pure agony over the burn. The feeling of his skin tissues dying under both extremes.

"AAAHH! Shoto!! I'm so sorry, Shoto! What have I done!? What have I done!?"

His shock doesn't last long, but it is enough to give the girl a chance to throw a blanket over his head. In a momentary blindness, a hard kick lands on his torso, sending him crashing to the floor. He swats his hands, trying to grab something to stop his fall, but only manages to topple the chair beside her bed with a loud clatter.

She wastes no time. Hopping off the bed, she makes a desperate dash for the door. Todoroki yanks the fabric over his head just as she passes him. Before she manages to reach the entryway, he snatches her ankle. With a swift pull, he brings her down, forcing her to slam against the cold, hard ceramic tiles.

"Not so fast," Todoroki growls through gritted teeth. Aggravation starts seeping into his core. This girl has taken advantage of his concern and wielded it against him. "How dare you—! Ugh!"

"Let me go!" she screams, trying to kick his right hand away. The desperation in her voice rings hollowly in the room. "Get away from me!"

"You’re not going anywhere," he snaps as he roughly seizes her other ankle, anchoring her legs down with his weight. His fingers dig into her skin with a vice-like hold. “Stop struggling!”

"Like hell I will! You're going to kill me!"

"Shut up! You don't know a thing about me!"

I'm not my father, Todoroki's jaw clenches. I don't—I can't*—instill fear in people like him! Especially not in those whom I've helped.*

In the blink of an eye, ice shoots out from his right hand, caging her body to the floor. Upon the coldness on her skin, her bright green eyes widen in fear. Panic and dread wash her entire being as his ice creeps up her body.

"P— Please let me go..." Her voice immediately falls into a quivering, distraught whimper. Her gaze averts, looking everywhere but him. "Please... any— anything but this..."

If he wasn't so angry, probably he would notice the genuine plea in her voice. However, it isn't the case for now. Todoroki gets back to his feet and stands in front of her. In a swift movement, he extends his hand to her face.

As his left hand enters her vision, she winces instinctively, squirming even smaller under his frozen prison. However, it doesn't come in contact with her skin. Fire comes bursting from Todoroki's left palm, blazing centimeters from her face.

The next second, a fire alarm shrieks to life, blaring loudly down the hall outside the room. The sprinkler above them detects the fire and activates, spraying them with water. Yet, despite the artificial rain, the flame persists, still dancing on his palm.

"Look clearly," he snarls, shoving the crackling flame in front of her face. "If I wanted to kill you, I would've let you bleed out in the playground. What do you even know about me?"

Look at me. What makes you so terrified? Am I so terrifying that you're scared to death?

The burning fire illuminates his left half's features. Crimson hair, burn scar, and cyan eye become prominent in an instant.

Her pupils dilate in recognition. Then, her gaze quickly flits to his face. Fire quirk. Crimson hair. "You— You... How?" she stutters in shock, unable to grasp the situation.

Todoroki isn't able to answer, because the next moment, the door slams open, revealing the donkey-mutant police officer from earlier.

The police officer pulls out a handheld radio in an instant, his other hand in the vest pocket, ready to act once needed. "Requesting a back-up unit in the south wing, hee-haw. Station them around Hanakiri’s daughter’s room, raise the security level, and stay alert." he meets Todoroki’s gaze with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if to say, "See? Dangerous. I was right."

Behind him, a very annoyed Aizawa catches up. "What just happened here?" Aizawa growls, his dark eyes swiftly scanning the mess. The moment his gaze lands on the ice cage and the trembling girl trapped in it, Aizawa barks at Todoroki, "You, out. Right now."

Chapter Text

Aizawa's head throbs acutely. He only took one phone call, and these kids already wreaked havoc under ten minutes. Ten freaking minutes.

He exhales in exhaustion, I really can't take a break, can I?

They have deactivated the sprinkler. The room also has been cleaned and tidied up again in a matter of minutes. While there is no serious property damage, of course this incident has imparted an unneeded fear in the girl. She has been quietly hiding under the blanket, curling tensely in fetal position.

Aizawa massages his own temples tiredly. This is as much his fault as theirs. Maybe he shouldn't have underestimated her fear. Whatever it is about, he didn't realize it is to this extent, to the point it threatens her to break out. Not to mention that he should have asked the police to prohibit Todoroki from entering by himself.

"Oi, Kid," he grunts, trying to get her to talk.

No response. There isn't even any indication of her listening to him.

For the nth time that day, he sighs wearily. There is no point in talking when the other party doesn't listen. Fine, he will let her mope and sulk for some time first.

"We will talk later, Kid," Aizawa says as he heads to the door. "In the meantime, don't try to run away again."

Aizawa goes out of the room just to be met with a pair of sullen grey-cyan eyes.

Damn, I almost forgot I still have to talk with Todoroki.

"I thought we had agreed on making the girl comfortable enough so she could tell us what happened," he remarks, a bit more stern than usual. "I'm sure you understand this has the opposite effect."

"..."

"Todoroki, I've seen how she deceived you from the CCTV recording," Aizawa sighs and continues with a milder tone. "She wiped the blood from her infusion injection to her clothes. While it was indeed a little trick, I agree she shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have used your concern to her advantage. I understand why you snapped."

"..."

"However, I wasn't expecting you to react this... extreme." His dark eyes search the boy's expression carefully, but Todoroki doesn't give anything away. Aizawa crosses his arms and glares at him. "What were you thinking, using your fire in an enclosed space? It triggered this whole wing's fire system."

"She needs to understand that I'm not going to hurt her, because I'm the one who saved her!" Todoroki bites out, clearly on edge.

"Then, why did you use your ice?" Aizawa retorts back. "You're smart enough to infer that she has cryophobia. I mean, you knew she doesn't like the cold. To the point she refuses to turn on the aircon in this summer heat, where some people get heatstroke simply by being outside too long. There were a million other things you could have done, like calling me or physically subduing her. Yet, you chose to trap her with your ice."

Aizawa puts an extra emphasis on his next sentence, his gaze stern, "That's callous, Todoroki... even for you."

Todoroki clenches his hands into a fist at his words. The water she splashed on him has triggered a painful memory in his mind. It acted as a catalyst in his anger and caused a lapse of his judgment.

The fear in her eyes when she looked at him... It reminds him of his mother's. And perhaps, not only his mother's, but also his own eyes—horrified and helpless every time his father dragged him to the dojo—in the past. The similarity had disturbed him so greatly that he acted without thinking.

"Look, Todoroki, I don't know what set you off. You're usually a lot calmer than this." Aizawa pinches the bridge of his own nose, groaning. "Take this day off, go home, and cool your head. If by then this still weighs you down, let me know and I will tell the police that you're off this case."

Is his teacher implying that he's not capable enough? The boy scowls darkly at him. Aizawa notices Todoroki's offended expression and rolls his eyes.

"This girl here needs a delicate approach," Aizawa explains. "I know it takes a lot from you. But, if you still want to help, we can't afford another outburst. This is the second time this week and it’s only Wednesday. The police have been torn on how to deal with her. Outbursts like this do nothing, except asserting their suspicion that she's dangerous. That's why I want you to think about it clearly first. Whatever you pick, it will affect her greatly."

Todoroki broods over his words in silence, his gaze glued to the floor. Aizawa leads him back to the hallway entrance gently.

"I'm sure you're capable of doing this." the black-haired man taps his shoulder lightly. "But, try thinking it over first."

Aizawa crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. His dark eyes are trained on the girl on the bed. "They say wounded animals bite back. Is that what happened yesterday?"

"..."

He sighs inwardly, when has his life turned to this? Another day, another lecture with another kid.

"I get that you don't like being stuck in this room. But, is breaking out like yesterday really necessary? Even if you managed to get past him, there are a lot of police officers stationed in this hospital. You wouldn't be able to escape without seriously injuring them and getting injured yourself."

"..."

Still no response. But, one look upon her expression and Aizawa knows this girl knows that she has made a mistake. Well, this is another clue for him, apparently she feels guilty. It may seem trivial, but it isn't a quality he often finds in villains.

Aizawa tries to change the question. "Whom are you afraid of?"

The girl doesn't answer, but her dark eyebrows twitch a little. Aizawa is certain she is listening to him. Let's try another strategy, he racks his brains.

With a parent-like amazing skill to wield guilt, Aizawa carries on, "You know, accusing your rescuer of intending to kill you isn't nice at all."

Aizawa knows it's frustrating to be on the receiving end of guilt-trips, but he isn't above using it for their collective benefit. From the corner of his eyes, he sees regret slipping beneath her cracks.

So, that manages to corner her.

"I— I didn't mean to," she murmurs in a low voice, remorse coloring her timbre. "I thought he was... I didn't recognize him. I mistook him for someone else."

"Is it because half of his hair white?" Aizawa inquires, trying to subtly dig some information. "I mean, you expected him to have all of his hair crimson."

There is a short pause before the girl bites her lips and nods quietly, one hand clasping the tender, still-recovering cauterization wound on her abdomen.

"It's a shame." Aizawa shakes his head a bit dramatically. "Your accusation must have hurt him. You have refused him twice after all."

She visibly winces at his words. Aizawa uses the opportunity to drive his point home.

"You know, he was the only one who cared enough to save you back then. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have made it."

"…"

"He only wants to help you all this time, but all you've done is push him away," he says with a serious tone. "To top it off, you even took advantage of his concern and kicked him."

When she turns her head away from him, he continues, "If I were you, I would be so guilty."

"…"

"He was the only one on your side, and then you—"

"Stop, I get it," she croaks out, her voice raspy. The girl shifts uncomfortably on the bed, suffocated by the pooling guilt in her chest. "I... I really regret what I did. What should I do? I think... he hates me now."

"You can apologize to him," he waves his phone to her, "by texting him or something like that. Oh, but you don't have a phone, do you?"

She shakes her head slowly, looking a bit dejected.

"Then, maybe you can wait for him to come and say it directly to him." Aizawa shrugs with an innocent look. "But, maybe he's angry and won't come anymore."

"..."

"Maybe, he will never come again."

A contemplative expression crosses her face, her mind trailing in the direction Aizawa has manipulatively set up. Come on, he folds his arms. Just take the bait. Don't make this harder than it should be.

There is a long pause before she speaks up.

"Um, Aizawa-san..." she trails off uncertainly, gesturing to his phone. "Can you... ask him to come?"

"I'm not going to ask him to come just to get refused again, Kid." Aizawa keeps anything remote to emotion from surfacing on his face. "Who knows what you will do to him later."

"No!" Her eyebrows furrow in panic. "Um, I— I'll try my best this time."

Now that she's in his trap, he's going to milk it for all it's worth. "Then, prove it," he remarks with a solemn expression, then she frowns in confusion.

"Huh?"

"If you cooperate better, I'll consider it," he says gruffly, walking to the door. "I'll see to your behavior starting tomorrow."

Once he's outside, Aizawa inwardly lets out a sigh of relief. His work here is done.

Am I supposed to be glad that this guilt-trip tactic worked? Aizawa rolls his eyes lazily. Nah, the only thing it can do is to buy their bonding a second chance. If it doesn't work too... Well, I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

Chapter Text

"She asked me to tell you that she's sorry."

It is another couple of days when Shoto Todoroki is back standing in front of the one-way glass, staring at a downcast-looking girl from the other side. He perks up at his teacher's words, his expression as impassive as always.

"I thought you said she doesn't talk," he comments, fiddling with a paper bag in his hold.

Did he just go shopping? Aizawa ponders, taking a short while before he replies to him. "Well, a lot has happened."

Todoroki doesn't like it when Aizawa glosses over the details, but he listens anyway. "Have you found out why she freaked out?" Todoroki glances at Aizawa, curiosity surfacing in his gaze.

"It's the right part of your hair, Todoroki."

"She's afraid of white hair?" Todoroki frowns, baffled.

"Ugh, let me explain from the beginning," Aizawa grumbles. "Have you ever heard of the Shirayuki?"

The Shirayuki, the name sounds a little familiar in Todoroki's head. Did his father mention it to him before? However, he isn't sure, so he shakes his head.

"The Shirayuki call themselves a clan," Aizawa explains. "But, to me, they are more like a commune. They live by their own rules, in their own land, with their own resources. The government lets them be, as long as they don't break the law.

"As their name says, almost all of the Shirayuki have a snow-type quirk. They have this notion of preserving their quirk purity. Todoroki, I'm sure you understand how they do it."

"Quirk marriages," Todoroki mutters in a low voice.

Aizawa nods to confirm his answer. "There's a rumor that the first ideas of quirk marriages came from them... within themselves."

"Is the reason you regard them as a commune..." Todoroki puts one hand on his own chin, thinking deeply. "... because they procreate with each other?"

"Yeah, they do incest," Aizawa replies, as straightforward as one can be. "This is the first time I've ever heard that one of them married an outsider."

There is a short pause before Todoroki manages to find his voice again. "Are you... insinuating that the girl is Hanakiri's secret love child with a Shirayuki?"

"The police have confirmed so." Aizawa turns his head to Todoroki, his expression stern. "Todoroki, we believe she's terrified of you, because the Shirayuki have white hair too. She has been conditioned to associate white hair with them."

Aizawa's answer puts Todoroki in a stupor. Somehow, his half-and-half appearance keeps causing troubles. In the past, his mother used to hate his left side. Now, this girl freaks out at the sight of his right side.

He knows it isn't his fault. He knows it isn't even him they were afraid of. But, when will he get accepted just the way he is? When will his appearance stop causing pain for the people who see him?

Aizawa observes his student carefully. His dark eyes do not miss the glum look in Todoroki's grey-cyan ones.

"Stop looking down," Aizawa says in an offhand manner. "You're here today because she personally requested to meet you."

Todoroki's grey-cyan eyes gleam with surprise at his words. "But, you said she's afraid of my white hair."

"I don't know. Ask her yourself." Aizawa shrugs his shoulders carelessly, then points his thumb to the glass. "Look, she's waiting for your visit."

Behind the glass, Todoroki sees her green eyes glance nervously at a wall clock for a few times. She even ties her hair up into a ponytail, leaving some loose black strands around her face.

"What do you think, Todoroki?" Aizawa flicks his dark eyes back to his student. "Do you want to give it a try?"

"Good morning. May I sit here?"

When her ears catch a deep, rumbling voice that she heard during her graze with death, she jolts out of her musing.

"Of— Of course!" she squeaks out in a small voice. "Good morning."

Her gaze shyly flits to her visitor's way. A boy around her age is standing in front of her. His grey-cyan eyes glisten beautifully under the sunlight from the window. His face features are elegantly chiseled, some of the left part is covered in a reddish scar. His hair color is split evenly in two, crimson on the left side and white on the right side.

White hair, she cowers by reflex at the sight of his white hair. Even though now she knows he's not a Shirayuki, it doesn't stop chills from crawling on her skin. She turns her head away from him, trying to will down her irrational fear.

"I'm sorry for being so afraid of your white hair—"

"It's fine," he cuts in, trying to dismiss it.

"No, it's not fine at all. It's offensive to you, and— and… you have tried so hard to save my life, but I jumped out the window at the sight of your hair. I— I even hurt you last time. And, I can't even look at you in the eye right now. I'm really sorry... I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sorry I didn't know..."

"No, really, it's fine." A pang of regret crosses his eyes for a millisecond. "Last time, my... actions were not with the best intention too."

"..."

When she doesn't answer, he attempts to backtrack. "About my white hair, you'll get used to it if I come here often."

Todoroki expects her to respond in a positive way, like normal people will. Instead, the gleam in her green eyes flickers in hesitation. There is an awkward pause hanging between them before she finally speaks up again.

"Did the police ask you to do this? Is that why you're here?"

Somehow, Todoroki feels his heart break a little at her small, quivering voice. Why does a girl his age have such a tremendous need to protect herself? Is the presence of so many heroes in Japan not enough to make her feel safe?

"Yes, I am here to ask you questions," Todoroki states bluntly and her shoulders droop. "But, I also want to be your friend."

She lifts her head in astonishment at the last sentence. For a moment, her gaze flicks back to his face, gauging his honesty.

"Are you sure?" she fidgets uncertainly, trying not to look at his white hair. "I mean, you must've been informed about my... mother."

"Are you a villain?" His grey-cyan eyes implore her expression with a searching look.

The question rings with echoes in her mind. Ever since she could remember, the Shirayuki have always treated her as if she was going to go berserk. Everyone was on their toes around her as if she would follow her mother's footsteps.

No one even cared about her opinion on the matter. It's as if her path has been set in stone just because Hanakiri is her biological mother.

Sometimes, it crosses her mind if they were right, if she someday would stray to the villain path. Quirk is an integral part of a person, and in more ways than one, with her Praying Mantis quirk, she is a predator. A predator like Hanakiri.

With forelegs that can tear flesh and limbs easily, her quirk is too cruel to be a normal civilian or even a hero. It makes sense why people are scared of her. She, too, is afraid of herself.

"I— I don't know."

Todoroki almost doesn't catch her whisper. She pulls her knees to her chest, burying her face between them. "Have you done criminal activities?" Todoroki asks again.

This feels awkward for him, because he isn't used being the one keeping the conversation going. Usually, he is on the passive side, with other people throwing random topics at him. Nevertheless, he tries to be as gentle as he can.

The girl shakes her head quickly. Todoroki sighs in something akin to relief.

"A villain is a person or an organization who breaks the law or threatens to destroy the society. If you have never done anything outside the law, then you're not a villain. Why are you hesitating?"

There was a time where her mother was not a villain. Her memories about her mother are blurry because she was so, so young back then, but she remembers that how her mother's green eyes lit up brightly every time she smiled.

How could someone so gentle like her turn so brutal? If this keeps going on… am I going to be like her?

"My mother… was normal before," she exhales shakily, "before— before everything turned out this way. If she flipped like that… there's no saying I wouldn't too. And everyone believes I'm— I'll be a villain," she exhales shakily. "How can I say otherwise?"

"By proving otherwise," Todoroki answers in a flat tone without missing a beat.

"You don't understand," she mumbles. "It's not that simple."

"You're right, I don't understand." he narrows his eyes. "Because, all I see right now is a girl who almost died to save a kid she didn't know. The rest is still undecided unless we moved forward to the future."

"I failed," she denies, her tone bitter and hollow.

"Not completely. The police managed to identify and track down the kidnappers thanks to you. There was a small amount of their blood under your nails."

"What?" Surprise rings in her voice.

"The child is already back at his home, safe and sound," Todoroki continues. "You might have failed at preventing the kidnapping, but the child was found because of your intervention."

"... Really?" she breathes out in disbelief. The past days she has spent in regret, were they for nothing? Is the child really safe?

"You've saved a child," he confirms with a firm voice.

Todoroki barely catches her soft murmur as she gazes at her own hands. "I'm so glad."

Has she been brooding about it ever since? They should have told her earlier to ease her mind.

Chapter Text

Prior to this, Todoroki never actually realized how difficult it is to have and hold a conversation with another person. After they breached the kidnapping subject earlier, a few minutes have passed and both of them still don't know what else to say.

The girl constantly keeps her head down and fills her vision with the view of white hospital blanket, throwing wary glances towards him every ten seconds or so. Wary glances that remind him of an injured stray cat he approached near U.A.

It's not like she blatantly doesn't trust him. It's more like she doesn't know what to make of him. And like a cherry on top, there is also her fear of his Half-Cold side.

Which obviously doesn't make this less awkward, Todoroki sighs as she nervously turns away once more. He flicks his gaze to his paper bag. Anyway, is it time?

For a moment, only some rustling sounds resound in the room. When something heavy covers her back, she slowly lifts her head in confusion. A large, navy blue winter coat is draped around her shoulders.

"I hope it's the right size," he remarks, his mismatched eyebrows forming a small wrinkle on his forehead.

"What are you doing?" Her green eyes flick to his face, bewildered.

"Your former coat was drenched in blood, torn up, and singed," Todoroki says as he fixes the coat position on her body. "You will need a new one for the winter."

Or, to shield you from the cold, he quietly resumes in his own head. Regret still seeps into his chest each time he remembers her frightened reaction at his ice. And, to think that he has done it just to make a point... His guilt shows in the gift choice and he isn't even sure whether it is appropriate or not, considering summer has just started.

When she still doesn't make a move to touch the cloth, he frowns. "What's wrong? Try it. I need to see if I should exchange it for a smaller size."

"Try it?" she squeaks uncertainly.

Todoroki nods curtly. "It's for you."

Her fingers trace the smooth yet firm fabric lightly. Thick, fluffy fleece lines the inner part, a promise of staying warmth in a cold day. A tag peeks out from the collar, displaying a brand name that she doesn't recognize.

"But... this must have cost you a lot." Her green eyes dart to his face, pleading him to take it back. "I... can't accept this."

"It's from the family whose child you saved. They requested to give it to you." he shrugs his shoulders with an impassive look.

"Oh." In an instant, her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Of course, it isn't from him. How forward of her to think this boy will buy her an expensive coat using his own wallet. "Sorry, I thought..."

"Just try it," he dismisses her apology lightly, encouraging her to wear it.

"Um... okay."

She climbs down the hospital bed and wraps the winter coat around her body carefully. Todoroki scans her quickly. The coat is a little too long for her, but it shouldn't be a big deal. Her reaction is more important to him. "What do you think?"

The girl is still running her fingers on the coat in astonishment. "Nobody has ever given me a gift," she whispers, her voice a tone lighter. The corners of her mouth turn upwards a little as her cheeks dips, forming a pair of cute dimples. "I wish I could thank them."

His gaze softens by a fraction at her smile. It is the first time she takes off that downcast expression from her face. He is glad to know that whatever she has been through, it doesn't rob her of her ability to smile. Perhaps she just has to remember how.

"Oh! Um..." Hovering around the hospital bed, she sheepishly turns her head towards him, still avoiding to look at his white hair. "I also have to thank you."

She bows lightly to him, her voice swimming in gratitude. "Thank you so much for saving my life, um..."

"Shoto," he mutters, locking his grey-cyan eyes with her green ones. He doesn't know what compels him to say his first name. But, right now, he wants to be seen just the way he is, without any attachment to his surname or his status.

"Thank you for saving my life, Shoto-san." she smiles earnestly at him, who nods back, a gentle look on his face.

Then, he blurts out the thought that has been plaguing him since the beginning, "You haven't told me your name."

It brings a definite silence between them, casting a hush spell in the room for some time. The girl looks like she has just swallowed a lizard alive—sick to her stomach and uncertain of herself. Her reluctance is visible and audible despite the fact she hasn't given an explicit response.

However, Todoroki pushes on. "Why do you refuse to tell anyone your name?"

"It's just..." A gloomy expression crosses her face as she answers gingerly. "... I don’t have one."

When she sees the baffled look in his eyes, she trails off, "Um... usually the Shirayuki name a child after they manifest their quirk for the first time, but my quirk isn’t typical of a Shirayuki, so…"

"That doesn’t sound practical for social interaction," he comments with a raised brow.

"It wasn’t a problem, no one really… interacted with me for years."

"What about your father?" he inquires.

In an instant, she steps back as if she has been slapped. It hits him that this is probably a sensitive issue for her. When he is about to awkwardly apologize to her, she shakes her head at him.

"It's fine." she scratches her head, eyes flicking downward. "He… never woke up anymore after I turned two. I— I tried to remember him, but my memory was too blurry."

Is that a euphemism for death?

Shoto’s confusion must show on his face, because the girl tries to explain a little bit in a trembling voice, "My mo— Hanakiri said he had been sleeping… because he was sick a lot, and then… Also, being sick was quite common in the Shirayuki family, so…"

Countless suspicions form in his head. Sick? How did he pass away? Was it because of a birth defect that usually comes with inbreeding? And why did the other family members avoid you?

He pushes the questions to the back of his mind. Later, he will ask them later. If there is anything he has learned from the final exam, it is about patience and listening to other people. He doesn't think pressing her to give a straight answer right now is the right choice.

"I see. No name, huh?" Todoroki puts one hand on his own chin, a little habit he usually does when thinking. The girl shifts uncomfortably in her seat, hands fiddling with the seams of her hospital gown.

Well done, it’s super awkward, she chides herself, biting her lips. Now he doesn’t know what to say, and neither do I. This is why I didn’t want to say anything about my name…

Her knuckles whiten around the blanket, fisting into a ball, as she weakly says, "Yeah, so… that’s why I don’t have a name."

"In that case…"

"Yes?"

"You don't have a name and a birth record," he states pensively as she nods. "Doesn't it mean you can choose a name for yourself?"

Her green eyes widen in surprise at his idea, like she had never thought of it that way. "Can I... really do that? Isn't a name supposed to hold wishes from the giver, like parents?"

"There's no rule about it." He isn't as confident about the truth of his words as he sounds. But well, at least, he hasn't heard of something like it. He fully believes his next sentences, though. "Your name won't mean less just because you choose it yourself. It will bear the wishes of your own."

"Hmm..."

"You can take it as a chance to start anew."

"I see…"

Shoto can see that she puts a lot of thought in weighing his words. A contemplative look crosses her face as she draws something invisible on the sheets with her index finger.

"Start anew, hmm…"

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"Like… ‘Arata’?" Her gaze flicks shyly to him, waiting for his opinion in silence.

"How do you write it?" he asks her, drawing a couple of kanji characters on his phone. "Is it like this?"

"Yeah, that one." She leans closer to point to one of his writings. "What do you think?"

A name with the meaning of "a new individual" and "gentle". Somehow, Shoto thinks it suits her.

"It's all right," he replies and browses a few websites on the internet with his phone. "They say it's commonly used by boys, though."

"Oh... It's a shame, I really like it."

"Just use it then."

"Eh?" she mutters timidly, gaze darting to the floor. "Is it okay for me to use a boys' name?"

"Of course."

Shoto wants to reassure the girl, but he doesn't know how. She has been on her toes, constantly second-guessing herself and her choices. It seems like today is her first time to have her voice heard freely. Did the Shirayuki close their ears and their eyes to her? He wonders what kind of life she has been living until she even developed a phobia of white hair.

Then, a small idea crosses his mind. "I can call you 'Ara' if you want," he offers, "as a feminine nickname for Arata."

"A nickname," she repeats slowly. Flashes of various scenes from the books she has read and the movies she has watched pass her mind. "But… aren’t nicknames usually for friends?"

Shoto nods briefly, confirming her words. "We're friends, Ara."

When her green eyes glimmer at his mention of her nickname, his heart clenches a little. He only offers his friendship, but she looks at him as he has given her the world.

For a moment, Shoto wishes he has a knack of saying the right thing at moments like this, like Midoriya, because he has no idea what to say right now. Fortunately, his new friend doesn't think along the same lines.

Arata beams at him, dimples on her cheeks on display. "Thank you for being my friend, Shoto-san."

His uneasiness forgotten, he finds his gaze softening at her. "You're welcome, Ara."

After Shoto Todoroki exchanges farewell with the girl, he steps out of the room. His grey-cyan eyes find Aizawa's appraising black ones almost immediately.

"From what I remember, the money the kidnapped kid's family left wasn't even enough to buy a T-shirt," the black-haired man comments offhandedly, "let alone a winter coat."

"Sorry, but I don't think that concerns you," Todoroki dismisses his teacher's remark. Earlier with Arata, he has intentionally left out the part where he added his own money to get her a winter coat. She doesn’t need to know.

Sensing his refusal to talk about it, Aizawa changes the topic. "Anyway, that went well. You sure have learned a lot about friendship this semester, Todoroki. I'm glad we finally can refer to her using a name."

"From what Ara said... I don't think she's living with the Shirayuki in an ordinary way. If Hanakiri is her mother, why did she leave Ara there?" Todoroki states, his gesture a bit restless. "Does it normally take this long for the police to uncover everything?"

"Things have been more busy than you think. They're dealing with an ancient commune and a missing legendary villain. Moreover, they have to interview and test Arata to prepare the legal documents needed for her settlement back to the society."

"Will she be able to live... like normal people?" Todoroki glances at Aizawa to gauge his expression. But, like always, his teacher keeps his thoughts vague and unreadable.

"Depends on the investigation results. The only thing we can do is do our part well."

Chapter Text

When Aizawa decided to allow Todoroki to be involved in this investigation, he didn't mean for his student to sacrifice a lot of his free time for this case. But, day after day has passed, and more often than not, the white-crimson haired boy appeared in front of the entrance of this wing, notifying him that he came for a visit. Such is the case as today.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Aizawa raises an eyebrow as the boy walks up to him. "I heard the other 1-A students are having a shopping trip to the local mall."

"I don't need to buy anything." Todoroki shrugs his shoulders, glancing at the one-way glass in front of them. It shows a glimpse of a black-haired girl sitting on the bed, seriously reading a comic book he lent her.

The way he sees it, his friends won't lack any social interactions without him, because the whole class is going, save for him and Bakugou. His grey-cyan eyes dart to his black-haired teacher, observing his expression. "What about you? You are here at every chance you can get."

"Duty calls," Aizawa replies flatly, revealing nothing. From his peripheral vision, he can see Todoroki frowning at his cryptic response.

Aizawa knows his answer isn't good enough to alleviate Todoroki's suspicion. However, he doesn't want to disclose that Arata is being put on sedatives and chained to her bed every time he isn't here to monitor her. It has been that way following that little scuffle of theirs—the one that ended with the entire south wing's fire alarms going off.

Both teenagers don't have a clue about this, and he wants to keep it that way. At least, to minimize their skepticism towards the government bodies. Let him take care of this one as the only grown-up among them for the time being.

"Anyway, does that mean you're available for another round of Monopoly?" Todoroki inquires, breaking his line of thought.

"No," Aizawa quickly answers, then shoots a dark glare at his student.

There is no way he will play that damned board game again after they mopped the floor with him last time. As much as he liked to see them bond, he didn't enjoy landing on their properties thrice in a row and declaring bankruptcy.

Curse Midoriya who recommended that game to Todoroki, and Yaoyorozu who taught him the strategies to win it. Curse Todoroki for relaying those tips to Arata too.

He has to admit, introducing Arata to some kinds of entertainment is a good idea to break the ice between them. Todoroki said that both Asui and Iida were the ones who mentioned them to him as a way to have fun together with their family.

Little by little, Arata has started to lower her guard around his student and let a few pieces of information slip. Now, they know that she has a sort of an understanding of what a phone looks like and its functionalities. Yet, when it came to actually using it...

"Sorry," Arata gave him a sheepish grin and handed the phone back to him. "I don't understand how."

"You've never seen a phone?" Todoroki wrinkled his forehead in bafflement.

"I’ve only ever seen the cable telephone with the round dial pad. It’s not flat and… touchscreen like this."

However, there were also moments when Todoroki didn't manage to get anything out of her, like when they played The Game of Life yesterday.

Todoroki held up a series of cards with various houses painted on them. "Which one do you want to buy?" he noticed that her bright green eyes lingered a moment too long on one of them. "Is the country cottage similar to your house?"

Arata gazed at him long and hard, avoiding to look at his white hair, then picked the beach house card from him. "Next," she said, pointedly ignoring him. "It's your turn to spin the wheel, Shoto-san."

Or the time when they were reading a comic book about demon slayers together.

"First volume in, and all of his family members already died?" Arata covered her mouth with one hand, her expression a bit horrified. "Isn't that too cruel? His siblings were so young..."

"Speaking of siblings, do you have them, Ara?"

Aizawa almost facepalmed at Todoroki's question. This boy didn't understand tact, did he? His subtlety in speaking needed a lot of work.

Arata shifted uncomfortably on the bed, fidgeting with the seam of her patient gown. "I... don't want to talk about it."

The point is, despite all their attempts in drawing her out from her shell, she still insists on holding the big secret by herself. Aizawa can try to guilt trip her again and see if it works to make her spill the beans. However, he has a feeling that this time, they will need a non-manipulative approach to make her talk.

"Aizawa-sensei," Todoroki calls in a low voice, looking at him with a pensive expression. "Do you have any suggestions on making her open up?"

A tired sigh escapes Aizawa's mouth. They are rapidly running out of ways to prompt her, and Aizawa knows that even though Todoroki does not mind spending his time with Arata, the boy also understands that they won't be able to help her if she doesn't give them the missing pieces of her background.

Arata is quite perceptive in detecting people's intentions around her, and Aizawa believes she keeps her secret as a means to protect herself. As her last layer of defense in this investigation. As her last attempt at not being totally bare and vulnerable under everyone's scrutiny.

Looking from her perspective, she probably feels that everyone knows about her, but she doesn't know anything about anyone. It creates an invisible, impenetrable wall between her and them, with her on one side as an experiment subject and them on the other side as its researchers.

As long as the wall is there, Todoroki's attempts at bonding with her will stop short at a friend-to-pass-the-time stage. Arata isn't going to let him in further than this. She is way too cautious to offer her trust for free.

In order for them to proceed, they have to break down this wall first. They have to convince her that they are on equal grounds. And, Aizawa only knows one way to do it.

Todoroki perks up when his teacher slowly moves his head to nod. "You know?" he asks, a hint of hope tinting his tone.

"Possibly," Aizawa answers, hesitant.

"How?"

"... You might not like it, Todoroki."

Which is why currently Aizawa is sitting together with two expectant teenagers in front of him, struggling to spit out one of a pile of lesser-known facts about himself. The three of them have agreed to go in turns and reveal something about themselves that the others don't know. It doesn't have to be a big secret or of a pre-defined topic. Hopefully, this can be a sort of investment to sow her trust in them.

As the initiator, it is a given that he goes first. He ponders whether he should open their sharing session with a bang or not. He doesn't have plenty of deep, dark secrets to offer—at least not to a couple of kids half his age. But, the tone and the depth of their session will be determined by this single decision he has to make.

Well, one has to do what needs to be done, right? Aizawa merely wishes that everything he is going to say here will never leave this room. It will be troublesome if his other students get their hands on this trivia about him.

"Technically, the one who gave me the motivation to become a hero was a stray cat," Aizawa says, trying to ignore the perplexed expression on Todoroki and Arata's face. "What? Not everyone idolizes All Might. He wasn't as popular as he is now."

Todoroki shrugs his shoulders, resuming where Aizawa left off. "As for me, I strive to be a hero like All Might. Do you have any hero you look up to, Ara?"

"No..." Arata shakes her head shortly. Her ponytail jiggles when she looks downward. "I— I saw the pro heroes on the television news, but I had never actually crossed paths with any of them..."

So, at least, she's not living off the grid, the black-haired teacher concludes. She had access to electronics even if it was limited.

"That's fine," Aizawa reassures and baits her at the same time. "I also don't really have a favorite. It is a bit difficult to admire someone that feels so far away from us, especially when their influence doesn't directly extend to our life."

Todoroki narrows his grey-cyan eyes at the two of them. As Arata gives his teacher a tentative nod, he sees a look of understanding cross Aizawa's gaze. Is Aizawa-sensei trying to determine her stance on this hero-villain side? Or is he gauging if there was a hero that has tried to help her before?

Aizawa then resumes to recount his next fact, "I sleep late, so before noon, I'm basically living off coffee."

"Isn't it a bit obvious? You always look so tired," Todoroki comments offhandedly, earning a glare from Aizawa and a small giggle from Arata. "I'm more of an early riser. My favorite food is cold soba. I like milk-based drinks."

What a hypocrite, Aizawa grouches in his own head. His own fact isn't surprising either. Who wouldn't know about it if he kept ordering cold soba in the school's cafeteria?

"What about you, Arata?"

"Um..." Her knuckles on the bed sheets turn white as she forces out an answer. "I... I'm also an early riser."

"Are you sure that's the case?" Aizawa gruffly calls her out on her bluff. "Because I know about your strange sleeping patterns during your stay here."

Todoroki sees her flinch from his peripheral vision, and curiously asks his teacher in turn. "What is it?"

The bleary-eyed man gives a nod to encourage her. "Tell him the truth, Arata. We've agreed that we will be completely honest with each other during this game."

"I'm, um, still trying to adjust my biological rhythm," Arata mutters, her tone timid. "I used to sleep about... a dozen hours, followed by staying awake for more than thirty hours."

"48-hour sleep cycle?" Shoto concludes in astonishment. "But, why?"

"It was a bit hard to... get sunlight from where I used to live. But, it's okay now, though. This room is always so bright in the morning."

Before he or Shoto can raise another question about her sleeping pattern, she quickly adds. "Oh, and my favorite food is all kinds of hot pot, like nabe, sukiyaki, and shabu-shabu. Um, your turn, Aizawa-san."

"I got my current job because a former upperclasswoman of mine applied for me." Aizawa shrugs, keeping the details vague. Although Arata knows that he is a pro hero, she has yet to grasp that he is also Todoroki's teacher at U.A. "Glad to say it's been interesting, unlike my initial presumption."

"My turn." Shoto folds his hands together and places them on his lap. "I don't like my father."

"I know that one," Aizawa reminds him and crosses his own arms.

"Fine, I'll change it," he grumbles, gesturing to the burn scar on his left side. "My father made my mother live in this hospital's nursing home for years, because she accidentally poured boiling water on my face. She's still stuck there until now."

From the corner of his eyes, Shoto sees that a flash of surprise and sadness tinges Arata's face, but she says nothing. It seems that even if she sympathizes with his mother's condition, she doesn't know how to put it into words appropriately. Not that there is actually a suitable consolation that can improve his family situation.

"Your turn, Arata." Aizawa's monotone voice breaks the silence between them, his dark eyes glancing at the wall clock. He recalls Shoto mentioned about visiting his mother in the evening. "This is our last round. Afterwards, we have somewhere else to be."

Arata's green eyes flicker nervously between Aizawa and Shoto as she stammers, "Um, I don’t know if I should say this… but my father was the heir to the Shirayuki clan.”

"Really?" Aizawa leans back, his chair creaking slightly as Shoto’s gaze darkens with intrigue, the implication of her words hanging in the air.

Then, this girl is of the Shirayuki main family's bloodline—the purest of them all. It is a bit surprising that her quirk takes after her mother’s side, Hanakiri, an outsider with no connection to the snow-related abilities that the Shirayuki are known for.

Is it possible that their generations-long inbreeding culture messed something up, which in turn makes the option of their innate snow quirk genetically unfavorable?

"After he’s… gone, I— I was supposed to succeed him and take care of the family," Arata hangs her head down. "But, you see, my quirk was a… disappointment, so…"

Shoto, his brow furrowed, echoes her earlier words, "’Take care of the family’? What does it mean?"

Arata mirrors his confused look, her shoulders hunching slightly as she shrugs. "I’m not sure either."

"I see," Shoto replies curtly, his eyes flicking toward Aizawa. The unspoken question lingers between them—should they press further?

Aizawa, ever perceptive, wordlessly signals him a negative. Even if Arata knows, it doesn't look like she is going to answer about it right now. The realization that now she also knows several things about them has to sit in her mind for a while. Then, they will try to bring it up again, when she feels a bit safer around them.

"Then, it's time for us to go." Aizawa stands up from his seat, followed by Shoto. "Don't forget to take your evening medicine, Arata. I hope this game is refreshing for you."

"Thank you for taking your time to accompany me." A polite, yet genuine smile is plastered on her face, her green eyes a fraction brighter than before. "I'm happy to get to know about you, Aizawa-san and Shoto-san."

Shoto sends a nod her way, intending to walk up to the door, when Arata tugs his shirt with one hand. Confused, he turns his head to look at her.

She shyly puts a small strawberry milk box on his palm, her voice wavering a bit. "It's, um, for your mother. I don't know anything, but... I hope she will feel better soon."

The innocent gesture involuntarily warms up his heart. He senses the corners of his lips twitch up, forming a small smile. "Thank you."

As Aizawa walks Todoroki back to the entrance of the wing, he notices the boy has been staring at the pink-colored carton box in his hand.

"You know." Aizawa opens his mouth, ruffling the black locks messily sprawled on his own shoulders. "That milk is actually a kind of luxury food for Arata. The meal given for her usually consists of only the necessary nutrients. She has been saving it for a pretty long time. I didn't expect her to give it to your mother without a second thought."

Todoroki meets his teacher's gaze, then asks in a serious tone, "In that case, should I return it to her?"

Aizawa shakes his head, his expression softening. "No need, she chose to give it away."

Such a good kid, Aizawa thinks to himself, his heart heavy with the knowledge of Arata's difficult hand in life. A shame she drew the short straw when it comes to parents.

Before Todoroki leaves that hospital wing, his grey-cyan eyes flit to Aizawa. "Please let me know if there is anything else I can help with later."

"Of course, Todoroki."

Chapter Text

Apparently, Aizawa concludes after spending a few other days watching them interacting, Todoroki's visits not only gave Arata a name, but also restored a sense of identity in her.

The friendship bond they have established gives her some sort of security and comfort. Their previous Tell-Me-A-Secret game probably helped her to slowly trust them too.

Since then, communicating with her feels less like talking to a lifeless doll anymore. She started to grasp that they are doing their best to help her. Recently, more often than not, she complies to their requests, albeit with a certain degree of caution.

As a result, there is a lot more they managed to discover about her. One is through a quirk apprehension test. Like what they have suspected, she has a Praying Mantis quirk—similar to Hanakiri, although Arata’s looks more like a common mantis than a flower mantis. Despite this discovery, nobody has an idea to what extent their quirks are similar to each other.

Another thing they have learned is her knowledge.

"Just how do you perform on par with normal high schoolers?" Aizawa massages his temples as he scans her test results.

She even did better than Ashido and Kaminari in some subjects. It rubs him the wrong way that a girl from a closed-off commune can get a higher score than a few of his students.

Is there something wrong with my teaching skills?

Arata looks up from a stack of papers and wrinkles her forehead. "Because I actually read a lot? The Shirayuki and my m— Hanakiri stored most of their books underground, and I needed something to pass the time, so..." she trails off, opting to continue working on the questions the police asked her to complete.

From his peripheral vision, Aizawa could see she intentionally leaves some of the fields blank. He lets out a tired sigh and waves at the unanswered portion. "You know sooner or later you will have to tell us about what has happened, right?"

"I don't understand why the police don't ask the Shirayuki themselves," she replies, dipping her head lower to the papers.

It is only at times like this her actions lean more to defiance. Aizawa crosses his arms lazily in front of her.

"They did yesterday," Aizawa replies, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. "But, your family refused to give a statement. We have no choice but to get an answer from you. The information isn't enough for the police to issue an official request."

Several minutes of silence stretch between them, filled only by the scratch of Arata's pen against paper. Aizawa rolls his eyes. Arata is ghosting him on purpose again. Just as he turns to leave, her voice stops him in his track.

"The Shirayuki are not my family," she whispers bitterly. "That's the most important thing I learned in life."

Aizawa pivots slowly, facing her once more. "Have you finally decided to tell us?"

Arata hesitates, her eyes reflecting the internal debate raging within her. "Will you let me go freely if I tell you everything?"

"Can't say about that. It's not a pro hero's job to make those decisions," Aizawa answers. "But, you're a potential threat to us by keeping things under wraps like this."

Hurt glimmers in her green eyes at his words, and she asks, "Is this because I'm the daughter of Hanakiri?"

"No," Aizawa states firmly, his dark eyes fixed on her. "It is because you are an unregistered resident of Japan whose intentions are unclear."

As a perplexed expression crosses her face, Aizawa continues with his usual monotone voice.

"Arata, the world doesn't solely revolve around your bloodline issues. While some may fear who you might become, others don't. I couldn't care less about your parentage, because you have no choice in it. What I care about is the choice you make going forward—whether you're going to do the right thing or not—starting now."

She taps her pencil to the table in a slow rhythm, mulling over Aizawa's words carefully. Aizawa sees it as a chance to push her in a precise direction.

"I'm sure T— Shoto thinks the same way," he corrects himself quickly. Todoroki hasn't said anything about his surname to Arata, and Aizawa wants to leave things that way. Let her know when Todoroki himself decides to.

"I won't do things just to follow a friend's wishes," she remarks, throwing a look at him. For a second there, Aizawa catches a spark of iron flash in her eyes.

Aizawa exhales. All these times he has been monitoring her, he kept wondering how a frail girl had survived almost eight years of captivity underground on her own. But now, the answer is laid plainly in front of him. Her delicate frame belies an inner strength—a resilience that has sustained her throughout her misery.

"What I'm trying to say is, both Shoto and I are trying our best to help you," he explains, trying his best to avoid further misunderstanding between them. "So, don't bear whatever has happened by yourself... because you are not alone anymore."

"..."

"Think about it." Aizawa glances at her stupefied look as he walks out of the room. "Don't forget he will visit in a couple of hours."

"I thought you didn't like the cold." Shoto extends his hand a little to feel the cool gusts. After a few visits in the natural summer heat, he doesn't expect her to start turning the air conditioner on.

"I needed something to tell me that I wasn't back with the Shirayuki," Arata forces out an honest answer.

Shoto turns his head to her curiously. She has never brought this topic up on her own before. He has tried to talk her into it a few times, but they usually ended with an immediate change of topic. It is clear to him that she doesn't wish to discuss it. So, what brings this change of attitude?

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, frank as usual.

"... I don't know." Her green eyes dart from the wall to his face, and stay there. In those few seconds, he can see doubt and hesitation flickering in them, showing a crack in her facade.

"Ara," Shoto calls her gently. "You don't have to go through this alone. You have a friend now."

"Funny." Arata throws him a look. "Earlier, Aizawa-san said the same thing."

Shoto shrugs his shoulders. "They say great minds think alike."

For a moment, there is only silence in the room.

"I— I don't know where to start... My memories are a bit blurry too, so…"

"Just talk." Shoto's grey-cyan eyes are trained on her the whole time, quietly encouraging her. "I'm listening."

Arata takes a deep breath, trying to arrange her thoughts.

"You know, it was… alright before," she mutters with a somber tone. One look at her face and Shoto realizes she is worlds away. "We lived above the ground and sometimes the other Shirayuki held me and built a snowman with my mother and I. They would braid my hair and tell me that it was the prettiest hair despite all of us having the same hair color, except for my mother’s."

"Wait, ‘the same hair color’? And you were fine with the cold?"

"Yes, I used to look like them with white hair. They said I looked like my father, except for my green eyes. Then… as I grew older, black hair started to grow, replacing the white. I began to grow into something… different from what they wanted me to be. That’s… when everything started to change."

"No, no, no! It couldn’t have been just a molting phase!" Hanakiri bit her lips in panic while her fingers kept flipping around Arata’s hair strands, dark roots peeking through the snowy white. "You can’t take after me! You’re everything that he needs!"

"Okaa-san, it hurts…" Arata squeaked in pain when she gripped some of them too hard, but she didn’t seem to pay her any mind. "Okaa-san?"

"You can’t have my quirk." Hanakiri mumbles to herself, biting her thumb, while her other hand flips through the pages of a leather-bound book. "You can’t. They will blame me. We— We were so sure you’d have a snow quirk! But… what if we were wrong? What if you… if you… What will happen to us?”

In the darkness of their confined space, Arata stirred, her nostrils filled with the stale air that permeated their dark surroundings. "Okaa-san, where are you?" she whispered, her small voice cutting through the gloom. Her eyes blinked rapidly, struggling to adjust to the lack of light as she crawled blindly, guided by the sound of her mother's sobs.

She found her mother curled up in a corner, a broken figure amid the shadows. "Okaa-san, why are you crying?" Arata asked, her trembling hands reaching out to offer what little comfort she could.

"Okaa-san? I'm scared, too. It's so dark here..."

Their sobs intertwined, a duet of fear and desperation, drowning out the harsh reality of their situation. But their moment of solace was short-lived. The screech of the metal door opening sent a chill through the room, and Arata screamed in terror as hands grasped her by the nape, dragging her away from her mother's embrace.

"I’m s— sorry, Sweetie…" her mother wailed, her heartbreaking plea resounding the basement. "I’m so, so sorry! I have no choice!"

Her small body was hauled up, legs kicking futilely as she was pulled across the rough floor. The hands released their hold, and Arata fell, her elbows knocking against the hard ground with a soft thump.

"It's not too late for her, Hana-san." Their clipped tone made the small hairs on her nape rise. The white-haired figure standing in the doorway, their grey eyes glaring brilliantly under the light. "She hasn't manifested her quirk yet. Let us tip the balance and expose her to the snow."

Arata's last sight before the snow engulfed her vision was of those cold, piercing grey eyes. The frigid temperature cocooned her small body, a cruel contrast to the warmth of her mother's embrace. Her screams were muffled by the piling snow, a desperate cry that went unanswered. The dry air stung her nose and the cold crept into her bones.

In that moment, Arata felt an endless chill that numbed not only her body but also her spirit. It was as if time had paused, and she was trapped in a never-ending winter, a prisoner of the snow. Until the world around her faded to white.

Shoto's breath catches in his throat as his mind travels back to the time where he trapped Arata under an ice cage. In an instant, guilt snakes around his chest like a vine, tightening with each passing moment. His gaze drops to the hospital floor, the tips of his ears burning with shame he can scarcely bear.

"I can't undo what I did back then," he says, his voice thick with remorse. "But I am truly sorry."

Arata, her green eyes tired but kind, offers a broken smile. "You didn't know, Shoto-san," she says, rubbing her eyes, the red rims a testament to her exhaustion. "I don't blame you… Besides, I hit you first. I’m sorry I hurt you too."

"How could Hanakiri let them treat you like that?" he murmurs, his eyes darkening at the thought. "Did it happen often?"

Arata's gaze becomes distant as she pulls her knees to her chest, her small frame shaking slightly.

"Often enough that the blisters were never really gone,” she admits. "Everything stung, and I couldn’t stop shivering, even after they leave me alone at night… The Shirayuki only stopped when my quirk finally manifested, and realized it wasn't what they wanted. Everyone was brokenhearted and crying, but I— I was just glad that it was over.

"I was relieved that I could continue living with my mother, just the two of us. It didn’t even matter that we lived in the underground, that we lived away from the sunlight and could only watch the TV, read, or talk to her. As long as I had her, it didn’t matter. But, bit by bit… my mother changed."

"Changed how?" Shoto asks.

"She stopped responding to anything anymore... She barely spoke, and she didn’t even eat unless I put food in her hand. She was just there, staring at the basement wall with an empty gaze, like a doll. I felt like… I didn’t know her anymore. And then, one day… she disappeared."

Arata stirred from her slumber, a clamor and shrieks roused her from her dreamless sleep. She rubbed her droopy eyes, the sleep still heavy in her limbs. "Okaa-san?" she murmured, her voice soft and groggy, fighting to open her eyes.

No reply came, except for the eerie wailings that greeted her. Pushing herself up, Arata noticed a gaping hole in the thick door that separated the basement and the hallway. Haunting cries and metallic scent hung heavy in the air, seeping through the opening. With cautious steps, she made her way toward the door, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the basement.

The hallway beyond was empty, yet the sounds and smells were more palpable, as if they had taken on a life of their own. Arata pressed her small hands to her nose, her eyes narrowing as she tried to peer through the darkness.

“Okaa-san, where are you? What’s happening?”

No answer.

Driven by curiosity and a sense of foreboding, Arata climbed the steps, each one feeling heavier than the last. As she neared the top, the sounds and smells became more distinct—the metallic scent of blood, the sharp tang of fear, and the sickly sweet odor she didn’t recognize.

As she reached for the open door at the end, her feet slipped. A startled yelp escaped her lips, and she caught herself, feeling a cool, wet substance coat her palms.

Trembling, she raised her hands to eye level, her breath catching in her throat. "What… what is this?" she whispered, her eyes widening at the sight of the glistening liquid that sent a shiver down her spine.

And then, she looked up. Before her was a figure from her worst nightmares—a Shirayuki who had once forced her to endure the freezing snow cage. But something was horribly different.

“N— No… No, it can’t be…”

Their grey eyes, once bright with menace, were now clouded and empty. Their pure white hair, floating eerily on a crimson pool. As realization struck, a chill more frigid than any snow pierced her spine, and a scream tore from her throat.

"He wasn’t the only one," Arata murmurs, her voice heavy with the weight of memory. "She… wiped out all of the elders that night and then, she just… left when morning came."

Arata buried her head in her hands, her bangs falling like a curtain over her face. "It was horrible, so many Shirayuki died… B— But the first question that popped up in my head was not why she did it or how could she have the heart to do it… My question was, why did she leave me? If she escaped, how could she leave me there?"

"Ara…" he starts, his grip tightening around the blanket, but words are stuck in his throat.

"I thought about it so many times, over and over," she croaks out, balling her fists, anguish and frustration shaking her shoulders. "I couldn't understand. I didn’t understand when I was seven, and I still don’t understand now! How could she leave me behind? How come she never came back for me?"

His gaze intense as he observes the crestfallen expression on her face. Her green eyes, bleak with desolation, hold a thousand unspoken words, ache and longing etched in their depths.

Shoto doesn’t know what to say. His heart aches for her; the pain choking her voice cuts through him like a knife. He wants to ease her suffering, to make it disappear. He’s supposed to be her rock, but he feels the ground shaking beneath him too.

She’s hurting… and he can only watch from the sidelines, grappling with the harrowing storm within himself.

"Aren’t I… her daughter?" she whispers, voice small, broken and shattered. As if she has cried all her tears, her heart too weary to summon more.

Her words hang between them, a stark contrast to the sunny rays of sunshine streaming through the window. The brightness of the day only serves to highlight the darkness of Arata's past, casting a shadow over the room.

Chapter Text

The hurt in Arata's voice cuts deep. It is unbearable and Shoto wishes he could comfort her, but he doesn't know how. He feels like he should do something, but he can't. His hand is itching to pat her shoulders, like what Uraraka usually does to comfort Midoriya.

But he senses her reluctance. Her gaze tells him she doesn't want to be touched. Shoto's hand curls into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he grips the white sheets.

What should I do? What can I do?

Words are all they have now, but he is at a loss for what to say to comfort her. No amount of pretty words will ever be enough to heal her pain, and he is left with the frustrating awareness of his own limitations.

Noticing his distress, Arata offers him a fragile smile, grateful for his silent empathy. "There's more," she says weakly, steeling herself to continue.

"But, are you sure you still can continue?" Shoto asks, worry tingling in his deep voice. He won't push her to spill everything right now if she can't bear it.

Arata nods, gathering her strength to recount unpleasant memories. "After that… the Shirayuki were extremely furious," she says, her voice unsteady. "My mother escaped… and I was the only one they could blame, so… they took it out on me.

"Their beatings didn't last long. After a year, they went back to ignoring me. However, they left my ankle in chains, dragging a steel ball with me everywhere I went. It was their way of protecting themselves, so I wouldn’t be able to do what my mother did.

"And despite what she did… when the first years went by, I still wished for her to come back, t— to take me with her, away from the Shirayuki… But, after some time, I realized that she would never return for me… and the isolation and stress caught up to me.

"No matter how much I read or how often I watched the TV or how long I stayed busy, nothing could replace human contact. It's all just like a static noise in my head... Little by little, I felt myself inch closer and closer to insanity."

"I felt so alone and numb," Arata sighs, her voice heavy with the weight of her solitude. "No one even cared if I was alive. Perhaps, it would have been better for them if I died in that basement."

"But, Shoto-san," she turns her head towards him, her dark eyebrows furrowing in remorse. "I don't want to die. I also don't want to spend my whole life in an underground chamber. It's selfish... but, I want to live. I— I want to have a chance at living my life, like the princess..."

"'The princess'? Who?"

Silence lingers in the room for a moment before Arata manages to answer Shoto, embarrassment coloring her voice.

"Oh, it's just... a cartoon character I could relate to..." Trailing off, Arata averts her gaze and twirls her own dark tresses, distracting herself. "Perhaps, you'll find it weird, but I know her from this, um, movie on the TV... I've only watched it once, but I remember it as clear as day. Um, should we change the topic? I don't think you need this info for the investigation, or anything really..."

"No, go on. I want to know," Shoto doubles down, his eyes fixed on Arata with an earnestness that roots her in place. "What about her?"

It's nothing special, Arata wants to say. She is quite certain that Shoto isn't interested in fairy tales or princesses on his own accord. However, those words crumble at the sight of his solemn expression, the way he is genuinely looking into her eyes... and wanting to know more.

No one has ever looked at her like that. Like they actually cared about her opinions and whatnot. Like they would not just tuck her away in the deepest corner of the basement and pretend she was just an afterthought. Like they were here for her and nothing else could change that.

Shoto listens to her, no matter how small her voice is and how trivial the conversation is. With him, no word of hers goes unheard.

It does cross her mind sometimes, whether he treats her this way just because of the inside story she withholds. Whether he would change his demeanor once they managed to extract information from her. A part of her thinks that she won't see him again after this... because, what for?

That being said, Arata desperately wants to believe what they have is real. That all his visits are not all for mere information. That there's an ounce of him that really cares for her as a person, not an investigation subject. Then, all that's left for her... is to cave in and let time run its course.

So, with a deep sigh, Arata surrenders to the moment. Her voice cracks as she begins to reveal a piece of herself to Shoto.

"The character... She had been locked in a tower for years, isolated from the outside world. Every day in her life passed by inside those walls, doing chores, without any freedom to step out. Her only access to the outside world was the window, and she could only watch when seasons changed.

"Then, one way or another, she eventually managed to escape her tower and went on an adventure. Outside, she saw more than she could've ever seen in books, chased after a dream she could've ever dreamed of, and... met a lot of real people—ones who really cared about her...

"I know my circumstances aren't identical to hers. I'm not a princess like she was... and— and she's merely a fictional character... But, seeing her being able to run away from her prison and being so happy and free... gave me hope. Hope that someday, I too could live my own life... like her.

"I wanted to feel grass under my feet. I wanted to see trees changing colors. I wanted to smell flowers blooming on the field. I wanted to be directly under the sunlight, not through a small hole in the basement anymore. And mostly, I wanted to be free... away from the Shirayuki…

"So, I set up my escape. I let the chains rot under the vinegar water. The Shirayuki land was covered with snow throughout the year, but it's thinnest in the summer. Two weeks ago, I ran away and didn't look back. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to get as far away as possible. After years of being locked up, all I wanted was to breathe the air of the outside world and sleep under the open sky.

"I was sleeping inside the giant cylinder on the playground when the kidnapping happened," Arata murmurs to Shoto with a grim tone. "And it was there, as I lay hidden, I heard him crying and calling for his mom when they took him… I— I couldn't bear it. So, I tried my best to save him and... you know how the rest of the story turns out."

For a few moments, silence reigns. A heavy atmosphere settles between them. Arata rests her crossed arms on her knees, her face buried in the crook of her arms, seeking a momentary refuge from the weight of her past.

"Well, that’s it." Arata looks up, the glassy look in her eyes betraying the small smile she offers to him. "Sorry it took a while for me to share."

"I understand. These things take time," he says.

A pause stretches between them as he racks his brain for the right words to say to the girl who has just laid her soul bare in front of him. "I wish… there was a way to spare you from all of this," he continues, as earnest as he can.

"… Me too," she whispers back, her voice trailing off into the quiet that still lingers between them. "Thank you for everything, Shoto-san. If you don’t mind, could you please, um…"

His gaze, though gentle, is heavy with his own inner turmoil as it meets hers. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Um, yeah... If you don't mind," she replies, her voice small and weary.

"It's okay. I could use some time too, to process everything."

Arata expects him to rise, to head for the door. But he remains still, his eyes never leaving hers, an unreadable gaze that holds her in place. She looks away, feeling the intensity of his scrutiny.

After a few seconds, finally Shoto opens his mouth. "If you want to talk, ask Aizawa-sensei to contact me. It doesn't matter what time. This hospital is close to my house, so visits won't be a problem."

"I'm sure you have other priorities," Arata declines politely, not wanting to impose.

"Ara," Shoto calls out, his voice solemn. "I don’t say things that I don’t mean."

He may not be the most eloquent conversation partner, but this is the only thing he can offer. In the face of her pain, the virtues he take pride in—his power, his quirk, his skills—are inconsequential. All he has to offer is his friendship, as inadequate as it may feel to himself.

Arata meets his gaze. "Okay," she replies, tucking her doubts into the back of her mind for now, a small smile tugging at her lips. She might have answered him because of the commanding tone in his voice, but it is the concern in his grey-cyan eyes that thaws her heart. "Thank you, Shoto-san."

He nods, his hand reaching for the door handle. Yet, just as he is about to exit, he recalls something that she said. "I forgot to mention this earlier. There is nothing selfish about wanting to live. It's just natural. So, keep living, because it’s your life, Ara. Never forget that."

As Todoroki has expected, Arata's room is equipped with a recording system, so he doesn't have to recount what he has learned to Aizawa and the police. While it certainly makes his job easier, it costs Arata her privacy. He wonders if she even knows about the monitoring devices they use on her. However, he isn't here to talk about it.

Aizawa raises one hand to greet Todoroki. As socially inept as he is, Todoroki has managed to coax an important piece of puzzle they have been looking for. His student has gone a long way. From a cold, anger-ridden boy to an earnest, kind-hearted hero candidate.

"You've heard her story yourself," Todoroki remarks upon seeing his teacher, the iron in his voice unyielding. "We can't let her go back to the Shirayuki. And definitely not Hanakiri."

Aizawa rolls his dark eyes. Todoroki's idealistic approach hasn't changed at all, though. The boy has no hesitation to defy orders he thinks as wrong and do things his own way. Aizawa knows as much following his run in with Stain.

Aizawa sighs, scratching his own unruly mass of hair. "You know I have no jurisdiction over the case. It isn't a hero's job to decide things. The police are the ones who handle the legal decisions."

Of course Todoroki knows. He doesn't go to school for nothing. But, he also knows this investigation probably won't end in Arata's favor, despite all the hardships she has been through. The lack of legal records puts her in a serious disadvantage.

"Todoroki," Aizawa says with his usual boring tone. "I get where you're coming from, but let's wait for their decision first. They trust us to do our part well, and we trust them to do their part well."

"Fine."

"Technically, your involvement in the case ends here. You've done a great job in bonding with Arata and extracting information from her. There is no obligation for you to maintain the visits anymore. In contrast, regarding her concerning background, the official recommendation is to keep your contact with her to a minimum."

Aizawa notices the darkening of Todoroki's grey-cyan eyes at his last sentence. Aizawa doesn't say it out loud, but the way the police still phrase Arata as a potential danger bothers him too. Haven't they investigated enough to see that she isn't a villain? It is disturbing that at the end of the day, prejudice tramples all.

"I need to see how this ends by myself," Todoroki shoots down the idea without hesitation. He refuses to obey a warning that is based on a bias. He won't abandon a friend in need because of unfounded suspicions.

"Yeah, I know," Aizawa grunts lazily. "I won't stop you from visiting. Just... don't cause a problem."

Todoroki doesn't expect his teacher to be on the same page with him on this matter. The boy scowls suspiciously towards him, but Aizawa merely shrugs his shoulders. Aizawa doesn't see why he should stop Todoroki’s visits when they bring Arata hope.

After what Hanakiri and the Shirayuki did to her, one had to be heartless to take away this small solace from her.

"I'll take my leave then," Todoroki bids Aizawa farewell, his tone abrupt as he cuts their conversation short. Aizawa nods in acknowledgment, his gaze steady.

Chapter Text

People often find solace and relaxation after releasing their pent-up emotions. However, Arata has been behaving the exact opposite. Since Todoroki's last visit, she has only become more withdrawn and sullen.

Well, perhaps she's an outlier, Aizawa muses to himself as his eyes land on the blanket-clad figure on the bed. This is what, the third morning in a row since Todoroki's last visit?

"Oi, Kid," Aizawa grunts, drawing open the blinds to let warm sunlight flood the room. "Time to wake up and get moving."

A muffled, sullen answer resounds from under the covers. "What for? It's not like I'll do anything... or have a visit."

"Yes, you will." Pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, Aizawa lightly kicks the bedpost, urging her to come out. "Shoto is on his way."

Arata's reaction is immediate. She sticks her head out from under the covers, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. "Huh? He's coming here?”

"Don't look so surprised. He's always visited you all this time, why would he stop now?"

"But, haven’t I, um, told him everything?" Arata protests, her voice small. "I mean, there's no reason for him to…"

Oh, so that's what she's been sulking about, Aizawa sighs inaudibly, shaking his own head. So, she manages to infer that more visits are actually discouraged. This kid is too smart for her own good sometimes. Does she think Todoroki would suddenly leave her, like Hanakiri did?

"You're his friend, Arata. That's enough reason. Now, quit worrying and get ready. I won't repeat myself again."

After plenty of visits, Shoto has become used to Arata shying away from his right side. That being said, he still prefers her not to flinch every time her gaze unintentionally lands on his white hair.

"So, you associate white hair with the Shirayuki, whom you are intimidated by because they used to lock you up underground… and in snow cocoons."

Out of nowhere, Shoto recounts his understanding to the girl in front of him. She is lying on her stomach on the bed, working on one of the mathematics problems he gave previously.

Glancing up from his homework book, Arata shoots him a puzzled look. "Yeah? What about it?"

"It makes you shun people with white hair."

"'Shun' is a strong word... I'd rather you phrase it with 'avoid', Shoto-san."

"Same difference. I think it's not a favorable way to live."

"I agree," Arata sighs, a glimpse of guilt crossing her features as she deliberately avoids his white hair. "Well, to be honest, it's sort of bothering me lately. We have spent plenty of time together, and you've never hurt me—"

"I did once. I used my ice on you," Shoto reminds her with his usual as-the-matter-of-fact tone, trying to ignore a sliver of guilt that is making its way to his chest.

"To be fair, I also tricked and kicked you that time, so it doesn't count," Arata dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. "My point is, there should be no reason for me to react this way to you, and I know it is also uncomfortable for you, but it's... um..."

"It's an involuntary defense mechanism?"

"... I was actually going with 'reflex', but I guess that works too," she says, sending an uncertain smile his way. "If I can choose... I would like to be able to look at you the way I can look at Aizawa-san too."

Without missing a beat, Shoto asks, his voice serious, "Then, do you want to try?"

"Try what?"

"Confronting your phobia," Shoto gestures to the right side of his head, "so you will be able to look at me."

"Are you suggesting me to intentionally... stare at your white hair?"

"Yes. We can take it in small steps."

"Will it work though?" Her bright green eyes flicker with apprehension as she sits up on the bed. They momentarily slide to her own hands before returning to his cyan eye. "What if I freak out and... my hands get transformed into praying mantis forelegs... I don't want to hurt you..."

"Rather than that, you should be more concerned about the possibility of this backfiring. I know I'm the one who suggested it, but it could very well make your phobia worse."

"'Worse'? I thought... the incident where I jumped out the window once I saw your white hair has established that my phobia is at rock bottom. I think, there aren't, um, a lot of ways to sink lower than that one, Shoto-san."

"Please don't do that again. I would like to see you alive, Ara."

"... I'm not trying to... But, no, seriously, maybe this is a bad idea. I— I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

"So it's okay if it's not accidental? Should I be wary starting from now?"

"It isn't what I meant at all!" Arata pouts, prompting a low chuckle from Shoto. "I really, really don't want to hurt you."

"You don't have to worry about it. I have spent most of my life training, so I'm quite tough," he convinces her. "Aizawa-sensei is also monitoring from outside. He can nullify your quirk in an instant if needed."

"Are you sure?"

"Otherwise, I wouldn't mention it."

A beat of silence and he catches a glimmer of indecision still plaguing her expression. She glances at him, her voice wavering. "Can you... um... not hesitate to freeze my hands if they suddenly transform?"

"I am thinking of using a different approach if that ever happens." he raises an eyebrow, a bit surprised at her request. "Doesn't the cold bother you greatly?"

"Can you?" she bites her lips, repeating the question. "It's better than me accidentally hurting you. I just... don't want anything bad to happen."

"..."

"Shoto-san?"

"Fine. But, only if there is no other choice." Shoto extends his right palm, motioning for her to place her hands on it. "Give me your hands."

"All right." Arata slides closer to him, her legs hanging at the side of the bed, her feet almost touching the floor. "What should I do?"

"For starters, can you try to hold your gaze at my right side for ten seconds?"

"I will try..."

As her green eyes wander to his white strands, he can see her shoulders stiffen like a board.

"Endure it, Ara."

Her pupils dilate in fear and involuntary shiver crawls on her skin, but she tries to hold on. He lets her fingers wrap around the back of his hand tightly. Perhaps, holding something solid may help her to cope with the pressure.

However, after the first five seconds let up, he notices that her breathing is getting shallow. Should I engage her in a conversation? Will it ease her nerves?

"What color is my right eye, Ara?"

"Grey, um... with specks of brown..."

"... That's oddly specific. Can you tell me one thing with the same color?"

"Uh... Soba noodles...? The highest quality ones."

His grey-cyan eyes gleam with mild amusement at her answer, and somehow, the waves of anxiety that have been slamming her chest begin to ebb away little by little. There is a soothing quality in his gaze, and to see him is to believe that maybe, there can be a drop of tranquility in her pathetic life, after all.

"That's it. Ten seconds are up." Shoto's calm voice pulls her back to the present, to the sight of his white hair and grey eye. "So, what do you think?"

Arata lets go of his hand and averts her gaze to his left side once again. "It was scary," she admits gingerly. "I didn't think I would be able to tolerate it at first..."

"But, in the end, you managed to do it."

"Yeah... Once it went on long enough, I think my fear couldn't escalate anymore."

"Then it subsided instead?"

"Somewhat... Only a little, though."

"Not bad for your first try," Shoto says, then points to his homework book on her bed. "It's like math. After you put an effort to understand the problem, it wasn't that hard anymore. You just have to learn not to let the problem overwhelm you first."

It is a strange comparison, but Arata understands what he means. So, she decides to reply in a playful way, "I know you're good at math, Shoto-san. Don't rub it in."

"Once we fix your fundamental concepts and basics, you can get better, Ara. Your ability is... passable, especially for a self-taught. Anyway, we're straying off topic. Do you want to try again?"

"Staring at your white hair, Shoto-san?"

"Yes. Perhaps, after you get used to it, we can do the same to your cryophobia."

"... Let's just focus on the former for now... I don't think I'm ready for the latter."

"If you say so," Shoto complies as Arata slides her hands to his right palm again. "Ten seconds again?"

Once Todoroki shuts the door behind him, Aizawa glances from his spot before the one-way glass and nods at his student.

"I see you've made some progress today." he eyes the mathematics book in his student's grasp. Sometimes, he doesn't quite understand the motives behind Todoroki's choice of activities. It is a good thing that Arata isn't picky about them, she enjoys whatever is brought to the room as long as she can do something. "Where did you learn about exposure therapy?"

"The internet," Todoroki answers curtly, not bothering to elaborate further. "What about the police? Is there any update on Ara's case?"

"I'm having a meeting with one of them later. It sounds like they have a decision ready."

The white-crimson haired boy narrows his eyes in suspicion. "That's unexpectedly fast."

"No comments." Aizawa shrugs his shoulders. He wants to remain impartial until all the cards have been laid on the table. It’s illogical to start a guessing game when they don't have a clue. "It can be just a regular follow-up though. I'll notify you if major decisions are made."

"All right. Until next time then, Aizawa-sensei."

"Take care, Todoroki."

In hindsight, Aizawa should have known to prepare for something like this. Even though the law and the police are established to protect people and deliver justice, in a few cases, it fails to serve its purpose well. He is suppressing a tempting urge to flip the table in front of him in frustration.

"Let me get it straight." Aizawa rubs over his temple. "Even after the story that my student managed to get out of Arata, are you saying the police still can't conduct an official investigation of the Shirayuki?"

"What we have isn't enough to get a search warrant, Eraser Head." a pig-headed woman fixes her black tie and vest, shifting rigidly on her seat. "The only way we managed to relate her with the Shirayuki, is because there was no other possible option. Not because we had tangible evidence. We merely connected the dots."

Aizawa, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, asks, "What about a DNA paternity test? Surely that would provide concrete proof."

The woman shakes her head, her expression grim. "The police never collected DNA samples from any member of the Shirayuki family. They had no criminal records, no reason to be in the system."

"What of her father’s remains? They must still exist somewhere," Aizawa presses, his voice tight with frustration.

"Cryogenically preserved," she replies, her tone conveying the futility of the situation. "We cannot reverse the cryonics process for a simple DNA test."

Aizawa's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's an arduous procedure to maintain. Is that why the Shirayuki are desperate for snow-quirked descendants?"

"Perhaps, who knows."

Aizawa leans back in his chair, his frustration evident. "What about other family members?"

"The remaining Shirayuki members refused to cooperate. Without a court order, our hands are tied."

"This is ridiculous." Aizawa grinds his teeth together, annoyed beyond belief. "We're talking about child abuse here. What about the frostbite marks on her body, the cuff marks on her ankles? They've healed, but there must be police documentation."

"Those pictures prove nothing of her connection to the Shirayuki. It will be her words against their words. Alternatively, we attempted to provide evidence using her knowledge about the Shirayuki, but it wasn't sufficient. The girl doesn't know more than we know."

"I believe it is the result of Arata's prolonged isolation in the basement. She couldn't exactly go out freely and explore her surroundings."

"We are aware of that fact. However, the government isn't willing to overlook that excuse," the police sergeant states coolly. "This investigation has reached a dead end. We're putting it aside in the near future. The police already did all they could, Eraser Head."

"That hardly seems fair."

"Things might turn out differently if the girl had at least a birth certificate. Without it and hard evidence, her position is very vulnerable in front of the law."

"Does that mean that this issue can be raised again once she gets a birth certificate?" Aizawa pushes on.

The gaze from her brown eyes hardens as she chooses her words carefully. "It's unlikely, because her birth certificate would be issued after, not before the case. But, we could go back on it if another evidence was present.

"For now, the current objective of the police is to prepare her legal papers and find someone or an organization that will be responsible for her. We are ordered to discharge her from the hospital in three days."

"Isn't that too fast?" Aizawa growls out. "Sounds to me that you all just want to drop this case as soon as possible."

"Keeping a potential threat under wraps in a public place, such as this hospital, is a lot of work," she says, her tone clipped and cold. "It is even harder when there is no one we can hold responsible if anything happens. The only person that clearly has ties to the girl is Hanakiri, and that does nothing to help her case. Our main concern is to protect the civilians."

"Arata is a civilian, even though she is an unregistered one," he gruffly reminds her. "Don't tell me you also neglect the fact that she also tried to stop a kidnapping."

"One good deed does not make up for any evidence."

"She does not deserve this baseless, misguided profiling you made for her either."

"We won't discuss this, for a decision has been made." the sergeant pastes a polite smile, skirting around the controversial subject. "As I've said earlier, we are searching for a legal guardian for her. Please let me know if U.A. is interested in taking the girl, Eraser Head. The police can send an official request to Principal Nezu.

"We will wait for your confirmation until midnight. Tomorrow, we will be back to discuss the results of our search."

Chapter Text

Of course Arata knows that sooner or later, something like this will occur. Her stay at Fujiya Hospital is temporary, and the investigation will end eventually. Afterwards, the police will find her a place to stay and an adult to take responsibility of her. But, never even once she thought it would come this fast.

After some time without any news, all of a sudden, Aizawa informs her that the police will come after lunch to talk about this. Even though he manages to keep his tone detached and neutral, he can't erase the telltale signs of displeasure and exhaustion from his appearance. A couple of dark rings circle his bloodshot eyes, and the scowl on his face seems almost permanent.

It doesn't take much for Arata to draw the unvoiced conclusion. "I see... They're closing the case..." she murmurs glumly, then puts her chopsticks aside on her tray.

Aizawa shoves his hands into his trousers' pocket, trying to find the right words to say. "Not quite. They're just pending it until more evidence arises."

Which is almost the equivalent of 'never', Arata almost replies, but she holds her tongue. There is no need to state the obvious.

After a few minutes of radio silence, she finally sighs, "Just let it go."

"You can't possibly mean it." Aizawa's frown deepens at the tone of resignation he hears in her voice. "The Shirayuki are getting away with child abuse, it isn't fair."

"I don't know, Aizawa-san... You know I never sought justice. All I wished for is freedom... I'm fine with anything as long as I won't be returned back to the Shirayuki."

"Including letting the Shirayuki walk all over you like this?"

"That's what they have been doing all my life. What's one more time?" Her green eyes meet his incredulous gaze. "I just don't want to deal with them again."

What an outrageous act of ignorance, Aizawa thinks as he massages his own temples. Kid would rather turn a blind eye than defend her own rights. Even Todoroki's reply to my text message about this had more fight in it than her reaction.

Arata isn't the first one he's known that chooses to pull out without any resistance. With or without sufficient support, it has happened again and again. It doesn't matter that he feels sick about their situation and their decision.

Yet another victim that doesn't want to fight for their own rights... This is exactly why the number of reported domestic violence cases is so low compared to reality.

Lack of evidence aside, like Arata, some victims just don't have any energy left in them to fight back and pursue justice. Their energy has been sucked dry from struggling to hold out on a day-to-day basis. It's just how life rolls out for a few people. They choose to blindly leave everything behind, and who is he to convince them to do otherwise?

There is no point in trying to change her mind right now. Perhaps, this might be even better for her, because low expectation equals low disappointment. Maybe, they ought to focus on finding her a guardian first, which is the only thing they can do for now.

"Whatever, Kid." Aizawa crosses his arms and leans on the wall. "Shoto is on his way here. Let's just wait until both he and the police arrive."

A pig-headed police sergeant stands straight in front of them, her hand holding up a clipboard with some papers. She has the most husky voice Arata has ever heard from a woman. It slithers in the air like the promise of a storm from afar, rumbling lowly with tiny, static vibrations.

"In order to find a legal guardian for her, the police have contacted several organizations. The first is the public orphanage, which refused under the reason of their staffs' incapacity and incapability to foster her complicated... circumstances."

Something in the way she phrases the last word rubs Todoroki the wrong way. "What is that supposed to mean?" he crosses his arms, his tone a bit more frosty than usual.

"Technically speaking, it is providing the essentials, such as the basic needs, education, character formation, and safety. For both her and other children."

As he opens his mouth to retort back, Arata gives him a shake of her head, her gaze meeting his grey-cyan eyes for a moment before she reassures him, "It's okay. Just let her do her job."

"Are you done?" the sergeant inquires them with a bored tone. "Can we continue now?"

"Go on."

"As we all know, the Hero Public Safety Commission is responsible for both managing relations between heroes and the society, and handling high-risk cases. There has been a history of them taking charge of a few orphaned children under their wings to be trained as law enforcers. So, the police also tried to reach out to them."

Oh? This is the first time Aizawa heard of it. He supposes that it is perhaps a more common affair among the police and the Commission. "How did it go?"

"Unfortunately, they also refused. The minors they took usually fulfill these criteria: around ten years old, proficient in their own quirk application, and highly intelligent. While Arata-san is arguably clever enough to pass their standards, she is too old and does not show a tremendous potential in her quirk."

"Aren't you contradicting yourself?" Todoroki comments brusquely. "If her potential isn't promising, you shouldn't fear her as much."

"I am only repeating the reason given to us, hence I can't give an answer to that question."

Even though Aizawa quite agrees with his student's argument, he thinks it is best to keep going through their list for now. "Anyone else?"

He almost regrets asking as the pig-headed woman raises an option he doesn't want to hear, "The Shirayuki."

"Have you police lost your minds?" Aizawa growls, glaring darkly at her. "In case you forget, they are the ones who abused her and locked her up. How could they possibly know we’re looking for a legal guardian for Arata? Did you inform them?"

Defensive, she lowers her clipboard and glares back at Aizawa. Her tone is professionally detached from emotions, as if it exists only to address the facts. "To rest your concerns, I assure you that the police force wasn't the one who made the first contact. It was the Shirayuki."

From his peripheral vision, Todoroki sees Arata's calm facade crumble, her face reflecting shock and dread. Beside him, her body goes rigid, tensing in anticipation of the words to come.

"What?" Her lower lip quivers, almost failing to utter even a single word.

"It doesn't explain why the police are entertaining the idea of sending back the victim back to their abusers," Aizawa shoots back with a menacing tone. He stands a little closer to Arata and Todoroki, who are sitting on the bed side by side.

"The Shirayuki proposed an interesting notion. They claimed that Arata-san here isn't actually a Shirayuki, she is merely a child who wants to join their clan. Because their clan is closed from the public, this is the easiest way for her to ensure a relation to the Shirayuki.

"They said she is just doing this for a spectacle, and they are interested enough to indulge her wishes. They are willing to get the guardianship of Arata-san, in exchange for retracting our accusation and closing this case permanently."

Todoroki furrows his mismatched eyebrows in disbelief, his shoulders and jaw visibly stiffening. "Are you saying they claimed that Ara faked all of her stories and other proofs? That she lied on purpose because she wanted to join their clan?"

"Indirectly, yes."

Fury like no other surges through Todoroki at her answer. The audacity of them to garble the truth and propose such a disgusting accusation. A dark scowl is etched deep on his face, his teeth grinding against each other with unneeded force.

"This is nonsense!" he raises from his seat, standing straight with tense muscles. His fists are clamped tightly on each side of his body. "You police investigated Ara yourselves. You do know their so-called notion is nothing but a lie!"

"On what grounds do they base this claim on?" Aizawa's dark eyes flash dangerously. "This is a serious case of distorting facts."

"No evidence is provided. Proof-wise, with Arata-san's elaborate story and frostbite marks, your prosecution against them is stronger. However, both your and their claims are baseless in front of the law, lacking the essential determining evidence."

"What a load of crap. There is no way the police are seriously buying their half-assed claim. You can't return Arata to the Shirayuki, that will be a grave mistake."

"Isn't it the police's job to protect the innocent? You can't expose Ara to her own abusers!"

"The police abide by the law," the sergeant emphasizes with a stern tone. "Because both parties can't pursue the matter further to the court, no decisions have been made. By the law, currently, the Shirayuki are innocent from child abuse and other criminal activities. Which means they can request for Arata-san's guardianship."

"Reject them," Todoroki bites out, sharp edges around his voice. "Ara is not going back to them."

"That can be arranged only if there is another party willing to be her legal guardian. At the moment, while the Shirayuki are the sole candidate, we can't do that."

"Why you—"

Before Todoroki makes a move to approach the police officer in anger, Aizawa quickly holds him back with one hand. "Stop." Wariness rings clearly in his voice, his gaze flicking to the shivering girl next to him. "Stay with her. Know your priorities."

Following his teacher's line of vision, Todoroki finally registers the small hand tugging the seams of his shirt. Arata's green eyes are bright with distress, and the intensity of it cracks his own heart.

"Shoto-san... I— I don't want to go back..."

Todoroki closes his eyes and crashes again beside her, willing down the crackling rage in his veins. "I also don't want you to, Ara," he huffs, frustration slowly billowing in him. Now that all falls down, what is he supposed to say to her?

Racking his mind with all kinds of ideas, Aizawa tries to use another approach. "If you extend this by a week, we can find another alternative."

"Unfortunately, it has been settled that she is to be discharged the day after tomorrow."

"Can I... just leave on my own?" Arata mumbles, desperation underlying her cracking voice. "I can just disappear into the woods and never come back. I swear I won't show up again in front of everyone..."

"If words are enough to convince, do you think you will be in this position right now?" the pig-headed sergeant stares her down with an impassive expression. "Anyway, that is all I have to say. If you have other alternatives, please communicate them with us, so we can readjust the plan."

After the police sergeant left, only silence and the tick-tock of the wall clock fill the room. Arata is hugging her knees to her chest, planting her face between them. It is as if she thinks that she can protect herself by curling her body as small as she can. Somehow, it painfully reminds Todoroki of her withdrawn attitude during the early phase of the investigation.

"All I want is to get away from the Shirayuki..." Her low murmur is muffled, almost inaudible. "But, even that, I can't do... Now, they're trying to get me back to seal my lips permanently..."

"Aizawa-sensei, is it possible to ask for U.A. to help on this?" Todoroki gazes at his ruffled teacher, who is scaling the room from corner to corner, brainstorming an idea or a loophole in the case.

Puzzled, Arata steals a glance at her friend before burying her face again. "Isn't U.A. a high school? What does it have to do with this?"

"I'm a teacher there," Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, then points to Todoroki, "and he is one of my students. Actually, I've talked about this with Principal Nezu."

"Can't U.A. do something about it?" Aizawa voiced his concerns through the telecommunication line, clutching his phone over his ear. "She is in need of a legal guardian."

From the other side of the line, a familiar light voice crackled into life.

"With the U.S.J. attack and the recent targeting of Izuku Midoriya by the League of Villains in the shopping mall, I'm afraid now is not the best time. It is difficult for U.A. to take the guardianship of a teenager classified as high-risk by the police. Guardianship... is a whole different world from education.

"Based on the information you gave to me, I know that Arata is most likely innocent in this matter. However, we can't take Hanakiri out of the equation. As long as she is still alive, there is a possibility that sooner or later she will reach out to her daughter.

"If U.A. exclusively takes the responsibility of her and that happens, U.A. can go down in flames. I'm sorry Eraser Head, but with U.A.'s reputation on the line right now, we can't afford to adopt Arata."

"What did he say, Aizawa-sensei?"

"He said no."

Todoroki knows it is not an unexpected answer, but his heart still sinks at his teacher's confirmation. They are back to square one now, with no other option but to let Arata get back to the Shirayuki.

"What should we do?" he mutters under his breath, bed sheets crumpled in his taut grip. "Should I ask my old man? His hero agency perhaps can take her under their wings."

Aizawa's dark eyebrows meet in a knit on his forehead as he scoffs. "Hell would freeze over before your father accepted her with open arms. I'm sure he would even keep it burning with his own flames in case it ever stopped."

As much as Todoroki wants to argue that it is worth a shot, he knows Aizawa nails the right sentiment. His grey-cyan eyes flit to the sullen, brooding girl beside him.

Arata doesn't make the slightest sound, but he thinks he can barely hear the muted screams of despair coming out from her conscience. They are hollowly bouncing off the walls, raking them with the hollow nails of her lost hope.

"I just don't want to deal with them again."

Her request is neither farfetched nor absurd. It was supposed to be a normal request, where the victim wished not to cross paths again with their tormentors. The fact that they can't even assure her of it shakes him to his core.

All of those hero trainings and I still can't save someone when it truly matters.

"It's not like she has to be discharged today, so lighten up," Aizawa grunts at the boy, then pats Arata's head lightly with the flat of his hand. "We will keep trying until the last minute, so don't you dare give up, Kid."

Chapter Text

Despite their persistent efforts and attempts in the past two days, not a single organization is interested in taking Arata in. The closest they can get to a yes is expressions of sympathy.

"Someone else will help her."

Shoto has lost count on how many times he heard that sentence from Aizawa's phone. Each phone call proved nothing but other people's reluctance to get involved, and even though he has tried to keep his chin up, this sad reality is inevitably gnawing at his core.

As much as Shoto hated to be the bearer of the bad news, he still did it. "None of our calls are returned."

He joined Arata sitting on the bed, hoping that his presence could lift her spirits a little. She had been very quiet and inconsolable since yesterday, only answering him and Aizawa with short replies. There was a part of him that felt disappointed in himself, like he had failed to do something when it really counted.

"It is an enormous responsibility," Arata whispered to him. Her dim green eyes were grimly looking out to the summer night sky shown between the metal bars on the window.

"What is?"

"Guardianship."

"They shouldn't have turned their backs on people in need."

"But, Shoto-san, I'm not a pet that people can just bring home and tend to however they want. It's a commitment of a lifetime. They fear that adopting me will be a mistake... and I— I can't fault them for their refusal... There are a lot of orphans in Japan, so why should they take a high-risk one like me?"

Shoto stared at her side profile, observing her resigned expression in silence. He knew she was right, but they couldn't afford to give up just yet.

"It's not over," he remarked, wishing that his hope alone was enough for both of them to strive until the last minute. "We will keep trying."

Prior to this day, he has steeled himself to hang on the edge of his optimism and keep trying, because there ought to be someone who cares, right?

But, now, with a few police officers doing the last thorough body check on Arata, the only thing he can feel throughout his body is the crushing pain of defeat. He can do nothing, except stay put and see her off to be escorted back to the Shirayuki.

"Please check your belongings before leaving, because anything left here will be removed on immediate notice."

"Can I say goodbye to my friend?"

"Yes, but don't try anything funny in the process."

Arata nods, then rounds the bed and slowly makes her way to the white-crimson haired boy near the wall. The air of indifference that he usually wears like an armor is splintered right now, and she can see his distraught expression through its cracks.

"Shoto-san," she murmurs in a small voice. "Please don't blame yourself... You've done everything you can for me, and I'm immensely thankful for it."

Metal rings are shackling her wrists, locking them together in front. The steel cuffs are glinting brilliantly under the lamplight, as if they were mocking him for his inability to free her.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way." Shoto grits his teeth and looks away, ashamed of himself. This situation is so wrong on so many levels, that he can feel nausea stirring his stomach. She shouldn't have to endure another snow-clad episode in her life. "All I've done is meaningless."

It hurts that even though he has given his best, he still can't save her.

"It's not true." Arata awkwardly gestures to the outfit she's wearing, her movement limited by the restraining device around her wrists. Her green eyes bore into his grey-cyan ones. "I'm prepared for snow more than ever because of you."

That's the winter coat he gave her. Its firm yet soft fabric is wrapped around her shoulders, submerging her in the dark blue material. It definitely can drive away the cold that Arata dislikes, but...

"The coat won't be able to protect you from the Shirayuki, Ara," Shoto replies with a bitter tone, clenching his fists on the sides of his body.

"I know... But, at least I can remember you and Aizawa-san with this..."

Her sentence resonates with a little more finality than what he would like to hear. He wants to tell her that he and Aizawa can come visit her sometimes, that they all still can meet each other after this. But, he knows this might as well be their last chance of seeing each other.

The Shirayuki don't accept visitors. And even if they do, he doesn't think they will waste any time to permanently seal her lips. He doesn't know how they will do it, but he sure knows that corpses don't talk.

"Your farewell session is over, please return to your designated spot, hee-haw!" One of the police officer's authoritative tone rings in the room as he motions for Arata to get back to her place.

He sounds a bit familiar. Did I meet him somewhere before? Shoto inwardly thinks, his eyes scanning the policeman's dark brown mane and long face. Was he the one who patrolled this wing some time ago? The one who warned me not to get close to Ara?

Baffled, Arata spins her head to regard him, her black ponytail swaying. "Wait... Aizawa-san isn't even here yet..."

"Eraser Head is well-informed of this schedule. Whether he comes or not is not of our importance."

"But—"

"Please," he rebukes her harshly, then waves her over again, the click-clack of his hoofs echoing, "don't make us use coercion, hee-haw."

Shoto sees the dismay in her green eyes considerably deepen as her gaze darts from him to the door. The inner corners of her eyebrows are angled up and her mouth is parted a little, making way for a heavy sigh to escape.

To return her to the Shirayuki is to send her to her demise. It is a one-way ticket to the death's door. And even if Arata herself has given up, Shoto hasn't. He can't.

What good are the laws that can't protect an innocent citizen? What good is a hero who can't even save a single life in front of him?

Before Arata can walk up to the police, Shoto's mouth opens again, stopping her in her track. "Are you going to give up, Ara?"

She glances at him with a perplexed look, a forced smile on her face. "... What are you saying? You know I have no other choice, Shoto-san..."

"Just tell me." he steps closer to her, never breaking their eye contact. "Are you really okay with going back to the Shirayuki?"

"Um..." No, of course not... Please help me... Please save me!

"Please keep a safe distance from her! A distance of at least one meter is required."

Shoto takes another step, not heeding the warning shouted by the police officer. "Be honest, Ara."

"..." If I say it, will you hear me? Can I really say it?

"Todoroki-san, we're warning you to put some distance from her!"

The genuine concern in his grey-cyan eyes burns her lungs intensely, and even though Arata has already lost all hope since two days ago, she can't find it in herself to give her life up just like this.

It was only his back against her gaze, with his white-crimson strands swaying under the gusts of the air conditioner. But, his words echoed clearly in her mind, rooting themselves deeply in her heart.

"Keep living, because it's your life, Ara."

If Arata can be honest... Of course, she doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to return to her old prison.

Why does she have to revoke her statements against the abuse the Shirayuki have done to her? Why does she have to suffer like this when she hasn't done anything wrong? Her only fault is to have been born on the wrong side of the society.

Can she turn over a new leaf, walking right into the future without carrying the baggage of her past?

Arata is her mother’s daughter, but that's not all there is to her. She is her own person with her own hopes and dreams. She wants to make her own decisions and paint her own future.

Because, what good is her life if it's not hers?

All of a sudden, the words come tumbling out of her mouth. "... No, I don't want to go back," Arata croaks out, plea resounding in each syllable. "Shoto-san, I— I want to live and be free!"

"Then, stay." Perhaps, it is a trick of light, but she can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards, forming a ghost of a smirk.

Can I? Can I really stay and be free, Shoto-san? Do you believe I deserve it?

Before Arata can reply to Shoto with a smile of her own, a round of dramatic claps echoes sinisterly in the room.

"‘Live and be free’, you say?" the donkey-mutant officer snarls, his voice dripping with disdain. His hands continue to clap with mocking rhythm, each sound echoing like a taunt. "Just like your mother. The two of you always do whatever you please, without a care for anyone else."

"Officer?" Arata glances at him tentatively, startled at the snide undertone in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"You don’t get it, do you?" His eyes lock onto Arata’s, the bitterness in his voice rising to a dangerous edge. "Oh, of course you don’t, who am I fooling? As Hanakiri’s child, you should be burdened by everything she’s done. Don’t you feel any responsibility to help us capture her?

“But no, you made it difficult in the interviews, barely giving us anything! We wasted precious time because you refused to cooperate. Eraser Head and that boy had to wait on you hand and foot just to get a few crumbs! Which led us nowhere, by the way!

"Now you think you can just waltz around, wanting a peaceful life and freedom while your mother’s victims suffer? At first, I was just going to let this chance of revenge slide. From what we know, the Shirayuki are going to put an end to you, anyway. No need to dirty my own hands if they will do it."

"Donki-san? This is not in the procedure..." one of his coworkers tries to intervene, but Donki ignores him, his gaze fixed on Arata.

"But, like your mother, you can’t think about anyone other than yourself." Donki’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper as his hand slips inside his vest pocket. "If you’re going to do whatever you want, then I’ll also do the same thing."

A resounding click sharply cleaves the atmosphere between them. Donki's bitter, cynical bray thunders in the enclosed space, bringing all of the attention to him. His pistol is raised high and steady, save for a light tremble creeping his body, his muzzle pointed at Arata from across the room.

"Go to hell and atone for your evil mother!"

Chapter Text

"Go to hell and atone for your evil mother!" Donki shouts, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation.

Arata’s gaze snaps to the barrel of Donki’s raised pistol, her eyes widening with a mix of terror and disbelief. Her feet stagger backwards, instinctively trying to escape the line of fire.

"If anyone moves, I’ll shoot this girl, right here, right now!" Donki’s threat slices through the air, rooting everyone in the room to their spots.

"Donki-san, what are you doing?" his colleagues whisper urgently, their faces a mix of shock and frustration. "We have no orders to shoot! We’re only here to oversee the girl’s transfer to Shirayuki!"

"Silence!" Donki roars, his fury erupting. "I outrank you all! You’ll never understand the agony I’ve endured!"

The room is thick with tension, every breath hanging heavy with the threat of violence. Arata’s heart pounds in her chest as she desperately tries to make sense of the chaos surrounding her and ignore the pistol aimed unwaveringly at her.

"Blame this on your mother." Donki hisses through gritted teeth, his voice a raw edge of bitterness, as he steps toward her.

At eighteen, Donki cherished three things above all: Sunday mornings in the warm embrace of his parents, playing catch with his father in the sunny field behind their humble hut, and his mother’s soothing voice reading his favorite tattered storybook.

His friends teased him about still sleeping with his parents. "You still sleep with your parents?" they'd laugh. Donki didn’t mind; those fleeting moments of togetherness meant everything to him, because they were rarely home due to their work at the industrial gas plant.

One stormy Sunday morning shattered his world. His parents were absent from their usual spot. Instead, a black-clad official stood at his doorstep.

“Where are my parents?” Donki asked, his voice trembling.

The official gently guided him to the couch and asked him to turn on the television. With shaking hands, Donki complied.

The screen flickered to life, revealing breaking news of a massacre at an industrial gas plant. Scenes of chaos and destruction filled the screen, and his parents’ names were among the list of the deceased.

It was seven years ago Donki received a ceramic urn. It was meant to hold his parents’ ashes, but nobody could ever be certain. The mangled remains of the victims had been so scattered that identifying them became nearly impossible.

Still, what other choice did he have other than holding it close?

"My parents… they never did anything wrong," Donki’s voice cracks as he speaks, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "They were just ordinary plant workers, scraping by from paycheck to paycheck. They were good people. But Hanakiri took them from me. Hanakiri took everything from us!"

“Mark my words, I’m going to take her down,” Donki declared, slamming his beer can on the table, capturing the attention of the other support group members. “Hanakiri has ruined our lives by taking our precious family members. I’ll join the police force and bring justice for us!

“Mom and Dad, watch me. I’m going to turn everything right. Under my watch, good people will lead good lives and villains will get proper punishments. I won’t let something like this happen again.”

Handclaps and cheers erupted from his left and right. “Go Donki! Deliver us justice!” they cheered, their voices filled with a desperate hope that someone could bring closure to their collective suffering.

As he looked around at the tear-streaked faces and haunted eyes, Donki realized that this fight was not just his own. It was for every person in the room, every family torn apart by Hanakiri.

The path ahead was fraught with sorrow and danger, but he knew he had to walk it. For his parents, for himself, and for every broken heart seeking solace in the promise of retribution.

Tears welled in his eyes, but Donki blinked them back, forcing himself to stay strong. “I’ll make her pay,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. His hand clutched the beer can until it twisted with a sharp crack. If only it was Hanakiri’s neck. “By all means.”

"I was naive. I thought I could capture Hanakiri if I became a police officer. But reality is often different from expectation." Donki stops a few meters away from Arata, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, tracing the lines of long-buried hatred on his face. "Even after I became a cop and swore to avenge them, after years and years, the closest we've come to Hanakiri’s trail is this damned girl!"

As Donki’s words linger in the air, Arata feels a sharp sting. She wishes she could say it’s the venom in his voice that wounds her, but she knows all too well what it is like to be hated for it to be a surprise. What truly puts her at a loss is the realization of the suffering her mother inflicted. It leaves her dizzy and broken.

How could you do this, Okaa-san? Why?

The truth crushes her under the weight of her mother's choices, the real-life consequences that echo through the years. This news is a slap to the face, a stark reminder that the man standing before her is a victim of her mother’s carnage—a cruelty that might leave its imprint on her, too, for they share the same blood.

Whoever said newborns are free of sins is mistaken. If that were true, would she be facing this now? Or is this the fate of unwanted children—mistakes—like her?

Her past and her bloodline are shackles that weigh her down, creeping along her every step like shadow. Can she ever be truly free from them? What will it take for her to wash away her mother’s bloody hands off her life?

And her mother is still out there somewhere.

"Officer, I'm— I'm sorry for your parents..." Arata looks down, her voice barely a whisper. The weight of Donki’s pain is almost too much to bear, and her apology feels too little in the face of such immense loss.

"What the hell are you apologizing for, Ara?" Shoto growls out, irked at her response. "Hanakiri is Hanakiri. You are you. Even if your mother is a villain, you are not. You are in no way responsible for what she did."

Is it true, Shoto-san? The handcuffs around her wrists cling against each other as she pensively glances at those steel rings. Am I really allowed to draw that boundary?

Shoto turns his piercing glare toward the donkey-mutant officer, ire bursting from his tone. "Why are you blaming Ara? You know it isn't her fault!"

"Easy for you to say, Endeavor's son!" Donki’s voice cracks with bitter resentment, his eyes blazing with fury. "If your father hadn't messed up three years ago, the police would have locked Hanakiri in Tartarus!"

Donki had been very desperate, but it wasn't until four years later, that all hope was lost.

He was a part of the police force sent to back Endeavor up on his pursuit to catch Hanakiri. Snow boots felt very strange on his usually-uncovered hoofs, but Donki rapidly plowed through the white slosh and kept relaying information to his unit via an earpiece.

"Send me their location! I'm losing their trail!" Donki shouted through the earpiece, his warm breaths were visible in the cold air, steam hazing his goggles. "Damn it! That damned murderer is trying to lose Endeavor in these snowy hills!"

Tension was running high in the air, and he did everything to keep up. Snowstorm was blurring his vision, making the hero and the villain kilometers ahead of him look like blurs, which then disappeared. An explosion sound swept over him afterwards, thundering past his body.

After a tense minute, the earpiece crackled. "Donki-san, new orders. All units and pro heroes must pull back.”

"What? We’re so close!"

"Hanakiri escaped, Donki-san. She set off an avalanche with a grenade after Endeavor burned one of her arms. By the time we recovered, she had already disappeared and her traces had been covered by the snow."

"But—"

"Pull back, Donki-san. There’s no trail left. We’ll resume the search once the storm clears."

"Hanakiri is a fucking murderer!" Donki ground his teeth together, jaw tightening in anger. "If we lose her now, there will be other victims. We don’t even know for sure what her human form looks like. Once she deactivates her quirk, she can slip away and blend among the civilians!"

"Donki-san, you're not the only one who wanted to keep in pursuit, but there’s no other option. Hanakiri is likely trapped by the storm too. We’ll find her once it clears."

The donkey-mutant police stopped on his track, digging his nails to his palm. Pieces of ice were hanging on the tips of his dark brown mane, proof of how cold it really was.

However, Donki only could feel hot, nauseating disappointment in his stomach. Was this really the right choice? Was this going to be their— his failure in arresting his parents' killer again?

"Fine." Donki snarled and turned back despite his desire to keep tailing the villain.

At that time, they thought that it was just another failure at catching Hanakiri. They assembled other units, prepared other tools, and requested the help from other pro heroes—all in order to capture her. Yet, after a few days of scaling the area, they never found any trace of her.

Even after the attempt had been disbanded and the task force had been allocated for other matters, Donki was still keeping tabs on any updates of Hanakiri. Yet, there were no reports of her anymore, as if the villain had vanished along with the snowstorm, burying Donki's hope for revenge.

"And what a joke this is," Donki bellows at Shoto, his voice cracking with rage. "Your father couldn’t capture Hanakiri, and now you’re all chummy with her daughter? You think this is some kind of soap opera? I’ve warned you, Endeavor’s son. This girl is dangerous!"

"Remember, this damned girl tricked you once." Donki takes a menacing step toward Arata, the pistol’s muzzle unwavering although his eyes are still on Shoto. "The next time you let your guard down, it could be your head rolling on the ground. I’d love to see how Endeavor will react when that happens."

"That’s none—"

Shoto's mouth opens to retort, but his words are swallowed by the other officers’ attempt to reason, "Donki-san, they're just kids! They didn’t do anything wrong, and they were only eleven the last time we found Hanakiri. We need to handle this calmly and do our jobs properly."

"Try saying that after your parents are killed, hee-haw! I might listen to you then," Donki spits at his colleagues, the contempt in his eyes making them recoil in horror. He grips his pistol so tightly his knuckles turn white. "With this, I can lure Hanakiri out using her own daughter’s corpse. She’s the perfect bait."

"It’s no use, Officer," Arata mumbles. "My mo— Hanakiri won’t come... She wouldn’t have left me with the Shirayuki if she cared at all about me."

Donki’s eyes narrow, a cold, unyielding determination in his gaze. "I’ll take that chance. And if that doesn’t work, I can simply track down every woman in Japan who looks similar to you. You’re her daughter, there ought to be some resemblance."

He is done taking the high road. It has brought nothing but countless failures and zero fairness. It has led him nowhere, and he is done with it. He’s ready to get his hands dirty, no matter the cost.

Donki’s steely glare is enough to tell Shoto that he’s on the brink of pulling the trigger. Shoto’s eyes dart to Arata, who stands frozen in terror, her green eyes locked on the gun’s muzzle, following its every move, yet she isn't getting ready to dodge at all.

"Ara, snap out of it!" Shoto’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, his eyes flicking to the point-blank distance that separates her from Donki. "Don't you want to live?"

Arata jolts out of her trance, snapping her head to him. "Shoto-san...?"

"Quick!" Shoto thrusts a hand toward her, his urgency clear. Arata grabs it without a second thought, and he swiftly yanks her behind him.

"For justice!" Donki’s voice erupts with fury as he aims the gun.

"Donki-san, don’t shoot!" The plea from his fellow officers is barely audible over the tension.

Chapter Text

In a split second, Arata senses the temperature around them plummet, an icy chill that invades her senses. Visions of imaginary white snow explode before her eyes, and she gasps, terror gripping her heart. She wobbles, her body reflexively pull back, but Shoto's vice-like grip on her hand anchors her to reality.

"Endure it for a moment, Ara," he says, his voice steady, his presence a lifeline in the midst of her panic.

And so, she does, her breath coming in short gasps as she fights to stay grounded, to not be swept away by the tide of her fear. In this moment, she is aware of the contrast between the cold steel and Shoto's warm hand, a physical reminder of the support that stands by her side.

The next moment, his right foot emits a protective ice barrier before them, as the donkey-mutant officer releases a couple of shots with a loud bang. The bullets are lodged in his frozen barrier, failed to chip his ice even half-way.

"Shit! It can't even go through, hee-haw!"

Open-mouthed, Arata stares in bewilderment at the thick, ice wall in front of them. Well, she has suspected that her friend was somewhat adept at using his quirk all along. Between his feat of cauterizing her stab wound, the fact that he goes to the hero course at the prestigious U.A., and other clues, she was pretty sure of it. What she didn't realize, that he is this powerful.

It's bizarre, she mutters to herself inwardly. One hand is clutching the winter coat closer to her body, trying to repel the chill, as the other squeezes his left hand back. Her gaze travels to the back of the white-crimson hair in front of her.

It is strange that the cold and safety can go hand in hand for me.

"If you shoot again, I will have to freeze you." Shoto glares frostily at Donki, his left hand still clasping Arata's hand at his back. When the donkey-mutant cop tries to move regardless, Shoto's ice ominously spreads on the floor, glazing the ceramic tiles with jagged frozen water. It only stops short a few inches from the man's hoofs. "Don't even think about it."

Arata's jaw hangs open at the display of power in front of her. "Um... Shoto-san... Will we get in trouble for this?"

"I will be the judge of that, Kid."

Both Shoto and Arata whip their heads to the voice's direction in an instant. Aizawa is standing in the doorway. Next to him is the pig-headed police sergeant from yesterday, who is scanning the room with a peeved look on her face, her hand clutching a stack of documents.

She snorts loudly, hurtling an air missile from her pink snout. It flies across the room, successfully knocking the pistol off Donki's grasp. He neighs in pain as the thrown weapon skids to the other side of the room.

"I'm very disappointed in you. You all are police, yet you didn't do anything in this situation!" Her tone is clipped, rumbling darkly in the room as she reprimands her subordinates, then points to Donki. "Even if Donki-san here outranks you, you should have apprehended a coworker that attempted a murder on a civilian. All of you, cuff him and bring him to the holding cell. We will discuss his assault and your performance later."

"We're— We're sorry, Sergeant! But, what about the girl's transport?"

"I'll dispatch another unit of cops if required." she shoots them a stink eye, and puts an emphasis on her next sentence. "The professional ones. Get out now!"

As the other officers scurry outside, she gives the remaining attendants a quick bow.

"I deeply apologize for this, Eraser Head, Todoroki-san, Arata-san. The police are supposed to provide protection and cover, not to cause harm. We should've avoided involving the cops that possibly hold personal grudges towards Hanakiri."

"You should have," Aizawa replies in a strained voice, his dark eyes glaring in irk. "I wouldn't stand by and do nothing if either of them really got shot. I will file an official complaint on his violent behavior."

Just because Aizawa is certain that his student won't get taken out easily with a handgun, it does not mean that he will tolerate an unnecessary threat of danger that comes his way. His gaze flits to Todoroki, noting the boy's lack of offensive move on handling Donki earlier.

So, the chief of the police force's words back then have sunk in his conscience, huh? He held back to avoid hurting that donkey officer with his quirk.

"Of course, I will personally make sure the complaint will get processed. Once again, we're deeply sorry. As for the guardianship hand-over—"

"Ara isn't going back to the Shirayuki," Todoroki interjects in a stern voice, scowling at the police sergeant.

"What a stubborn student you have here," she huffs as Aizawa shrugs his shoulders. "As I was saying, we have just finished processing another application for Arata's guardianship. With this, we can disregard the Shirayuki's inquiry."

Relief floods Arata's being, relaxing her taut muscles and the raging dread inside her. Todoroki can feel her joints going slack in his grasp.

While she lets her guard down almost immediately, he can't bring himself to do the same yet. He needs to know the details first.

"That's it?" Astonishment and disbelief tinge his voice. "The Shirayuki aren't trying to get Ara back again?"

"They're not. Now that we've settled this matter legally, they had no choice but to back down. That clan has never made a move to cross the law, and the police believe they won't start doing it now."

Rather than submitting to the law, it sounds more like an effort to avoid getting a search warrant, Aizawa privately deduces. What the hell has that commune been hiding? And there's Hanakiri, who devolved into insanity after living with the Shirayuki and left her daughter—Arata—for dead.

Many questions about them are still left unanswered, but in time, probably they will be. Aizawa doubts worrying about it will do some good, perhaps it's best to leave things as is for now. "We're good. The police will notify us again if there is a change or a threat."

"Is that true?" Arata breathes out, her voice brimming with renewed hope. "I don't have to live with the Shirayuki again?"

"You don't."

"Then, who is the other candidate?" Todoroki asks in confusion. He recalls that all people they have phoned about this said no. Where does this miracle come from?

A glint of amusement crosses the pig-headed police officer's expression as she tries to use her best monotone voice to answer him, "Shota Aizawa."

"... As in... Aizawa-san?" Arata widens her green eyes in disbelief, her head peeking beside Todoroki's shoulder.

"You should've told us about it and spared us from the unneeded stress," Todoroki mutters, feeling both relieved and irritated, then releases his hold on Arata. He emerges from the ice barrier and saunters to both adults, with Arata tailing behind him.

You say that because you don't know the amount of paperwork that was required, Aizawa groans in his own head. He didn't say anything because it was actually a last minute decision. He wasn't even sure if it would work out.

He glances at the police sergeant next to him, who is removing the handcuffs from Arata's wrists. Thankfully, this police officer over here is a firm believer of the law. As long as it goes with the law, she is very helpful and efficient. I wouldn't be able to pull it off without her.

"Right," Aizawa gruffly affirms. "Hope you don't have any problem with that, Arata."

"Of course not!" Arata squeaks out in hurry, her green eyes flickering hesitantly when they regard him. "Um... Are you really okay with me?"

Is she seriously questioning it? He wrinkles his forehead and crosses his arms. "It's not too late if you want to change your legal guardian to the Shirayuki."

"Eh? That's— That's not what I mean..."

"Then, don't concern yourself with unnecessary things," Aizawa dismisses her worries with a flick of his hand. "You'd better start considering stuff that actually matters."

"Like what?"

"Like moving in to my place and your family name on legal papers."

The pig-headed police sergeant taps her index finger on the paper, faintly tracing the Japanese characters written on the family name field. Arata already left them through the double doors, opting to wait outside with Shoto Todoroki. The thin walls muffle their chatter, but bits and pieces of it can still be heard from the room.

The sergeant shakes her head, her snout jiggling in something akin to mirth. "She is quite an unpredictable one, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Aizawa grouses as his dark eyes skim over the rest of the documents. "After everything she's done to detach herself from their shadows, this is the last thing I expected her to do."

"I still think you're taking quite a risk by personally adopting Arata, Eraser Head."

"And I think you've made your opinion on that matter clear since last night. Not that I asked for your comments."

"I just want to say that you are a good man, Eraser Head. Not many people would do it if faced with the same situation—pro heroes, law enforcers, or civilians alike. It took a lot more than pity and willingness to help... I myself wouldn't be able to do it."

"Are you sure, Sergeant?" Aizawa scoffs as his pen dances on the paper. "Someday, you will be surprised by your own capacity to feel empathy. Come on, hand me those remaining documents. The kids are waiting outside."

Chapter Text

Based on her media-originated and limited knowledge, Arata doesn't believe there are words more suited to describe Aizawa's living place other than "minimalist". It is a humble apartment with little room to move and even less personality. Nothing there indicates a sense of ownership to her.

The ivory-colored walls are kept blank, and unlike most people, he doesn't even bother to roll out a carpet on the plain ceramic tiles. No photographs, no musical instruments, no posters, no decorations—nothing. It seems that he chose every piece of furniture out of necessity, never out of aesthetics or interest.

A black sofa bed is standing at the center of the room, several shirts sprawled messily on the backrest. A mid-sized television is sitting on a short cabinet in front of it, separated by a wooden low table with a coffee-stained mug sitting on its surface. At the opposite side of the room, a few simple appliances line up on the kitchen counter.

"Here we are," Aizawa says flatly as he shows her around his unified living-kitchen space. "Sorry for the late notice, but I forgot to tell you that this is a one-bedroom apartment, which means you don't have a room all to yourself. You will sleep on the sofa bed here."

"I don't mind," Arata replies in a timid voice and inhales the earthy scent wafting around her. It is a welcome change from the damp, stuffy underground air where she used to be. "I'm fine with anywhere above the ground."

Great answer, Aizawa mentally sighs in relief. Because he won't hesitate to kick this girl out to the balcony if she starts being difficult and ungrateful. He notices she is curiously eyeing the white rays of lamplight coming through a glass door next to the sofa bed.

"That one leads to the balcony. It faces west, so you can watch the sunset at around seven in the evening."

"Oh?" Arata perks up, a hint of fascination tinting her timbre. "I can, um, go there?"

"Yeah. Everything in this apartment, except for my bedroom and storage, is fair game. Don't break anything, though."

"Of course, Aizawa-san."

His gaze darts to the hospital gown she is wearing under her winter coat. Her old outfit was so tattered and similar to rags that the hospital allowed her to bring that gown with her.

"That way is the bathroom." he points to the small room near the entrance with his thumb, then hands her a plastic bag filled with new clothes. "Go have a shower first, we'll talk more afterwards."

After fumbling her way through understanding how the electronics in the bathroom works, Arata finally emerges out of the bathroom—clean and satisfied. She inwardly thanks the people who thought of putting written instructions on the shower and toilet buttons. That way, she managed to avoid an awkward situation with her new adoptive father.

Speaking of Aizawa, he is sitting on the sofa with two rice bowls on the coffee table, a thin steam billowing from the mouth of their plastic packages.

"You're done?" he motions for her to take a seat beside him, his eyes glancing at the plain green T-shirt and dark cargo shorts she is donning. "Do they fit? I asked one of the nurses to grab them for you."

"Yeah... Thank you, Aizawa-san."

"Are you hungry yet?" he slides over one rice bowl to her and opens the other for himself. "Mind if we talk over dinner?"

"I'm okay with it." she gives him a thankful smile and follows his lead in eating. Then, she mutters tentatively, "Um, I'm sorry you had to cook this late for me."

"Who? Me? I can't cook to save my life, Arata," he grunts as his chopsticks dive again inside his bowl. "I ordered these using online delivery."

"Oh." she cringes upon registering her error. Embarrassment paints her cheeks as red as the tomato slices in her rice bowl. Even though Shoto has shown her how to use the internet a few times, she still can't wrap her head around it. "Technology sure... evolves, huh?"

Aizawa has to admit, it is actually pretty funny to hear those words coming out from a teenager's mouth. By default, they are the ones who seamlessly follow the modern lifestyle. This kid sure has a lot to catch up on.

"So, what are your plans after this, Arata?"

"Sorry?"

"You said you wanted to live and be free from the Shirayuki. Now that basically you've achieved it, what do you want to do?"

"Honestly, I— I don't know. I used to dream of meeting my mother again, but now, I don’t know anymore…" Her chopsticks pause mid-air as she mulls over his words carefully. "To begin with, the future was always an impossibility to me, like a faraway dream. I never dared to hope for more."

"I see, no special interests. Does that mean that you will be okay with whatever I set up for you?"

"Um, sort of. By the sound of it, it looks like you have something planned for me."

"Well, you're fifteen. It's only right that you go to school for education. It's a shame that you will be one semester behind your classmates, but late is better than never, right?"

School. Like normal people. The idea sends a flutter of excitement through Arata's stomach, and she eagerly finishes the last bites of her rice and meat before answering him, "Is it... really possible? I mean, I would like to. But, um, won't my parentage be an issue?"

Aizawa dumps their now-empty plastic bowls into a nearby trash bin and heads to the kitchen counter to get some water. "I happen to know the right people to contact." As he sinks down the sofa again, he puts down another glass of water in front of her. "Water?"

"Um, thanks. If it's not a problem to you... I will do my best."

"That's what I want to hear. Since this is your first day in the society, I'm not going to ask you to do anything. You can have the rest of the evening to yourself. But brace yourself for the next couple of days, because there are a lot of things you need to learn."

Someone else may say that Aizawa is rushing things up with Arata, but he himself doesn't think so. The sooner she can navigate her own way in society, the better. He isn't going to be always available for her, after all.

Moreover, considering her problematic bloodline, it won't be wise to let any sign of weakness show, although her weakness could be as fundamental as not knowing how to switch trains. People aren't as forgiving to the ones from a shady background like her. It will be a tough process, but she must be independent as soon as possible.

"Okay, Aizawa-san."

Then, the conversation comes to a halt. Arata squirms uncomfortably on the left side of the black couch, feeling out of place and on edge in this new territory. While she is very grateful for Aizawa for stepping up, she can't help but wonder what his take on this adoption is.

Is it purely out of pity? What will he gain out of this arrangement? Is she supposed to repay him in a way or another? Considering the fact that she is indebted to him for her life, what should she do to return the favor? Should she just ask him?

"If you don't have any question for me, I'm going to turn in for the night," he says and gets up from his seat, ready to walk up to his own room. "I have other things to take care of."

"Oh, wait!"

"What is it?"

"Um, Aizawa-san?" she tries to will down her hesitation, her hands kneading a cushion in nervousness. "What can I do for you to repay your kindness?"

He glances back at her with a skeptical look on his face, his hand still on the metallic doorknob. "Just keep waking up, Arata."

"What?"

"No matter how difficult it gets in the future, keep waking up every day."

It is a little past midnight when Aizawa emerges again from his room to have a quick fill of coffee. Under the dim lamplight, he yawns and rubs his sore knuckles, popping joint after joint. A warm summer breeze blows past his man bun, as his bloodshot eyes sweep over the living room, following the direction of the wind.

Strange, he thinks in astonishment as his finger wipes the coffee table, failing to find a layer of dust on its surface. His piles of dirty clothes on the sofa and the corner of the room are also gone. His head turns to another direction and takes a look at the shiny kitchen counter.

His apartment has never been this spotless in half a year. While his standard of cleanliness doesn't match that of a slob, he doesn't exactly put an extra effort to clean either. A minimum effort is enough for him to keep it at bay.

A soft hum passes through the slightly open glass door on his left, and he curiously peers over to the balcony through the crack. Under the crescent moon, Arata is hanging the last of the laundry on the rope and pinching a couple of plastic pegs on them. Her bright green eyes are on the horizon, where the city lights and starlight meet.

"Did you just use your free time to clean?" Aizawa leans on the door and takes a sip of the warm, black liquid from his mug.

Her reverie broken, Arata flinches in surprise at his monotone, gruff voice. "I took the liberty of using some tools." she sends a hesitant smile his way, her hand scratching the back of her neck. "I, um, hope you don't mind. It's by the force of habit."

Well, he is not one to refuse a hand in house chores. "It's more than fine actually, go on. I can get used to it. Can't sleep?"

"Sort of... A lot has happened today..." A wistful sigh escapes from her lips. "I think both you and Shoto-san are miracle workers, Aizawa-san. I can't thank you enough for that."

"There is no such thing as a miracle," he brusquely refutes the idea. "Everything that happens to us comes at the cost of other's struggles and sacrifices."

"Um... Aizawa-san, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful to you guys..."

"I know."

"It's just..." Arata pats the damp clothes, smoothing their wrinkles. "You made the impossible possible for me, and I don't really know any other word to describe it..."

"Fine, I'll give you one." Aizawa quirks an eyebrow as he downs the rest of his coffee and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Try 'heroes', because that's what we do."

Chapter Text

It wasn't even for a long period of time, but visiting Arata in the hospital has been ingrained so deeply as Todoroki's go-to activity. He has to remind himself a few times along his trip from his mother's room to the hospital entrance that: no, he doesn't have any business in the south wing anymore.

A few days ago, Aizawa took Arata with him as his adopted daughter, and since then, it has been a radio silence from both of them—from Aizawa, actually, considering that Arata owns no communication device.

Todoroki supposes that it is understandable, they must have been busy preparing her to enter the society. He does wish to be kept in the loop though, seeing that she is his friend as well.

Should he just directly go home now and spend the day reading the book he picked up on recently? It's not like he has any plans for the day after visiting his mother. He barely passed the second chapter last night, and there's still so much he has to take in, even if the book itself merely covers various fire applications from the theoretical side.

Just as he turns to the direction of Tokyo Station, his phone receives a notification, sending light vibrations through the fabric of his sling bag. Given nothing urgent to do, he decides to check it right away.

When Aizawa invited Todoroki to join him and Arata for a picnic, he did not expect the boy to arrive so soon. Arata hasn't even finished laying out a blanket over the grassy field when he appears.

"I was in the area." Todoroki gives Aizawa a slight shrug, then turns to help Arata spread the grey-white checkered fabric. "You want to spread it here, Ara?"

"Hi, Shoto-san." A small smile splits her face as she pulls the other side of the blanket gently. "Maybe we should move it a little to the left."

"Under that cherry blossom tree seems like a decent spot," Aizawa comments, his hand holding a bucket bag filled with plastic containers. "It is a bit cloudy now, but it will be too warm once the cloud moves again, so a natural sunshade will be great."

It is a bit unfortunate that we're here during the summer, not spring. Todoroki's gaze travels to the green leaves adorning the wooden branches, not a single pink petal in sight. Well, there is always next year, we're not in a hurry.

He settles down next to Arata on the blanket as Aizawa claims the opposite corner as his seat. "So, what's the occasion?"

"Arata made sandwiches for our lunch, so might as well make it a picnic," the man answers with a nonchalant tone, his messy black hair swayed by a rush of humid air. "Besides, it will be a good break from all of our activities lately."

"Aizawa-san has been introducing me to shopping, commuting, and other things," Arata explains when Todoroki throws her a confused look, her hands fishing out a few boxes from the bag.

"I see. Have you gotten the hang of it?"

"More or less, yes. Yesterday, I managed to travel around Tokyo by bus! Still accompanied by Aizawa-san, of course."

With all of the legal matters and problems, the past week has been taxing for Todoroki, both emotionally and physically. But, what remains from that fatigue dissolves quickly as he watches Arata's grin blossom again on her face, delight dusting a faint rosy hue on her pale cheeks. She looks much, much happier here under the sunlight rather than under the hospital's lamplight.

Arata begins to open the containers' lid one by one, then slides them to the middle of their blanket. She waits for both Aizawa and Todoroki to take the sandwiches first before taking one for herself. The loaf texture is a bit coarse against her fingers, but it is warm and soft inside her mouth. Layers of cheese, ham, lettuce, and tomato follow next, leaving a delicious taste on her tongue.

Munching her sandwich blissfully, she leans her back on the tree trunk, sensing its patterned bark through her petal-sleeved cotton top. A few meters ahead of them, a lake with a surface so still and smooth that she almost considers it as a giant mirror, reflecting the cloud-filtered rays of sunlight from above. The silver illusion is broken when a bird descends its flight and scratches the lake's surface, causing water to ripple delicately.

"Oh, right." Arata taps her own forehead at a memory, then shifts a little to face her friend. "Do you live near here, Shoto-san?"

"No, my house is in Musutafu. Where did you get that idea?"

"I saw Endeavor Agency near a bus stop in Hosu City, so I thought your house would be close by."

Aizawa eyes both kids curiously as a hush falls over Todoroki. So, Arata did manage to figure out the familial connection between Todoroki and Endeavor. While it wasn't exactly a secret anymore after Donki's outburst, Aizawa did not expect her to casually mention it like it was nothing.

Endeavor is a number 2 pro hero, and that in itself is a prominent achievement, despite the flame hero's lack of appreciation for himself. As a consequence, it can't be helped that Shoto Todoroki also receives quite a spotlight, both as Endeavor's son and an aspiring hero. With publicity, one way or another, expectation and judgement for them are inevitable.

But, then again, Arata isn't part of the majority who idolizes All Might or other pro heroes—or anyone, really. She seems more enthralled by sophisticated, cutting edge technologies rather than other people. Aizawa has a hard time gauging her fascination towards different factors.

After swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, the boy finally speaks up again, "So, you know that I'm a Todoroki," earning a raised brow from her.

"Mm-hm."

"What does it mean to you?" Aizawa pitches in, while his hand is rummaging in the picnic bag on his lap. He swears he has prepared an ice cream pint before, but it mysteriously vanishes into thin air. Did I forget to bring it?

Desserts aside, Aizawa is quite interested in seeing Todoroki's deal about this. The boy has been staring at a fixed point on his right for some time now. One can regard it as his attempt at enjoying the park scenery, but Aizawa bets that he is doing it out of nerves. While his poker face can pass for a bored expression, his posture is far too stiff for someone who is relaxing.

Arata's eyebrows scrunch in puzzlement as her index finger keeps playing gently with a dandelion, poking its frail, gossamer-like sphere. "That Shoto-san belongs to the Todoroki family?"

"By that logic, the Shirayuki are your family."

"Wait... Ara, you chose 'Shirayuki' as your last name?" Shoto asks, his eyes narrowing in surprise.

"Yeah, but that's different," Arata replies, her lips pressed together in a firm line, a glint of iron flashing in her green eyes. "This way, they can't sweep their problems under the rug. I won't let the Shirayuki have their way after what they did, after the little trick they pulled to take me back and bury our charges."

Sneaky girl, Aizawa thinks to himself, a smirk threatening to break through his stoic expression. Probably, this kid isn't as docile and as ignorant as he originally thought.

Back to the topic of family name, it will do Todoroki good to talk it over with Arata. She is probably the first person who has entered his life without knowing he is a Todoroki.

Aizawa stands up from his spot and pats away pieces of dead weeds from his clothes. "Wait for me here, Todoroki, Arata. I'm off to buy some ice creams for us at the convenience store."

After he takes his leave, Arata turns to the quiet boy beside her, their shoulders barely brushing against each other. The spot between her eyebrows creases slightly, a glint of worry present in her bright green eyes.

Aizawa-san called him "Todoroki", not "Shoto" like he had usually done in front of me.

"Shoto-san... I'm sorry, um, I didn't realize that I wasn't supposed to know about your last name..."

Shoto searches her gaze, his white bangs peeking behind his crimson hair and burn scar. "It's not like that," he sighs, his right hand idly picking the tufts of grass around him. "I just didn't want it to influence your impression of me."

"I don't see why." Tiny valleys slowly form on her cheeks as her lips bloom into a smile. "Would you be less of Shoto-san if you were or weren't a Todoroki?"

Would he? Enji Todoroki makes up for at least half of his genes, while the rest originates from his mother. Would he be Shoto without his half-and-half quirk, without his half-and-half appearance, without his past? Would he still be himself? Without "Todoroki", actually... how much of "Shoto" is he?

He never thought that the day where he doubted his own understanding of himself would come. "I don't know, Ara... It has always been a major part of my life. I don't know where exactly 'Todoroki' ends and 'Shoto' begins."

"Maybe, it never begins, because you've always been 'Shoto' all along." Her slender fingers swipe her side bangs, tucking the jet black strands behind her right ear. "At your core, you are just yourself, Shoto-san."

Holding her gaze, Shoto feels a subtle twitch at the corners of his lips. "Maybe, I am," he admits, a small smile breaking through.

"You always are," Arata reassures him, smiling back warmly. "Should I start calling you by your last name instead, Shoto-san?"

"No need." His answer comes a bit quicker than usual, as if finding the idea offensive. He has grown accustomed to the way things are, and he doesn't want that to change just yet.

"Okay, okay."

The birds chirp merrily around them, their avian melodies filling the field with song. Shoto frowns as Arata rouses from her spot and jogs lightly towards the lake, leaving the greenery-filled parasol behind.

"What are you doing, Ara?" he calls out, his eyes following her path.

"You have to see this, Shoto-san!" she exclaims, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

Chapter Text

"Look, Shoto-san!" Giggling sweetly, Arata picks up a small round stone from the lakeshore and whips it out onto the silvery water. It sails through the air, creating a small splash on the lake surface before it bounces again a couple of times to the air then finally sinks like an anchor. "Did you see those ripples? The lake isn't frozen!"

Shoto joins her on the lakeside, the mud submerging his soles in gooey dirt, but he doesn't the least bit care. Instead, he stands beside her and looks for another rock from the ground. Once his gaze encounters a smooth, disc-like pebble, he crouches to pluck it.

"This will do."

"For what?"

Shoto raises an eyebrow at Arata, a gesture that looks so innocent, save for the smug curl of his lips. "Breaking your record. Two skips, isn't it?"

"Did you just make this a competition?"

"There are stone skipping championships, you know, Ara." His stone is springing up and down at the flick of his wrist. "See this."

She watches as he fires it over his shoulder like a catapult. It whizzes through the air, whistling and spinning as it goes. The moment it collides with the calm water, it bounces gloriously and launches off with a renewed speed. It carves the water with shudders and ripples every time it hits, and flies again. It looks so astonishing to her that she even forgets to count its skips.

"Eight skips," Shoto declares proudly after his stone finally loses its momentum and drowns.

"No way," Arata mutters, still in disbelief even though it happened right before her own eyes. "How? Do you do this often?"

"This is my first time."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. It's basic physics." he motions for her to get closer, then scrapes another stone from the shore. "I bet your stone looked like this. It's not flat enough to spin and generate horizontal speed."

"Well, you're right about that one."

"And, there's your grasp too."

"What about it?"

"Here." Shoto grabs her right hand and places a thin stone between her thumb and middle finger, his white-crimson strands brushing her black bangs lightly. He gently wraps her index finger around the rock's border. "It should be easier for you now."

When a few seconds passed and Arata still hasn't given him a verbal reply, he tilts his head to face her. "You look a bit flushed."

"Huh?"

Any other day, he would brush the redness on her face off as the summer heat. But, with the overcast hovering above them, he thinks she doesn't have the liberty to use it as an excuse. "Are you feeling unwell, Ara?"

Just before the tips of his fingers come into contact with her face, she quickly jerks away from his touch, as if it would burn her. The stone slips from her grasp and clatters on the shore. Humid gusts twirl her chin-length black bangs, framing her reddened cheeks and apprehensive eyes.

"No, I'm— I'm perfectly okay."

Was it because of his quirk? If Shoto didn't know any better, he would feel insulted at her knee-jerk reaction. He slowly retracts his right hand, tucking it back to his side. "I'm not going to freeze you, Ara. But, if it makes you feel better, I will only use my left hand from this point onward."

"It wasn't because of your quirk!" Arata says immediately, one hand unconsciously swiping the skin on her cheek for a brief moment. "I'm sorry I gave you the wrong idea, Shoto-san..."

"Glad to hear it." he doesn't realize that he is holding his breath until he releases it. "Shall we try stone skipping again?"

"Of course—"

Arata's words are cut in by thunder roaring amidst the grey, cotton-like canopy above them. The next second, lightning flashes in the sky, engraving a bright crooked line on the dark sky. Large, fat droplets follow soon after, crashing to the ground like someone had just poured a bucket of water upon the earth.

"Is this the rare time where the weather forecast is inaccurate?" Grumbling, Shoto quickly shields his head with his hands, which is more like a futile attempt. Not even five seconds have passed, but his outfit is already drenched to the bone. "Let's go back to the tree! We should be able to take cover there."

He is already back at their picnic spot when he realizes that she hasn't moved from her spot to follow him. "Ara?" he half-shouts over the loud pitter-patters of the rain, thunder bellowing from the distance.

Arata doesn't seem to hear him. In fact, it looks like she is worlds away. One of her hands is stretched out, her green eyes are trained on the droplets drumming her palm. Her black ponytail is slick and shiny like obsidian under the torrent downpour.

Her clothes cling to her body, displaying soft lines and curves that typically aren't visible. And even though she is soaking wet and cold—emphasized by the slight trembling of her shoulders, she stays still.

Sloshing back to the mud-caked shore, Shoto taps her shoulder worriedly, his hands not covering his head anymore. Why bother if he can't even get any wetter than he is now?

"Is something wrong, Ara?"

"Sho— Shoto-san!" Her teeth are chattering due to the harsh wind and cold rain around them. She shows her palm to him, bullets of water conjuring ephemeral patterns on her skin. "The rain— It's liquid!"

A crease appears on his forehead, feeling wholly confused at her weird excitement. "Of course it is. What's so special about that?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, it dawns on him that she has never seen rainfall before this moment.

"The Shirayuki’s land was covered with snow throughout the year," Arata recounted, staring wistfully at the bright summer sun through the window.

"Damn," Shoto mutters under his breath, utterly gobsmacked. All she knew was snowfall.

Rain is just weather to him, mundane and ordinary. But to her, these liquid, translucent drops pelting the earth must taste like freedom. Her sunny grin shines bright, even as the storm rages above them, her green eyes sparkling with newfound joy.

"Maybe this is where my life without snow begins," she says, her voice soft with wonder.

Aizawa left the kids to buy ice creams, because what's a summer picnic without them? Well perhaps three umbrellas too—despite his skepticism of their ability to provide cover. Because at some point, a thunderstorm started to run amok out of nowhere.

However, when he comes back, somehow Todoroki and Arata have made their own version of ice creams using mud and sludge under the heavy downpour. Both of them are as wet as drowned rats, crouching beside the lake with nothing to shield them from the storm. It is a surprise that their unpacked picnic equipment and blanket haven't been blown away by the turbulent wind yet.

"Um... Hi, Aizawa-san..." Arata shoots him a guilty smile, like a child who got caught sneaking candy. "We’re… trying to make our own ice cream?"

At least she still has the decency to show some remorse, unlike Todoroki who is acting like everything is normal even though it clearly isn't. His hands are molding an icky, brown lump which might very well be poop.

That'd better not be shit. Please tell me it isn't.

Expression as impassive as usual, Todoroki offers the fake ice cream to him, "Here, have a try. It’s our today’s special."

Clearly not the way I pictured this outing would turn out. Give it to these kids to constantly ruin my expectations, Aizawa slaps his own forehead, glaring at their innocent, water-ridden faces. Why the hell did I even bother to purchase umbrellas?

"Come on," Aizawa grouches, his voice laden with exasperation. One hand is holding an umbrella over his head while the other massages the bridge of his nose. "Let's get back, Arata. You too, Todoroki."

A few people are truly gifted with an ability to spew both an insult and a compliment in the same breath. Perhaps, Shota Aizawa is one of them, because he manages to pull it off with such ease.

"Great job, your shoes finally don't look like they have bulldozed through shit anymore, Todoroki."

Is it a backhanded compliment, or is it a candid observation? Sometimes, the line between them is too blurry for Todoroki to know for sure.

He opts to shift his freshly-cleaned shoes closer to the wall—next to Arata's rubber flip-flops—to avoid a sprinkle of rain that escapes through the balcony railings. After a while, although the thunderstorm has let up into a light shower, the humid weather makes it hard for the laundry to air-dry properly.

"Well, I scrubbed them thoroughly." Todoroki pats his hands to the dark pants he is donning—Aizawa's. His own outfit is currently being hung on the clothesline. Hopefully, it will be dry enough for wear once the drizzle ceases. "Any clue when the rain will stop?"

"No idea, this kind is often long-lasting." Aizawa leans on the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest. A savory waft drifts from the kitchen, teasing their nostrils with a delicious smell. "You can stick until dinner if you want, it looks like Arata has started cooking."

"Is it—"

"No, Todoroki. We're not having cold soba on a rainy day. Besides, Arata and I just had soba noodles for lunch yesterday, while we were out in the city."

"How was it?"

"What? The soba noodles?"

"I mean, her reaction to other people and vice versa," Todoroki explains, hinting at a certain police-turned-vigilante with a penchant for "hee-haw". The very same one who now sits in a prison cell for attempted murder, destined to remain there for the next six years.

"You mean, did someone pull a Donki on us?" Aizawa muses, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "Nope. I didn't think another incident would occur either."

"Why? Isn't Hanakiri a well-known villain?"

"You think so?" Aizawa counters. "Todoroki, tell me the characteristics of the villains who were arrested a month ago."

"... I don't remember," Todoroki admits.

"Exactly," Aizawa states gruffly. "With the constant flow of information and the sheer number of villains wreaking havoc, it's easy to forget details as such. It's true that Hanakiri was notorious, but she is old news. The last sighting of her was three years ago.

"Do you think people still remember? Even if they have the capability, people are eager to just put it behind them. Only those with a personal involvement will remember her up to this day."

It could be the shame of failure, like what happened with Endeavor, Aizawa recounts in his head. Retribution and revenge, like Donki. Horror and dread, like the police. Accidental encounter, like me. Or whatever else, like the Shirayuki.

Of course, things might turn out differently if both Hanakiri and Arata had a very distinctive appearance, not merely common jet black hair and a pair of bright green eyes. That girl should be thankful that she is not a praying mantis mutant.

"The same as you. The reason you still recall U.S.J. attack and Stain is because you were personally involved," Aizawa continues, his hands tying his black hair into a low bun on his nape. "For other people, it is just one attack among a million other incidents."

"Does it mean that Ara is going to settle into the society just fine?" A sliver of hope underlies Todoroki's deep voice.

"Maybe." Aizawa doesn't want to promise the certainty of it, because there are too many variables that can influence the outcome. "Let's just try and see what's next."

Perhaps it is the topic of their conversation that makes both Aizawa and Shoto so absorbed at the balcony, perhaps it is the lulling sense of the rainfall. Arata has no idea. She has been busy working on their dinner for the past hour.

"Aizawa-san? Shoto-san?" Her head timidly peeks out from the glass door, a black ponytail swinging lightly behind. "It's a bit early, but dinner is ready."

"Right, we're going in."

"Thanks, Ara."

Arata turns her head to the right, gazing at the rare drops fallen from above. "Oh, I didn't realize the rain had stopped."

Wind has torn open a rift in the vast overcast, slowly tracing the border with silver-golden linings, that herald the coming of eventide. Rays of light are shining through the celestial fissures, bathing the buildings and structures beneath in the glory of sundown.

It's like heaven opens up, her breath is caught in her throat. "Wow, the view up here... It's really pretty. Have you seen it, Shoto-san?"

"Well, I'm on the same balcony as you, Ara."

Aizawa glances at the bright-eyed girl beside him in amusement. Finally, someone who appreciates the perks of living in the upper stories.

He originally sought solitude in this place, but as the delicious smell of their dinner passes through him and the sound of their chatter fills his hearing, he thinks that perhaps—just perhaps—there will be more to it from now on.

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry Eraser Head, but with U.A.'s reputation on the line right now, we can't afford to adopt Arata."

"I understand," Aizawa replied over the phone to Principal Nezu, his feet restlessly pacing back and forth. "I will find another way."

"Eraser Head?"

"Yeah?"

"If you somehow manage to get her out of this, I'll see what I can do for her education."

Arata is sitting on the edge of a dark green sofa, her back as stiff as a board and her gaze firmly planted on the grey floor. Even without looking, she can sense two pairs of dark eyes scanning her from head to toe, leaving an indescribable itch on her skin. While one of them belongs to Aizawa—whose back is sinking on the backrest next to her—the other one comes from a thick, short man across from them.

"Principal Nezu" is how Aizawa introduces him to her. His paws bring a cup of tea to his muzzle, as his circular black eyes are observing her every move like a bear. There is an odd glint in his gaze that makes her feel like a lab rat, although he is the one bearing the physical characteristics of a mouse.

"You're far more timid than what I expected," Nezu comments with a cheery tone, stretching out his legs on the sofa casually. "I suppose Eraser Head has briefed you on our offer?"

"Um, yeah..." Arata shuffles her feet under the table, trying her best to maintain her voice steady. "The Good Will program, right? Is it... new?"

"Right. It is an experimental charity program, jointly managed by U.A. and the Hero Public Safety Committee. Our target recipients are children from less fortunate circumstances, including but not limited to orphans, villain-related parents, and others. If you accept, you will be our first... to put it harshly, 'test subject'."

"Aizawa-san told me that it comprises my transfer to U.A.'s hero course and a few school supplies."

"Yes, including a laptop, a backpack, uniforms, and other things."

Something doesn't add up. A chance like this is too good to be true for her. With Aizawa, Arata can chalk it up to his kindness and duty as a hero. But, this case is different.

U.A. is an institution and a school—the top hero academy. With their talented students assembled in a single place, they should be cautious. Giving her—a villain's daughter—access can be seen as a security breach. Besides, after the lukewarm support from the police force, she has a hard time believing that they will welcome her with open arms without a hidden agenda.

It is too much of a sacrifice to be an ordinary charity. Don't they have the slightest bit of concern that I will leak information to villains or attack their students?

"Why?" Arata lifts her head a little, letting a partial view of his white fur enter her vision. "I don't understand what you will gain out of this..."

"This is indeed a charity, but I've never said we won't get anything from you in return."

"Huh?"

Nezu slides a brown folder on the desk and motions for her to read it. For a moment, she almost thinks that it is meant for Aizawa, but the black-haired man only nods back at her in silence. She picks it up, going through line by line carefully. Her pupils widen more and more at each page turn.

Regular medical check-up. Training progress. Behavior track record. Achievements. Unfavorable conducts. Academic performance. Every little thing—down to the tiniest detail.

"What are all these for...?"

"As you see, contrary to what you assumed, we are going to ask a lot from you." Nezu smiles kindly. Perhaps it is an attempt not to scare her off, because this exhaustive list is overwhelming enough on its own. "It is for research purposes."

Arata puts the documents down on the table, feeling kind of dizzy and crushed under the weight of the request. "You're— You're turning me into a literal test subject... You're experimenting on me."

"Not the way I would put it, but yes."

With this request, they will be evaluating her every aspect based on quantitative and qualitative measures. They will scrape out numbers after numbers from her performance for three years—or maybe even more. What are they going to do with her results?

"Do you collect these data from other students too?"

"Of course not, it would be unethical. We have only issued this request to you, Arata."

Then, why should I agree with this? Is it because I don't have another choice? Her stomach churns on impulse. "Does it mean that I'm worth less than them—as a human?"

"I'm not going to fill you with lies, so here is the bitter truth," Nezu explains. "While I personally don't think that way, you are indeed from a more 'disposable' part of the society. There will be less protests against it, and as a measure to counter those later, we are asking for your permission right now. Sometimes, a little sacrifice is needed for a brighter future."

"..."

"It's the same as animal experimentation. Why do humans test their experiments on animals first, instead of other humans? Isn't it because they value one sacrifice less than the other?"

Nezu is all smiles and sunshine right now, but there is something in his tone that makes her skin crawl in dread. Is he speaking from personal experience? Arata shifts on her seat uncomfortably, finding herself reluctant to express her hesitation on the matter. Should I change the subject?

"All right, um, what research will my data be used for?"

Oh, damn, Aizawa groans in his own head as he catches a brilliant glint in Nezu's eyes. Arata has just activated lecture-mode Principal Nezu by accident.

"We can't disclose the specifics, but your data can be used for various studies on the ties between heroics and villainy. For instance, what is the determining factor that turns people to villains? Are they being guided, or is there another reason? Can someone with a potential as a villain be guided towards the right path? There have been a lot of controversies among educators regarding this, and well-guided research can point us to the right direction."

"... I didn't realize that my data were valuable enough to be exchanged with a high school program..."

"If done only once, it won't be worth that much." Nezu rubs his paws against each other, eager to share his ideas. "But, if done continuously over several years? It will be very, very valuable. Note that the contract demands for your compulsory compliance until the end of your study. In the right hands—or paws I suppose—your progressive data can yield intriguing knowledge and insights. And if all goes well, perhaps we will be able to offer proven rehabilitative measures and education to other villain-related children like you."

"I see."

"I could share other educators' hypotheses and observations on this with you if you'd like, Arata. You see, I have a stack of them in my office. Should I bring them here?"

"Huh? Wait, now? But, I thought... we're discussing the contract...?"

"Well, you have a point. Too bad, maybe we can save the study discussion for later. Shall we get back on track? Is there anything you'd like to know?"

"Then... why heroics?" Arata mutters, staring at her own hands on her lap with a pensive look. "Why not general education, support, or management?"

Because you are "disposable", like what Principal Nezu has said, Aizawa holds his own tongue, trying not to spit an implicit conclusion.

No matter how we label it, noble motivation or not, we're turning underage children into soldiers. Hell, we send them into battles where they may not return from whole. "Hero" is just a term to cover up all the dark sides.

Yet, ironically, their society relies heavily on heroes for survival. They have no choice but to train these young hero candidates as best they can. And if they want to prove that children with villainous parentage are capable of doing good, what better evidence can they—as an academic institution—provide than by creating a real hero from those unfortunate children?

Aizawa knows that Nezu is also thinking along the same lines as him, but he hopes the principal will give Arata an answer from a milder viewpoint. She is way too young to bear such a heavy burden.

Nezu takes a sip of his tea before replying calmly, "Which do you think is safer for all the people involved, sending an armed person to a group of unarmed amateurs or a unit of trained military defense?”

"Um, the latter..."

"Precisely. Any other objections or questions?"

"... I think no..."

"Well, I do," Aizawa grunts, crossing his arms lazily. "What about the press? You do realize they can blow this thing up if we make it public, right?"

"It's already handled." Nezu waves his paws and wags his orange shoes on the sofa. "For the time being, we will keep this internal among the faculty, the students, and their parents. The public announcement will come in a few months, contingent on Arata’s good performance and behavior. By then, the dust will have settled."

"Fine."

"Then, shall we go over the terms and agreements once more before you sign?" Nezu suggests, gesturing to the brown folder on the table. "To ensure there are no disagreements in the future."

Arata wants to say that she's not exactly hero material. She has a lot of flaws and can't even use her quirk properly. But if both Aizawa and Nezu see a scrap of potential in her, if there's a chance she can help others, no matter how small... She will do her best to live up to that expectation. It's the least she can do in exchange for their support.

"I would like that, Principal Nezu," Arata nods slowly, determination shining in her eyes. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

"Go beyond, Arata," Nezu encourages, his voice gentle yet firm. "Now is your chance to shape your own future."

Chapter Text

Summer vacation has just started, so typically the classrooms in U.A. should be empty. However, today, 1-A class seems to be as lively as it is during the school days.

"I can't believe the teachers asked us to come here during holiday," Sero groans, propping his chin up with one hand on his table.

"You could choose not to come," a crow-headed boy behind him speaks with a serious tone. "Today's class is not obligatory."

"I don't know about you, Tokoyami, but I can't not be curious about the new student! Others probably feel the same too, seeing that everyone came, including Bakugou."

"Fuck off, Soy Sauce Face!"

"Geez, why are you so irritable in this early morning..."

Deku lets out a light chuckle at the friendly-hostile banter between his classmates. "I also think it is strange to have a transfer student at this time of the year."

"Maybe it's a special case, like by recommendation. Does anyone in this class actually know something about it? Maybe Todoroki or Yaoyorozu?"

Kyoka Jirou shifts on her seat, turning so she can join in their conversation. "Yao-momo said she has no idea about it."

Well, actually she also said that Todoroki might have a clue about it, though. But, it's hard to tell what he really thinks about.

"I saw her with Aizawa-sensei and Principal Nezu in the hallway earlier!" Mineta slaps his table loudly, his expression brimming with pure excitement. Recognizing the suspicious redness on his puffy cheeks, Sero dares to bet all his wealth on the grape boy's imagination being perverted. "Finally, a new female addition!"

"What is she like?" As innocent as Deku's question may be, of course Mineta has to translate it as a permission to spout a stream of his unneeded observations.

"Ah I see, you're a man of culture as well." he smugly taps Deku's shoulders, who looks confused. "Too bad I only got a glimpse of her back, but according to my keen eyes, her build is pretty much the same as Tsuyu-chan. She's a little slimmer though—and not in a good way! Girls need to have some fat to stay curvy—"

"Oh my All Might, look at what you have done, Midoriya!" Sero gripes to his desk neighbor as the green-haired boy throws him an apologetic grin. "His dam is broken and his dirty thoughts are flooding out!"

Behind them, Tokoyami is wearing his usual poker face, trying to tune out Mineta's detailed descriptions.

"— She also has a ponytail like Yaoyorozu that's not as high and grand, but cute nonetheless! It begins at the center of her head and flows down to her back—"

The grape boy doesn't have the chance of continuing because a certain ash blond slams his desk, the force sending slight trembles around them. Bakugou doesn't know what he is expecting by coming to this impromptu class, but he sure didn't sign up for this perverted bullshit.

"Shut the fuck up, Grape Balls!" Bakugou's angry yell booms, diffusing the idle chatter of his friends in the class. "One more word, and I'll make you eat your own shit with dynamite."

On the other side of the class, Mina is whispering to both Kaminari and Kirishima, "Bakugou-kun seems pretty interested in this too, doesn't he?"

"Knowing Bakubro, I think he wants to see if the newcomer is strong enough to compete with him or not. Especially when she got admitted in an unordinary way."

Aizawa opens their introduction session with an explanation about U.A.'s experimental charity, which goes by the Good Will program. It is brief and succinct with a lot of glossing over on the details.

The only thing 1-A students know for sure is that the new student—Arata Shirayuki—was admitted through this program. Shoto suspects there is more to the program than meets the eye, but he supposes it is not that important at the moment.

He has to admit, his first guess that U.A. would limit the details of Arata's identity to strictly U.A. faculty members couldn't be more wrong. Aizawa lets 1-A students know the gist of her background with Hanakiri and the Shirayuki. Not to mention, Aizawa's and his involvement in her case.

"So, you're kind of her hero, Todoroki-kun?" Yaoyorozu mutters curiously next to him, still listening to Aizawa's explanation with rapt attention.

"I suppose so."

An almost silent "that's so cool!" passes through his ears, however he isn't of the same mind with her. "Not really," Shoto answers, turning his focus back to their teacher.

Looking objectively, Aizawa deserves that title more than him. After all, the man had permanently altered a major part of his life solely to help Arata, unlike him who didn't really sacrifice anything.

But then, Shoto recalls how Arata's bright green eyes lit up when he told her he wanted to be her friend. It makes him think that perhaps, it isn't the magnitude of the sacrifice that determines how worthy one’s help is.

Maybe. I'm not quite sure yet. Only one thing is certain, Shoto crosses his arms on the table, fists clutched. There wasn't much I could do for Ara without Aizawa-sensei's interference. It shows how far mere good intentions could go without abilities to back them up.

If I want to make a significant difference next time, my skills, my knowledge, my competence—they all need to improve. I have to work harder to be the hero I aspire to be.

"— I think that more or less concludes all," Aizawa says in a monotone voice, then gives a silent cue to the dark-haired girl next to him. "Let's move on to the introduction."

"Um... Hi." Arata grips the fabric of her dark blue skirt tighter, her green eyes shyly peeking behind dark eyelashes before flicking to the floor again. "My name is Arata, and um, my quirk is Praying Mantis. I can transform both my hands to mantis' claws. I'm— I'm pretty new to this, so... any help would be appreciated."

Huh... Not a bad attempt, but it's obvious that she memorized those lines, Aizawa thinks as he gestures to the students in front of him. "Is there any question for Arata before we move on?"

A hand immediately shoots up from the back corner of the room.

"Yes, Uraraka?"

"What would you prefer to be called?"

"Anything is okay, except my last name."

A laugh, as light and bubbly as Uraraka herself, escapes her lips, causing the corners of her brown eyes to crinkle merrily. She claps her hands together, the sound ringing with enthusiasm. "Arata-chan, welcome to 1-A! I can already tell that we're going to be great friends."

Arata's breath catches in her throat at the sincere welcome. Acceptance has always been a foreign concept to her, and Uraraka's kindness takes her by surprise. Her fingers fidget nervously, her eyes widening as she takes in the genuineness of Uraraka's smile, a smile that holds no judgment or malice.

She called me by my name, Arata's heart does a little leap of joy at the realization. She wants to be my friend, even after she knows about my background! Aizawa-san, Shoto-san, did you hear it too?

For a moment, Arata is at a loss for words, but slowly, when she replies, her voice is awkwardly oscillating and small, but Aizawa knows from her tone that she is genuinely grateful, "Thank you. I'll do my best to be a good friend."

"Anyone else?"

With a newfound vigor, a boy with a grape-like head stands up, his face steaming like a dumpling. "What about her seating arrangement? Where is Arata-chan going to sit?"

"At the corner, next to Yaoyorozu."

"Can she sit next to me instead? Please let me sit next to a girl!"

This boy always gets excited for the wrong reasons, Aizawa rolls his eyes, a hint of irritation creeping into his expression. At this point, he should be used to Mineta's disgusting antics, but they always prove to be more severe than his expectation. It is somewhat worrisome, honestly.

"Overruled. I think you can continue the introduction yourselves, so let's just wrap this up."

It seems the introduction has gone off without a hitch after Aizawa left their classroom. Most of the 1-A students are swarming around Arata's desk, eager to get to know their new addition.

"Hey, Arata-chan! My name is—"

"Ow, stop elbowing me!"

"Sorry, guys, but ladies first!"

"— Not all at once! Class, you're going to overwhelm her—"

"Come on, Iida! This isn't a formal class, just loosen up!"

"Get in the line if you want to talk to her!"

And, the little ruckus ensues. Shoto chooses to stay put on his desk, because well, Arata and he have already known each other. It's better for her to use this opportunity to get acquainted with other people apart from Aizawa and him.

"Finally, it's my turn! I'm Minoru Mineta!" the grape boy declares, proudly puffing out his chest, hands ready to squeeze something.

"Hi, Mineta-kun," Arata replies with a hesitant smile as he prepares to launch himself at her. "Um, what are you doing?"

"I'm here to give you a pat-down! Our tradition to ensure security— Ouch!"

"That's our local pervert, Arata-chan! You'd be better off without him, trust me." Mina Ashido already has one arm circling Arata's shoulders, her other hand chucking away Mineta. An easy-going grin is plastered on her pink face like always.

"Hell yeah, Mina-chan!" A pair of gloves are floating around both of them, clapping loudly. "That's one hell of a good slap!"

"Um, thanks a lot, Mina-chan, Toru-chan... But, is he okay, though?"

"Mineta? Sheesh, don't mind him! He's as persistent as a cockroach."

"Girls like us gotta have each other's back, especially in the face of a common enemy!"

"All right, those who want to greet Arata-chan, who's next?" Mina asks in a singsong voice, her knuckles drumming on the desk like a playful roll call.

"It's me." A tall, bulky boy steps forwards, the majority of his face covered by pale-colored hair and a blue mask. One of his arms is forming a mouth to speak, while he raises another one to shake hands. "I’m Mezou Shoji. Nice to meet you, Arata-san."

Arata tries her best to hide her flinch, but there is practically no chance that Mina, who is half-embracing her, doesn't notice.

"Hey, it's okay!" Mina chirps. "He's only as big as his heart! Don't let his appearance blow your mind."

"No, um... it's not that..."

"Really, then what—"

"Pale grey." All of a sudden, Shoto rises from his seat and joins them. His grey-cyan eyes are looking right into Arata's as he gestures to their tentacled friend. "Shoji's hair is pale grey, not white, Ara."

"Shoto-san! Oh, you're right... Um, nice to meet you too, Shoji-san."

Shoji doesn't know which one surprises him more, the fact that Todoroki manages to discern the source of Arata's distress based on such a small gesture, or the fact that they have nicknames for each other.

Their hero-victim relationship aside, Shoji wasn't expecting to see the aloof Todoroki on such friendly terms with someone outside their class. Judging by Ashido's raised brows and Hagakure’s audible gasp, he isn't the only one surprised.

"Huh, you're on a first-name basis with him? What's your secret to cracking Todoroki's shell, Arata-chan?"

"Well—"

"What shell? I'm not a turtle, Ashido."

"Yo, Bakubro!" Kirishima calls out as his ash blond friend strides towards the door, away from the chatter at the back of the classroom. "Where are you going?"

"Home. This is just a waste of my time," Bakugou grumbles, not breaking his pace.

"You're not going to talk to her? Arata-chan seems pretty chill, you know. Iida, Deku, and the others are planning to show her around U.A. after this."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly unimpressed. He doesn't understand what the other students are getting worked up for. The new girl is a freaking letdown. An infamous villain's blood is running through her veins, yet she has never utilized her quirk. To top it off, despite being so incompetent, she just waltzed in to the freaking 1-A at U.A.—the hero course they all got in only after training through hell and back.

Forget rescuing people, he isn't even convinced she would be able to protect herself from Grape Balls if Raccoon Eyes wasn't there. And, as much as he has heard earlier, either Icy-Hot or their teacher was always there to help her face her problems.

Besides being a proof that the half-and-half bastard has successfully saved someone, what is she even good for? She doesn't deserve to be a hero in more ways than one. This class doesn't need a dead weight like her to tie them all down, they obviously have better things to do than babysitting a lost case.

"She's a fucking extra," Bakugou snarls, loud enough for Kirishima to hear, then slams the door with more force than necessary. Why did he even expect her to be a potential competitor? "I don't give a fucking damn for someone who's so useless."

Chapter Text

"Dum, dum, dum! The end of this school tour is near!" Mina announces and swings the door open, doing a little dance as she bounces to the empty room. "We've been to the infirmary, the cafetaria, the development studio, and finally we're here! The most boring place in U.A.!"

"The library is not boring, Ashido-kun. It is a proper public space where students can lend study materials and—"

"Yeah, yeah, Mr. Class Rep!"

"Huh, I think this is also my first time here." Ochaco looks around the sunbathed room, sauntering around rows and rows of bookshelves. "I'm a bit surprised you know where the library is, Mina-chan. I thought only Iida-kun ever came here."

"Remember the time when I forgot to bring my math homework and Ectoplasm kicked me out of the class? He made me do it all over again from scratch here."

Yaoyorozu sits down on one of the wooden chairs, relieved that finally her feet can get some time to rest after touring the entire school. "Oh, the one where you texted Kaminari-kun to sneak me here so you could ask for answers?"

"Yup, that one!"

From another corner of the room, Midoriya is holding a colorful-looking magazine, his dark green eyes glazing from admiration. "Iida-kun! You didn't tell me there's an issue with All Might's special interview here!"

"Careful, your hero worship is showing," Mina teases the boy, but apparently he is too absorbed in the article to hear her.

"Well, I, for one, didn't know, Midoriya-kun."

Shifting closer to the magazine stand, Todoroki peers over their shoulders curiously. "Which one is it?"

"Boys and their idolization," Mina says and rolls her yellow eyes as the three fuss over the magazine. "Poor Iida-kun, he got roped in. If All Might registered himself as a religion, half of Japan citizens would be his devout followers."

She glances at Arata, who is browsing lines of books beside her without saying anything. "You're not a fan of All Might, Arata-chan?"

"I'm more of an Aizawa-ist," Arata replies with a joke, her green eyes gleaming with humor. "What about you?"

"Midnight, obviously. She rocks!"

"Didn't you say All Might is 'kinda cool' too?"

"Yeah, but I was disillusioned as soon as I found the amount of homework he and Ectoplasm assigned to you!" Mina pouts, lazily running her fingers through the pages of a thick book. "It's not cool to interfere with teenagers' summer plans, you know! I thought we could hang out around U.A. over the vacation."

"Well, my math ability is below U.A.'s standard and I have never really studied heroics before... I guess it makes sense they want me to submit some extra assignments to improve my performance on those."

"Math is the worst, isn't it? I almost didn't make it in the final terms! If it wasn't for Yao-momo, I might have to take the written test again. I'm glad I don't have to meet math again for the remainder of this vacation!"

"If I may remind you, Mina-chan," Yaoyorozu joins in their conversation. "We also have summer vacation homework. Not as much as Arata-chan's of course, but it has the same deadline, which is by the end of this week."

"Oh, damn, I didn't remember!" Grabbing her own short hair, Mina stomps on the carpeted floor. "Why does the beauty of summer vacation have to be ruined by the means of this?"

"Kyoka-chan and I plan to work on it together tomorrow at my estate. I am thinking to invite the rest of our study group. You too, Arata-chan."

"You're a lifesaver! I'm definitely going to join. What about you, Arata-chan? It will be fun, plus we—uh, Yao-momo—can help you with your difficulties!"

Yaoyorozu smiles as Arata nods, her cheeks tickled pink due to enthusiasm. She looks very happy to get invited.

"I would like to, if you don't mind, um... Yaoyorozu-chan?"

"Just call me 'Yao-momo' like Kyoka-chan and the other girls do. I would like it if you can come."

"I'm going to ask for Aizawa-san's permission later. Where is it?"

She shows a map on her phone screen, her finger hovering over the street lanes. "So, this is where U.A. is. From here, my home is at—"

Before Yaoyorozu can continue, her phone vibrates, the display going black except for "Mom is calling..." and a couple of buttons. "Sorry, I have to take this," she says politely and makes a move towards the library door. "Mina-chan, can you explain to Arata-chan about the location?"

"Sure thing, Yao-momo!" Mina gives her a thumbs-up, then whips out her own phone. "You have to see Yao-momo's estate, Arata-chan. It's so big and cool, like a palace out of a movie! Here, Kaminari and I took some selfies last time."

"I didn't know it's possible for a table to be this large..." Arata lets out a light giggle, one finger swiping through Mina's gallery. "Oh, this picture also has Sero-kun and Ojiro-kun in it."

"Yup, they're also part of our study group. That table is the least surprising of it all! Yao-momo's very rich, you see. I think generations could live using her family's wealth, and there wouldn't be a single day they had to worry about money."

"... You're exaggerating, Mina-chan..."

"I'm not! You're friends with Todoroki, aren't you? Do you know how loaded the top heroes—like his father—are?"

"Um, yeah, we're friends, but I've never given it much thought before."

"Well, Yao-momo's family consists of many famous heroes. I heard most of them are posted in the western countries overseas, that’s why we rarely hear about them in Japan."

"Don't they also have several factories and brand lines?" Ochaco pops her head between Arata and Mina, joining in their conversation. "I saw a number of things under their brand from time to time."

"That's my first time hearing it," Mina replies, tapping one finger to her own chin. "It boggles my mind why they bother doing it. If it were me, I would be using my free time to do my hobbies instead of business."

"According to some books, it is good to have multiple income sources," Arata quotes, attempting to recall some financial studies she came across in the Shirayuki's basement.

"Yeah, Mina-chan, they might see it as an investment. It's what rich people do."

"What did you say, Ochaco-chan? 'Infestation'?"

"It's 'investment', not 'infestation'."

Yaoyorozu walks into the library with a listless expression, her eyebrows knitted in the middle of her forehead and her dark eyes trained on her phone. Things have taken an unexpected turn in the opposite of her favor, and she doesn't quite know how to drop the news to her friends.

When she comes back to the table, Mina is explaining her house's directions to Arata, with Ochaco giving some advice about searching for the best routes and public transportation.

"So, after I drop off this station, turn right over here and—" Arata glances over her shoulder and flashes a smile at her. "Yao-momo, you're back! I was wondering what time the study group will begin tomorrow. Oh, um, is something wrong?"

My unease must have shown through my face, Yaoyorozu sighs, one hand is rubbing over the length of the other arm. "So, the thing is..."

"Hello, Mom?" Yaoyorozu pressed her phone to her ear, waiting for the person on the other side to reply.

"Momo Dear, are you still in school? From Principal Nezu's e-mail about the Good Will program and the new student, I thought today's class wouldn't be long."

"The class indeed has ended since some time ago, but a few friends and I are showing Arata-chan—the new student—around U.A.'s main building. Oh, that reminds me, my study group is coming over tomorrow, we're going to work on our summer holiday homework."

"That sounds nice, Dear. I will prepare the room and snacks for you all. There are six of you, yes?"

"It's seven this time, Mom. I invited Arata-chan too."

"Oh."

"Is everything okay?"

"Actually, Momo Dear, your father and I would appreciate it very much if you refrain from inviting your new friend to our home."

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"Remember the collapse of one of our industrial gas plants seven years ago, Momo? It was Hanakiri's doing. The stress it caused your father... the lives lost, the equipment and research gone... It was chaos."

"But Arata-chan has nothing to do with it..."

"I know, Dear, that's why we don't prohibit you from interacting with her. But, our estate is a safe place for our family, a place of safety and ease for your father and us. Your father is still averse to anything related to Hanakiri... The attack left quite a trauma on him, and we don't want to compromise by having her daughter over."

Yaoyorozu fell silent, the weight of her mother's words settling upon her shoulders.

"Please understand, Momo Dear. We have nothing against your new friend. But, some people need more time to let go of the past, it is a bitter pill to swallow. Please understand, at least for the sake of your father."

After Yaoyorozu finishes explaining the situation to Arata, she throws her an apologetic look. "I'm really sorry, Arata-chan. I had no idea that my family would mind."

"Oh, I see..." Arata exhales and leans on her chair's backrest. Beside her, Mina squeezes her hand to give some comfort. "It's fine, Yao-momo. I get it."

It subtly reminds Arata of Nezu's advice to her about not expecting things to change quickly. Just because she's turning over a new leaf right now, does not mean everyone else has the same mindset. She has to work hard to earn people's trust in her.

Arata would be lying if she said it didn't bother her at all. But, she has gotten so adept at blocking off rejection that she automatically brushes off the negative feelings.

Yaoyorozu mutters again, her voice filled with concern and remorse, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings..."

Come on, Arata, this is already an improvement from your previous situation. This should be nothing compared to the Shirayuki’s hostility. Don't forget your own roots. This is fine. This is good enough.

"Your invitation is enough to make me happy." A reassuring smile crosses Arata's face. "Thank you for being very kind to me. Besides, I also can do my own homework."

Yaoyorozu's expression softens, her worry giving way to relief. "I'm glad you understand," she murmurs, her voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and remorse.

"Of course, family… comes first, right?"

"Hey Arata-chan, do you want me to study with you?" Mina suggests. "I'm not sure I can actually help you, though. My academic abilities aren't so good, but we can keep each other company."

"Thanks for the offer, but you should go with Yao-momo, Mina-chan. It's a good opportunity to raise your grades. Didn't you say you need all the help you can get?"

"But, what about you?"

"As I've said—"

"She can come with me instead!" Ochaco pumps her fist in the air. "We also can study together, right, Arata-chan?"

"Are you sure?" Arata's face breaks into a grateful grin as Ochaco nods.

"Of course, it's going to be a lot of fun! We need students with better scores to join us though... I'm also struggling in some subjects... Any idea who to invite, Arata-chan?"

"What about Shoto-san?" Arata’s gaze falls on the white-crimson haired boy by Midoriya and Iida's side. "He taught me math a few times during his visits, and I think he's pretty great."

"Wait, did I hear that wrong?" Mina blinks her eyes in surprise, her voice full of astonishment. "You bonded over math equations? Sometimes I don't understand what's going inside a top student's brain!"

"Me too, Mina-chan." Ochaco shakes her head, then chuckles lightly at the sight of a green-haired boy. His gaze is glued at the magazine in his clutch, awestruck. "At any rate, I'm going to invite Deku-kun and Iida-kun too. They're going to be a massive help. Let's ask the boys once they're done with those All Might fanboy-ings."

It's a relief that everything turns out well, Mina thinks as Ochaco and Arata saunter to the boys and invite them to join their homework session. She glances at Yaoyorozu, who stays back next to her, and grins.

"Yao-momo, we can't lose to them! I'm counting on you to pound the lessons into my head! I'm pretty sure you're the better tutor than all of those boys combined."

"Pound the lessons" into someone's head actually sounds a lot more like Bakugou’s style, but Yaoyorozu accepts her challenge with renewed enthusiasm. "We'll work hard tomorrow, Mina-chan!"

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Aizawa is surprised when Arata asks for his permission to have a study group with a few other students. Both of them are sitting on the sofa in the living room of his apartment—him showing her how to operate a laptop and her trying to figure it out—when she pops out the question.

"Tomorrow? To do your homework?" he repeats, asking for her confirmation, as he sips his late night coffee.

"Yeah." Arata nods with a little more enthusiasm than usual, the black ponytail behind her head jiggling lightly. "At Midoriya-kun's house."

"Sure, why not?"

"Thanks, Aizawa-san."

As he sips his late-night coffee, Aizawa ponders in silence. He is pleased she can get along with her new classmates, but surprised nonetheless. While it has taken the adults a lot more convincing to accept Arata's presence—albeit still with a couple of written complaints, half a day is all the kids needed to welcome her with open arms. Prejudice, contempt, and personal gain are putty in the face of their innocence.

Perhaps, sometimes we—as adults—really should learn from children, Aizawa thinks, his dark eyes following Arata's fumbling fingers on the keyboard. To see things for what they are. To see people as who they are. All without entailment to external factors.

Innocence is what makes children precious, and even though his students are growing to be mature, reliable hero candidates, he hopes it won't be robbed from them in the near future. It is inevitable, he knows, for someday, they will find themselves in the unforgiving grip of reality. Anyhow, he wants to preserve their innocence for as long as he can.

All the while making sure they won't get themselves killed, of course. There is a stark difference between innocence and negligence.

Midoriya's house is within a walking distance from their school, so when Shoto passes a familiar royal blue entrance with "U.A." engraved on it, he knows within a few minutes he will reach his destination. What he didn't expect, is Arata's presence near the entrance. She is walking in the same direction as him, her hand holding up a piece of paper that looks like a hand-drawn map.

"Ara." His pace falls into slower and shorter strides next to her, walking together shoulder-to-shoulder. "What are you doing by yourself at U.A.?"

"Afternoon, Shoto-san." she smiles warmly at him, her other hand clutching the strap of her backpack. "I was with Aizawa-san, he said he had to run some 'teacher errands' today. Maybe it's about grading? Recovery Girl mentioned it during my first medical examination this morning."

"Medical examination? What for? Are you sick?"

"No, no. It's just a part of the Good Will program."

"I see." His focus then changes back to the hand-drawn map in her grip. "You still don't have a phone?"

"Aizawa-san hasn't said anything on that matter, and I don't want to be the one to bring it up. Maybe he thinks I don’t need one yet, since I can send messages using the laptop just fine."

"I didn't know you have a messenger account."

"I just registered. My friend list currently only has Aizawa-san and Mina-chan in it. She wrote her ID on a post-it for me yesterday."

Shoto pulls out his phone and scrolls his screen with his thumb. "It looks like Ashido hasn't added you to 1-A group chat."

"Oh wow, I didn’t know we can message more than one person at a time."

"Here, put in your ID to add your contact to mine. I can invite you to our group."

"Okay, thank you, Shoto-san."

"Don't forget to accept the invitation later."

"I won't miss it!" Arata mimics Uraraka's thumbs-up pose as they turn left at an intersection. "Do you think we will be able to finish all of our homework today?"

Upon hearing her question, Shoto thinks back on an invitation his father had handed over to him just before he left their house. While he dislikes the prospect of representing his father in a formal—or any—setting, a rare opportunity to visit I-Expo isn't something he can turn down easily.

He supposes it will be worthwhile for him to come, and obviously he can do without the looming threat of homework over his time there. "We'd better do."

To see Inko Midoriya is to believe that some people indeed have dominant genes. She looks like a mature, female version of Midoriya-kun, Arata quietly observes as the woman welcomes them inside. Albeit being more chubby, she shares the same round cheeks, hair, and eyes as their freckled friend.

Although Inko has generously given them her permission to study in their residence, Arata feels that she is still a bit conflicted about having a villain's daughter over. She is trying to cover it up by smiling, but Arata is well aware of her consistent preference to be closer to Shoto rather than her when they are ushered to Midoriya's room.

It's okay, Arata tells herself quietly as Shoto knocks the wooden door in front of them with his knuckles. As long as I keep doing the right thing and refrain from making any problems, someday it will pass. I should focus on what I can first.

"Hi, Todoroki-kun, Arata-chan!"

Ochaco greets them with a wide grin, her hands pulling out several books from her bag to the blue-carpeted floor. Midoriya is sitting on his bed, which is a shade darker from the flooring, with a stack of blank papers.

Arata turns her head to the more vacant side of the room—save for some All Might posters on the wall, fully expecting to see their class representative. However, there is no Iida in sight. "Is Iida-kun not here yet?"

Shaking his head, Midoriya answers, "He's not coming. It turns out that his brother's condition is progressing very well, so they're discharging him from the hospital today. Iida-kun was very excited to hear that his brother will continue his treatment at home."

"That's great," Todoroki says as he puts down his bag next to Arata's at the corner of the room.

Recognizing Arata's lost expression, Ochaco offers her some context. "Iida-kun's brother is the pro hero Ingenium. He got severely injured by Stain, the hero killer. Maybe you've seen the news, Arata-chan. It was on TV for several days."

"Oh, right... I hope it won't be long before he's back in full health again."

"Yup!"

"Now that we're all here, shall we start doing our homework?" Todoroki asks, his back leaning to the wall, a book and a pen ready on his crossed legs.

"How are we going to do this?" Ochaco scrunches up her eyebrows. "Do it all together or what?"

"How about we do it ourselves first?" Midoriya suggests and moves to his desk and chair, giving the space on his bed to Ochaco instead. Arata sees both of their cheeks suspiciously glow red, but she doesn't say anything. "If someone gets stuck, they can ask the others."

His friends hum a collective agreement, then start working on their assignments separately.

A couple of hours in, the four of them have already started discussing the homework questions with each other. Ochaco has shifted nearer to the bed's headrest so Midoriya can explain the concepts of mechanics for her physics homework from his desk. Occasionally, he also compares his answers for English and Japanese with hers.

The exchange is a little more frequent on Shoto and Arata's end on the floor. A lot of going back and forth is involved, especially after Shoto discovers that Arata has a vast knowledge of history.

"Qing Qing City, China. Because of an outbreak of mice-carried virus, I think?" She taps her forefinger to a question on his book. "This one should be the United States, they were the first one to raise the hero notion."

"You're surprisingly good at this," he comments as his hand jots down the additional details in his answer. "Geography and well-known landmarks as well."

"It was the only way I could see the world, so I was definitely invested in it. There are stories, events, and real people in it, even if they all are not among the living anymore."

"If only you were that interested in math."

"Well... Math didn't prove to be useful in isolation, so..."

"So are history and geography."

"In my defense, it's really hard to study all these numbers and notations without proper guidance." Arata shrugs her shoulders and looks back at her scribbles on a paper. "For number 13, is this how it should be done?"

"Let me see." A slight crease appears between Shoto's mismatched eyebrows, his gaze skimming across her solutions. "You're on the right track, but you miscalculated this part. See this part, the one before your answer? This isn't the only way. You should have subtracted it too, so you can get another value of x."

Groaning lowly, Arata combs her bangs in frustration. "Why can't I get a perfect score until the end? It's like my brain deliberately glitches at least once in every section."

"You're getting there. At least you're not having problems with the basics anymore now. Is that the last of your math exercises?"

"Yeah. I will be moving on to the heroics essays and standard operating procedures soon." After Arata corrects her answer, she lifts her head up and notices Ochaco grinning at her. "Hi Ochaco-chan, how's your progress with your assignments?"

"I haven't even scratched the surface of my history and health homework, but I see that Todoroki-kun has them done. Wanna compare the answers later? I've finished physics, English, and Japanese."

"Sure," Todoroki replies shortly. "What about science? Has any of you completed it yet?"

"I have." Midoriya spins his chair to face him. "But, I'm not sure about the last section. Studies about phase transition aren’t my strong suit. I think you’re better than me at phase transition, Todoroki-kun, since you have your Half-Hot, Half-Cold quirk."

"Isn’t that mostly about gas, liquid, and solid?"

"Yes, but some of the concepts are very confusing." Midoriya bows a little so Todoroki can have a look at his science book. "See? I don’t understand how glass can be neither liquid nor solid."

"Interesting. I thought it was definitely a solid. I’ll do the science homework after this."

"Thanks. Besides science, can I cross-check my math homework with yours, Todoroki-kun? I saw Arata-san and you have worked on it."

"No problem, here."

"It looks like we're going to be stuck here for another couple of hours," Ochaco sighs and slumps to the blue bed. "I would kill for snacks right now."

"Don't, Uraraka," Todoroki warns in a serious voice. "It would be counterproductive for an aspiring hero like you."

Ochaco's jaw drops at his comment. "I didn't mean it literally, Todoroki-kun! I was just saying that I want a quick refill of food."

"Oh."

Midoriya exchanges a look with Arata, both stifling a laugh with one hand. "Uraraka-san got a point, though. Snacks will be nice."

"Then, it's settled!" Ochaco jumps out from the bed. "Let's take a breather and buy some! Arata-chan, do you want to come with me to the minimart?"

Chapter Text

"See this." Ochaco inspects a bag of potato chips, a red-colored label plastered all over it. "It's 'buy two get two free'! Wanna get these? Or do you want to get the chocolate crackers you found on the previous shelf instead?"

Huh, so people normally use discounts to attract customers... Interesting.

"No, we can get four potato chips for the price of two crackers, so I'd rather get these chips." Arata casts her gaze on the chips' price tag on the row. "Are you buying anything else?"

"Not for myself, but Deku-kun asked me to get him one of the seaweed snacks." Grinning sheepishly, Ochaco scratches the back of her own head. "My budget for this kind of thing isn't exactly large."

Arata consciously strokes a couple of bills in her pocket—her monthly allowance from Aizawa—and pastes a reassuring smile. "Same here. Are you okay, though?"

"Ah, don't worry. It's just that money has always been a problem for my family. We have enough to get by, but there isn't much left for anything else. What about you?"

"I intend to avoid asking Aizawa-san for more money. I don't want him to set aside more than necessary to take care of me."

"I understand. I also feel the same way with my father... Like there's something like responsibility weighing on my shoulders to help. I can't bring money to the table yet, but I hope the burden on his shoulders will be lighter if I continue spending less."

"So, it seems we're on the same boat."

"Yup, welcome to the club, Arata-chan." Ochaco clasps both Arata's hands between hers, save for her pinky fingers, practically bouncing. "I will teach you the ways of frugality! Together, we can save money, down to the last penny!"

"I will make sure to keep up with your lessons." Arata giggles and helps her put the snacks in the shopping bag. "Who else is in?"

"None, hence my previous excitement," Ochaco pouts and crosses her arms, leaning on the freezer behind her. "Sometimes, it feels a bit sad to do it alone."

"I'd gladly be your partner in frugality from now on, Ochaco-chan."

"Sweet! Let me grab that seaweed snack from the next row real quick, then we can bring all of these to the cashier."

After passing through a couple of blocks, suddenly Ochaco stops short at her track and slaps her own round cheeks, rising blushes on them. "Damn it! Hey Arata-chan, what date is today?"

"I forgot the exact date, but it's the middle of July." Arata quirks an eyebrow in confusion. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Can you check if my pants, uh... have a stain on them? I think my period came early."

"Oh... Wait a minute, Ochaco-chan... There's a red blotch, not too big, but..."

"Very visible?"

"Your pants are light brown, so... sort of. I have an extra pad, but it's in my bag in Deku-kun's room..."

"Nope, I'm not going back until this is solved! There are two boys in that room, and it will be too awkward to let them know. Uh, what should I do? Should I just go home? But then, I don't want to take the train with blood-stained pants..."

"How about we get back to the convenience store?" Arata suggests as Ochaco continues to chew her own lips. "I saw that they sell feminine hygiene products and disposable undergarments. Also detergent if you want to wash your pants."

"I think that's the better option out of the two. Damn, just my luck."

So, here they are again at the convenience store. Upon hearing the predicament Ochaco is in, the cashier allows her to use the staff restroom. After helping Ochaco get the required products, Arata is about to follow her inside the toilet when Ochaco hands their shopping bag to her.

"You don't have to wait here with me, Arata-chan." Ochaco sends a sheepish smile her way, one hand holding the door, the other clasping a black plastic bag. "There's a hand dryer too, so I can dry my clothes. I'm fine, it won't take long."

"Sure, take your time," Arata says to Ochaco's retreating back and waves. "I'm sure Shoto-san and Deku-kun don't mind a small delay."

Having nothing to do, Arata exits the store and leans back on a lamp pole nearby, enjoying the warm sensation the sunlight traces on her skin. Sky spreads above her like a light blue canopy with tiny clumps of white here and there, providing minimum cover for the people below.

The streets ahead are pretty much empty, probably the nearby residents choose to stay in their houses due to the hot weather. It's very peaceful, Arata closes her eyes, humming along to the song of cicadas that is teeming in the air.

"Keep that up and I will blow up your damned head, Extra."

Snapping her eyes open at the brash words, she comes face to face with a pair of piercing red eyes. The owner is glowering at her, his ash blond hair framing the plain hostility etched on his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, um..." Isn't he one of the 1-A students? He had left the class before we got acquainted properly, though. Ugh, I don't think I remember his name... I'm sure someone has told me about it, though. What was it that Kaminari-kun said? "I'm sorry, Bakagou-san."

"What did you just say?" His scowl darkens as he bares his teeth. He can't believe the nerve of this lowlife to call him stupid. Ever since her first appearance, she has rubbed him the wrong way with the way she is. "Are you fucking ridiculing me? I'll make you regret it!"

Did I get that wrong?

"I— I don't mean to! I just didn't happen to catch your name!" Arata unconsciously takes a step back, clutching the paper bag even closer to her chest as if it would defend her from a pissed-off classmate.

Not even a slight motion like that escapes Bakugou's sharp vision. A person's reaction tells a lot about someone, and out of all the responses she can exhibit, she chooses to give in right away. So submissive, so unlike... a hero.

"Unbelievable," he sneers, his smirk stretched a little broader. "There you go again, acting like a scared mouse. What can you even do? Fucking cower in front of the villains?"

Despite his menacing intimidation towards his other classmates and their aversion to it, they don't back down. It is either they fight back or they stand their ground. Heroes don't give up, especially not for the sake of merely getting out of a situation unscathed or saving their own skin.

"Yeah," Arata replies in a small voice, slowly retreating.

Bakugou's accusation hurts, because she knows she will do what is required of her if the situation calls for it. But, affirmation is the quickest way to diffuse a confrontation that she knows, and she isn't keen on jumping into conflicts. She just wants to return to Deku’s house as soon as possible.

"Shithead, I know you don't mean it!"

Ignoring the furious blond, Arata shrugs. "I, um, will get out of your hair. Once again, I'm sor—"

"Don't fuck with me."

Arata is just about to turn around and search for Ochaco when an explosion sets off in front of her. A couple of centimeters nearer, and it would be a direct blast to her face. A wave of heat emanates from his hand in front of her head, blowing past her skin.

She blinks, probably due to the burning sensation in her eyes, but makes no move to put some distance between them or avoid a follow-up attack.

"Hah, I didn't want to believe it, but you really can't do anything!" Bakugou roars crudely, noting that Arata doesn't get to react to his explosion. "Not even a single attempt to defend yourself. You fucking froze, you moron. With a reflex that slow, even my toddler self could blow you out of the water!"

"..."

Having an aspiring hero who buckles under pressure like this extra is a disgrace to the heroics. A disgrace to the heroics that U.A. has tried to teach them. A disgrace to the heroics that All Might has shown over and over. A disgrace to the heroics that Bakugou believes in.

"What a goddamn joke of a hero you will make. Forget protecting civilians, you can't even protect yourself!"

"..."

And, even after he has provoked and insulted her, this extra barely says anything. She only stares at him for a while, then shifts her focus back on the paper bag in her grasp again, apparently checking over the contents. He doesn't know which one infuriates him more, her effortless submission or her incapability of being a hero.

"Stop ignoring me, damn it!" Irritated by her lack of response, Bakugou seizes two bags of chips from her hand. "An extra like you—"

Before he knows it, Arata swiftly snatches one of them back. "You can take mine, but this one is Ochaco-chan's. Sorry."

Bakugou can't say that he is at a loss of words, because he isn't. But, for a moment there, her arm whizzes past his defenses so quickly that his reflex couldn't keep up.

Impossible, he clenches his jaw. If Extra was really that fast, she should've moved to dodge my explosion. Was I just surprised?

"You think I need your permission to have some chips!?"

"Um, no, but—"

"Shut up! I'll kill you, you extra!"

"Bakugou-kun! Arata-chan!" Ochaco yells from the entrance of the convenience store, her hands on her hips. The cashier is peeking behind her shoulders, afraid to break their little scuffle. "What is going on here?"

Finally! Arata almost jumps in joy at the sight of her friend, who looks slightly more annoyed than her normal self. "Ochaco-chan, I was just—"

"Mind your own business, Roundface!" Bakugou barks and flashes her a middle finger. "This is between me and this good-for-nothing right here!"

Ochaco's mood has gone downhill following the unexpected coming of her period. And as if the cramps and the bloody mess aren't bad enough, now she also has to deal with Bakugou's short-fused temper. Not to mention the pile of unfinished homework she left in Deku's room.

Suppressing the growing exasperation in her stomach, she takes a deep sigh and marches towards her friends.

Today is definitely not my lucky day.

Chapter Text

Weird, Midoriya thinks, his dark green eyes flicking to his wall clock again for the nth time. A trip to the convenience store in his residential area and back shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes. By now, almost twice the duration has passed, but Uraraka and Arata still aren't back in his room.

"They’re taking quite a long time," Todoroki remarks, after finishing a chapter of his book to pass the time since the girls left. He slides it back into his bag, pausing as the blazing flame on the black cover slowly glows with a soft red light in the dim compartment.

I didn't realize the logo glows in the dark, he thinks as he zips his bag close.

"Maybe I should've come with them." Midoriya furrows his eyebrows, then types a message to Uraraka's messenger account. "You know, so they wouldn’t get lost..."

"Should we go after them?"

"Wait, I'll send this to Uraraka-san first."

It turns out, Midoriya doesn't need to hit the send button, because said girl and Arata pop in from his bedroom's door the next moment.

"Sorry for the delay!" Uraraka throws a grin to both boys as she and Arata plop down their respective spots. "Here are your snacks."

"Took you quite a while." Steering his chair to face Uraraka on the bed, Midoriya glances at her in worry. "Did something happen?"

"We ran into Bakugou-kun in the convenience store," Ochaco grimaces, purposefully leaving out the part where her period came out of the blue. "Well, more precisely, Arata-chan did. When I went out from the store, he was screaming at her and all. I'm not sure how I successfully peeled him off Arata-chan, but somehow I managed to. I wonder what Bakugou-kun is doing in this area."

"Kacchan lives only a block behind this apartment. It's close by, that's why we used to play together all the time. Maybe he's out to get some things for his mom."

"Oh... I didn't know."

"Are you okay, though, Arata-san? Kacchan sometimes can be a bit aggressive."

"Why do you smell of smoke, Ara?" Todoroki inquires. The scent that lingers on her hair is subtle and barely comprehensible, but due to them sitting side by side, his catching a whiff of it is inevitable.

"I accidentally made him mad, so he tried to… scare me with his explosion." Arata looks away in shame, rubbing the back of her neck. Well, actually, it doesn't seem to be the only cause, but she doesn't want to complicate things.

"She called him 'Bakagou'," Ochaco informs the puzzled Midoriya and Todoroki, failing to contain her snicker in the process. "Kaminari-kun purposefully gave the wrong name to Arata-chan during the introduction. Who knew she would really say it to his face!"

No wonder Kacchan got so angry, Midoriya shakes his head. "Kacchan can be very harsh at times, so don't take his insults to heart, Arata-san."

"It's fine, Midoriya-kun. I was the one who messed up first, anyway."

"Oh... I suppose it's insulting because it is essentially 'Baka Bakugou'?" Shoto confirms his understanding, which is answered with a thumbs-up from the laughing Ochaco.

"Finally, you get this kind of thing, Todoroki-kun!"

"Well, this one is rather obvious." he quietly glances at Arata's face, searching for any signs of wound. "I take it that Bakugou didn't get through with his explosion, Ara?"

Technically speaking, her head is still intact, so... "Yeah."

"Students are prohibited from using quirk with the intention of injuring people outside training," he tells her about one of their ground rules. "What Bakugou did was uncalled for. You can take this incident up with Aizawa-sensei if you want."

"It's okay," Arata mutters, one hand rummaging the paper bag. "I don't think that he really intended to, anyway."

If he did, he would have set it off a little closer to my face.

"Your call." Shoto shrugs. "It doesn't make it appropriate, though."

"Mm-hm." Arata nods, then offers her bag of chips to him. She was lucky that Bakugou returned it back to her, though it was by flinging it to her face. "Want some, Shoto-san?"

"Sure. After that, we should hurry and finish our homework."

Arata's heroics homework begins with several pages full of rescue strategies and standard operating procedures. In contrast to how her mathematics homework ended up, textbooks are proven to be her greatest friend for these sections.

Midoriya, with how much he has been taking notes during his spring lessons, easily places in second place, right after her textbooks. He automatically rattles off explanation after explanation if she so much as glances in confusion at him.

It seems Midoriya-kun has Shoto-san beaten in the department that requires memorization, Arata observes as he goes off on a tangent about another one of "All Might's unbelievable feats." Well, perhaps, it's just how passionate he is about heroics. Not to say that Shoto-san isn't, though.

I wonder if I would too, had I lived in a normal family. We had been living in two different worlds, and I think mine didn't have real heroes in it. They only existed as moving pictures and sounds in a box... until Aizawa-san and Shoto-san came along.

"If All Might was a subject, I bet Deku-kun would ace every test and place first every semester," Ochaco whispers to her conspiratorially. "Even Yao-momo would have no hope of dethroning him. You'd better start putting those answers in right now, because he won't stop rambling for at least the next five minutes."

Arata looks up to her friend on the bed, then to Midoriya who is yet recounting another heroic story of the number 1 pro hero. Following Ochaco's advice, she begins writing on her book. "He idolizes All Might so much, doesn't he?"

"It's sort of adorable, honestly," Ochaco sighs with a dreamy tone, only to blush when her brain registers that she actually mumbles it out loud enough for her friend to hear. She groans in a low voice, then buries her head in a blue pillow. "Ugh, please tell me you didn't hear it, Arata-chan."

"Um… I did, but what about it?" Arata's green eyes are still trained on the book, her pen dances swiftly on the pages.

"Nothing important," Ochaco replies quickly, then dives into her homework again. "Todoroki-kun, do you have the solution to number 7 in the fifth section? I can't seem to understand the instructions right."

Arata tries to focus on the questions in front of her as Shoto sticks his neck out from his book and answers Ochaco. Her back begins to feel the strain of the long study session. She stretches her arms above her head, then returns her gaze to the book.

Just one more section, she tells herself, her eyes landing on the title of the final part, feeling relieved that her endless pile of homework will be over soon. But, wait... What is this instruction?

"The following portion is not graded, hence it is encouraged for the homework taker to answer solely based on their respective opinion."

It's been half an hour since she started doing that, Shoto glances at Arata, who is spinning her pen around her fingers again for the umpteenth time. During the recent half an hour, her green eyes have never strayed from the heroics homework in front of her.

He has to admit, it's starting to make him feel curious. Curious enough to postpone cross-examining his physics homework with Midoriya's. Is the question really difficult that it gives her such a hard time?

"If you really have no idea, it's better to skip it and move on to the next tasks first," Shoto suggests to the dark-haired girl next to him. "You can always revisit that one later."

"Um, actually... this is the last one..."

"Oh? Then, what are you waiting for?"

"I just don't know what to answer."

"Why don't you ask Midoriya like before? I'm not one to believe there's a topic about heroics that Midoriya's knowledge doesn't cover. At the very least, he will be able to give you some clues that you can use to look up the answer."

"Not this one. It's an opinion question." Arata runs her hands through her jet black bangs, letting them fall back down to her forehead like a waterfall afterwards. Sighing deeply, she looks up to meet his grey-cyan eyes. "Shoto-san, can I... ask you something?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Do you think..."

To say that Bakugou's words didn't leave a mark on her conscience is to lie. They have been buzzing over and over in her head like a broken tape since the convenience store disappeared behind her back.

Arata knows by heart how useless and helpless she has been. She doesn't need a reminder to understand that she is lacking in most things. Not only in abilities, but also drive.

While her friends genuinely strive to be a hero for whatever reason, she walks this path just because she has no choice. It is only natural for those who bend over backwards to be one, like Bakugou, to feel disgusted at her. In fact, what prevents the others from sharing his sentiment?

Sensing her hesitation, Shoto prompts, "Do I think what?"

"Um..." Arata bows her head as her voice is reduced to a low mutter. It is almost incomprehensible among Midoriya and Uraraka's chuckles from the other side of the room. "Do you think... I can't be a hero?"

Instead of an answer, what she gets is a piercing glare from him. She knows it isn't actually directed at her, but it doesn't stop her from feeling a little cold all of a sudden.

"Is that what Bakugou said to you?"

"Well..." Arata trails off, not wanting to either confirm or deny. "I mean, I can't control my quirk properly and I'm pretty much a semester behind the other students. This morning, during the routine Good Will exam... I— I couldn't even hold my mantis foreleg transformation steadily... It lasted for a fairly long time during a couple of attempts, but most of the time it didn't even pass ten seconds."

"Then, it's too early to say anything, isn't it?" Shoto surmises, his tone serious. "Too early for people to judge whether you can or cannot be a hero."

"But, compared to what you guys can do..."

"Don't compare your beginning to someone else's middle. Just do what you can for now."

"Is it really okay, though?"

"As long as you continue moving forward, it shouldn't matter."

Arata stares at him long and hard before the frown on her face blossoms into a dimpled smile. "You're wise beyond your years, aren't you, Shoto-san?"

"Is that your way of saying that I look young?"

"You wish." Arata raises an eyebrow, then giggles. "It's quite the opposite, actually. Who knows if there is a gray strand among your white hair."

"I suppose it will make aging easier on me. Imagine when it happens to you and your black hair, Ara. The gray hair will stick out like a sore thumb."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, let me struggle with this last question."

"Finally got an idea?" Shoto rubs his thumb over his own book's cover.

"Not exactly an idea," Arata replies, already concentrating on her work again. Just the courage to be on the same playing ground with you all, even if I'm not exactly on your level.

An hour later, both Todoroki and Ochaco are already standing near Midoriya's opened door, their books packed inside their bag. Midoriya himself is stacking his homework on his wooden desk.

"Wow, I didn't realize at first because it's so bright, but it's already near dinner time." Ochaco glances at the wall clock. "Summer magic, huh? Guess we're too focused on doing homework. Let's get back, Arata-chan!"

"It looks like she didn't hear you," Todoroki comments. "She's still taking a last look at her answer."

As the nearest person to Arata's spot, Midoriya walks over to the corner and calls her, "Hey, Arata-san. Uraraka-san was inviting you to walk back together with Todoroki-kun and her."

"Sorry, I was over in my mind." Arata quickly closes her book and stuffs it back to her backpack. "I'm ready now!"

It was only for a brief moment, but Midoriya caught a glimpse of the writing in her book. Arata's answer is short and simple, definitely not the kind of answer their heroics teacher—All Might—was aiming for when he gave her that question. But, it is an honest-to-god answer, one that Midoriya isn’t even sure he’d have the courage to write down himself.

Q: What can you do (e.g., abilities and quirk applications) as a hero?

A: As of now, almost nothing. I can't promise anything, but I will do my best to change that.

Chapter Text

It is often said that certain people have the lines between their daily life and work so blurred, they never fully switch off from work. Aizawa didn't want to admit being one at first, when he was living by himself.

But, with an added responsibility as an adoptive father on hand, he finds that all sorts of thoughts have jumbled up together in his mind. Even the walls of his private living space fail to ward them off.

Aizawa sighed as he threw Arata's first examination results to his work desk. As expected, the results weren't looking good. At this point, it might be even better to put her out of school, train her during the remaining time, and have her take U.A.'s entrance exam next year.

But, then again, considering the resources they all have for now, the most feasible option was to let her progress with 1-A. If she still couldn't catch up with the rest of the class by the end of the school year, they could have her retake the first grade of high school.

"Why look so disheartened, Aizawa-kun." All Might turned his office chair and pasted a grin, his sharp cheekbones protruding underneath his skin. "Arata-shoujo's capabilities can improve with intense training! Look how far Midoriya-shonen and other students have come!"

Rolling his dark eyes in irritation, Aizawa wanted to retort back that the only time he had seen Midoriya using his quirk without inflicting self-injury was during the recent rescue training race. He had to admit that All Might actually had a point though, Midoriya had indeed come a long way.

"How come someone can be so bad at controlling their own quirk?" the younger teacher grumbled and crossed his arms. "It is an innate physical ability."

"Considering her situations, we can regard Arata-shoujo as a quirkless girl who has just developed a quirk all of a sudden," All Might said. "It will take her some time to get used to her new power."

Those who didn't have the privilege to experiment with their quirk were rarely able to control it with ease. Like quirkless-born Young Midoriya with his One For All, or Young Todoroki with his dormant fire half. In a way, Young Arata was similar to them.

Of course, the learning rate differed from person to person. And, there were some exceptions like All Might himself, who had had no difficulties to unleash the full capacity of One For All since the first time he received it from his predecessor. Not to say that it didn't feel odd and unnatural at first.

Sensing Aizawa's focused glare on him, All Might continued, "For normal people like you, using quirk might feel like a second nature. But, for her, it might feel like growing an extra limb. It hasn't become a muscle memory yet. She has to call upon it and control it deliberately. Just give her time to adapt to both her surroundings and quirk."

Instead of thanking him for his stellar advice, Aizawa glares at him in suspicion. "Why do you know so much about that? It's not like you were born quirkless, were you?"

Uh oh, the corners of All Might's smile twitched, almost crumbling in an instant. He quickly covered it up with a boisterous laughter, which didn't get along with his current skinny form. "What are you saying, Aizawa-kun? Youngsters these days, so funny!"

While other kids have had some directions and training during their younger years in the junior high, elementary school, or in the family, Arata—his adopted daughter—is a blank canvas. Not a single factor ever influenced her quirk development progress. No doubt, whatever change Aizawa—no, they both make now, will have a substantial impact in the future.

Then, should I start with this little thing? Aizawa exhales, stirring a bowl of greens in front of him with a pair of chopsticks. Next to him, Arata is waiting patiently on the other side of the dark sofa, refusing to reach for her own dinner before he starts eating.

"Are you trying to make a miniature rainforest using all these vegetables?" Aizawa grouches. "Next time, put more meat in the meals."

"Oh, right... I'm sorry." Arata grimaces sheepishly as he begins munching. She often forgets that vegetables aren't difficult to get here, unlike when she was still with the Shirayuki.

"You can't develop muscles if you only have fiber and carbohydrate in your body." Aizawa swallows and glares behind his bowl. "More protein, remember that."

"Yes, Aizawa-san."

"So, how's your study group earlier?"

"It's nice." Arata pinches small bits of the rice and vegetables with her chopsticks. "Everyone is a great help and I've managed to finish my homework."

Not a bad start for her new life as a student, but not sufficient to introduce the outside world to her and vice versa, Aizawa reaches into his pocket, rubbing along the tips of his fingers on the folded I-Expo invitation. Is it time to take things to the next level?

By next level, what he actually means is dropping Arata right into a world-class event. One might argue that his methods are quite extreme. But, Aizawa believes that if a person can handle two opposite extremes, they also should be able to withstand any situation within the range.

"Does that mean you have nothing to do tonight?"

"Um... I'm doing the laundry?"

"Forget the laundry, you can do it later." Aizawa raises one eyebrow and puts down his empty dish on the coffee table. "Look up some info about I-Expo, I-Island, and air travel on the internet. Well, all about them if possible. Let me know when you're done."

Aizawa thinks he has dropped enough clues for her to deduce what's going on, but it seems that Arata doesn't grasp his intention. He is a bit surprised when a couple of hours later, she asks him how many pages of essay he wants it to be.

Leaning on his door frame, he stares her down and pulls out the I-Expo invitation. "It's not homework."

"Oh." Arata glances at the dark-colored card in his hand, her eyes tracing the pretty embellishment along its sides. "Um, so... you're going to the artificial moving island for a day? Do you want me to prepare anything for you?"

"Not me," Aizawa says shortly. "You are going there, and it's not only for a day. Pack your things."

"Me?" Her bright green eyes widen in genuine surprise and confusion, flicking from the invitation to his face. "Do you want me... to go? But, you aren't going and— and what about... here?"

"What do you mean?"

It is true that Aizawa didn't expect Arata to joyfully jump and wave her hands in the air, but he also didn't expect her to act so averse to the idea. What's wrong? Did I miss something?

"Aizawa-san..." Arata's voice turns lower and lower, her head bowed. "Is this... because of my bad results in the routine examination? Are you... Are you giving me up? Like… my mo— Hanakiri did?"

Stunned and suddenly wide awake, Aizawa straightens up his posture and thinks back. He is very sure he didn't look that upset this morning, but apparently Arata picked up even the tiniest details.

Does she see them as a warning sign? To anticipate something so distressing just because something so trivial...

Well, maybe part of it is his fault for mincing his words, which in turn could be interpreted in multiple ways. "Arata," Aizawa sighs, rubbing his own forehead. "It's a roundtrip ticket. You'll come back here after spending two days—not only one day—there."

Peeking from behind her bangs, Arata mutters in a timid voice, "Then, why— why aren't you going?"

"I have meetings and things to take care of for the upcoming training camp with Principal Nezu and Vlad King," he clarifies. "I-Expo is a big event with a lot of quirk-related technologies and entertainment to see. I just think it will be a suitable place for you to learn and explore. We also don't have to worry about Hanakiri getting to you there, because I-Island's security is top notch."

"So... I will go there?"

"Yes, the plane will depart tomorrow night."

She still looks doubtful and apprehensive, and there is a small part of his heart that is breaking. Has she been caged so long that she is afraid of passing through an open door? Is there a growing fear in her mind that once she passes through it, she can't go back again?

Aizawa's thoughts drift to the concept of home, the weight of her past experiences heavy upon his mind. Home, he mulls over, shouldn't be a cage. It is unfortunate that the Shirayuki and Hanakiri imprinted an incorrect notion of home upon her, although they had never actually given her a home. A real home is a nest, where the members can return anytime they want or need to.

"Look, Arata," Aizawa calls her again, drawing her attention to him instead of the floor. "You are to come home afterwards, understand? You have to start training and work hard if you want to get anything other than bad results next month. I won't go easy on you, so enjoy the last holiday you'll be having in I-Island. Do you copy?"

"Copy that," Arata breathes out and nods. "I will come back home, Aizawa-san."

"Good, then pack your stuff. We'll talk about this again in the morning."

Chapter Text

Thanks to Aizawa's last minute decision to send Arata to I-Expo, the next day takes off with a number of problems. One of them is their realization that by no chance Arata can safely depart and land on her own, considering her lack of experience.

Fortunately, it's nothing they can't handle with the help of a certain white-crimson haired boy, who also got invited to the I-Expo to represent his father, Endeavor, the number 2 pro hero.

"I thought he'd already come here before us," Aizawa grumbles, gazing at countless people ahead of them.

This airport's international terminal sure is very crowded, despite the nightfall coming in an hour. The staff have already started turning on the outdoor lamps, the lights shine the way for a series of taxis dropping off families and groups. It is like half of the citizens in Tokyo coincidentally agree to go on a summer vacation at the same time.

She might encounter more people during this exact second than the first fifteen years in her life, Aizawa thinks as he observes the girl by his side. It looks like she can hold her own fairly well for now, though. Oh well, hopefully Todoroki won't have to put the advice I have provided him with into use.

Arata tiptoes and squints her eyes, trying to find a white and crimson head among them all. "Oh, there he is. Shoto-san, we're over here!"

Shoto notices her wave and strolls towards them, heaving a bag over his shoulders. "Evening, Aizawa-sensei, Ara."

"Hey, Todoroki." Aizawa half-raises one hand in acknowledgement. "Thanks for letting Arata tag along with you for the flight. I made sure she has learned as much as she can, as not to inconvenience you in any way."

"No problem." Shoto nods, then glances at Arata. "Are you bringing any luggage?"

"Nope, just this." she taps the straps of her backpack on her shoulders. "What about you?"

"Also none. It's only a two-day trip after all." Shifting his focus back to Aizawa, Shoto asks, "Are you going to follow us inside?"

Aizawa shakes his head as a negative. "I'm needed at U.A. soon, so if you kids don't need anything else, I'll go now. Just remember to let me know after you've landed tomorrow, Arata."

He expects her to say something along the lines of "Aren't you still sleeping around those hours?", yet what he gets is: "Wait... How?"

The man frowns at her question. "By phone, for sure."

"Um, Aizawa-san... I think I don't have a phone...?"

Darn it, Aizawa gripes in his own mind. So that's what I'm forgetting.

Sometimes, he wishes for her to speak her mind more often and more loudly, so he knows for certain in which aspects he is still lacking. Fostering a child is also new to him.

That being said, the boundary between speaking up and being demanding is a fine line. And if she ever crossed that line, it would be more troublesome. Maybe it's better to leave things as they are for now.

"Sorry, it slipped my mind." Aizawa massages his sore temples. "So, no communication line at all, huh..."

"Ara can use my phone," Todoroki offers. "It's likely for us to go around the I-Expo together anyway, and we can get adjacent hotel rooms."

Arata throws him a worried look. "Are you okay with it, Shoto-san? Won't that trouble you?"

"We're going to the same event, so it's fine. Besides, I wouldn't be suggesting it if I was against it."

"Then, I'll take you up on that offer, Todoroki," Aizawa responds in a gruff voice and gives Arata's head a brief pat. "Have a safe flight, Kid. Call me if either of you need any help later."

This isn’t Shoto Todoroki’s first time traveling. For him, moving from one place to another is tedious. There isn't much to see, and most of it consists of waiting. This is especially true when flying. He usually breezes through every checkpoint, without paying attention to the mundane details.

But traveling with Arata changes everything. She looks in awe at almost everything—the conveyor belts, the flight information displays, even the baggage trolleys. He doesn't know if he should take it as an innocent, child-like excitement, or curse it as an obvious drawback of her years of isolation.

It’s a bit heartbreaking that even using a free water refill station, something ordinary to most people, is a new experience for her.

"Is it true that if we place a bottle under the hole, drinking water will automatically come out?" she mutters quietly to him, eyeing the machine in front of them. "I saw people use it in TV shows several times."

"Do you want to try?" Shoto asks, noticing the plain curiosity written on her face. When she gives him an enthusiastic nod, he pulls out his half-filled water bottle and swigs the content in a couple of gulps right away. Then, he hands the stainless steel bottle to her. "Here."

He watches her green eyes gleam in surprise as water comes out, filling his bottle in a steady, continuous stream. After it is full, Arata sheepishly hands it back to him.

"Thanks, Shoto-san."

"Come on, let's get going." he signals her to follow him with his hand. "We have to check in first."

Shortly after getting their boarding passes, Shoto leads them through security to their departure gate. He moves with practiced efficiency, staring straight ahead and performing each step with minimal attention. It's as if his body switches to autopilot, only responding to necessary cues like placing his carry-on luggage on the X-ray tray and passing through metal detectors.

While Shoto is used to ignoring people in general, Arata, who has spent most of her life in isolation, can't do the same. Her green eyes dart around nervously, and cold sweat forms on her palms and forehead. She tries her best to trail closely behind him, but even that seems to get more challenging as time goes on.

She hadn’t noticed the crowd at first, because she had been so caught up in observing the machines and technology here. But, it turns out that this airport is very packed. Even more packed than what she could have imagined.

Countless people swirl around them, some brushing against her shoulders accidentally. Their chatter and shouts buzz too loudly in her ears. Unwanted gazes from strangers scan her from head to toe for a few moments before disappearing again into the crowd.

Without warning, this airport is getting more and more frightening to Arata. She feels so lost among thousands of unknown faces here, each one a reminder of how unfamiliar this place is to her.

Don't worry, she tries to ease her nerves. I'm not alone. Shoto-san is right in front of me—

— isn't he? Arata looks straight ahead again, fully expecting to see a familiar white-crimson head again in front of her. However, Shoto is nowhere in sight. Among this sea of people, her friend has vanished without a trace.

"Shoto-san?" she pales, hoping that he will suddenly reappear out of thin air. But, nothing happens. Only strangers swarm around her, their faces foreign and uncaring.

Where is he? Did I get separated from him? Did he... leave me alone?

Something akin to fear overtakes her without warning, twisting her stomach in knots. Suddenly, the lights seem overly bright, blinding her eyes. As a sense of light-headedness washes over her, she clutches her head with trembling hands, trying to steady herself.

"Where...? Sho— Shoto-san... Come back, please..."

Arata jerks in shock when someone bumps into her shoulder, almost sending her tumbling to the floor. The stranger mumbles a short apology, then leaves without another glance.

This crowd is too much, she desperately tries to maintain any semblance of calmness left in her. I need to get away.

A wave of irrational panic sweeps over her as she scrambles aside to the wall. She instinctively curls next to a large potted plant, trying to hide from other people. Her heart hammers rapidly, feeling like it might burst out of her chest.

Every breath intake feels lacking, only fueling the scorching sensation in her lungs. Inhales turn to gasps, each one getting painfully short and ragged in seconds. But nothing hurts more than the absence of the white-crimson color in her blurred vision.

Shoto-san, where are you? Arata buries her face in her shaking knees, despair wildly clawing at her throat. Please don't leave me alone... Please come back...

Chapter Text

Shoto taps his right foot on the grey carpet of the waiting room, first in line and impatiently waiting to board the plane. The airport officer in front of him darts her gaze between the boarding passes in her hand and him. She does it for two more times before he finally sighs and asks, "Is there a problem?"

"Sir, you give me two boarding passes."

"Yes, and?"

"Why do you have two if you’re traveling on your own?"

"I'm not travelling alone, my friend is right here— Ara?"

Upon registering that there's nothing but empty air next to him, Shoto immediately whips around. His grey-cyan eyes scan the waiting room in alarm, all color rapidly draining from his face. Without another word, he snatches back the boarding passes and breaks into a mad dash.

Dread has crippled Arata into a nervous wreck. She wheezes and coughs repeatedly, forcing air into her lungs in large gulps, yet it never seems to be enough. It’s as if there was a burning hole in her throat that immediately leaked out all the oxygen she had sucked in, leaving her hanging by a thread.

Nothing stays inside her anymore. Everything trickles out at an unsettling rate, be it calmness or oxygen. It escalates even higher when she finally realizes that a green, rigid exoskeleton starts to encase both her hands, transforming them into mantis raptorial limbs.

No, no, no! Why now, out of all times?

Arata desperately curls her shivering body and hides the changing arms behind her bent knees. She chokes out a sob as she senses that the transformation slowly extends from the tips of her fingers, working its way to her elbows.

Stop it! Stop your own quirk! Stop it, Arata!

She pushes and pulls at the flow of her quirk, trying to shut it out from her system. But she can't. Her body has cut itself off her brain by force. It only listens to the primal fear in her veins, and nothing more.

Arata's control is slipping through her claws like it's sand, and the whole world is collapsing on her all at once.

"Huff... Huff... Huff..."

Normally, this shouldn’t be so taxing. Years of training have pushed Shoto's stamina to an all-time high. Circling an airport terminal a few times shouldn't take this much out of him. Yet, beads of sweat trickle down from his forehead, as palpable as the coiling concern in his stomach.

Where did we get separated? How could I be so careless? Shoto snaps his head left and right, searching for any sign of her—black ponytail, green eyes, light yellow blouse—anything. But there's nothing.

Did I really lose her? What if someone from the Shirayuki abducted her? Or worse, what if it was Hanakiri?—

— Stop! Stop, calm down... The airport is fairly secure, and there hasn't been an uproar anywhere. Shoto tightens his jaw and takes a deep breath, trying to quell the bubbling agitation in his chest. I should try again, more thoroughly this time. I might've just missed her on the previous laps.

Please be safe, Ara.

Arata thought she had reached the peak of fear. But she was dead wrong. There is no describing the horror that swallows her whole when a hand much smaller than hers taps on her right shoulder.

"Nee-san, why are you sitting here by yourself?" The young boy’s voice is cheerful, without a care for caution.

Pressing her body against the wall even closer, Arata jerks away and shrinks her body even smaller. "Don't— Don't come here! Stay away!"

"Eh? But, you look so sad!"

"No!" Arata croaks out, hoping that she has concealed her mantis forelegs enough. "Please... go away."

Don't come near me! This form is hideous. You can get hurt, and— and... it must not happen!

A mature, feminine voice calls out just as the boy seems ready to insist. "Takeo-chan, it’s rude to bother people. But my son is right. A teenager like you shouldn’t be alone. Are you lost? Where’s your mother? Do you need help finding the information center?"

"No, I'm— I'm fine..." Please just leave... Please... I'm scared...

A frown mars the woman's face as she notes Arata's shaky reply. "You're clearly not okay. Come on, let me take you to the security, at least."

Another wave of panic shoots through Arata when she hears her footfalls approaching. "Don't—"

"Please let me take it from here. I'm her friend."

After what feels like forever, Shoto finds Arata at last. It’s no wonder he missed her during his frantic search. Arata is wedged beside a large potted plant in the corner, its leaves acting as a cover for her tiny stature. If these strangers didn't interfere, he wouldn't even think to look for her here.

Without waiting for a reply, Shoto bypasses the woman and her son and crouches in front of Arata. The moment she hears his voice, her head snaps up, revealing her sweaty, pasty face. Without missing a beat, she quickly moves closer to him, resting her forehead on his left shoulder.

"Get them away... Please..."

Shoto is a bit surprised at the sudden physical contact, but he doesn't pull away. "What?"

"My— My forelegs..." she whispers to his ear with a great effort, a round of tremor racking her body.

Oh, she's hiding them, Shoto realizes, catching a glimpse of green raptorial limbs in place of her arms. That’s why Ara wanted the stranger and her son to leave.

"Are you okay?" the female stranger asks again, cuddling her son with one hand. "Do you need help?"

Shoto turns his head for a moment to give a dismissal nod. "Thanks for your concern, but we'll be fine on our own."

"Okay, if you're sure... We're off, then."

"They're gone," Shoto mutters back to Arata, her head still limp and heavy in the crook of his collarbone. It trembles ever so slightly with each of her erratic breath intake.

"I— I can't control it! I still can't... deactivate my quirk... I can't! And breathe—! I... can't breathe..."

She’s having a panic attack, Shoto realizes with a jolt. The weight of the situation settles in, making him a little nervous.

Stay calm, he reprimands himself. I can do this. Aizawa-sensei has briefed me on what to do in case this happens.

"You can, once you're calmer. Give it time. For now, Ara, can you breathe with me?"

"I— I'll... try..."

"Good. Take a deep breath." he pauses for a few seconds before continuing. "Now, breathe out."

As she struggles to follow his words, he reassures her, "You'll be fine. We're going to do this a few more times."

The next few minutes, Arata's focus is only on his calm, soothing voice.

"Breathe in... Breathe out. Breathe in... Breathe out. Breathe in... Breathe out."

Eventually, the attack subsides. Shoto can see panic slowly drizzle out from her being, returning her to the normal state. Her transformation wears off afterwards, altering the mantis forelegs back to her human arms. Only sweat glistening on her skin is the evidence of her recent hysteria.

"Water?" Shoto offers her his water bottle. Arata gives him a faint nod and accepts it with trembling hands.

After taking a few sips, she squeaks in a small voice, "Thank you, Shoto-san."

"Any idea why it happened?" His grey-cyan eyes scan her expression with a probing look.

"The crowds, maybe. I'm not sure." Arata shrugs weakly, leaning on the wall behind her. "I didn't see you anywhere and— and somehow it just happened."

Shoto almost flinches at her admission. A sense of guilt pulls on his heartstrings. He doesn't want to admit it out loud, but he has accidentally overlooked the extent of her inexperience in most things.

For someone who spent half her life with a weird commune and the other half in captivity underground, Arata certainly knows a lot, thanks to her self-learning from books, television shows, and movies. Her knowledge level is more or less on par with other people, so sometimes, it slips from his mind that she only ever watches or reads how things work; she doesn’t truly understand it.

She seems almost normal that he forgets that when it comes to experience, she has little-to-none in almost everything, including the simple little things.

Aizawa indeed has taken her to the supermarket, bus and train station, and several other places. But, what happened just now is her first time being in a public space by herself. The sheer number of people in the airport must be overwhelming for her. Coupled with her fear when she got separated from him, it must have been terrifying.

I had been so drowned in my own thoughts and boredom, Shoto's hands curl, nails digging into palms. I didn't even notice that Ara wasn't behind me anymore. It took me an airline worker asking why I had two boarding passes to realize that she had been missing.

What if the airline worker didn’t ask me? What if, by the time I realized, it had been too late? What if I’d lost her in the crowd and never found her?

This time was just a fluke. It was a fluke that had led me to her location. Next time, I probably wouldn't be so lucky...

That being said, now everything has been solved. Relief pours into his being as he plops down in front of her. Thanks to whoever is up there, he didn't accidentally lose his teacher's adopted daughter before the plane even took off. Aizawa surely wouldn't approve of it.

Not to mention, this trip wouldn't be the same without her. To be honest, he has been sort of looking forward to having a good time together. Being with Arata feels easy and effortless; he can just be himself and the worst she will do is laugh with **him.

But, at the moment, he has to address a more important matter on their hand...

"You should've told me if you were uncomfortable," he chides her gently, letting a hint of remorse lurk in his voice.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so insensitive, Ara.

Arata doesn't answer right away. She reaches up to gently caress his face, wiping away the beads of sweat that have gathered there. Her touch is tentative, her sleeve a soft caress against his skin. Astonishment slowly seeps into his expression as she gingerly dabs his forehead with it.

I didn’t even realize I was sweating so much.

"You— You came back for me... Thank you, Shoto-san."

Shoto stares at her for a couple of seconds, acknowledging the immense gratitude in her bright green eyes before answering, "Of course I did."

Don't sound so surprised or relieved about it. Of course I came back. There was never any doubt.

"I'm sorry I panicked," Arata continues in a low, regretful mutter. "I know it's supposed to be a normal thing. Everyone just walks without a care. But... I can't. I can't be normal."

"That was your first time being in a public space alone," he states pensively. "It's understandable."

"Yeah, I've never seen so many people in one place before. It's... a bit intimidating," Arata admits, rubbing the back of her neck.

Shoto mulls the problem over for some time, then an idea pops in his mind. With one swift move, he takes off his maroon hoodie and pulls it over her head. A little, surprised squeak comes out from her mouth as the fabric obstructs her vision.

"Wear this," he says in his usual monotone voice.

Because of their glaring size difference, Shoto's hoodie completely drowns Arata out. It goes past her mid-thigh. He almost can't make out her fingers peek out from the sleeves. She looks like a girl playing dress-up, donning her father's clothes or perhaps those of an older brother.

Shoto steals a look at her again and ponders, somehow feeling an odd discomfort at what his own brain has just suggested. No, not siblings, he thinks, shaking his head, we don't look related at all. If anything, she's more like...

"Shoto-san?" Arata tilts her head, his hoodie drooping over her crown and framing her sight with a maroon wreath. "Um, what is this for?"

His trance broken, he clears his throat, then slips back into the impassive tone he usually uses. "Can you still see with the hood up?"

Arata pats the fabric over her head to adjust its position, then nods to him. "Yeah."

"Do you feel better now?" Shoto's eyes delve right into hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. "There should be less people in your vision."

"Oh, you're right." she nods an affirmative, a small smile gracing her face. "This is a great solution. I hope it won't be long until I adapt to these things."

"You will eventually be normal. Let's just take one step at a time." His words soak her in a calming effect, putting her worries to rest. "Come on, we need to board the plane fast."

Arata hesitates, a bit concerned. "What if... we got, um, separated again..."

Well, obviously, she's not the only one who doesn't want to have a repeat of the earlier incident. Shoto pauses a few seconds, probably weighing his options. "To avoid getting lost, you can... hold my hand or my clothes."

Then, off they go to the next checkpoint. Arata finds walking beside Shoto comforting. Not only does he keep a safe distance with other people, but he also strides with an air of certainty. She can't pinpoint what it exactly is, but he seems sure on where they are going, and that little fact comforts her.

She tugs on the seam of his white T-shirt, not wanting to get left behind. Not that she actually needs to do that. He makes sure to match his walking pace with hers and really pays attention to his surroundings this time around.

Chapter Text

Arata unconsciously breathes a sigh of relief after they both enter the plane and it takes off. The airport and the buildings that seemed so large, now are getting smaller and smaller through the cabin window. Whatever happens, at least it won't be possible for her to get left behind again in this enclosed space.

She glances at her right side, her gaze passing Shoto's sitting figure before it flicks around the aisle. Initially, she only wants to observe the interior of this amazing aircraft that is flying them to I-Island. However, her eyes keep being drawn to a small family sitting on the seats across.

The father is holding out a colorful laminated paper, animatedly explaining safety procedures to his daughter next to him. The daughter lets out childish babbles and giggles, occasionally pointing to some pictures on it and pulling her father's tie. Considering her age, Arata doubts the daughter truly grasps what he is talking about, but it doesn't hinder the father to continue showering her with his attention.

The rest of their family are sitting a seat behind, with the teenage brother talking over various rides they will be trying during I-Expo and the mother smiling at her excited son. He feigns an annoyed frown when she helps him buckle his seat belt, which is replied with an eyeroll by his mother. Arata thinks those are acts of endearment disguised as inconsequential physical cues.

They are a small ordinary family, and the scenes playing out before Arata aren't particularly eventful by any means. But, the affection transpired between them is real and thick, and Arata finds her own chest aching at the view.

Aching because what she yearns for is right in front of her, but she knows it's not laid there for her. Aching because she wasn't born into a loving family. Aching because the ones who ought to be her family, are the ones who left her behind.

“Okaa-san, you’ll be back, won’t you?”

Arata’s murmured in the dimly lit basement, her small hands cleansing the blisters that have formed around her right ankle, a result of the strain from the heavy metallic ball chained to her leg. No one answered her calls except for the cartoon characters in television. A cheerful laughter erupts from of a cartoon couple as they spun their newfound teenage daughter.

One look at them, and Arata couldn’t take it anymore. The basement was her cage. Her mother had not come back for her. She was alone here. What was there to celebrate?

“Why did you leave m— me? You said one day Otou-san would wake up from his sleep, like Snow White… and the three of us would be together! B— But now you’re also gone…”

Her sobs filled the air, the laughter and song from the television a cruel mockery of her own reality. Arata's tears flowed freely, her small frame shaking with the force of her emotions.

“Okaa-san, I miss you… I’m so lonely here…”

Suddenly, the metallic door to her basement banged loudly, the sound reverberating through the confined space. Arata jumped, her body reflexively crumpling to her knees as the cuffs pricked her ankle, drawing red lines on her pale skin.

"Shut up, you good-for-nothing!" A voice shrieked without a care, its tone harsh and unrecognizable. A voice that used to sing her praises and braid her hair, back when they thought her quirk would be snow-related. "Who wants to hear your pathetic cries?”

Arata could only muffle her mouth, stifling her sobs, as she sank deeper to her quivering knees, her body curling in on itself under the weight of her loneliness.

Arata knows that she shouldn't compare, that she should be grateful of how her life has turned out now. But, she can't stop looking at that loving family, can't stop wishing for a little bit of that affection—

"Don't watch if it hurts."

"Shoto-san?" Arata murmurs under her breath. "You noticed?"

And then, in that moment, grey and cyan fill her vision, drawing her gaze away from the family. There is a rare, wistful glint in those eyes, and Shoto allowing his vulnerability to be visible surprises her more than the fact that he has just read her mind.

I was like you... No, I am like you.

"You're not the only one who ever dreamt of a happy family," he mutters back. Originally, he wants to leave it at that. But, when he sees that Arata is listening to him intently, he continues in a low voice.

"My old man has sacrificed a lot of things just to catch up to All Might... It put a heavy burden on my mother, which became worse after I got this burn. Then, when my oldest brother died in a training accident, she couldn't take it anymore, hence her stay in the hospital."

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother."

"Don't be. You have nothing to do with this, Ara," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "To tell you the truth... I also don't know how to feel about the accident. I didn't have a close relationship with him, or any of my siblings. Training sessions used to take up the majority of my time. It's better now, at least my older sister and second-oldest brother are on speaking terms with me."

"I see." Arata's eyes soften as she listens, taking in the weight of his words. "Isn't that... a good thing?"

"Yes," Shoto acknowledges, his gaze distant. "But that's all. My family has never done any activities together. Going on a trip like this is out of the question."

It must have been painful, Arata ponders in her mind, perceiving a hint of melancholy in his voice, to have something so close, yet so far. The picture of a family has always been far for me, impossible to grasp and with no hope but to let go.

But, not for Shoto-san. That picture of a family is so close, barely hanging just at the tip of his fingers. One touch, he might reach it... or it could slip away, drifting further into the sky.

Had circumstances been different, Shoto-san's family could have been a loving one. He could have lived in harmony... with a complete family.

Arata's heart aches for him, for the family he could have had. She wants to comfort him, but she doesn't know how. Words are failing her, they slither away from her tongue at the time she needs them the most. Not that she knows what to say, because what words will actually amount to in matters like this?

So, she settles on wrapping her sleeve-clad fingers around his left hand. Shoto raises an eyebrow at her clumsy and uncertain gesture. "Why are you holding my hand?"

She knows that he is just being his usual blunt self, but it doesn't cease a blush from rising on her face. "I— I just want to make you feel better! Isn't this... what people usually do? I mean, for comfort..."

Shoto doesn't answer. After several seconds of utter silence and awkwardness, Arata almost decides to retract her hand. She doesn't get the chance to go through with it though, because the next moment, he squeezes back, his grip firm yet gentle.

"Thanks," he breathes out, to which she replies with a bashful nod. "It seems to be working."

"I'm sorry you didn't get to have fun with your family," Arata murmurs, trying not to get too focused on his clasp on her right hand. "I'll try to make this trip worth your while."

"Why is it only for me? You also never did. I'm not the only one who missed out on fun during childhood."

"Mm-hm. Your point?"

Shoto sends Arata an amused look. He isn't one to put entertainment on his priority, but perhaps having a little fun won't hurt anybody. Besides, he is informed that there will be some attractions that can hone his abilities in I-Expo.

"Then, it means that both of us have to make the most of it."

At first, Shoto and Arata planned to spend the first couple of hours on the plane by watching a movie together. However, they must have been more drained than expected, because the next time Arata blinks, the rose gold light of dawn is peeping from the cabin window and the monitor has already turned back to a black screen.

So bright, we must have forgotten to pull the curtain down... She yawns and stretches out a hand to shut the window blinds, returning total darkness back into the cabin. I hope the light didn't disturb Shoto-san and other passengers.

Glancing at the other side, she notices that he is still sleeping with his arms folded, as if to preserve warmth. It crosses her mind that he probably feels a little cold among the gusts of air conditioner.

Arata grabs one of the blankets provided by the airline inside the seat pockets, then quietly spreads it out. She is craning sideways to drape the blanket over his torso, when his hand shoots up and grips her right wrist.

Off-balance and yanked forcefully, she tumbles out of her seat. Her knees knock with his before they plop onto the ground. A surprised yelp almost escapes her lips, but she contains it successfully, even though the blanket slips her fingers and falls to the carpet below.

Shoto's eyelids fly open immediately. His gaze is sharp and alert. It softens once he recognizes the silhouette as Arata, but he doesn't make a move. "What are you doing?"

"I— Oof!"

All of a sudden, the seat in front of Shoto reclines, pushing her back with a light thud. Talk about unexpected, she groans inaudibly as her head bumps with Shoto's chest as a result.

"You all right?" Shoto whispers, his free hand clutching the offending seat, halting it from reclining further. He nearly taps the front passenger's shoulder to let him know that he is being very inconsiderate to take up so much space and demand an apology, when the man speaks up.

"Sorry, lad," he says in a pained, hushed voice, his wrinkled face staring right ahead, not turning to meet Shoto's gaze. "Did I accidentally hit you or your friend? I need to straighten my back because it's hurting again. Pathetic what a long flight can do to an old man like me."

Before Shoto can answer with a frank "yes", Arata beats him to it. "It's fine," she insists, her jaw motion tickling him. "I— We hope you can get well soon."

"Thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience I'm causing."

After a while, both Arata and Shoto don't know what to say to each other. Her face is buried in his chest and she can't do much as she is in a kneeling position. The only thing that prevents her body from being totally pressed to his is the support that her elbows provide.

But, that doesn't mean he isn't aware of their current proximity. With her slender forearms caging his thighs and her waist clamped between his knees, even the tiniest movement results in not-so-innocent brushes.

An unintentional nudge from her and his muscles go completely rigid. Shoto doesn't dare to do anything other than keeping his body as still as a statue. Probably that's not the best move he can take, because it seems Arata is also at a loss for what to do next.

And as time goes on, it is increasingly getting cramped and awkward. Shoto breaks the silence by clearing his throat. "So, how are you going to get out of here, Ara?"

"Oh! Can you... push back that seat for a while? I'm, um, trapped between... I— I want to get back to my seat."

"Do you, really?"

What is he implying? Arata squirms uncomfortably as her heart skips a beat. Is he saying that I would like to stay like this? But, why would I want to keep staying on his chest? Wait, do I actually want it?

... What the hell am I thinking?

"Um, no— yes...?" she wriggles out from their awkward position, one hand snatching the slumped blanket on the floor and the other covering her flushed cheeks. "We... should get back to our rest, we're still a couple hours away from I-Island."

"I thought you were going to the lavatory."

Oh. That's what he meant. I feel really stupid right now. "... No, it's not that..."

"What were you doing, then?" Releasing his hold on the front seat, Shoto crosses his arms in front of his chest again. When Arata turns her head away and mumbles something unclear, he creases his forehead. "What? I couldn't catch it."

"I was— I'm just worried if you feel cold." she bites her lips, fiddling with the blanket on her lap. "Well, I'm wearing your hoodie and you didn't have anything on you except for your T-shirt... So I was trying to put a blanket over your shoulders."

"I don't get cold easily," he informs her. "Besides, I think you need it more. Your face's color is catching up to the hoodie."

"... It's not because of the temperature..."

"It's not? Then, why?"

"Nevermind..." Unable to say anything on the matter, Arata tries to bypass the awkward subject and conceal her embarrassment by giving him another question in return. "So, do you want the blanket or not, Shoto-san?"

His expression is imperceptible under the curtain of darkness, but she can sense his gaze on her face linger for a split second before he responds, "Okay, additional warmth probably will make sleep more pleasant."

Instead of taking the blanket from her hand, Shoto closes his eyes and continues dozing off, picking up where he left off without any issue. Oh well, fine, Arata shakes her head and bundles him in the blanket, a small smile tugging on her lips.

Afterwards, she searches for a comfortable snoozing position for herself and sighs contentedly, "Sleep tight, Shoto-san. We're going to need all of our energy for later, anyway."

Chapter Text

Checking into their respective hotel rooms should be easy, given the fact that both of them are provided with invitations. What they didn't realize previously, that it also means their rooms actually have been assigned based on the invitation code, which unluckily... is nowhere near to each other, different buildings even.

Next time, Shoto internally gripes as he takes a seat in the hotel lobby, both my old man and Aizawa-sensei have to forward the details to us too, not just these cards. This could have been avoided if we had sent a special request to the I-Expo organizer.

"Isn't the room provided with a telephone?" Arata suggests and sits down next to him. "Maybe we can use it."

"No," Shoto refuses quickly. "Our assigned rooms are too far."

There is a lot of ground to cover between their hotel buildings, and if something happens when either of them is outside the room, it will be too hard to find each other. After her panic attack at the airport, he doesn't want to risk it. And really, having her near him can definitely save them from a number of potential troubles.

"Um..." Arata shuffles her feet, her green eyes averted to the marble floor. "The receptionist did say we have another alternative... And, it might be the only option available... But..."

"..."

"..."

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words, each waiting for the other to break it. Finally, Shoto blurts out the big question, not bothering to pad his words with small talk, "Do you mind if I sleep in the same room as you?"

Why are you so blunt!? Arata physically winces, a hot blush crawling up her cheeks. Are you asking me just to be polite?

Bewildered, she just stays quiet, waiting for him to drop his own decision in their conversation. It is not until a full minute of total silence later, that she realizes he truly wants to know her opinion.

Despite the need for basic courtesy, why the hell is he asking her? It is for her sake that they need to hold a certain degree of precaution, damn it.

Had Shoto chosen to travel by himself, Arata is sure that he wouldn't have to deal with so much inconvenience. So far, going with her hasn't done anything except dragging him down, and there is no saying troublesome incidents won't happen again. The one with the right to refuse is him, not her.

"Shoto-san, I— I think you're the one who should mind—"

"Don't turn this on me." he rubs the back of his own neck, now feeling a tad awkward himself. "Same room with you or not, I still have access to a bed, bathroom, and air conditioner. No one is losing anything, except privacy. And, since it's only for a night, we should be able to manage."

To agree or not to agree, Arata's mind wails inaudibly as she chews on her lips. How can he say that with a straight face? As if only logic factors in this kind of situation.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Just... answer the question, Ara."

She pulls the maroon hood over her face, its color almost matching the skin underneath. "Well, if— if you don't mind... I'm not against it."

"..."

"..."

After a long silence, Shoto shoves his phone—almost forcefully—into Arata's hand. "You should talk to Aizawa-sensei... You know, to get an adult's permission for us."

One would think that Aizawa has gotten used to waking up early by now, considering his career as a high school teacher. However, he still feels cranky every time he has to get up from his bed prior to noon.

Such is the case as today. It is barely a little over eight in the morning, but here he is, nursing a cup of coffee that isn't quite as effective at reducing drowsiness as he would like. Not that he needs any at the moment, because this phone call is more than enough.

"So, they have like, three towers only for guest accommodation and still can't spare two rooms that are adjacent to each other," Aizawa concludes and sips his black coffee, his eyebrows knitted in the middle of his forehead. "They're what, fully booked?"

The communication line crackles a little before Arata answers, presenting his ear with bits and pieces of other people's conversations in the background. "Yeah, because today is I-Expo's early access and tomorrow is the grand opening..."

Actually, it makes sense, considering that I-Expo has always amassed a large amount of interest worldwide. It indeed would be a pain in the ass to manually look for a missing person among the international crowds. One error and who knows if Arata would be on a return flight for Egypt instead of Japan.

"You sure Todoroki and you don't have any other idea to avoid getting separated? Is rooming together the only option?"

"Um..."

Aizawa can hear Arata getting away from the line to speak to Todoroki, whose reply is clear enough to be heard through the phone. "Ask Aizawa-sensei if he has another alternative."

"Aizawa-san," Arata says, intending to repeat the boy's request. "Shoto-san said—"

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Aizawa answers, "I know, I heard him. No, I can't think of an alternative."

"Then, what do you think?" she asks gingerly.

"..."

"..."

"Do what you need, but nothing more than that," Aizawa growls, his voice stern. "You hear me, Arata? I knew what I was doing when I adopted a 15-year-old girl, but don't you dare get carried away and do anything inappropriate with Todoroki or whomever. I'm not planning to be a grandfather in my early thirties."

"O— Of course not!"

"I will have you know that I will not tolerate that kind of behavior. God forbid we will ever come to that. Do you copy?"

"Copy, Aizawa-san!"

Judging from her flustered voice, Aizawa thinks there is nothing Arata wants more than to sever their communication line right now. And, to be fair, he also shares the sentiment. Too bad for both of them that a guardian's responsibility does not merely entail warning, but also educating.

His cup clacks against the table, his hand massaging his own temples, trying to ease an upcoming headache. A single cup of coffee is not nearly enough for their discussion that lies ahead. "So, Arata..."

"Yeah?"

"How extensive is your knowledge about physical intimacy?"

After the most grueling few minutes of her life, Arata is finally allowed to pass the phone to Shoto. "Don't ask," she mumbles, hiding her red face in her hands as he quirks an eyebrow in question. "Aizawa-san said he wants to talk to you."

"Aizawa-sensei?" Shoto mutters to the phone, feeling a bit cautious.

"Todoroki, I will call the hotel to let them know that you both have my permission." His teacher's gruff tone greets him. "But, before that, I presume your father or your sibling has given you the talk on puberty and all those things?"

Oh, that's what made Ara so embarrassed... "My junior high school got it covered in the ninth grade."

"Good, so I don't have to repeat it again for you."

"Please don't. Did Ara have no prior knowledge about it?"

"She knew. I just reviewed it to make sure."

"I think your so-called review broke her."

"It is necessary to assert those boundaries." A low, sarcastic chuckle vibrates at the other end of the line, then it slowly returns back to a serious, dark voice. "Todoroki, you've been quite sensible, and you will keep it that way for the rest of the trip. Don't give me a reason to think otherwise of you."

"Yes."

"Under no condition any of you kids will extend this as a permission to do anything improper. And, this is not a request. This is an order. If you fail to follow this, there will be consequences."

"We understand, Aizawa-sensei," Shoto exhales. "Can we get going now?"

"Yeah. Just go back to the receptionist. I will call them."

Having been subjected to airplane seats for the last several hours makes Arata hold a certain appreciation for her comfy hotel bed. It feels good to be able to straighten my body, she rolls on her back, gazing at the yellowish ceiling above. After this, we're going to try out the rides and attractions at I-Expo. I hope those won't be as scary as they seem.

To her left is Shoto's bed, separated by an end table. His opened bag sits on it, while the owner is in the bathroom to put on his hero costume. Considering that the attractions in I-Expo make use of quirks, probably it is a smart decision.

The jet lag is real, and she finds herself almost dozing off when Shoto calls her. "Wake up, Ara. You can sleep on the rides later if you're so sleepy. Do you want to use the bathroom before we go?"

"Funny, Shoto-san. I didn't come all the way here just to sleep." Arata rubs her eyes and peels her body off the bed. "Wait, let me wash my face first."

"You don't need to change?" Shoto adjusts his utility belt, swiftly checking over the contents.

"What for?" Arata stops in the bathroom's doorway, her green eyes glancing back at her friend. Then, she pulls on the maroon hood, covers it over her head, and grins. "This is my costume for the time being."

Shaking his head in amusement, Shoto replies in an offhand manner, "Complete with your drool stain on it."

"Hey! I— I didn't drool!" A bit panicked, her green eyes skim all over the hoodie. "Or... did I? Did I?"

"See a little bit to the left."

"Oh, no!"

He almost fails to stifle his snort as Arata's pouting face rapidly turns red once again. This day is going to be fun.

Chapter Text

After exploring a small part of I-Expo with Shoto, Arata concludes that it doesn't matter which direction she looks at. Wherever her gaze lands, endless rows of attractions, exhibitions, and stalls are flanking the pathway. They paint the area with splashes of colors and decorations. Around her, people come and go in droves, visiting ride by ride with a smile and joy on their faces.

Unlike the Shirayuki's desolate snowy hills, everything is very vibrant and full of life here. Look at that, even the machines can run and speak on their own! If I remember correctly, they're security robots that keep this island safe.

"To think that the entirety of I-Island is made by humans..." Arata murmurs as she takes in the view. "It's incredible. How come I had never seen it on TV?"

Standing in front of her is Shoto. He is tapping his foot on the metal stair, waiting for their line to move. "My guess? They don't broadcast whatever's going on here for security and confidentiality reasons. Well, they don't need an advertisement, anyway. Today it's only opened for the early access guests, and look at the number of visitors."

"Makes me wonder how packed it will be during the grand opening."

"Too packed. I'm glad we won't have to experience it for long. Our return flight is tomorrow at noon."

"I wanted to say that we should try out all the rides here, but it seems like an impossible task... There are so many things to do."

"It's better to get on the ones that catch our eyes first, then go for the rest later, if we still have time."

"Sure. Oh, look, Shoto-san. It's our turn!"

A few meters ahead, a set of roller coaster cars are pulling up to the rail track with rattling sounds, delivering the shaken occupants back to the station. As soon as they disperse, the ride attendant directs them to the cars. Arata climbs to the front car. Shoto follows suit beside her.

"Strap," he reminds the excited girl as his hand buckles his own belt, "or else you will get thrown out. Like what almost happened at the pendulum ride earlier. It's dangerous."

"It was like, three rides ago, Shoto-san!" she rolls her eyes. "I've learned my lesson, don't worry."

The brakes let loose with a loud clunk and the cars take off, heaving them up on a steep hill. The train creeps higher and higher, each of its shudders sends a rush of adrenaline through Arata's veins. Although she has got on the Ferris wheel with Shoto half an hour ago, the view of I-Island from above still takes her breath away.

My world used to stop half a meter above my head—blocked by the basement's ceiling. Now, it's just an endless, blue sky up there. Nothing holds me down anymore. Sky is the only limit!

There is a certain thrill about being on top of the world, even if it is just for a short moment. She knows that Shoto feels it too, considering his white-knuckled grip on the handle, anticipating the 100-meter drop that is coming very soon.

"Hey, Shoto-san."

"What?" Something tells him that he should be wary of the playful glint in her bright green eyes and her cheeky grin.

"Raise your hands!" she pries his grip off the handle and throws their hands upward, welcoming the plunge with a laugh. "Where's the fun if you hold on?"

"Ara! For the love of—"

He can barely finish that sentence, because the next thing he knows, the coaster plummets with a blinding speed. His heart almost dives out from his throat as the ground rushes towards him in a blur. Before he knows it, he joins Arata and other occupants in screaming.

Salty sea breeze blasts hard to their face, flying open Arata's hood. Just when Shoto thinks that they will ram straight into the track, the coaster throws them into a massive barrel turn. As if it isn't enough, the coaster begins to pick up speed from the latest fall. Snatching the small hand beside him, he braces for the curves and maneuvers that whirl his world upside down.

For the next couple of minutes, the coaster is hurtling left and right with the rail track as its only axis. Each turn elicits either a laugh or a yell from Arata's mouth—he has no idea which is which anymore.

After the coaster passes through the shallow hills and slows down, it finally stops right where they started. Arata crawls out from their car and extends a hand to him, which he accepts with an indignant snort. A smug smirk spreads across her face as she pulls him out, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"You're trembling," Arata teases lightly, a playful edge smearing her tone, "and I've never heard you shout that loud. Are you afraid of a little heights?"

"Shut up." Shoto shoots her an accusing glare, his hand still clutching hers as he uses the other to help himself down the exit stairs. Who would have guessed she’d be an adrenaline junkie? "This one is on you. I was just caught off guard. Besides, that one is not 'a little heights'. It is one of the tallest and fastest jet coasters in the world."

"Want to sit for a while? To straighten your, um, shaking knees."

Sensing the smile in her voice, he frowns in exasperation. "I don't appreciate you laughing at me. You got used to these rides too fast it's not even funny."

"Sorry, sorry. Heights is way more fun than depths." Dipping her head in a giggle, Arata guides them to a bench and hides her head under the maroon hood. "But, it was exciting, wasn't it? Having our hands off only added to the thrill."

"Guess so. But, don't act like you weren't scared back then, Ara. You clutched my hand so firmly that I thought I wouldn't be able to emit ice from there ever again."

"At least, I wasn't the one who resorted to hand-holding first." Arata throws him a playful grin. She doesn't tell him that for a moment back then, his hand over hers was the number one reason that made her heart leap faster, not the roller coaster's crazy maneuvers.

Raising his eyebrows in confusion, Shoto remarks, "Was I not supposed to?"

"H— Huh?"

"I thought you said it's for comfort. During the flight, remember?"

"Oh..." Arata's cheeks flush with a hint of embarrassment. "I guess I did say that..."

"Was it a one-time offer? Should I refrain from doing so in the future?"

Is that... Is that even something you can ask so casually? Arata blinks, flustered. If you say it like that, it sounds like you're planning on holding my hand again...

Green clashes with grey-cyan, and she shyly averts her gaze, murmuring, "Um, no... I mean, you— you can hold my hand. Anytime you wish. I'm happy if it... helps."

"Thanks." Shoto's voice is quiet, his fingers slightly tightening around hers. "In return, you also can do the same, Ara. If you ever need comfort."

So you don't have to hug yourself anymore, Shoto resumes in his own head, recalling how she used to do it during her stay in the hospital. You don't have to solely rely on yourself for comfort again. Your days of being alone have passed.

It is just a simple offer. But, Arata thinks, perhaps it's what she needs: the realization that she does have somebody to turn to now. And, the way sincerity glimmers in his eyes... it leaves her breathless.

"... Okay, Shoto-san. I'll... I'll keep that in mind."

"Good."

"Um... Anyway, what's next on our list?"

"That one." Shoto points to a stadium not far from where they are, with rocks and stones surrounding its sides.

"The Villain Attack attraction?"

"Yes. It will be a waste if we leave I-Expo without trying at least one of their quirk-based games. Do you want to give it a try too?"

After spending a few moments to consider it, Arata shakes her head. "Nah, but I would like to watch you do it."

It turns out that some of their classmates are invited to I-Expo's early access event too. Both Arata and Shoto meet them on Villain Attack, when Shoto successfully brings Bakugou down from the number one on the leaderboard.

Arata is facepalming on the stadium's bleachers, watching as Iida, Deku, and Kirishima struggle to haul the shouting Bakugou away from Shoto.

Am I supposed to feel better, knowing that Bakugou-kun is indeed hostile to all people equally, not only me? Arata sighs, standing next to the girls—Yaoyorozu, Ochaco, Jirou, and Melissa Shield—as she oversees the small ruckus down there. Inwardly, she feels relieved that Bakugou doesn't seem to realize that she is also here.

"Oh my goodness, I don't think I can show my face on the same screen as Bakugou-kun again," Ochaco groans, her fingers yanking on her own short brown hair. "He's leveled up from being U.A.'s douchebag to a national embarrassment..."

"I guess it's better to go our own way for the rest of the day," Jirou exhales. "I don't want to get in trouble like them."

"What about you, Arata-chan?" Yaoyorozu asks with a smile. "Wanna go around the expo together with us? We're going to visit the Ferris wheel and then the northern area. I came here with Kyoka-chan and Ochaco-chan, so there won't be any issue with my family. It won't be like the study group invitation last time. I would like the chance to make up for... having unintentionally 'ditched' you."

"Yao-momo, please don't feel bad about the study group. It's very understandable. Besides, I also had fun with Ochaco-chan and the others."

"Hell yeah!" Ochaco beams and sticks her thumb up, quick to agree with her.

"And about exploring I-Expo... Sorry, but I've kind of made a schedule with Shoto-san... and it seems we're going in the opposite direction, so..."

"Ah, I see," Yaoyorozu says. "Probably we can spend time together some other time."

"Right, it's cool," Jirou pipes up. "No pressure. We have plenty of time. Summer vacation has just begun."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Yaoyorozu's expression lightens, black eyes shining in excitement. "Mina-chan mentioned that 'There's no summer without a swimming pool!' during our study group. Maybe we can do that later? After we're all back in Japan."

"It's a great idea! I'm definitely looking forward to it!" Out of the blue, Arata's stomach decides to make itself heard, prompting the other girls to laugh. "Oops... Sorry..."

"If you and Todoroki haven't had lunch, try going to that direction from here." Jirou beckons with her earphone jacks.

Following the spot that Jirou points with her earlobes, Arata raises an eyebrow. "That one? Huh... It looks like a large cafe."

"Kaminari-kun and Mineta-kun are working part-time in that cafe," Yaoyorozu chimes in. "I don't know about their food, but the drinks are great."

"The waiters aren't, though," Jirou adds a snarky remark. "Well, you see, Mineta being Mineta and Kaminari being Kaminari... That being said, I gotta admit they've been working pretty hard."

"I see. Thanks for the suggestion," Arata replies, then notices that Shoto is gesturing for her to meet him at the exit door. "Oh, I think I should go. See you girls later!"

An hour following their lunch, Arata and Shoto opt for various relaxing activities to avoid vomiting. Exploring the support equipment exhibition in the Pavilion. Looking for a way out in the giant garden maze. Crossing from the east to the west with a chairlift.

And, don't forget a merry-go-round with all kinds of pro heroes on it. It even features a flying All Might, which Shoto admires in silence. Arata has to admit, the details of its Young Age costume is very intricate and well-built. She herself is sitting on an Allmobile-shaped mount, the red vehicle developed by David Shield—All Might's ex-sidekick and Melissa's father.

It is then, when the sun has started to set and they are enjoying a water ride that encircles another exhibition, Shoto invites Arata to do one last action-packed activity. To which she replies with a short nod, because why not? Closing the evening with another adrenaline rush seems like a good idea.

Or, at least it seemed so, before they bump into Bakugou and Kirishima at the entrance of I-Speed. Featuring a much improved version of go-karts, I-Speed is a racing competition that allows the challengers to use their quirks to get the upper hand.

"Oi, Half-and-Half Bastard!" Bakugou yells, marching towards Shoto with violent steps. "You're bringing the useless extra with you, huh?"

Avoiding eye contact with the ash blond, Arata mutters, "Um, hello Bakugou-kun, Kirishima-kun..."

Sort of irked at Bakugou’s attitude, Shoto replies with a cool tone, "Do you really have to insult someone every time you open your mouth?"

"Yo, Todoroki and Arata-chan!" Kirishima follows Bakugou, one hand scratching the back of his head with a friendly grin. "Bakubro was complaining that this game lacks competition, since we have won two rounds without breaking a sweat here."

"Get in this competition, and I'll show you who's best, Bastard!" A snarky smirk on his face, Bakugou puffs his chest and waves his fist in Shoto's face. "Drop that dead weight, she's just gonna hold you back. I won't drag Shitty Hair too if you do that."

Chapter Text

To be fair, Arata has prepared herself to get left behind. As much as she dislikes to acknowledge it, there is some truth in Bakugou's words. Her Praying Mantis quirk isn't suited for racing, and even if it is, she is still reluctant to transform. Shoto would be better off in this competition without her.

Her only regret is to drag Kirishima back to the audience seat with her, because Bakugou insists on having a race against Shoto with neither an advantage nor a handicap. She takes a deep breath and turns to make her way to the bleachers. What Shoto says next stops her on her track, though.

"No, she's with me. You can bring Kirishima."

"Hah, we will crush you!" Bakugou spews out a derisive laugh. "So, you really can't leave this extra out of sight just for a second, Icy-Hot. She is a handful, isn't she?"

Returning his death glare with an uncertain look, Arata chooses not to answer.

"Well, I have two hands," Shoto remarks, his tone as calm as ever. "And, don't treat her like she's below you just because she doesn't pick a fight with you. No one is obliged to respond to your hostile comments. Ignoring you is within her rights."

"What!? You bastard—"

"Bakubro, we'd better get to the starting line now!" Kirishima holds the angry blond back and mouths a silent "sorry" to his other friends. "Or we will have to wait for another round to pass!"

Well, true to Kirishima's words, the current race has already started by the time the four of them reach the starting line. Anyway, it gives them a chance to ask about the rules and go over the provided vehicles, whose builds are pretty similar to each other except for their paint design.

Bakugou and Kirishima split from their group, strolling to the leftmost I-Kart — the one with color as bright as the blond's explosion. Meanwhile, Shoto and Arata pause in front of an I-Kart on the opposite end.

It has open wheels, Arata observes quietly, glancing at a huge 8 on the metallic blue shine. The frame is too thin to sit next to each other like on the plane, am I supposed to sit behind Shoto-san?

And… there’s nowhere for smoke to come out. Does it use electricity instead of gas? I wonder how fast this I-Kart actually is.

"Get on," Shoto says, breaking her concentration, as he pats the front seat. "You should try the controls first."

"Huh? Why are you in the passenger seat?"

"You're the driver, Ara."

You've got to be kidding me. "Are you sure, Shoto-san? This is my first time..."

"Look at them." he points as she slides onto the front seat. "Kirishima will be the one driving. Bakugou is going all out. I have to hold him off if we don't want to get exploded right away. If you're driving, I can take the driving part off my mind and focus more."

"Is that so? Then, please pray that our I-Kart won't keel over as soon as the race starts."

Raising the corners of his lips in amusement, Shoto reassures her, "It shouldn't be that difficult. You only have three things to use: gas pedal, brake, and steering wheel. The rest is visual-motor integration."

"Easy for you to say," Arata mumbles, gingerly running her hands on the steering wheel and placing a little pressure to the gas pedal. "... Um... It doesn't work?"

"It will only be activated later, when we're going to race for real. Maybe we should ask the staff whether we can try it out pre-race or not."

The next time they encounter Bakugou and Kirishima, it is on the starting line of the race. All ready and bundled up in protective suits and helmets, six I-Karts apart.

Arata's legs are stretched out under the I-Kart's chassis, prepared to stomp the pedals. Shoto is right behind her, sitting on the back seat, his hands gripping either iron handle on the sides.

"Remember, Ara." His helm muffles his voice, so he turns up his volume a bit. "Just stay in front of them, and I will handle the rest."

Aren't you putting too much burden on yourself? Arata wants to ask. But, even so, she isn't sure whether she will be able to help more than the driving aspect. So, she opts to stay quiet and nod.

"It's only a single lap, right? Strange, I remember every race I've watched had at least two laps."

"Yes. We don't need to pass the same track twice throughout the race. You only need to cross the finish line and it will be over. I think there will be road obstacles and other surprises, which are hard to be cleaned up without delay."

Lucky, Arata mulls over, her gaze on the asphalt track ahead of them. Shoto-san will be able to use his ice without thinking twice, as long as it doesn't hinder our own movement.

But, then again, perhaps I should've expected it. Bakugou-kun wouldn't challenge him if this race didn't allow Shoto-san to utilize his full power.

A light, cheery sound then rings through the stadium, announcing the start of their race out loud, "Welcome to I-Speed, where 8 I-Karts and their racers will compete to be the first to cross the finish line! As they race, obstacles and challenges will force them to push their quirks and skills to the absolute limit!"

"I hope I won't mess this up." A nervous laugh escapes Arata's lips as her grip on the steering wheel tightens. "I'll do my best."

"I know. Just focus on driving, Ara."

"We know you guys are excited for this, so we won't postpone it any further. Ready... Set..." the lady announcer shouts and flaunts a large flag. "Go!"

Without wasting any second, Arata immediately strikes her right foot on the gas pedal. The engine revs up and their I-Kart bolts, sailing onto the track without anyone in front of them.

It's weird, her stomach swirls uncomfortably as she steers a bit to the right, following the first right turn. Why aren't the others fighting for the lead? It's like they're waiting for something...

She dares not to peek behind, but when multiple sounds of explosion and screeching tires echo through the stadium, she can't help but think that whatever they're avoiding, it won't be worse than getting blown up by Bakugou. She feels thankful for the lack of wing mirrors, because those noises are enough to make her cower.

"Woo-hoo! This early in the race, but I-Kart 1 has rendered both I-Kart 2 and 3 out of commission! With I-Kart 8 in the lead, will they ever catch up and blow them up too?"

Lady Commentator, please don't encourage Bakugou-kun to do that to us...

"Or will I-Kart 8 get eaten by our very own Hungry Carrots first? Who says the one who has a head start will stay in the front for the rest of the race?"

... Wait, what?

As if on cue, several giant two-armed carrots pop out on the track a few meters before them. Having very little time to react, Arata hits the brake and slams the steering wheel to the left, very narrowly avoiding one Hungry Carrot.

The maneuver throws them into a tailspin, wheels screeching against the asphalt. It almost flings them outside the circuit, but somehow she manages to regain control a moment before it actually happens, albeit with much difficulty.

Damn, that one nearly gave me a heart attack! No wonder they all chose to stay behind, it's a strategic move from the experienced players!

"Watch it, Ara!" Shoto's warning rings from the back seat. "I-Kart 5 is approaching!"

Sadly, a smooth drive is just wishful thinking, as another Hungry Carrot swings its arm towards them. Arata grits her teeth and presses the gas pedal even deeper, trying to get out of its range in time.

"We're not going to make it! We've lost too much speed."

"Then, I will freeze the Carrot."

"No, don't!" Arata shouts over her helmet. "Freeze I-Kart 5! Let it get them instead!"

"... On it."

Their I-Kart bellows as it leaves behind a vehicle-shaped ice statue. The ones aboard on it cry out when the Hungry Carrot scoops them and swallows them whole.

Uh, I don't wanna even know about how that would feel, Arata cringes and accelerates even more, dodging other Hungry Carrots left and right as best as she can.

They have passed those carrots, but this is no time to relax. Just as Arata assumes they are safe enough, I-Kart 4 overtakes them from the left, its movement as vicious as a crashing wave. It rams into their I-Kart with a loud clank, attempting to shove them out of the track by force.

"Shoto-san!" Arata calls out in alarm, noticing the small sparks of fire flying due to the friction. The driver is extending a hand to her, weird mucus dripping from it. "Oh my goodness, this is so gross! Do something before the slime pools and sticks to the pedals!"

"They're really asking for it," Shoto bites out in irritation and shoots his ice to I-Kart 4's back wheels. It sends them whirring and slipping with a loud noise, and the kart spins lopsidedly before finally crashing into another kart behind it.

"Current positions! I-Kart 8 is still in the lead, having ultimately taken down two of their unlucky competitors. In the second place, I-Kart 7 is still struggling to get back on the race following I-Kart 4's crash into them—"

All of a sudden, the commentator's voice is cut off by a gaudy flash and a deafening sound of explosion. Arata can't turn her head to see for herself, but it sounds so near, so horribly close.

"— Correction! I-Kart 7 is no more. Rest in peace, buddies! Now, in their place, I-Kart 1 is catching up with the speed of a bullet. I-Kart 6 tries to flatten them with a jumbo hammer. Who wants to see some smash? Come on, bring down the hammer, aaand— Oh no, he missed! One more time, smash!"

Aren't Bakugou-kun and Kirishima-kun in I-Kart 1? Arata chews on her lips, concentrating on the zig-zag path ahead of them to put more distance. Sounds like they're in trouble. Is this really the end for them?

"But oh, I-Kart 1's driver turns the tables on them! He hardens his own body and chucks away their steering wheel like it's made of cheese! What a tough guy! That leaves I-Kart 8 and I-Kart 1 as the remaining racers! And, with the second stage in front of our eyes, who is to say they won't switch positions?"

"Ara!" Shoto yells from behind as a hint of metallic yellow enters her peripheral vision. "They're coming!"

Oh, no, Arata curses internally. The real competition has just started. Hopefully all of us can get out of this alive.

Chapter Text

"After passing the first part of the circuit, which was infested by Hungry Carrots, both I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 8 are entering the second stage! Contrary to the twists and turns they have driven through, next up is a classic straight course!"

Could this get any worse? Arata chews on her bottom lip as her right foot steps on the gas pedal even deeper, wishing that it will pick up more velocity somehow. It is no use though, their I-Kart has already reached their top speed.

Straight course is a nightmare for us. We can't get our I-Kart to surpass its limit, but they can easily do so using Bakugou-kun's blast recoil. The only thing keeping them from getting past us is Shoto-san's ice barriers.

Threatening sounds of Bakugou's explosion against Shoto's ice walls boom behind her back. The impact sends pieces of frost flying around them, making a hole for Kirishima and Bakugou's I-Kart 1 to pass. Its wheels let out a wailing shriek as Kirishima avoids a big chunk of ice debris.

"Is that all you can do, Half-and-Half Bastard!? Emit an ice barrier each time we get close?" Bakugou scoffs, his hands detonating another explosion. "You won't last until the end! Stop half-assing this and give me some real fight, you idiot!"

"I can do this all day," Shoto replies, not wasting any time to raise another ice wall to halt them.

Lies, Arata creases her forehead, staring at the curve-free way ahead. Shoto-san might sound confident, but he can't take the chatter out of his voice. Repetitively building the ice barriers must have taken a lot from him. Is there really no other way?

"Shoto-san, can't you just make them slip on ice?"

"Can't." Shoto grinds his teeth together. "I've tried, but Kirishima recovered too quickly. It'll probably work on turns or corners, but on a straight course like this, there's no chance."

We can't keep relying on his quirk like this, Arata sighs dejectedly, back to brainstorming other ideas. There isn't anything that she can do except keeping an eye on the road.

Shoto-san's stamina is draining too fast. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need other variables in this race. Variables like... more obstacles.

Maybe today is her lucky day, because it doesn't even take ten seconds for her wish to be magically granted by the announcer. "Just going straight is a bit boring, isn't it? But, worry not! We'll spice things up in a jiffy! Let's welcome the Wrecking Balls!"

Several tall cranes appear before them, stationed at either side of the track. Each of them has a massive bowling ball hanging by a rope, swinging dangerously from side to side. Similar to a giant pendulum, it sways with such force that Arata is sure it will have no problem in sending their I-Kart out of the track on contact.

Gravity pulls the first Wrecking Ball to the middle of the track, and her first instinct is to slow down for a bit and wait for it to swing through its equilibrium position. Once the ball swings upward again, they will be in the clear and can pass safely. But, of course, more often than not, reality is very messy.

Taking advantage of Bakugou's explosion recoil, Kirishima slams I-Kart 1's front to I-Kart 8's rear. Knocked off balance without a grip, Shoto almost topples out of the kart.

The crash lurches Shoto and Arata's I-Kart forward, propelling it straight to the swaying bowling ball's trajectory. Arata scrambles to hit the brake and cut off their renewed acceleration in panic, but no avail.

"Good luck facing that, Todoroki, Arata-chan!" Kirishima smirks, his sharp teeth glinting under the sun, as his friends shout in horror.

By the time Shoto lifts his head, the massive bowling ball is nearing the center a few steps ahead of them. At this point, no matter how hard Arata brakes, they still won't be able to stop before the first Wrecking Ball. No thanks to Kirishima's intervention, it's already too late.

Clenching his jaw in irritation, Shoto struggles to regain his balance and shouts, "Keep your head down, Ara! I'll try to shield us!"

"No!" Arata interjects vehemently, her teeth gritted. There is zero possibility he will make it in time. "Leave this one to me! You hang on!"

If slowing down is not an option, then the only thing we can do is go as fast as we can.

She lifts her left foot from the brake completely and slams her other foot to the gas pedal. The sudden change jolts their I-Kart with a start, the wheels whirring with a loud noise.

Gripping the handles on each side tightly, Shoto retorts back, "That's too reckless! We won't make it. It's too close!"

"We will! My instinct says so!"

"If anything goes wrong, it’ll be too hard to recover!"

"Trust me on this, okay?" Arata insists. "I'm 100% sure we will make it!"

She's nuts, Shoto grouses in his own head. But even if Arata changes her mind right now, it is nothing they can undo. Their I-Kart has accelerated too much, and it has only one purpose now: charge forward.

Not that he can do anything about it, he isn't the one in the cockpit. Arata is. The only thing he can do for now is brace for the impact.

Utilizing its full throttle, their I-Kart bolts forth. Shoto can see the giant bowling ball hurling towards their direction. Yet, when he is so certain that it will strike them, their I-Kart successfully zigzags of its way by a strand of hair. The ball only manages to graze their I-Kart a little, bumping it sideways with a small force, but it skids and returns back to the right track shortly after.

"See?" Arata laughs, drowning out Bakugou's string of curses behind them. "It works!"

White-knuckled and in disbelief, Shoto mutters breathlessly, "Impossible."

What kind of reaction time was that? Was it pure luck?

"Get ready for the next Wrecking Ball, Shoto-san!"

It looks like her previous successful feat elevates her confidence, and this time, Arata doesn't hesitate at all in deciding her next course of action. Without losing the least bit of speed, their I-Kart swerves right and left, dashing past the obstacles. Sometimes it barely dodges the Wrecking Balls, but most of the time Arata succeeds in putting a considerable distance.

However, Arata's keen driving skills aside, I-Kart 1 and its passengers are tailing them quite closely. With Kirishima's punches and Bakugou's blasts to propel the pendulums to swing in the opposite direction, catching up is not a big deal for them. Arata and Shoto have yet to savor their little escape when I-Kart 1 darts to them with an alarming rate.

"I'll kill you, you morons!" Bakugou's yell pierces the air, bellowing over the blasts he is using as an accelerator.

Ice quickly surges from Shoto's hand, freezing the pendulum separating their own I-Kart and I-Kart 1 on the spot. Instead of punching it away, Kirishima steers to the right to avoid it and gets back on their tail right away.

"Arata-chan isn't the only one who can do that, you know," Kirishima exclaims, then puts on more pressure on his gas pedal, verging closer to I-Kart 8 in front of him. "The first place is ours!"

"I won't let you pass."

Using his left hand for the first time, Shoto shoots his flame to the last Wrecking Ball he and Arata have just passed. The hanging rope burns, letting the giant bowling ball freefalls to the ground. It rolls towards Kirishima and Bakugou.

I-Kart 1 skids with a blaring screech as Kirishima slams his steering wheel. Screaming in exasperation, Bakugou exploits his blasts to help him make a sharp, serpentine-like curve to avoid the loose Wrecking Ball.

"Tch." Shoto hates to admit it, but Kirishima and Bakugou spend far less time than he would like in his attempt to hinder them. He tries to erect another ice barrier again, but I-Kart 1 dodges the unfinished frost structure to the left with an explosion, and finally manages to get past them.

"Oooohh! I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 8 are competing head-to-head! With them both in the first place now, which team is going to be the last one standing?"

"Any last words before I kill you, Bastard?" A devilish smirk splits Bakugou's face as he directs his left hand to Shoto's face.

"The race isn't over yet." Shoto scowls, readying himself to counter with his own quirk. "Don't get cocky, Bakugou."

But, before they are able to trade blows, the ground shakes as if there is a miniature earthquake. Fissures crack up and the track between them bursts open. The next second, another I-Kart with a large 5 on its chassis emerges, right in the middle of I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 8. A roaring drill made of the co-driver's hair is encapsulating its front, thundering rowdily in the stadium.

"Surprise, surprise!" the announcer's voice rings out. "After being eaten by a Hungry Carrot, it turns out that I-Kart 5 and its passengers haven't given up yet! They drilled their way with their Hair Drill quirk—all the way from stage 1—and caught up with our remaining competitors right here! For those who don't understand, here's a little clue: do you guys know that carrots actually grow underground?"

"No way." Arata's green eyes widen, almost not believing what she is seeing. "It still doesn't explain how they catch up so fast! It's impossible, because all I-Karts have the same maximum speed!"

"Finally, fresh air!" As the hair drill shrinks to normal hair, I-Kart 5's co-driver shakes her head and taps the driver's shoulder. "I can't manifest the drill any longer. The rest of this competition is riding on you, Son."

"Got it, Mom."

"Just die already, you shithead!"

Uncaring of the situation, Bakugou tries to strike I-Kart 5 with his explosion. Yet, before it connects, I-Kart 5 sprints forward, snatching the lead from both I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 8. Behind the glass of his helmet, the driver lets out a mocking snicker, his eyes glowing in an azure hue.

"What are you all fighting for? This is a race, not a fight, you morons. Get prepared to be left in the dust!"

"Son, language!" the co-driver, doubling as his mother, cries out. "Don't lump yourself with the likes of the uncultured!"

"What did you say!?" Bakugou snarls angrily.

Shoto is about to say something when the announcer opens her mouth again through the speakers.

"I'm sure we're all confused on how I-Kart 5 can pull off this feat, so I've done some digging! It turns out, I-Kart 5's driver is one of the most promising F1 Junior racers! I'm not naming names, but I'm sure you all know which one of them has Overclock as his quirk."

Overclock, Shoto narrows his eyes, trying to tune out "Dace Renault, Dace, Dace!" chant that is spreading like plague in the stadium. As time passes, I-Kart 5 is barreling forward faster and faster ahead of them. Does that mean he can push the I-Kart's performance to its real limits? No wonder I-Kart 5 is a lot faster than ours and I-Kart 1.

"Who cares!? Shitty Dace or whoever it is! The one who will win this is me!" Bakugou launches off I-Kart 1 with his explosions. It shoots forward like a bullet, chasing after I-Kart 5.

"Not so fast." Shoto tries to freeze I-Kart 1, but Bakugou only smirks and blasts his ice with another hand.

"Now, you're not in the lead anymore, you and your ice won't be a problem! I'm going to take this Shitty Dace down now. So long, Icy-Hot!"

"Now, the last stage is already in front of us! Between I-Kart 1 the violent, I-Kart 5 the speedy, and I-Kart 8 the dethroned king... Who do you think will win I-Speed this round? Are you brimming with excitement on the edge of your seats, like me?"

Chapter Text

Prior to this, Arata thought that she was doing quite well. For a first-timer, she has kept them in the lead for a long period and avoided the obstacles coming their way without much difficulty. But, the moment both I-Kart 5 and I-Kart 1 dash past their I-Kart, her stomach lurches and doubt begins to form in her mind.

"Remember, Ara." Shoto's helm muffled his voice, so he turned up his volume a bit. "Just stay in front of them, and I will handle the rest."

To be fair, there is nothing she can do to compete with I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5 on the same speed level. I-Kart 8 has reached its limits, and she can't forcefully make it surpass them like what Dace's Overclock has done. Or propel it forward like what Bakugou is doing.

"Ara."

Yet, she feels like she was supposed to do something to prevent it. Maybe, she should've rammed their kart to I-Kart 1 to force Kirishima and Bakugou out of the competition. Maybe, she should've paid attention to I-Kart 5's reappearance, getting close enough so Shoto could freeze Dace and his mother. Anything to defend their first place.

"Ara!"

Her only job is to stay ahead of other I-Karts, and now she has ruined it. Clutching the steering wheel in her hands, she chews the inside of her cheeks. Can we even recover from this? We don't have the speed needed to take them on—

"Ara, look out!"

Arata barely registers a hard object flying towards her head and dodges just in time. The tires whine against the asphalt and their kart veers dangerously. It takes her a short while before I-Kart 8 manages to get back on their pace.

A howl of laughter urges her to direct her green eyes to the yellow I-Kart. Bakugou's helmet is nowhere to be seen, on his face is a sadistic smirk. "Nearly shit your pants, Extra?"

Did he just use his explosion to catapult his helmet at me?

Just as her mind is going to take a dive into her thoughts again, a hand clasps her shoulder, so firm that it stings a bit. "Pull yourself together, Ara! Focus on the race!" she can hear a hint of worry and exasperation mixing into one in Shoto's voice. "It's hard for me to protect you from this position."

"I'm sorry, Shoto-san!"

"Did you hear what the announcer said earlier?"

"... No... What is it?"

"Pay better attention next time. Look ahead."

A looming triangular shape takes form in front of them. Her eyes follow the race track, it stretches out from their current position to its base and continues until it reaches its apex. "Is that... a pyramid? Are we supposed to climb it using our I-Karts?"

"A miniature of one, and yes. The track goes uphill from the side we're facing, and there is another track to come down on the opposite side. The pyramid's height is approximately 25 meters."

Startled, a frown creases Arata's forehead. "That's... brutal. How do they think the racers are going to pull it off? The slope angle is more or less 50 degrees. It's too steep even for I-Karts!"

"That's why there's another track which branches off right before it leads up to the pyramid." Shoto points over her shoulder, their helmets nearly bump to each other. "The announcer said that track is far longer than the pyramid's one, but it is not elevated. It also has an obstacle of its own. But that's none of our concern. Let’s take the pyramid route."

Arata's gaze lands on I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5, which are slowly crawling up the track on the pyramid. I-Kart 5's engine is revving louder and louder, straining to maintain its position near the base of the slope. A few meters higher than Dace and his mother, Bakugou is continuously emitting explosions to ascend little by little.

"Um, but what about the slope, Shoto-san? See, even I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5 are having a hard time ahead of us."

"Because they have nothing physical to support and push themselves from the ground up."

"And you think we have it?" It takes Arata another second to realize what he means. "Oh."

Curling the corners of his lips upward, Shoto extends his right hand to the rear of their kart. A familiar rush of coldness creeps up a half of his body, nibbling his flesh with chills. "That's what ice is for, isn't it?"

Ice bursts out from his palm, and together with Arata's foot over the gas pedal, it thrusts I-Kart 8 up the pyramid's side. Within a short while, they manage to close the distance with the other racers. The feat is immediately welcomed with an explosion from Bakugou.

"Shit! Eat this!"

Not one to get caught off-guard for the second time, Arata swerves their I-Kart to the left, avoiding his line of attack. Bakugou tries to blast them off again, but quickly decides otherwise when his own I-Kart rolls backwards, lacking the force to hold on.

"Fuck you, Half-and-Half Bastard! Just watch! I will kill you, losers!"

Perhaps, it is a great thing that his voice is getting smaller and smaller as we are climbing even further up, Arata thinks as they are nearing the apex. Or else, my ears will—

"I-Kart 5 has returned to the ground and chosen the other route instead," Shoto reports, his body turned and his right hand still discharging ice. "It seems they gave up climbing the pyramid."

"I sure hope the obstacles can stop them!"

"ORA! ORA! ORAORAORA!!" All of a sudden, a masculine yell pierces the atmosphere. It is soon followed by repeated sounds of dull smacks, like hard rocks colliding together. Each of it comes quicker and louder than the previous.

"What is that?" Arata steals a minute glance at I-Kart 1. Her jaw hangs open when she sees Kirishima sticking out his hardened hands from the cockpit. He is helping Bakugou to prop I-Kart 1 up by scaling the sandstones using bare hands and pulling the yellow I-Kart. "Rock climbing? Is Kirishima-kun... for real?"

"Eyes on the track, Ara! We're passing the apex!"

"I— I didn't realize we're this high!"

Arata widens her eyes in surprise, gazing at the view of the stadium from the apex of the pyramid. There is a moment when their I-Kart's wheels are free from the track, taking off into the evening sky. Afterwards, it roughly slams back to the track and slides down to the level of the rest of the track.

"Finally," Shoto breathes out and slumps back to the co-driver seat. Telltale signs of exhaustion are starting to sink in.

"Are you all right?" Arata asks, concern audible in her voice.

"Just give me a second. Don't let your guard down, Ara. They can catch up to us anytime."

When I-Kart 1 pops up in her peripheral vision—closely followed by I-Kart 5, Arata half-groans, "You're jinxing us, Shoto-san. Look, they're catching up."

"Nonsense. I'm sure you also could tell they're that close by the I-Karts' sounds."

"As we're approaching the finish line, the competition is getting tighter and tighter!" the announcer chimes. "They've all shown that not even a pyramid or a surprise sphinx can hold them back! Let's all wait and see who will be crowned as the winners after they beat, not one, but three hairpin turns! Right, left, right!"

Unlike other turns they have passed previously, hairpin corners are much sharper. Arata is forced to drop a lot of their speed in order to navigate the 180-degree turn. And even so, there is a fleeting fear in the back of her mind that their I-Kart will flip over if she so much as does something wrong.

Fortunately, despite her far-from-perfect turn, that does not happen during their first hairpin. That was so tough! Do I really have to do it twice more? She bites her lower lip and speeds I-Kart 8 up, intending to widen the distance during the straight course.

But, of course, just because it is difficult for her, does not mean it is also difficult for the other racers.

"Oohh! True to his career as a pro racer, Dace and I-Kart 5 are gliding very smoothly! Look at that beautiful turn! Skills and talent don't lie, people. Meanwhile, hot on their tail, I-Kart 1 is going into the hairpin without decreasing his speed at all. Instead of cornering like other racers, the co-driver is using his explosion to change the direction of his I-Kart without any pause!"

Compared to them, we're losing too much speed. At this rate, they're going to overtake us. "Shoto-san, they're getting close!"

"Let them. I'll hold them off."

Even when Shoto has tried to build ice barriers to hinder them, it takes no time for I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5 to catch up. The second hairpin, the three of them are entering at the same time. By the time Arata and Shoto manage to exit the turn, their competitors are already far in the front. Bakugou's "bye-bye losers!" is ringing clearly in her ears.

"Damn it!" Shoto curses under his breath, fisting his knuckles.

There is no denying it anymore. Arata doesn't need to go through the third hairpin to know that I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5 are undefeatable in these sharp corners. She is sure that Shoto realizes it too. It is almost a given that they will end up in the third place.

"Hey, Shoto-san," Arata mutters as their I-Kart bolts forward on the straight course, its machine rumbling. "Do you really want to win this race?"

His reply arrives without missing a beat, "Of course. Why?"

Honestly, Arata couldn't care less about winning I-Speed or not. The only reason her being here is because Shoto decided to involve her. Her, who has barely done anything other than driving in this race while other competitors are giving it their all.

I might be okay with finishing last, but will he be fine with it?

She knows that deep down, he has a competitive streak. Like the games they used to play, winning I-Speed won't prove anything in the long run, but he still does his best. Either he's competitive or he's earnest, she doesn't know. Probably a little bit of both.

But, seeing him so steadfast kindles something inside her too. Something that had never been set ablaze, because she used to pull through day by day without nothing other than bleak resignation. It tells her that: yes, now she can want to do something, to make a difference, to hope.

"Actually, Shoto-san, I have an idea." Arata carefully watches as I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5 prepare themselves to enter the last hairpin. "It might... get messy, though."

An idea, this close to the end of the competition? Shoto raises his eyebrows. "Well, I'm game if you are. It may be our only shot at this point. What is it?"

Chapter Text

"Cover the track with ice on my command, Shoto-san," Arata says, her green eyes never straying from I-Kart 1 and I-Kart 5. "As much and as far as you can."

"What?"

"It will make them slip."

"Aren't you forgetting something? We're behind them. If I do it, it means that we also will have to pass through the frozen track." A frown is etched deep on Shoto's forehead as his gaze flits to the last hairpin turn. "And in that case, no way we'll get past that **turn without going off-track."

"What if I have a way to keep us from slipping?"

"How?"

"Ice skating, but there's no time to explain the details!" Arata replies, her tone a bit tense. Their competitors are preparing to enter the last sharp turn. An obstacle-free straight course lies after the turn, giving them full access to the finish line. "Didn't you say that staying in the lead is my job? Just leave this one to me."

What is she thinking? This can very well be a suicide move.

"Please, Shoto-san? You don't have to do everything by yourself. We're on the same team."

"Are you sure, Ara?"

"Let me try."

How come she can be so sure about this? Could it be that she has something up her sleeves?

Pushing his doubts aside as best as he can, Shoto shakes his head and glares at the back of Arata's helmet. "Fine, it's not like we have any other choice. Tell me what to do."

"Thanks. Get ready to freeze the track."

"Now?"

"Wait a second." The moment Bakugou emits an explosion to turn I-Kart 1 to the right, tailing I-Kart 5's rear closely, Arata exclaims, "Now!"

In an instant, a layer of ice spreads from Shoto's palm, coating the asphalt course with a thick, freezing coldness. As it reaches the hairpin corner, disaster strikes.

A slippery turn is deadly, especially one as sharp as 180 degrees. Kirishima yells in surprise as I-Kart 1 slips on the ice mid-turn, sending him and Bakugou crashing next to the wall.

Failing to stop his cornering in time, Dace and his mother in I-Kart 5 sail straight toward them. Kirishima barely has time to harden himself to defend before I-Kart 5 loses its grip on the track and collides with them, the impact sending them careening into the wall.

"Fuck you, Half-and-Half Bastard!" Bakugou's roar booms among the deafening smash.

That looks painful, Shoto furrows his eyebrows as he sees their competitors slam onto the wall with a sickening crack, coupled with Bakugou's enraged shouts. His attention is drawn back to Arata again when their I-Kart trotters on the slippery ice, the last hairpin turn looming like an ominous entity a few meters ahead. "Now what? This I-Kart won't last long on ice."

Her half-hearted sigh, "brace yourself," is almost inaudible in his ears, and something in it makes him think that she doesn't actually want to do this. But, before he can ask about it, she unbuckles her seatbelt and leans to the right.

Her right hand leaves its spot on the steering wheel and hovers over the air at the right side of their I-Kart. And in front of his own eyes, a green exoskeleton starts to form beneath her racing suit. The sharp spikes rip open the fabric easily, and instead of her human arm, hangs a praying mantis’ foreleg.

His eyes widen when she swings it into the ice layer underneath and stabs through. With a firmer control on the icy road than before, their I-Kart thrusts forward with half of her foreleg embedded inside his ice, leaving a visible fissure on the surface.

"Now," Arata grits her teeth, trying to ignore the dreadful coldness and pain enveloping her right limb, "we're going ice skating, Shoto-san."

At that time, she thinks Shoto is yelling something to her, but she can't hear it. Her only focus is the upcoming hairpin turn in her vision and the rushing blood in her ears. When she twists their I-Kart to the right to ride the corner, a jolt of pain shoots up her mantis foreleg.

The pain is worse than what I've imagined. Did I overuse it as a pivot to turn? Arata blinks back tears that are welling up behind her eyelids as she clutches the steering wheel with her left hand harder. Ugh, I don't think I can bear it anymore.

Hold on. Hold on... Just a little more...

A blurry view of a frozen straightaway greets her peripheral view, however it seems wrong, as if it is not where it is supposed to be. Damn, did I not manage to do the hairpin turn correctly? If only I was a little more to the right—

"We're getting off-track, Ara!"

Just as she thinks her foreleg will break in two because of the friction between it and the ice, a hand clasps her right forearm and frost creeps on it, sheathing her green exoskeleton with ice down to the tip of her mantis foreleg.

Her body's reaction towards the numbing cold is immediate. Shivers and nausea implode in her. A crushing fear takes hold of her conscience, and it convulses together with each of her heartbeats. If she can be honest, she might prefer the pain of a fracture more than this familiar sense of cold.

Fighting back the urge to break down on the spot, she answers Shoto with a choked murmur, "M— Make a ramp—"

"And fly our I-Kart straight to the finish line?" Shoto finishes her line effortlessly. "Sure."

A short moment before their I-Kart touches the curb, an ice ramp is erected in front of them. Directing their I-Kart towards the ramp with a great struggle, she lets out a sigh of relief when her foreleg doesn't have to drag through the ice anymore.

With the flying sensation, Shoto suddenly realizes that Arata’s seatbelt is unbuckled and there is nothing to keep her stay inside the I-Kart's cockpit anymore. His left hand quickly loops around her shoulders, alarmed at the view of her floating freely.

"Hey, watch it!"

He grasps her tighter when their I-Kart crashes down half a meter after the finish line, the impact colliding her helmet with his. Its dull thud is quickly drowned out as the audience in the stadium erupts into cheers.

"W— Wow!" the lady announcer chimes, her bubbly voice cleaving through the claps and whistles. "And now we have the winner of I-Speed! With a creative use of their quirks to turn their I-Kart into a makeshift snowmobile, I-Kart 8 overtakes its competitors and leaves them in the dust! Or should I say, ice?"

"It worked, Ara. Your idea was a success. We won."

"..."

Blocking off the announcer's squeals, Shoto focuses on the trembling girl in his grasp instead. His grey-cyan eyes dart to the arm she is cradling stiffly, her nails boring into the pale skin. Ragged sleeves hang shy above her elbow, where her transformation's area of effect didn't extend to.

"Ara, are you okay? Is your right arm all right?"

His right hand reaches for her limp arm, but Arata recoils before it manages to touch her. Shoto can't see her expression under her helmet, but her reaction is enough to make his stomach sink like an anchor in the ocean.

Ice. Cold. Snow.

"I— I..." Arata climbs out from the cockpit with shaky hands, cowering at the sight of him. She can't see his white hair behind his helmet's face shield, but she knows it is there. It is there, and the remnants of his ice are dangling on her arm like a blaring reminder.

That was my own idea. He didn't force me to stick my arm into the ice. He didn't force me to use my quirk. He didn't force me to do anything.

Why am I behaving this way? Why am I so afraid?

"— Oooohh, now we also have the runner-up, I-Kart 5! Followed very closely by I-Kart 1! Too bad, I-Kart 1! You've just missed the second place by a second! But, worry not! All three winners will receive a gift from I-Speed."

"GODDAMNIT! No way I only got third place!"

"Serves you right, you moron."

Bakugou and Dace loudly bicker with each other. Kirishima and Dace's mother are trying to break their scuffle. Their voices should be close, but right now all Shoto cares about is the girl in front of him and her frightened response to him.

"Ara?" Shoto retracts his hand. The hesitation and hurt in his voice are muffled by his helmet. He saw how much it took from her to tear apart the ice, and he just wanted to cushion the damage for her. "You know I did it to—"

"For the drivers and co-drivers of I-Kart 8, I-Kart 5, and I-Kart 1, we are inviting you to join us on the stage!"

"I know." Arata's voice wavers as she takes another step back. "I'm... sorry... I— I need to be alone for a while... I hope you don't mind... I'll— I'll wait outside."

All Arata leaves for him is a soft mumble of apology. She scampers to the exit of the I-Speed race course as fast as she can, leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Even though he has won a race and the stadium is full with people chanting "I-Kart 8! I-Kart 8!", he doesn't feel pleased at all. It is as if Arata has sucked all of the lingering excitement with her when she left the stadium.

Chapter Text

Contrary to the buzzing loudness in the inner area of I-Speed stadium, the outer areas are almost dead calm. Arata doesn't think she has encountered more than five people since she changed back to her maroon hoodie and grabbed her things in the locker room. The spectators' cheers are echoing in the vacant hallway she trudges along.

Her left hand rubs her other arm to shake off the leftover coldness wrapping it. She doesn't stop even though her muscles spasm and her skin stings, for the chills bother her more than the pain. As she bites her lips, her green eyes are frantically searching for a public washroom.

Once Arata finds it, she staggers inside and half-collapses to the sink. Automatically, a sense of relief floods her when water runs down her right arm, washing away the sense of the solid coldness. At the same time, it is as if liquid guilt invades her flesh and creeps up to her chest.

Pathetic... Water, ice—they are basically the same thing. But, why am I so afraid of one of them?

Arata closes her eyes and pictures the dismay in Shoto's expression. She didn't get to actually see his face, but she could hear it in the slight crack of his voice. Her seeing him as a Shirayuki was uncalled for.

It was just ice, her fist clenches under the flowing water. Her muscles are screaming under the strain, but somehow the pain pales in comparison to the one in her chest. It was the ice that has just saved my arm from getting snapped in two. The same ice that has protected me from Donki-san's bullets.

It was Shoto-san's ice. When will I learn not to jump out at the first sign of cold?

Sighing softly, Arata opens her eyes back and stares at her drenched arm in the sink bowl. How am I going to face him after this? I doubt a "sorry" will suffice—

Then, all of a sudden, a light clink chimes in the room. Next, a roll of toilet paper tumbles to the floor, rolling until it barely pokes the heel of her left shoe. Just as she wonders why it could fall off out of the blue by itself, another sound follows and a cubicle door creaks.

"Oops."

Startled, Arata lifts her head up for the first time since she entered the restroom. In the mirror, she finds a pair of yellow eyes staring back at her from the furthest stall. She blinks in confusion, not certain what to make of the situation.

The person starts speaking in a husky, masculine voice, yet Arata doesn't understand a single word. Is it a foreign language? She throws a blank look at him and grimaces. "... What?"

Clearing his throat, he tries again. This time, it is a flawless, fluent Japanese that comes out from his mouth, lips forming a smile. "Apologies to you, my lady. I thought if I was being quiet, you wouldn't notice me doing my business here."

"Um..." Arata glances around, making sure there are no urinals hanging on the wall. "But, Sir... Isn't this a female restroom?"

He pays no heed to her question. His yellow eyes travel to the maroon hoodie she is wearing, then down to her casual jeans. "You're neither wearing a hero suit nor a formal outfit. Hmm, that's quite a rare sight in I-Expo."

"I didn't realize it was a problem," Arata replies defensively, then drags the maroon sleeves to her wrists back.

His velvety chuckle reverberates as he slips out of the cubicle, dark purple tresses swaying gently above shoulders. A pair of curly, ram horns sit behind his pointed ears while his bat-like wings furl behind his back. "Of course it isn't a problem. It is a bliss, even."

"A bliss?" she repeats, feeling weird about his choice of words.

"So, Little Red Riding Hood... Are you perhaps, quirkless?"

There is something in his voice that sends chills all over her body, yet Arata can't take her eyes off him. It is like there is a magnetic force that draws her gaze to his aristocratic facial features.

And, although he takes each of his step with a refined composure, her heart is fluttering madly against her will. Out of anticipation or out of something else, she doesn't know.

"N— No," she forces out an answer, desperately trying to sort the bumbling mess in her head.

"Really? Then, what is this?" As confident as ever, the man stops in front of her, smiling wider. With a quick swipe, he sweeps the item off her hand and throws it sideways without looking. "It's cute that you think you can use a roll of toilet paper to distract me. You don't have to lie with me, Little Red Riding Hood."

"I'm not lying!"

"Your mannerism reeks of someone who doesn't have anything to fall back on. Most of the time, it means that either her quirk isn't useful or she is quirkless."

Arata wants to deny his claim, but her body doesn't even budge, let alone cooperate. Her throat is going dry in his presence and her heart is thumping louder and louder. His yellow eyes are glimmering attractively as his long fingers curl around her left wrist.

Attractive? Snap out of it! That man looks even older than Aizawa-san! A more logical part of her reasons in her mind. Its voice is strangely faint and unclear, in such a way that she thinks maybe her brain is getting clogged up with balls of cotton.

"Don't be ashamed," he coos and takes her other arm. "I indeed have that kind of effect on females."

It isn't a rough pull, but Arata's bruised arm throbs when he tugs on it. The pain clears her mind for a second, and she uses it to yank herself from him and scrambles to the restroom door. Not wasting any time, the only thing she registers as she runs away is his amused chuckle.

"Oh well, you're a little on the young side for me, anyway."

Too bad she didn't look back, or she would have seen a pair of boots-clad feet sagging from the stall where the man had been.

"Hey, Arata-chan, you were so manly back there during I-Speed!" Kirishima grins and waves his hand to the girl, when she's approaching them in front of the participants' locker room. "It was crazy unpredictable. Todoroki and you make such a good team. Nice job at throwing us off our game!"

"Both of you played us like fools," a blond-haired guy, who seems to be Dace, next to him agrees, his sky blue eyes shining under his cap. "I've never seen anything remotely close to it anywhere, and that comes from a pro racer like me."

Arata glances at Shoto, expecting him to be the one who deals with their compliment. However, he is just leaning on the wall beside her in silence, so the task of giving a reply falls on her. Not that she's perfectly not awkward at it, though.

She fidgets with the cuffs of her sleeves. "Um... Thanks...?"

On Kirishima's other side, Bakugou retorts angrily, "Us? More like, you shitheads! If you did your jobs right, I would have won!"

"Psh, someone is a sore loser. You sure talk big for someone who crossed the finish line last."

"What did you say, Dumb Blond!? I don’t want to hear it from somebody who’s named after fish! I'll have you know that I've won this race twice before!"

"Hey, take it back! ‘Dace’ is a creative combination of my parents’ names! It has nothing to do with fish, and learn to accept your defeat, moron."

Ignoring Bakugou's incoming crass remarks, Dace cranes his neck to face Arata. "It's a pity that you missed the winner announcement. It's supposed to be a publicity-stunt kind of event. You know, the part where the talent hunters in the stadium can learn about your identity and propose all kinds of gigs to you. Kirishima even got an offer because of his driving skills. I had been hoping to see a familiar face in the F1 Junior's next batch, but damn, he turned it down."

"Peace, man. I'm going to be a hero, not a racer."

"It's cool, Kirishima. Racing is not for everyone. So, Arata?"

"Exposure is just not for me," Arata replies sheepishly. "Besides, I'm not cut out for these things."

"That's an understatement, but it's up to you." Dace shrugs. "I just wanna ask one thing. Your quirk—a green scythe or whatever it is, I didn't have a good look—why didn't you use it since the beginning of the race?"

Arata is pretty sure that the moment Dace spews out that question out of his mouth, Bakugou shoots a dark glare to her over his shoulder. His gaze is boring a hole on her face, and suddenly the floor looks very interesting to her.

"I mean, there were plenty of chances where you could use it to put us at a disadvantage, but you didn't. My mom and I seriously thought you were quirkless and crossed that possibility off our list. In hindsight, it was a bad move on our part. But, why didn't you use it sooner? Together with Todoroki's ice, you could've taken us out during the pyramid climb, or even before that."

"I— I just didn't think it would have to come to that."

"So, you think Half-and-Half Bastard can beat us all single-handedly," Bakugou snarls, his red eyes flashing with menace.

"I didn't say that!"

"Then, what had you been doing all race, Extra!? While all of us worked our ass off like idiots, you didn't even take it seriously! Are you having fun in the fact that you managed to blow past me with a fucking cheap trick?"

"Whoa! Bakubro, calm down! It's just a game!"

"Yeah, idiot," Dace scorns the ash blond and crosses his arms. "You're so hot-headed I swear there's an imaginary fire up your hair."

As Kirishima tries to cool his friend's head, Arata mutters quietly, "I didn't mean to offend or hurt anyone... It's just my lack of judgement... I'm sorry..."

Her green eyes meet Shoto's grey-cyan ones. It won't suffice as an apology, but she wishes that it is enough for him to know that she's sorry, really sorry, from the bottom of her heart. He doesn't say anything to her, but he doesn't look away either. He is just standing close, staring into her eyes with an incomprehensible expression.

"Stop making eyes at each other!" Bakugou roars, foot stomping on the poor floor. "This extra right here has unfinished business with me!"

"Geez, you kids are so loud." an adult, gender-bent version of Dace walks up to them, a phone half-hidden behind her blond locks. "I just left to get some reception, and there you are fighting again. Did you even hear what happened?"

"Hi, Mom," Dace greets her and raises his cap. Now that his mom mentions about it, he realizes a few people around them are flocking and whispering in small groups. "No, we didn't catch the news."

"Obviously, considering how loud you all were."

"Sorry, Ma'am." Kirishima sends an apologetic grin her way.

"Except Todoroki, he's all doom and gloom ever since the competition ended. Anyone who looked his way would think that he was the loser of this race while he is actually the winner. Why so bummed out, Todoroki? Your pet goldfish just died?"

"No, I don't keep pets. I'm just—" Shoto's eyes flick to his right hand for a millisecond before resuming his words. "— not in the mood to talk."

"Duh, Mom. Care to spill the tea for us?"

"Nothing big, actually," she sighs, her fingers running through her hair. "A female janitor was found unconscious. Nothing's stolen and no bruises, but she was out like a light."

"Again?" Dace raises his eyebrows. "That's like, the third time we've heard about it this day."

"Fourth," she corrects him. "This one was in one of the I-Speed's female restrooms. A toilet cubicle, to be exact."

"W— Wait!" Arata interjects, a bit panicked. "Which restroom?"

"You're I-Kart 8's missing driver, aren't you?" the woman's gaze darts to Arata, who nods politely in reply. "I heard it's the west restroom."

West restroom, the one where I was in... Arata bites her lips, trying to contain the nausea that springs in her stomach at the mental image of bewitching yellow eyes. What on earth had happened?

Chapter Text

Oh no, isn't there where I was? Arata thinks as her stomach lurches downward. Don't tell me that the entire time I was at the restroom, the female janitor had been lying unconscious inside one of the stalls... And there was that yellow-eyed creep too... Was this his doing?

"Is it possible that she got knocked out by someone, um...?"

"Denise Renault, just call me Denise. It doesn't seem so," Dace's mother answers. "The janitor said that it was just exhaustion catching up to her."

"Are you sure, Denise-san?" Arata fidgets, uncertain whether she should come forward and tell them about the strange demon she met there. If she did, would she be accusing him of a misdeed that hadn't been proven yet?

"I don't know, girl. Being the owner of an automobile manufacturer doesn't make me proficient at analyzing people, only machines. But, I was there when the janitor woke up. I heard her admitting it with her own mouth."

If the janitor really collapsed from exhaustion, then was his being there just a coincidence? Arata thinks, racking her brain in silence. Was he merely a creep who snuck to a girl's restroom?

"What's up? Do you happen to know something about it?"

"About the janitor? No, but I bumped into a strange man when I went there..."

"A man? In the women’s restroom?" Shoto shoots her an incredulous look, his gaze sharpening.

Nodding in agreement, Kirishima also interjects, "That is so not cool!"

"23rd century, the time where world is becoming more and more infested with disgusting creeps." Denise facepalms and glances at Arata in worry. "You okay? Did he try anything to you?"

"I... kind of left and went straight here before he could do anything drastic."

"Good choice!" Kirishima slaps his fist to his other palm. "We won't let him hurt you, Arata-chan!"

"For sure, because Extra obviously can't fend for herself."

"Hey, it's not that," Kirishima says when Arata's expression clouds over. "Friends gotta help each other in need, Bakubro."

"Tch. Whatever you say, Shitty Hair."

"Sheesh, what a creep that man is." Dace rolls his eyes. "I bet he's an ugly old geezer with wrinkles and a disturbing smile. Am I right, Arata?"

"Um... It's quite the opposite, actually..."

"What? Really?"

"Idiot," Bakugou grumbles, loud enough for Dace to hear. "You're even dumber than you look. Damn Fish Brain."

"Sheesh, really, Dace... This time I gotta agree with Bakugou."

"Oi, Mom! Why are you taking that punk's side instead of mine?"

"You've watched too many movies," Denise reprimands her son and pulls his cap over his eyes. "In reality, some creeps don't look half-bad, you know."

Ignoring Dace's complaints, she directs her attention to Arata. "You have to report it to the security. They will ask you for the details on his appearance or identify him using the CCTV recordings. There is no CCTV inside the restroom because of privacy issues, but I think there's at least one along the corridor. If someone knows whom to watch out for, they can prevent him from doing it again."

"Thank you, that's a good idea," Arata mutters, feeling grateful that someone knows how to handle this kind of situation. Previously, she wasn't sure what to do. "Do you think he, um, had a hand in the janitor's fainting?"

"I don't think so. If he did, why wouldn't the janitor say anything? She insisted that it happened just because she was tired from working."

"I see..." Then, it might very well be a coincidence...

"Although, it doesn't make sense why she was being very evasive about it," Denise continues, tapping one finger on her lower lip. "She had this flustered expression on her face, complete with red cheeks and stutters and all."

"She shouldn't have. Working hard is not something to be embarrassed about!" Kirishima remarks in enthusiasm.

On his side, Bakugou scowls and crosses his arms, turning away from the group. "Why the fuck are we gossiping about this kind of nonsense?"

Paying the ash blond teenager no mind, Denise resumes, "Right? Geez, fainting due to exhaustion shouldn't feel like a sin. I, for one, hold some mad respect for people with that kind of work ethic."

A sigh escapes her mouth as she nudges her son with her elbow. "That being said, this doesn't paint a pretty picture for your father's research, though."

"What does it have to do with— Oh! Crap, the janitor is quirkless?" Dace ruffles his blond hair under the cap. "Wow, this sucks. Dad is going to get wiped out by other scientists, months of research be damned."

"Dace, language!"

"What is the research about?" Arata inquires, making the mother-son pair exchange glances at her curious tone. "I mean, how are the fainting accidents connected to it?"

"It's actually kind of a long story... You should explain about it, Dace."

"What? Don't pin this on me, Mom!"

"My specialty is in automobiles and machines, not... this research thing. You're his son. His big brain genes are in you."

"So is my specialty! There is a reason why I'm a racer, not a scientist. And, you're his wife! You've had decades of practice of explaining about his work!"

"Brat! I'm not that old!" Denise slaps her son's shoulder playfully, then shakes her head. "Sheesh, fine. I'll do it. Do you really want to know about it? It's pretty boring, honestly..."

"Well, count me out." Bakugou shrugs his shoulders and walks away. "I didn't come this far to listen to another lecture."

"Sorry guys, but it seems that we have to go." Kirishima shoots them an apologetic grin before he steps out the circle to trail behind his friend. "Catch you all later! Oi, wait for me, Bakubro!"

"Well, that got him running with his tail between his legs fast," Dace comments under his breath. "You're still interested, Arata?"

"If it's okay..." Arata replies as her green eyes flick to Shoto. "Um, Shoto-san... Do you mind waiting for a little longer?"

"It's fine."

"Before we start, I'll have you know that I don't understand enough to give you detailed answers." Denise sends Arata a sheepish smile, who nods in turn. "Hmm, I wonder where I should start... As you know, around 80% of the world population's born with a superhuman ability, while the other 20% without. This superhuman ability is known later as quirk."

"Yeah."

"Quirks are believed to be a manifestation of physical evolution and extension of our bodies. Currently, the most popular method to distinguish whether a person is capable of developing a quirk or not is by examining whether they have an extra joint or not in their pinky toe. One joint means normal, while two joints means quirkless. Are you with me at this point?"

"Yes, but I still have no idea what you're trying to say..."

"We're getting there, don't worry. According to a few scientists, including my husband, the absence of this extra joint implies that there can be a significant difference between a quirkless and a normal person with quirk."

"Why?" Arata creases her forehead, confusion written plainly on her face.

"Hmm, how to put this... Take Todoroki here for example. He can emit ice and fire from his body. Then, Dace with his Overclock. Do you think a mere absence of a toe joint can make up for it?"

"No..."

"The tradeoff doesn't make sense. The energy used to develop quirks is not interchangeable with the energy used to create a toe joint. In hypothesis, quirk development must have charged our body with something far, far bigger."

"Okay."

"Suppose that all humans begin with the same raw capacity. While normal people's bodies use up their capacity to take form as quirks, the quirkless' don't. It means that the quirkless are left with a huge chunk of unmanifested capacity. My husband and his colleagues coined the term 'dormant potential' to describe it."

"Dad actually also said that not all quirks consume the same level of capacity," Dace adds. "To put it simply, the more complex your quirk is, the faster you burn through your dormant potential. Some quirks need a lot of 'fuel' during use, so when your body can't generate enough dormant potential to keep up, it can be pretty self-destructive. But, you see, if you had no quirk, does it mean that your dormant potential would be left untouched until the day you died?"

"If that's the hypothesis your father believed in, he would call it the 'wasted potential' instead," Shoto remarks with a flat tone, eliciting a light chuckle from the mother-son pair. "There must be a reason he thinks of it as 'dormant'."

"Maybe it takes form as something else?" Arata suggests to Denise. "Something unrelated to quirk... like better health or longer lifespan?"

"That's what my husband said too!" Denise agrees, eager to continue. "His current research is still on the preliminary study stage, so we can't be certain of it yet. But, he is of the opinion that bigger dormant potential implies a better quality of life. He is going to hold a short seminar to seek support and further research from the scientist community later, during the welcome party."

"Or, at least, that was the case before we found out there were these quirkless fainting incidents," Dace interjects. His tone sounds uncaring, but Arata can see a glint of worry pass through his blue eyes. "Not just a couple of them, but four. Four on the same day, damn it. Like, if this so-called dormant potential really existed, why would those quirkless drop easily like flies?"

Well, I'm starting to see why they freaked out about the faintings, Arata grimaces in her own head. Dace's father's research can lead to something groundbreaking... And to have these occurrences happened on the same day... Such rotten luck they have.

"Dace!"

"Sorry, Mom! I really believe in Dad and his research. Oh hell, his nose's almost always buried deep in books every time I saw him. I know he's worked so hard to get this opportunity. In a place as prestigious as I-Island, even. But, how will these faintings reflect on the notion he's suggesting? They surely don't help his case at all. How can the other scientists take it seriously?"

"I'm sure he can change their minds with the results of his preliminary study."

"In the face of contradictory real-life events? I'm not sure," Dace challenges, throwing his hands in the air. "What is he even going to say? That there's a leak in these four quirkless' dormant potential that caused their engines to fail to function appropriately?"

"'Engines'?" Shoto raises his eyebrows at his last sentence.

"Sorry, I meant 'bodies', not 'engines'."

Arata catches a giggle from coming out with her left hand. Next to her, Denise looks torn between laughing out loud and reprimanding her son.

"You're really my son, all right," Denise groans into her palm. "Let's just support your father. I'm sure he can pull this off. I've seen him do it countless of times. Speaking of which, I promised him we would meet him and your brother at the entrance of I-Speed at 17:30, and that's ten minutes ago..."

"What? Mom, you should've said so from the start!"

"I'm sorry for holding you back, Denise-san, Dace-san!" Arata bows her head a little, feeling guilty.

"Nah, it's fine." Denise waves her hand. "He'll be happy to know that we've pitched his research. Word of mouth can go a long way. If you're curious about the details, please drop by during the party! Look for Dr. Jace Renault. My husband would love to explain it himself to you. But, for now, we gotta run! Catch you kids later!"

"Bye, Todoroki, Arata. Don't forget to report that creep to the security. Until we meet again, take care of your dormant potentials!"

"Oh, sure. Thanks for explaining!" Arata waves and smiles back. Behind her, Shoto raises his hand to acknowledge their parting.

Dormant potential... Quirkless... Faintings... Yellow-eyed demon... Arata can't put her finger on it, but somehow, something doesn't sit right with her. Are they all actually connected? But, how?

Chapter Text

Arata thought, going to security could help them find some answers about the creep she met in the restroom. However, it backfires and ends up raising a lot of other questions.

"Look at this screen right here." the CCTV operator taps the monitor in front of him, its light illuminating his goggles, as he fast-forwards the running clip. "See? The janitor entered the restroom, and the first person who passed the CCTV again was the one that reported the janitor's collapse earlier."

The screen flickers and displays an empty, silent hallway. Arata gawks at the screen, searching for the unseen blurs of her—Shoto's—maroon hoodie and the demonic creep. Although the operator has played the footage back to them for the second time, she still can't find traces of her encounter with the creep.

It's like... both I and that creep had never been there... Like, it was merely a figment of my imagination... How come?

"Can I check the time of the footage?" Shoto inquires, then nods when the time appears on the screen. "It seems correct."

"Between those two times, no one else was recorded by the CCTV. Makes sense, because most people were still in the stadium for I-Speed's winner announcement."

"Is it possible that the CCTV's... broken or something like that?" Arata frowns.

"If it's broken, it wouldn't show anything, only a blank screen," the operator snorts, then nods to a piece of paper. "You don't have any footage to base your report on, but I've listed the characteristics of the creep you're reporting. Early 40s, yellow eyes, purple hair, ram's horns, and bat's wings, right? I'll see what I can do. Not sure if the report can be processed without any supporting evidence, though."

"Should we, um, check it with the other security room?" Arata insists, her expression smeared with utter confusion. "I mean, the one closer to the restroom. Maybe, they have the right clips."

"You can try, but it won't be any different, though." the man shrugs, shifting the placement of goggles sitting on his nose. "The security system here is centralized. We're all drawing from the same storage and control."

"Oh..."

"You might have walked into another location without remembering. Are you sure you were really at the west restroom?"

It is probably just his tone or the way he says it, but at that time, a shudder crawls up Arata's spine. After a considerable pause, she opens her mouth to answer. Her voice is yet to come out when Shoto suddenly speaks up.

"She's not sure," he cuts off curtly, then reaches for her right elbow. "Thank you for your help. We're taking our leave now."

Pain and chills shoot up her arm even if his grip is nowhere tight enough to hurt. Arata hisses when he pushes her in front of him, practically shoving her to the door, "Shoto-san! But, I was certain that—"

"Later, Ara," Shoto replies under his breath, tone dead serious and voice so low that only she can hear it. His gaze doesn't leave the operator even for a second. "Let's get out of here first."

Shoto doesn't stop until they set foot on the exit. By the time they get out from I-Speed, Shoto finally releases his clasp on her and his pace slows down.

"What was that?" Arata can't help but glare at him, her hand rubbing along her right arm. "Did you think... I was lying? Because the footage didn't match?"

"No, I believe you. It's precisely why we had to get out."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I realized that the security might have been compromised," Shoto elaborates when Arata shoots him a confused look. "If what you were saying is true, it means that someone has tampered with the footage. You know, to make it seem like no one entered the restroom during that period."

"So, you mean, the demon might have replaced that clip?"

"It could be him. It also could be an accomplice. For example, a hacker or a security guy."

"Oh... It can't be that operator, right?"

"It's hard to know for sure, but we should be careful. We'd better come back to it with an adult later."

"Now I understand." Arata lets out a sigh and kicks a pebble on the pavement. "Sorry for not realizing sooner."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Shoto mutters, tone somber, as he looks at his own right hand. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have left the race and met that creep. This would have never happened."

"Shoto-san..." Arata winces, aware that he is recalling her frightened response to his white hair and ice. "It's not your fault. My reaction was too... extreme. I'm the one who should apologize."

"I'm sorry," Shoto exhales, combing his mismatched hair with one hand. "I knew you have cryophobia, yet I still did it. I just didn't know what else I could do to prevent you from getting hurt at that time. Ironically, my ice did the most damage. I shouldn't have done it."

"Don't put all the blame on yourself. It was the right decision." Her fingers pull the maroon sleeve up her right arm. Underneath is a spreading purple on her pale skin, with sporadic bluish blotches here and there. "Look. If you hadn't done it, my arm probably could be fractured right now."

When he only stares at her bruise intently with an indescribable look on his face, she only grimaces and casts a self-deprecating grin. "It's ugly, I know. At least the bones inside are intact."

"No, it's not that," he mumbles, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. "I'm just wondering why whenever I'm involved, people's hands get messed up... Am I really a hand crusher? Is it a curse?"

"Are you… superstitious, Shoto-san?"

"No, but it has happened a few times. The first is Midoriya, then Iida. Now, it's you, Ara."

"Hmm, really? In my opinion, this time you're the opposite of a hand crusher. I'd say you'd saved it."

"Maybe." he scrutinizes her bruised arm once more, frowning at the discolored blemishes. "It looks painful, though. Do you want to get it checked?"

"Um, no. I don't think it's necessary. It's not that bad, Shoto-san. My arm's just strained or sprained at worst."

"If so, let me do it. I can check it for you."

"There's no need." Arata steps back as his right hand reaches for hers. He wonders if it is coincidental or intentional. "I can move it just fine, see? It only hurts a bit when I move it, nothing big."

Arata slides the sleeve down and smiles at him, but Shoto notices that her gaze direction is a little off. I see, his heart clenches involuntarily as her green eyes stray away from his white hair. I should have known that there's no way it can be brushed off just like that.

I should have realized in the first place. She was also shivering during the whole trip from the security room to the exit. I thought it was the pain from her injury, but... was it actually because I was holding her arm with my right hand?

"You don't want me near you." As much as Shoto intends to keep his hurt down, it slips through the cracks in his voice. Even more so because he knows he hits the nail on the head. "You're scared of me."

Arata's smile falters immediately. "N— No, you're wrong!"

Who is she trying to deceive? Words mean nothing in front of actions. Reassurance is pointless when reality doesn't match. He can see the way fear colors her gestures when she looks at him. He can hear it in the slight rasp in her voice. There is a dissimilar pattern in her behavior, and he can sense it.

Shoto is not a fool. Her trying to cover it up with a lie only rubs salt into the wound. It merely shows him that his guess isn't off. Arata is indeed scared of his white hair and ice—of *him—*and it stings. Even more so because he can't do anything to fix it. Even more so because she tried to falsely spare his feelings. With an obvious lie she can't back up.

"Then, look at me. Look at my right side," Shoto challenges her and takes a step closer. From this distance, he can see even the tiniest shift in her expression. Including the tremble she has been trying to keep hidden the minute her gaze lands on his white hair and averts once more.

What are you seeing, Ara? Are you seeing snow burst and collapsed in on you every time you see white? Or is it the freezing coldness you feel on your skin?

"You can't, can you?"

"Shoto-san, I—"

"Don't even try to deny it, Ara. We both know it's true."

"I... I..." Arata droops and kneads the seams of her maroon hoodie, as though she could squeeze out an answer from it. One that can erase the sadness from Shoto's expression. Or one that can strip her from her fear. But, what can she do except apologize? "I'm sorry, Shoto-san... I'm very sorry..."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I just wish... you aren't afraid of me." Turning away, he pauses a little before he forces himself to resume his words, "I know these things require process. I... understand. So, take all the time you need."

It doesn't make it less painful, though. To have her see him like she expects him to freeze her. To know that he has hurt her even though he didn't mean to. But, what can he do except wait? This is a matter only time can heal. But, perhaps, even time can't.

"..."

Glancing at the guilt-ridden girl over his shoulder, Shoto ruffles his own hair and takes a deep breath. "Let's just go back and get ready. Iida and the other 1-A students agreed to attend the welcome party together, so we can't be late. And while we're at it, maybe we can ask All Might to accompany us to the security one more time afterwards."

"... Okay..."

They haven't taken more than three steps when he senses a weak tug on his clothes from behind, stopping him on his track. Then, something small and soft envelopes around his right hand, hanging gingerly along his fingers. The touch is not rid of shivers and far from firm, but it stays there like the warm, orange sunlight on his skin.

"Are you aware that this is my right hand?"

"Um, yeah..."

"Ice can come out from it."

"Well, it's your Half-Cold side, Shoto-san."

"Then, why?" Shoto raises his eyebrows at their joint hands. "Aren't you afraid of me, Ara?"

"I am," Arata admits in a low murmur. Her cheeks glow delicate pink as she averts her gaze away. "But, I'm more afraid of, um, not having you in my life... I mean— I still wanna be your friend... So, please don't leave..."

"I'm not going away just because you're afraid of me."

"I know, but I'm— I'm not letting you carry all the burden." Trying to suppress her shudder even if it's futile, Arata closes her eyes, re-opens them, and breathes out gently. "It's true that I'm afraid of you, Shoto-san, but I'll reach out. I'll try... For you."

It's weird, Shoto thinks as he stares at her bashful expression under the maroon hood. Nothing actually changes from before. Arata is still scared of him, and he can't do anything about it. Yet, with her small hand gently wrapped around his, he feels as if the throbbing in his chest has been lifted and replaced with a blooming warmth.

Arata mumbles something again. This time, his ears don't manage to catch it because she speaks so faintly. "What did you say, Ara?"

Under the veil of the soft evening light, the rosiness in her face deepens as she repeats her words in a low, shy voice, "Um, besides, your hand is warm... and— and it's for comfort, remember?"

Shoto allows an invisible force to tug the corners of his lips upward, then finally weaves his fingers between hers. Intertwining their hands in a firm hold as they serenely walk back.

"Not cold, right?" he asks and gives her a little squeeze.

"... I've just told you that it's warm, Shoto-san..."

"Just making sure." A chuckle slips out from his mouth when Arata rolls her eyes and squeezes back. "Your hand is warm too, Ara."

Maybe, Arata steals a glance at his content expression, grey-cyan eyes basked in the glory of sundown, it's for glimpses of warmth like this, that sometimes I have to endure the cold.

Chapter Text

Time for the welcome party is getting close, and here Arata is in the other 1-A girls' hotel room. With three extra pairs of eyes hovering above her stretched arm.

"Shoot," Ochaco grimaces as she lays her brown eyes on the purple-blue bruise underneath Arata's right sleeve. "That doesn't look good."

"Is it that bad?" Arata furrows her eyebrows in worry. "I think my arm will be back to normal again in a few days."

"Yeah, but the welcome party is tonight." Jirou gestures to the light-colored fabric in Arata's left hand. "Your dress' sleeves can't possibly cover that bruise up. They're too short."

"Don't worry, there's nothing a concealer won't hide," Yaoyorozu tells them with a reassuring smile and waves a cream-colored cylinder. "I can help you with that. I'm so relieved we asked Todoroki-kun to let you come here. Us girls can get ready for the welcome party together."

"I don't know what I would do without you, Yao-momo. This is my first time going to this kind of event, I'm kinda nervous... My commoner soul can't take a party this big. I'm not even sure if the dress I brought is appropriate for this party or not..."

"Me too," Arata quickly agrees with Ochaco. "I have no idea at all. I hope you can give us some pointers on it."

"I've had my share of concerts and music awards because of my parents, but I figure they're quite distinct from a reception gala like this." Jirou nods her head, her earphone jacks fidgeting shyly. "You're the master at formal activities and manners, so please prep me up too."

"Of course!" Yaoyorozu pumps her fist, eagerness showing through her shining dark eyes. "I'll make sure we will all look beautiful and ready for the welcome party! Let's all get changed into our dresses first. Ochaco-chan, you can borrow one of my dresses if you want. I have a few that I bet will look amazing on you."

After they take turns to throw on their formal outfits, Ochaco smooths the creases on her dress' fabric. "You know, this dress is pretty and all, but I've started to miss the hidden compartments in my hero costume. Why do dresses not have pockets?"

"Huh? They usually don't?" Arata ponders, one hand patting her own dress' waistline. "Oh... I guess I'm lucky mine has."

"Wow! That's like, super lucky!" Ochaco gives Arata a once-over from head to toe. "At a glance, our dresses are a bit similar, Arata-chan. I wish mine came with a pocket like yours too. Nice pick, Arata-chan, I'm certain it will be handy."

"Mina-chan and Toru-chan chose it for me. They dragged me into a shopping spree once they knew I needed a dress."

"Did they drag you through a dozen various stores?"

"No." A light-hearted chuckle slips out from Arata's mouth. "It was a last-minute shopping before I got to the airport. Aizawa-san also tagged along the whole time, so... maybe just three or four?"

"Wait, Aizawa-sensei? Our Aizawa-sensei? Went dress shopping?"

"Yeah, is it very unbelievable? He said he used to do the same with his mother."

"Aizawa-sensei choosing dresses, huh? It never crossed my mind before. That's pretty sweet. Did he help with picking the right one?"

"At the beginning, Aizawa-san occasionally pulled aside a few dresses that caught his eye. But, after getting some protests from Mina-chan and Toru-chan, he mostly stayed behind."

"Oh no, don't tell me it's a fashion disaster..."

"It's not that bad, Ochaco-chan. Let's just say... fashion trends have changed a lot over time. I think his choices were nice... in the right era."

"Pfftt, you mean, if this was twenty years back in time?"

"Well, you can put it that way." Arata joins Ochaco in giggling. "His fashion sense might be different, but I'm happy he cared enough to try."

"Come on, we barely have enough time. Arata-chan, I'll deal with you first." Clapping her hands, Yaoyorozu ushers Arata and sits her in front of the dressing table. She examines her reflection in the mirror as Arata swiftly pulls her own hair up in a neat ponytail, leaving several dark tresses framing her face. "Not intending to spice it up with a different hairstyle, Arata-chan? I can braid your hair if you want. French braids are all the rage these days."

Yaoyorozu's offer stirs a memory in Arata, a glimpse of her younger self, laughing freely. Of the time when her mother’s snowball sailed through the air and burst against her temple with a splash. Of snowflakes that rained over her braided white strands, as she giggled and hurled back a snowball of her own. Of simpler times where innocence had shielded her from the biting cold, and the harder times that followed. Because of the unwanted quirk in her.

Arata runs her fingers through her black locks tentatively. "Thanks, but… I’m not into braids." Not anymore.

"All right." Yaoyorozu smiles and tosses her own hair over her shoulders. "Let’s both rock a ponytail, a classic choice for beauty and practicality!"

"Yeah. It feels more… free this way."

"I get what you mean. Let me work on your arm next. Oh, at the mean time, do you want to try out some hair accessories or jewelries, Kyoka-chan and Ochaco-chan? I might have brought too many. They're in the dresser."

"Wow, you rock, Yao-momo!"

"Okay... Then, how about earrings?” Ochaco shows it to Yaoyorozu, who nods, then beams to Arata. "These ones go nicely with Arata-chan’s dress."

"Oh! I— I think they're okay. Thanks!" Shifting her attention back to her arm, Arata winces a little as Yaoyorozu prods it a little too hard with her brush. She can't hide her amazement when the bruise slowly blends with the skin around it, traces of blue and purple replaced. "You're really good at this, Yao-momo. Is there even anything you're not good at?"

"It's just a nice skill to have. It’s also useful if we ever need a disguise." Yaoyorozu giggles. "I think everybody has a different skillset. For example, I could never invent hero costumes and support equipment like Melissa-san. Even without quirk, she's amazing. Or, like Kaminari-kun and Mineta-kun, who can make cute latte arts using coffee and cream."

"Oh, right," Ochaco interjects and plops down one of the hotel beds. "Speaking of Kaminari-kun and Mineta-kun... Have you heard, Arata-chan?"

"Heard what?"

"Didn't Kaminari-kun say that it happened after Todoroki-kun and Arata-chan left?" Yaoyorozu looks up to exchange glances with her and Jirou. "I bet this gossip hasn't reached them yet."

"You know the cafe where Kaminari and Mineta worked at?" Jirou asks Arata, who shakes her head in reply. "Well, this afternoon, a group of university girls dropped by there and told a waitress that they were searching for a 'very handsome, purple-haired' man who had just entered the cafe. Mineta overheard it and immediately jumped out with a very big grin on his face."

"Why?" Purple hair, handsome? Sounds like the creep I met in the restroom...

"Well, you see, he had just taken the trash out a minute before and he has purple hair. He straight out assumed that the girls were talking about him and tried flirting with them. Do you know what he said?"

Clearing her throat, Ochaco tries her best to mimic Mineta's voice with a gag face on. "He said, 'Hi ladies, I'm Mr. Handsome. Somebody said you're looking for me?'"

Unable to contain her giggle, Arata slaps a hand over her own mouth. "Oh my..."

"Kaminari couldn't stop laughing when the girls gave Mineta a stink eye instead and left to sit with a purple-haired customer, who looks like he's in his 50s, in a private booth," Jirou continues with a grin. "Mineta was so salty about it, he ended up crying out that he was also cool."

50s? Arata ponders uncomfortably. This bit of information is contradictive with the demonic creep's characteristics. I'm somewhat sure the demon is in 40s... Was he a different person? But, I get a feeling that they are one and the same...

"Not that the girls cared. They went on and had a nice, private conversation going during their meal," Ochaco tries to recount Kaminari's story to them as best as she can. "At some point, most of the girls went out from the booth, leaving their friend with that man. I think it's a kind of blind date."

"Blind date?" Jirou snorts. "If that's true, it's disgusting how a middle-aged man's still hanging out with university students in that way. And, how in the world those girls could be charmed by him? He's old enough to be their father!"

Arata knows Jirou isn't talking about her, but she recoils a bit. Her thoughts fly back to the incident in the restroom. It was only for a short while, but there was a moment where she was attracted to a man more than twice her age too. Ashamed at herself, she struggles to give a logical rationale.

"Maybe... he was really handsome...?" The reason sounds even more lame spoken than in her head. She can't blame Jirou for looking at her as if she had grown two heads. "Um, nevermind."

"Even though he had good looks, wouldn't his age put you off? And, not just for one girl, but multiple... I'm appalled. In my opinion, this only can happen if he put those girls under a spell, a quirk, or something similar."

All of a sudden, it dawns on Arata that Jirou might very well be right. The girls'—and her—attraction could be caused by a quirk. Only if we are referring to the same man, she bites her lips and suppresses a shudder. If not, I don’t have the same excuse.

"Gee, Mineta-kun must be so jealous of his quirk if it's true," Ochaco says. "What's your take on their date, Yao-momo?"

"I don't know, but it must've been boring... because when Mineta-kun went to the booth to offer them the dessert menu, the man had already disappeared. And the girl's face was planted on the table, fast asleep."

"This is the best part. No matter what Mineta-kun had done, the girl barely gave any reaction, so Mineta-kun shook her shoulders. After a full minute, the girl finally woke up screaming with a bright red face and socked him right in the face. Guess what she shouted out loud?"

"What is it?" Arata raises her eyebrows, curious.

"'Pervert!', complete with a high-pitched tone and a panicked look."

"That university student's pervert radar must've been so sensitive," Jirou adds a snarky comment. "It was so on point although Mineta hadn't done anything yet."

It makes Ochaco giggle even louder, which tickles the others into a laughter as well. "Maybe it could see the future, so it tried to prevent Mineta-kun's sexual harassment?"

"To be honest, I feel a little bad about it... This time, Mineta-kun didn't actually do anything."

"It's long overdue, Yao-momo!" Jirou rolls her eyes. "Sometimes he did some pervy things, but didn't get any punishment or whatsoever. Mineta got this coming for him. Probably, it was the universe's way to teach him a lesson."

"Um, what happened to him, then?" Arata inquires again.

"For a while, it looked like that he had been harassing the girl. Fortunately for him, she soon apologized and straightened out the misunderstanding, saying that she'd just had a weird dream."

This one also fell asleep and woke up flustered like the janitor... She also admitted that she had a 'weird dream'... Was it his quirk that made them fall asleep, like Midnight's Somnambulist? But then, does it mean he have more than one quirk?

But, if so, why didn't I fall asleep too? He should've had the chance in the restroom.

Am I wrong at assuming the customer and the creep to be the same person? Kaminari-kun and Mineta-kun met this customer in the afternoon. They said he was in his 50s. I met the demonic creep in the evening. But, he seemed to be around 40 years old or more, not 50 years old.

No one should be able to turn 10 years younger in the span of a few hours. No, scratch that. Turning younger shouldn't be possible in any case.

"Mineta-kun was very lucky. Otherwise, he could’ve been fired on the spot," Ochaco resumes Kyoka's words, her snicker reverberating between each word. "Crap, I still can't stop laughing. Mina-chan is going to love this one. We ought to tell her tomorrow."

"Oh? Mina-chan is also here?"

"Right! Together with Toru-chan and Tsuyu-chan! She asked me to tell you since you haven’t read her message, Arata-chan."

"Oh I see, thanks for letting me know, Yao-momo. I didn’t bring my laptop here, so I can’t check my messenger. Are we going to meet them?"

"I heard they had just arrived a few minutes ago." Yaoyorozu nods to the clock. "We're planning to meet up with them at the I-Expo grand opening. You coming, Arata-chan? It'll be so much fun!"

"I'm not sure I can. Can I let you know later?"

"Of course! And, by the way, you're done! Now, please switch places with Ochaco-chan."

"Thanks, Yao-momo! It's like the bruise wasn't there in the first place." Arata admires her seemingly brand new arm on another mirror, then backtracks to the previous topic. "Um, about the purple-haired customer earlier... Do you know what he looks like?"

"Kaminari-kun didn't go into the specifics, so no. But, by the sound of it, he must be pretty darn handsome and charismatic! I mean, imagine being 50 years old and still get fawned by those university students!" Ochaco crosses her arms in front of her chest, thinking hard, with Yaoyorozu standing behind her and handling her brown hair. "That's one hell of an appeal! I'm very, very curious."

"Maybe Kaminari can point him out to us later," Jirou suggests. "There's a chance that customer will attend this welcome party, right?"

"We'll only be able to do that if we finish this preparation on time," Yaoyorozu reminds them. "It's fifteen minutes to the agreed time, yet Kyoka-chan and I haven't even gotten ready. Let's quickly finish this preparation and get going to the welcome party. I'm sure everyone is waiting for us."

However Yaoyorozu phrases it, Arata feels like they should be preparing for something more than a party. More coincidences and clues occur, but they seemingly cancel out each other and she's not able to piece them together yet. One thing she knows, that this may not be the last time she finds a clue about it.

Demonic creep, who are you actually?

Chapter Text

Tardiness, Iida clicks his tongue in annoyance, should have been included in seven deadly sins.

1-A students all agreed to meet at I-Island's central tower entrance and go to the party as a group. However, the time is cutting it close and the only ones present here are only Kaminari, Mineta, Midoriya, Todoroki, and himself.

Not for the first time that evening, Iida huffs and nudges his glasses up his nose. "It's almost time. Where is everyone?"

"Relax, Iida-kun," Deku reassures his friend. "Uraraka-san said they'll be here in a second. I don't know about Kacchan and Kirishima-kun, though."

"You gotta loosen up, Iida," Kaminari adds, nodding his head and flashing a grin. "According to my experience, it's normal for girls to take a while to dress up. Be patient for some time and prepare to behold the view of 1-A pretty flowers!"

Shrugging his shoulders snidely, Mineta mocks Kaminari, "Says the guy who's never had a girlfriend."

"At least I wasn't the one who got hit in the face by a girl while working," the electricity user quips, not a trace of maliciousness smears his tone.

"Hey! It was just a misunderstanding!"

Snickering at Mineta's protests, Kaminari turns his head to Todoroki when something on said boy's phone screen catches his attention. "What are you and Aizawa-sensei talking about, Todoroki?"

Rather than an answer, he gets a glare from Todoroki, who swiftly turns off the screen and slides the phone down to his pocket. "It's none of your business."

"Whoa! Chill, Todoroki. It's not like I intended to see it."

"It's rude to spy on people, Kaminari-kun," Deku chides, frowning in disapproval, before stealing a glance at Iida, whose position is closer to the gate than to them. "You're lucky Iida-kun didn't hear it, but you have to apologize to Todoroki-kun."

"You're right." Kaminari throws an apologetic grin to his tense friend. "I was just very curious. My bad."

After a moment of consideration, Todoroki slips his own hands in his pockets, one of them fingering the phone. "How much of it did you see?"

"Not much, only Aizawa-sensei's name and a sorta picture of nature."

"... Fine."

Kaminari doesn't understand. His friend is being quite defensive for a student who merely receives a message from his teacher. It seems innocent enough... So, why? Is there a secret hidden on that screen?

He almost asks Todoroki about it when Mineta's loud yell cuts his thoughts off. "ALL THE GIRLS ARE HERE!"

"Sorry for making you guys wait!"

Oh, right, girls. And, just like that, Kaminari's brain switches his focus to the most important task on hand: girls. He immediately glances around, his honey-colored eyes searching the crowd for the girls as they step into the room.

"Wow! Would you look at that!? U.A. really needs to require the female students to wear dresses every day! Melissa looks a hell of a lot like a supermodel too!"

"Ugh, wipe your drool off, Kaminari."

"That's not nice, Kaminari-kun! You will subject our friends into wearing impractical outfits during training sessions, written exams, classes, and—"

"Iida-kun, I think he got the message."

"..."

"..."

"I... I hope I don't look weird wearing this... This is my first time wearing a dress and I'm not sure if I—"

"Ara, you... don't look weird at all."

"Oh! Um— I'm glad... I— I think your outfit suits you, Shoto-san..."

"Thanks."

"..."

"..."

It is amusing how much the impact of a dress suit and a dress can have on him. On her. Well, on both of them. This is by no means Shoto's first conversation with Arata, but by the magic of their formal attires, it sort of feels that way.

Arata's nervousness surfaces in the form of pink spreads over her cheeks. While he doesn't have a visible reaction like hers, he knows that his breathing stutters every time their gazes accidentally collide.

It doesn't help either that there's this... static uncertainty. It inaudibly crackles, almost suspicious how its timing matches with her stealing a glance at him. It lingers without form between the empty space that separates them. And it sends unsolicited, tiny jolts up to his chest.

This electric sensation... Is it Kaminari's quirk?

However, a quick sweep around the room with his eyes is enough to tell Shoto that Kaminari is right across the room, joking around with Jirou and Mineta. No one to pin the blame on now, he decides to pass it off as an abnormal phenomenon, regardless of its inexplicability.

Just some time ago, he and Arata were so comfortable with each other, to the point of holding hands during the walk back, even. Now? He isn't used to this kind of... whatever it is. The awkwardness laid out between them could take form as cheese considering how thick it feels.

What to say... What to say... Shoto sighs in his head, silently observing her from the corner of his eye. I can't focus at all. Should I say something? But, what? About I-Speed? About our teamwork in the race? Oh, right, that reminds me...

"Ara, about your right arm... Is it healed up? I mean, the bruise has... disappeared."

"Oh, it's..." he sees Arata pause for a moment before carefully resuming her words. "Yao-momo offered to, um... cover it up with make-up."

"So it’s still hurt."

Shoto thinks his expression doesn't change, not even a bit. However, his guilt must be visible, because Arata reassures him right away.

"It's nothing big, just a minor injury. It could've been worse, but it's not. Thanks to you..." she smiles to him, showing a pair of charming dimples. "... and your ice, Shoto-san."

It's not the first time Arata has smiled to him, but somehow it sends a tingling feeling all over his body. It brings the funny sensation from before right back inside him. Scratching his own neck, he averts his gaze to another direction. "Just... don't overwork your arm. Otherwise it can get worse."

"I'll try. And, um, Shoto-san?"

"Yeah?" he grunts, trying to will down his own nerves.

"I think... your collar got a bit tangled up under your tie."

"Oh... Which part?" His fingers sweep the suit's collar without aim, fumbling to find any rumpled part. "Here?"

"A little more to the left."

"This one?"

"No, not there." A light giggle slips out from her mouth as he throws her a confused, lost-puppy-like look. "Want me to help?"

A help. To fix my tie, Shoto closes his eyes and ponders, skimming past memories. When was the last time I heard that offer? No, when was the last time anyone bothered with something so trivial for me?

Since his very first time in junior high school, he has always done his tie himself. When other teenagers seemed to consult their parents or siblings on it, he did it by watching "Otou-san, How Do I?" tutorial videos on the internet.

Part of it was because he didn't ask for help. Who was he supposed to ask, anyway?

His mother never left the hospital. His oldest brother was ashes. His sister drowned herself in her undergraduate studies. His other brother steered clear of their home most of the time.

His father didn't bother with anything that didn't make him stronger or closer to surpassing All Might. And even if he did, why would Shoto have wanted his help? After everything he had put them through... Shoto wanted nothing to do with him.

It's true that Shoto never asked for their help. It's true that his family never offered to help him either.

But here, Arata concerns herself with him. Even if she doesn't have to. Even if he doesn't ask for it outright. Even if it's merely about a small matter, like wiping away his sweat, draping him with a blanket, comforting him, and… fixing his tie. No matter how insignificant it seems, the way she cares for him... is far from insignificant for him.

Being taken care of is unfamiliar for Shoto, but it is a welcome change.

"Sure." The sides of his lips curl into a smile as he opens his eyes again. "As much as my confusion entertains you, yes, I would like to have your help."

"All right."

Leaning closer to him, Arata stands on her toes and her hand dives for his left collar leaf, fiddling with it lightly. Shoto would like to think, that he instinctively dips his head down to make her job easier, because she is shorter than him. Because he doesn't want her to overstretch her injured arm. Not because he likes the fluttering warmth in his body when he is with her.

The way these little, innocent touches spread between them brings his mind back to their walk back this evening. With his hand over hers the whole way.

It set him warm inside, and he would be lying to say he didn't wish for it to go on. Her touch doesn't burn him the way his Half-Hot quirk does. It smolders him slowly until his feelings melt into a hot mess.

"Okay, done. It's all good now." Arata pats his collar, smoothing the creases on it with her fingers. He squirms a little when they accidentally brush his neck, causing her to pause. "Um... Shoto-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Your ears are slightly red. Why...?" Confused, her green eyes follow the redness on his skin from the ear up to his face. "O— Oh."

Unlike him, it looks like Arata has just noticed how close their faces are. One slight move and their foreheads will be touching. The hands around his neck twitch and her eyes widen in surprise, sucking Shoto right into a vivid green abyss, immobilizing his muscles in the most unexpected way possible.

What's wrong with me? I can't concentrate… She's... too close...

The pounding in his chest keeps accelerating until it's almost painful. To the point that suddenly he finds it almost impossible to breathe. Instead of breathing, his brain is allocating too much of his focus on actively ignoring these restless, tiny movements she makes.

"Stop moving, Ara," Shoto mutters, hoping that his state of disarray isn't reflected by his voice. "It's... Don't make me nervous..."

"Oh!" Arata's cheeks flush deeper, painting more adorable red on her face. "Sorry, I..."

"No, thank you," he hushes her, grey-cyan eyes gleaming in gratitude, "for fixing my tie."

"S— Sure... Um, any time, Shoto-san..."

The tension between them is brewing and somehow, none of them pulls away. They are just standing there, hearts palpitating in ribcage. Staring into each other's gaze in indefinite silence.

Vaguely, he asks himself why he stays still instead of pulling away. Arata has finished fixing his tie, so there's no business for him to maintain this... position. For her as well. Yet, he can't find it in himself to step back. Not if it means he has to let go of this smothering, yet warm sensation.

It's strange and I don't understand why. Probably... I can figure it out later.

The only thing he understands about himself right now is that he trusts her not to choke him even when her hands are up on his collar. That he doesn't mind having her in his personal space though it's kind of bad for his heart. That he feels so warm with her and he wants to—

"Oi, don't you smell something burning here?"

His thought process be damned, Shoto physically recoils and yanks himself away from Arata.

Crap! Did I just burn her? All that warmth, was it from my own quirk? What if I accidentally set her on fire?

Struggling to keep himself together, he quickly scans his own arm to look for any trace of fire. He pulls his left sleeve higher, his fingertips only finding warm—not hot—skin underneath.

None. Calm down. No signs of fire. Then, what was that just now?

Shoto quickly snaps his head to the source, only to find Kaminari snickering at the red-faced Arata, not him. Next to the electricity user, Jirou is grinning ear to ear, as if she found the whole thing hilarious.

"It's adorable that she blushes this hard," Jirou remarks. "Wanna try frying an egg on your face, Arata-chan?"

"Ugh, stop teasing me, Kyoka-chan, Kaminari-kun... See, you even made Shoto-san surprised."

Oh, they're talking about Ara.

Chuckling, Jirou turns to him, her earphone jacks gesturing to Arata's flushed cheeks. "What did you even do to her, Todoroki?"

Keeping his internal thoughts under wraps, Shoto slips back into his usual poker face. "Nothing."

"Sure, like anyone would buy that reason," Jirou scoffs.

"Hey, Arata-chan, does being near Todoroki have that strong of an effect on you?"

The three of them expect Arata to blush again, considering Kaminari's intrusive question. However, she stares at the blond with an indescribable, yet serious expression—like she's just remembered something important. If this reaction isn't unexpected, her next surely is.

"Say, Kaminari-kun... Did someone manage to catch your eye at the cafe?"

"Say what!?"

"Um, were you... attracted to anyone at your workplace? Is there anyone you liked?"

Her reply catches Kaminari so off-guard that he almost electrocutes himself. By the looks of it, he isn't the only one surprised. Jirou and Todoroki are frozen stiff on their spot, perhaps wondering if their ears have failed them.

Kaminari quickly blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, "Are you— Are you asking me out, Arata-chan?"

"Huh?" After a while, Arata finally realizes the implication of her question. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean it that way... I, um, just heard from Kyoka-chan that you had a demon-like customer this evening. I was wondering... if you were attracted to him...?"

"Where did you get that idea!?" Kaminari cries out, bewildered beyond belief. "I like women, not men! Mineta can vouch for me about that! Besides, I bet that customer hates men. He refused to be within a meter from the male staffs!"

Body tensing, Shoto quickly chips in, "Ara, is it the restroom creep? Kaminari also met him?"

"I think so, but—"

Just as Arata wants to explain, a security emergency blares off in the building and the metal seals surrounding them descend one by one, shutting them inside with loud, ominous clanks.

"This is an announcement by the I-Island security system."

The light from the monitor casts a blue hue on his goggled face as he finishes typing on his keyboard. "Okay, that's it. All the people in this island are our hostages now."

"I usually don't like men, but I can tolerate you as a comrade, Mr. Hacker." a yellow-eyed man shoots him a confident smile, hand combing his own purple locks.

"You only say that because I helped you to cover your tracks. Which I only did because you’ve done your part in getting us into I-Island."

"Ouch, so cold. This is why we need to recruit girls."

"Shut your trap, Ephialtes. Flirting with female guards wasn’t enough for you? Remember, only our boss can recruit members," his goat-faced ally snarls, pointing his finger to him. "You've messed up! You let one run away from you! Good job at nearly fucking all of us."

"Oh, that one? Give her a break, Nobu. Little Red Riding Hood is a teenager. Mr. Hacker has thrown her off our trail as well."

"To be honest, I'm not sure about that..." the hacker pipes up, not that everyone else in the room gives much thought about it.

"As if age actually matters to an old fart like you," Nobu spits to Ephialtes, nostrils flaring and sharp teeth showing. "Your next target isn't even much older than she is."

"Should I even be guilty about it? It's not like I've ever physically hurt the girls." Ephialtes's chuckle reverberates between them, his yellow eyes gleaming, carefully tracing a picture of an identity card on another monitor. "Hmm, Melissa Shield, is it? Quirkless, young, and gorgeous to boot. Our informant has outdone himself. I can't wait to feed on her."

Chapter Text

Between the security system broadcast and the hostage situation inside the reception hall, it is made clear to them that a group of villains have taken over not only the central tower, but the entire I-Island.

While I-Island's exceptional security system has always been used to protect its inhabitants from villains, in the hands of the villains, it is used to trap all of them in. Even All Might, their best pro hero, is rendered useless and puny once bound by the restricting devices.

We're lucky we weren't caught in those.

Even though All Might has told them to run away, Deku knows by heart that they can't just stand by and wait for the crisis to pass. Many lives are involved in this invasion, and as a hero candidate, if he doesn't move now, he will never be able to see himself as a hero.

Their only chance to turn over the situation is taking back the control room at the top floor. With Melissa's knowledge and skills, they will be able to revert back the security if they manage to reach there. Correction, when they reach it.

I will definitely save everyone! Deku clenches his fist as he passes a large "60" on his right, taking a big gulp of air for his poor lungs. Crap, 60th floor and my legs are starting to have cramps...

The others also seem tired... I wonder how Melissa-san and Arata-san are faring. They aren't used to a heavy physical activity like this.

"What's the top floor again?" Kaminari asks, one hand busy wiping his own sweat.

"200th," Todoroki replies shortly without stopping and ignores Kaminari's "damn!" afterwards. His grey-cyan eyes steal a glance at the back of their pack for a second before he focuses on the emergency stairs ahead again.

Recognizing the fleeting look of worry on his face, Deku speaks up, "Do you think we should've asked Arata-san to stay behind? I mean, for her safety. She's new, after all. We have no choice but to bring Melissa-san with us for this plan to work, but actually we don't have to bring Arata-san."

Todoroki would be lying if he said he hadn't considered that option. He knows there was a moment where he thought of it. Anyhow, what Arata had said next diminished that thought completely.

"After everything, I don't want to be locked up ever again..." Arata muttered to him, her green eyes looked a shade darker due to the dim lighting. "The villains haven't hurt anyone, but... no matter how short and how peaceful this situation will be, I'm sure people in the reception party don't want to be locked up like this as well."

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"Shoto-san, I know probably I won't be useful and all, but I think... I can try... Maybe this is selfish, but I hope you don't mind."

"Well, if that's really what you want, Ara. So, you're in?"

A glint of iron entered her expression as she met his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, let's free them, Shoto-san."

"I don't know if this is the best choice," Todoroki answers, running past the 65th floor wall sign, "but it's her own choice. I won't say anything about it."

Like during I-Speed that evening, Arata might be able to see a number of possibilities he couldn't see. He might have taken all the fights for himself, but she was the one who showed him how to win the race. Without her making the right decision, it would have definitely ended in a loss.

Actually, it's not "right" either, seeing how it injured her arm pretty badly. That being said...

Having her in their group probably doesn't add much value for now, but it might prove to be vital later on. He just wishes it won't cost her an arm.

However, of course, they can't use the emergency stairs to go all the way to the 200th floor. Having found the stairway to the upper stories are blocked with a shutter, they decide to pass a botanical garden on the 80th floor to cross to the other side of the building. They will probably have a better chance with that side's emergency stairs.

At any rate, it turns out that even merely passing through the botanical garden is not an easy task. The villains are onto their location, and before they know it, two villains have arrived in the middle of the garden. With no choice but to hide, all of the 1-A students and Melissa are wedged beside each other, trying to conceal themselves behind the greenery.

"Shh, quiet," Iida mutters, following the villains closely with his gaze. "They're coming."

Taking a peek behind Shoto's shoulders, Arata bites her lips when she doesn't spot a mass of curly, purple hair between the villains. Instead, a man no taller than than her is standing a few meters from them. "Daigo", that's how his partner calls him. The partner, Nobu, is beside him, towering like a very tall, biped goat.

Should I be grateful that the demonic creep isn't among these villains? Or should I be worried because it means these villains could be his accomplices?

Arata tilts her head to the left. Her gaze collides with Melissa's, who sends her a confused look, but smiles nonetheless. Arata forces a polite smile and breaks their eye contact, brooding over the events that day.

Since I knew Melissa-san is quirkless, I've been dreading meeting that demon again... What if he puts her on a sleep too? Like that janitor in the restroom and the girl customer in Kaminari-kun and Mineta-kun's work place? What should I— Huh?

A hand clasps Arata's hand softly, breaking her thoughts. Unlike Shoto's calloused hand, this one is very smooth and slender. Not a hint of physical training is engraved in it.

"Arata-chan, don't worry, the villains won't find us," Melissa quietly whispers, a reassuring smile on her face. "We're going to be all right. Don't be afraid."

Did she just put on a brave face for me? Arata grimaces. This is pathetic. I should be the one who said that as a hero course student. Well, Melissa-san doesn't know about that, it never came up in our conversation. She assumed that I'm just a friend of Shoto-san who is tagging along. But, still...

"Melissa-san, I..."

Melissa gives her hand another light squeeze, then lets go. "I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

I'm the one who should protect you, Arata wants to say, but the words crumble on her tongue. Do I really look that helpless? So helpless that the creep immediately thought of me as quirkless? So helpless that it never occurred to Melissa-san that I'm part of 1-A too?

Either of them doesn't have the time to say anything else, as a shouting match suddenly breaks out in front of them. While the first two voices belong to the villains, Arata discerns the other two as Kirishima and Bakugou's, who failed to turn up on their agreed place.

Apparently, they got lost on their way to the party and went all the way to the 80th floor? Arata surmises, watching with bated breath as Kirishima asks the villains for direction. What should we do? It doesn't seem the villains believe them.

"I know you're the kids we're looking for!" Nobu snarls, one hand transformed into a big, webbed claw, swinging it to Kirishima's direction. "Don't lie to me!"

"Kirishima-kun, look out!"

At the telltale sign of distorted air around Nobu’s hands, Arata immediately springs to her feet on instinct, dashing forward. Her whole body is tingling, like something is running its course through her veins.

For a split second, everything seems clearer than ever to her. From the distorted edges of Nobu's quirk attack, to the tiniest details of Kirishima's surprised frown.

That's not all. She also feels that her own movement becomes a blur, as if she was a rollercoaster that couldn't be stopped. All she knows at that moment, is charging ahead. Without a single care other than shoving Kirishima away from the line of attack.

"Ara!"

Her movement is suddenly forced into a stop by a jerk so strong that she even staggers backwards. The temperature nosedives and a giant wall of ice surges to life in front of her and all the way to Kirishima, effectively cutting Nobu's attack.

"Think before you act! Don't be reckless." Not releasing his left hand from her wrist, Shoto glares at her, his voice more strained than usual. "What would you protect Kirishima with? Your body? And, how were you able to react so fast?"

"Sorry... My body just moved on its own..."

Arata wasn't as fast as All Might, but that reaction time was definitely unnatural. She had dashed past him when he barely registered Nobu’s sign of attack. Now that Shoto thinks about it, her reflex during the race was also nothing short of exceptional.

I will ask her later, he clenches his jaw upon the sounds of his ice cracking and shattering from inside, pounded and crushed by the villains. We have to take care of them first.

"Bakugou, Kirishima, and I will stall for time here. You guys go ahead. Ara, endure the cold for a moment."

Slamming his right palm on the floor, the floor under their feet turns to an ice pillar, rising them upward on a steady pace. As soon as he unclasps her wrist, Arata almost falls flat on her butt due to the heavy shaking.

"Wait, I'm not leaving you here, Shoto-san!"

"Don't say that just because you dislike my ice. This is temporary. You can get off on the bridges up there. Yaoyorozu, hold her so she won't jump down."

"Hey, I'm not that crazy! It's not about your ice too!"

"Is that so?" Shoto lets out a rare chuckle as his ice pillar rises higher. "Then, look for a way to the top. I'm fine, just go. I'll be right behind you after we clean this up."

There isn't a lot to do once they manage to get to the bridge. The only way to go is up, through a panel on the ceiling. For that, they have to wait for Mineta to scale the outside wall and lower the ladder. Arata leans over the railing, following the small blurs of people below with her eyes.

If only I had a long-range quirk, she sighs, examining the fight between her friends and the villains. Maybe I would be able to help from up here, like—what is it called?—oh, a sniper.

The one named Nobu sure moves fast, and there's his displacement quirk too... He has been giving Shoto-san a hard time.

Hm? What is Nobu-san doing? Arata squints harder, trying to make out his subtle gestures. It's the third time he has glanced up here. And this time, it looks like he's whispering something to a device in his pocket. Is it for communication?

It's difficult to perceive his line of sight clearly, considering how far below he is. But, Arata has a chilling guess that the one he has been looking at is Melissa.

Do they know that Melissa-san is quirkless? Or are they trying to devise a way so we won't be able to escape? Whichever it is—

Clinking sounds rattle behind her and she turns around, noticing Mineta gushing with tears from the roof panel. A long metal ladder has been lowered near the bridge. "Hello ladies, I made it! Now, where's the harem that you've promised me?"

"Great job, Mineta-kun!" Arata hears Ochaco and Deku cheering him on. Her own lips curl into a relieved smile at their new way out as she lets herself be ushered to the ladder by Iida.

Well, whichever it is won't mean anything as long as we all manage to escape from here and go under the radar again. Hopefully.

Chapter Text

"I never knew climbing a ladder could be this nerve-racking," Jirou grumbles and glances at the mouse-sized people fighting down below. The ladder rattles at the slightest movement, making a round of shivers crawls up her nape. Her stomach swirls as she urges herself to step on another rung.

"Keep it up, Kyoka-chan!" Ochaco cheers loudly, her head sticking from the roof panel above. Behind her, Iida, Mineta, Midoriya, and Yaoyorozu are giving Jirou an encouraging grin.

"Oi, Jirou! That's pretty unexpected of you. I didn't know you have a girly side like this!" Kaminari chortles. "Why are you so afraid, anyway? If you ever fell off, you would have Arata-chan and Melissa-san as meat cushions!"

"What did you say, Kaminari!? I would so love to slip down if you were the one under. Let's see how comfy of a meat cushion you'd make!"

"I did offer to go last! But then, you girls started complaining that you're all wearing dresses so we boys had to climb first!"

"It's not fair at all!" Mineta whines and taps his feet on the metal floor. "Bakugou, Kirishima, and Todoroki could be staring at your skirts from down there for all we know!"

"Mineta-kun... I think it's physically impossible..." Deku says. "Besides, it seems they're busy fighting the villains."

Tilting her head up, Arata grips the next metal bar and sends a concerned look at her short-haired friend. "You don't have to hurry, Kyoka-chan. Be careful. This ladder is a bit slippery. Just now, one of the shoes I'm wearing slipped off..."

"Maybe Todoroki-kun could bring it to you later, Arata-chan," Melissa chimes from a few steps under her. "Like the Prince Charming in the Cinderella story."

"Pfftt!" Jirou bursts into laughter. Together with her steps, they send tiny vibrations along the ladder. "Their reenactment would make one hell of a movie! A bonus point if her shoe managed to knock out either of the villains in the process."

"Oh, you're kidding me." Arata rolls her eyes, embarrassment coloring her voice. "I doubt that. They're fighting on the other side of the botanical garden."

I'll search for it just to make sure, she glances underneath and squints her eyes, trying to spot a half of her pair of high-heels among the greenery.

Rather than a shoe, the one Arata manages to spot is a soaring blur of purple, its bat-like wings fanned out like giant curtains of darkness. A single flap is all it takes to close its distance with them—with Melissa—shooting upward with familiar, flashing yellow eyes and ram horns.

Is that the demonic creep? Is he intending to take Melissa-san with him?

"Hey! Hold on tight!" Arata screams in alarm. "A villain is approaching us!"

Neither has the time to be surprised, because just a moment later, a slam wobbles the whole ladder. Jirou yelps, almost getting thrown off if not for her death grip on the metal bars.

"Oof!"

One of her feet accidentally hits Arata, who barely manages to latch onto the ladder after slipping into a couple of rungs down.

"Sorry! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Her right arm throbs in protest under the strain and her shins hurt, but Arata couldn't care less. In no condition she wants to fall and splat on the ground like an egg. More importantly, what about Melissa?

The ladder's metal joints are still clinking against their bolts when the demon appears behind Melissa. One arm swiftly slinks around her shoulders, tilting her chin to face his. "Hi there, Miss Shield. I've been hoping to meet you."

His skin is cold to the touch and Melissa squirms under his hold, struggling to break free. "Let me go!"

"Melissa-san, don't look at his eyes!" Arata tries to stretch her body and kick the demon-like man, but her heel doesn't even skin the top of his head. "He will hypnotize you!"

"Hm? I wonder where you got that info." the villain, Ephialtes, snaps his head up, just in time as Arata looks away, avoiding his yellow eyes. "It's not common knowledge."

Huh... It looks like he doesn't recognize me.

"Go away from Melissa-san!" Arata bites out. She would so want to get her point across with a glare, but she figures that looking at his eyes might be a bad idea.

"My, my, I can't do that. It will defeat my entire purpose flying up here."

This is bad, Arata groans. In the background, she can hear the panicked conversation of her friends, all caught off-guard by this unexpected development. A ladder isn't the best place to fight a villain on. The footing is unreliable. A wrong move will result in a fall, and that risk is too big to take.

"Get off, you jerk!" Eyes shut, Melissa wriggles and throws an elbow back. Ephialtes glides back and ducks, dodging her blind, desperate attack with refined elegance. Clicking his tongue, he lets out a heavy sigh, yet the polite tone of his silky smooth voice is unchanging.

"Why are the best ones always the least obedient ones? You're beautiful, but I don't have time to play mind games with you now, Melissa Shield. Let's just go straight to the next step, and—"

It's hard to see what item is exactly in his grip, seeing that his back obstructs most of Arata's sight. But, when a metallic glint enters her peripheral vision, a jolt zaps straight to her head and her instinct takes over her body.

"Get your hands off her!" Arata growls, adrenaline swirling in her veins, flooding her being with a wave of burning energy, thrumming as it flows.

It all seems so clear to her. The way his yellow eyes gleam and focus on Melissa. The way his hand swings to her shoulder. The way the item's pointed tip gives off a silver flash under the lights. And...

... The way she is in danger if no one interferes right now.

"Go to sleep, Melissa Shield."

"I said, get your hands off her!" I'm going to protect you, Melissa-san!

Just a split second before Ephialtes makes contact with Melissa, a 37-kilogram mass drops on his back—sudden and hard. A twinge explodes on his left shoulder blade, and he bets everything he has that it is not only because of collision. He winces in pain as the impact plummets him like a busted aircraft.

"Arata-chan! No!"

"It's crazy! She deliberately jumped!"

"— bringing the villain down with her—"

The shouts gradually sound inaudible, replaced with the rushing blood in his ears. The ground is rapidly approaching in his vision, the harsh wind that comes with it is making his eyes teary. Saddled by the extra weight, he can't even control his flight anymore.

Wings, he needs to flap his wings. Yet, whereas his right wing immediately opens wide, his left can't. It trembles miserably, impaired by a sharp, pointed object which is being pressed down by the girl on his back.

That bitch, she clipped one of my wings!

Unable to stop his descent, Ephialtes's face smashes to the botanical garden floor with an ear-splitting crash. Sickening cracks thunder in the air, a few of which surely coming from his ribs and legs, together with the white-hot pain spasming in his body.

Warm liquid starts to pour out, creating a pool on the white ceramic, seeping and painting its fissures with crimson. And, despite the nasty drop, the girl on his back stirs and props her own torso up, limbs shaking heavily under the crushing ache in her bones and muscles.

It is a wonder in and of itself that Arata hasn't fainted on the spot. Black spots dance in her vision and she buckles down, her elbows slamming the villain's back once again. A shoe rolls out from her grasp and tumbles to the floor with a clack, a hint of red trickling down its pointed heel.

"— Shit! Ara!—"

"— Oi, that extra—"

"Where do you think you're going, kids? Your opponents are here, not there!"

"— Arata-chan! Wake up!"

"Jirou-kun, Melissa-san! Get to the roof panel first for now!”

"— Is she moving!? Arata-san!"

Various calls for her pass through Arata's ears, but her head is too fuzzy to pay attention to either of them.

Is Melissa-san safe? Did I... Did I manage to knock him out? Ugh, I feel very dizzy... and my entire body hurts... Right arm, my right arm— I don't think I can feel it anymore... as if it has imploded and blown into pieces...

Her forehead brushes the villain's back as she struggles to support herself. Forcing herself to raise her voice volume, she tries to be as coherent as possible. "G— Get Melissa-san... out of here! All of you... just go to the top— top floor. This villain, h— he targets quirkless girls—"

All of a sudden, the dark, muscular wing under her twitches and arches upward. It comes down upon her in a flash. The blow connects with her abdomen with a loud thud, hurling her to the ceramic tiles. Pain bursts like fireworks in her stomach and back, almost causing her to black out.

"I didn't recognize you at first without that maroon hoodie, Little Red Riding Hood."

Impossible... That fall should've been enough to severely injure him. I used him as a cushion to break my fall, and yet, everything still hurt me so much... How come he still can move...?

Breathing momentarily cut off, Arata lets out a round of hacking coughs and gasps. Extending her arm, she grabs whatever around and reachable on the cold ground, then smacks it to the head next to her. Terracotta shatters upon contact, raining earthy soil and humus. She wishes it would be enough to incapacitate the villain, but...

"Normally, I'm very merciful towards girls—"

Ephialtes rises to his feet and his body convulses unnaturally. His crooked limbs contort, filling the air with horrible popping sounds, soil dripping from his shoulders. Blood thickens and ceases to ooze from his wounds, discolored flesh progressively mending itself. And, in place of his smooth skin, wrinkles and creases emerge, drawing years of aging in an instant on it.

What in the world...

"— but you've helped my prey escape, clipped my wing with a high heel, smashed a pot to my head, and cut off at least a decade of my lifespan. As restroom buddies, just between you and I, there is nothing I loathe more than looking old. Nothing, although males are a close one."

Arata isn't looking into his eyes, but promise of a threat lurks inside his voice, sending chills up her spine. Trying to collect what's left from her grit, she scrambles and backs away, ignoring the scorching ache in her limbs and abdomen with great effort.

"We're not 'buddies'," Arata growls, keeping her gaze at his hands, careful not to make an eye contact. Red blooms across the torso of her dress as she presses her left palm against the spot firmly, trying to ignore the throbbing, reopened cauterization wound underneath.

Dusting the soil remains from the intricate embellishment on his posh clothes, a smirk splits Ephialtes's face and his yellow eyes sweep over Arata, examining her from head to toe.

"To think a quirkless girl like you can do this to me... I'll make you pay for the years I've lost. Dearly."

Chapter Text

What did the demonic creep mean by "cut off a decade off his lifespan"? Arata ponders, her eyes zeroing at the slight crinkles on Ephialtes's once-flawless skin.

Lifespan isn't something humans can add and subtract. Nobody should be able to lengthen their own lifespan without any serious consequence.

It's highly impossible to do, unless... it has something to do with the dormant potential Denise-san and Dace-san talked about. Does it mean...?

Forcing herself to pull her weight back to her feet, Arata clasps the seams of her dress and takes a step back, horrified at her own conclusion. "All those fainting accidents... Those quirkless girls... You— You absorbed their dormant potential and turned it into your own lifespan."

"Once again, you've blown me away. Clever, aren't you, Little Red Riding Hood?" Ephialtes claps his hands dramatically, his lips curling deeper. "'Dormant potential', huh? So, that's the official term..."

"Wait, if that is your quirk... how come you can hypnotize people too? Do you... have two quirks?"

As soon as the question leaves her mouth, a singsong laugh fills the air—hearty and ringing lightly, as if the laugher truly thinks it as amusing. "My, my, are you jealous because you don't even have one?"

This quirkless impression again... It's getting old, Arata sighs, her eyebrows twitching in annoyance. Well, probably I should let him be for now. Quirkless people have larger dormant potential reserves for him to absorb. If he knows I have a quirk, no doubt he will go straight for Melissa-san.

"I just want to know. I'm, um— I'm curious about quirks."

"Why would I need multiple quirks if I have a mutant-type quirk? Let's say those abilities are extensions of my quirk."

"Which is?"

"I would like to tell you all about it, but I need you to come closer to me."

"I would like to do it, but you'll put me to sleep."

"Isn't that a fair thing to do, considering you have made me this old? Our conversation has been pleasant, however I haven't forgotten about it."

Ephialtes moves forward and Arata steps back again, her muscles tensing in anticipation. Maintaining the distance between them is perhaps her best bet. It seems like he doesn't have a long-ranged attack, so as long as she avoids getting hypnotized, it will be fine.

And if it's not, I have to hold out, at least until—

"Little Red Riding Hood, you've glanced up there three times in the past minute, even though all your friends had escaped. Well, maybe not all of them. I wouldn't be surprised if your green-haired friend is quietly climbing down the ladder to help you right now."

Crap! Since when did he realize?

"Then, why didn't you do anything? It's like you're waiting for— for..." Then, an unseen possibility dawns on Arata and her stomach immediately lurches. "Oh. Oh."

To help her, Midoriya has to exit the roof panel, go down the ladder, get off on the bridge, then somehow jumps down to where they are. But, if he does that, there is no way he can climb up again, because he can't fly. The only way they could get to the bridge the first time was thanks to Shoto's ice pillar.

However, that isn't the case for this demon-like villain. With his wings, he can fly straight to the roof panel. Once Midoriya jumps to save her, the villain will soar again to the roof panel... and chase after Melissa instead, leaving her and Midoriya stuck in the botanical garden, unable to catch up.

This realization makes Arata's heart sink with dread in an instant. Disgust leaks into her voice, smearing it with a rare defiance as she spits out, "You're a coward. Trying to get out from a fight before it even begins."

"Watch what you say, Little Red Riding Hood. Haven't I told you that I despise aging? Between two quirkless girls, of course I'll pick the easiest one. Why should I fight your broccoli friend for you, when I can just pluck Melissa Shield? Don't worry, I'll come for you after my allies over there finish off those boys."

"Melissa-san isn't alone. My friends are with her. You won't be able to touch her."

"With the element of surprise on my side?" Ephialtes chuckles, yellow eyes gleaming confidently under curly, dark purple tresses. "Wanna try me?"

"... No."

Arata hates the situation at the moment, but there is no other way, isn't it? If Midoriya jumped down and protected her, the demon would go after Melissa. But if she got Midoriya out of the picture, she would be completely defenseless, thus an easier prey for the demon. He wouldn't need to hunt Melissa down.

It is either her or Melissa, no in-between. She has chosen to offer herself up for Melissa when she jumped from the ladder, and that decision still stands until now.

However I think about it, it's better me than Melissa-san... Nobody except her will be able to recover the security system, and... her father—David Shield—must be worried sick if anything ever happens to his daughter.

Whereas I'm... unwanted... by my own mother—Hanakiri. She had made it clear that I wasn’t important. And the Shirayuki...

It's just natural... that I am the disposable one.

"Good girl. Then, cooperate with me." Ephialtes walks up to her, and this time, Arata doesn't have an option to back away. He stops a couple of meters in front of her, then clicks his tongue. "Open your left fist, Little Red Riding Hood. I know you're planning to spatter my eyes with soil."

Growling, Arata does as he says, a handful of dirt drizzling down the floor. "What now?"

"Tell your broccoli boy of a friend to climb back to the roof panel and lock it. He can't return here for a surprise attack later. I don't want any intervention during our little sleeping session."

Midoriya is about to step on the lowest rung of the ladder when Arata shouts to him to return. Frozen in confusion, he squints his eyes and bites his lips, torn between following and denying her request. For him, a friend in need has been his number one priority, yet there is a sense of urgency that pushes him not to do so.

The desperation in her voice hits too close to his heart. It vaguely reminds him of himself when he was at the mercy of Tomura Shigaraki. Side by side on a bench in the shopping mall, fed with a talk full of threats, helplessly yelling for Uraraka to stay away. All of them so nobody would get hurt because of him.

He used to think that maybe, if the same blackmail situation ever happened again, if only there was a little difference... he could do better. But, now, although the situation is different and he is placed on the receiving end like Uraraka was, Midoriya realizes that he still doesn't have what it takes to diffuse it.

What should I do? What would I do? What could I do? I don't want to choose either of them!

But, maybe, his decision was actually never needed. Because the next moment, his—and Arata's—salvation comes in the form of a red blur in a dark suit, dry-surfing on a frozen wave. With hardened skin and all, it slams into the demon and sends him flying to the wall.

Slumping to the bridge in relief, Midoriya almost can't stop himself from gushing like a little girl. "Kirishima-kun!"

"Sorry I'm late!" Kirishima grins and makes an "X" with his rock-like arms. "I was stuck in the wall for a bit, but now Red Riot is here! You can rest easy now, Arata-chan. And Midoriya, don't you have somewhere to be? Just leave this villain to me!"

"Are you going to be okay, though?"

"For sure! Bakubro and Todoroki are keeping the other villains' hands full, so we'll be okay. Right, Arata-chan?"

"R— Right!" Arata nods, the worry on her face is starting to seep out. Her hand fidgets with the fabric of her dress. "Please keep Melissa-san safe, Midoriya-kun!"

"Definitely! Please catch up as soon as you can!"

"We'll see you on top, Midoriya. Now go, or else Iida will come running to get you."

It's like a physical burden lifted off Arata's shoulders when she sees the roof panel sealed again, together with the disappearance of Midoriya's green hair. At least now, Ephialtes would need to get past Kirishima and her first to chase after Melissa. Midoriya will also be able to inform their friends of the possibility of Ephialtes coming after them, so they can be more cautious.

From the corner of her eye, she sees the demon is sitting on a small crater, preoccupied. His hands are pressed together, then lifted up solemnly. Mouth burbling indistinct sentences, he stands and tilts his head up to the ceiling.

Huh, what is he doing? Is he... praying?

A tap lands on Arata's right shoulder, and a jolt of pain that comes with it shatters her concentration. "Ouch!"

"Whoops! Did it hurt?" Kirishima grimaces. "Sorry, I didn't know you injured your right arm. Are you okay, Arata-chan?"

"It's all right. Thank you so much for helping me, Kirishima-kun. If you hadn't come... I would have been off in la-la land."

"No worries. Todoroki also lent me a hand in this, you know."

"Oh, sorry for weighing all of you down... How are Shoto-san and Bakugou-kun doing?"

"Not at all. Your move was so manly, Arata-chan!" Kirishima chimes, upbringing as laid-back as usual. "Plus, don't you worry about them both. After what you've seen at I-Speed, you should be more worried for their opponents."

Somehow, Kirishima's presence always brings positivity for the people around him. And, for the first time since their quest to the top floor, Arata lets out a breathy chuckle. "About time until we have an ice sculpture and a grilled meat, huh?"

"Yup. Now, about our villain, is there anything I should be aware of?"

"Nothing much, unless you're secretly a girl." Turning away from the laughing Kirishima, Arata gestures to Ephialtes, who is hot on his heels and marching back towards them with creaking and popping sounds. "Well, he... can sort of recover his own injuries... He grows older every time he does that, though."

"Wait, for real!? Oh damn, so that's how he survived that fall."

"Yeah. It seems the more severe his injuries are, the older he gets. Last time, he grew almost a decade in age. Just now... not so much, it's barely considerable."

"It means I'll just have to up my damage points until he becomes a grandpa, right?" Kirishima slaps one fist to his other palm, his sharp teeth forming a smirk.

Arata doesn't think it will be as easy as said, but Kirishima's optimism spreads like a plague and she finds herself smiling, the fear in her being momentarily quelled. "I never pegged you for someone who wishes to hurt a grandpa, Kirishima-kun."

"Of course— Eh, what? That's not what I meant, Arata-chan!"

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a fight. It was supposed to be a two-sided beatdown, where both parties traded blows and tried to defeat each other. However...

"Twenty hits," Ephialtes said calmly, wiping remnants of blood on his own wrinkled face. "I'll give you those."

"What?"

"You can hit me however you want for twenty times. I won't move, not even an inch."

Despite all the odds, it became a one-sided pummeling. This offer... It could be a trick. It could be a distraction. The villain could be plotting something. Or whatever.

Kirishima doesn't know. He has always been a simple kind of guy. Whenever there is a chance, he will take it and punch his way out. And whenever there isn't, he will punch his way out until the obstacle breaks.

Either way, it will involve punching, because that's what he does best. No doubt he takes pride in it. Hardening makes his punches as destructive as having a rock smashed to the head, tough and solid.

The power riding behind it is indisputable either. Each swing gives off a buzzing sound, testament to how threatening it truly is. But...

"ORA!" Kirishima yells, throwing another hook that lands with a nauseating crack on impact.

Under his knuckles is a crooked nose, the owner laughs hollowly as it stirs and re-forms the shattered bones by itself. "That's the eighteenth hit. Two left."

Why isn't it working!? Kirishima wants to pull his own hair and scream. I've tried everything! Punching, kicking, bashing him to the ground, beating him up! Over and over, until my fists have become numb and my Hardening has started to wear off.

But, this villain isn't turning into a grandpa. The most he has aged up is a couple of years!

Gripping Ephialtes's collar as hard as he can, Kirishima asks. "Why did you let me punch you for free? I don't understand. Aren't you trying to become younger? This way, you will only get older, man."

"Sometimes, a sacrifice is needed to purge sins. An atonement for all those lifespan years," Arata shudders as she feels his glance on her, "and for the ones to come. By the hands of another male. Oh, how humbled I am."

Bewildered at his answer, Kirishima's jaw drops. "Huh?"

Unlike Kirishima, Arata seems to get it. "What sacrifice? This free twenty-hit count? It's not a fair exchange. You absorbed so many years from those girls, but you've only lost a few since Kirishima-kun started punching you. You can't call it a sacrifice."

"Say, Little Red Riding Hood, if you punched a person but they took little-to-no damage, would it count as a violence?"

Of course it would. It's the act that counts. I don't want to say it, though. It will be the same as acknowledging his purging sins with Kirishima-kun's punches. "Not to mention, we— we haven't taken what you did to the girls into consideration!"

Ephialtes's body shakes as he lets out a breathy chuckle. "Then, tell me. What do you think I did to them?"

"... I— I don't know... I'm not sure... Feed on their dreams?" But then, it would make more sense if the extension of his quirk was to induce sleep rather than hypnosis.

"That's your best guess? Why, you disappoint me. I thought you're clever enough to get my quirk figured out."

"..."

"Let me rephrase some clues to you. One, it's not a hypnosis, it's just how seductive I am to you girls. Two, healing factor through lifespan. Three, dormant potential consumption on sleeping girls. Emphasis on sleeping. Still doesn't ring a bell?"

"You... That's impossible..." Arata's green eyes widen, hands covering her mouth. "... A succubus? Uh, wait, I mean, are you a reverse succubus...? Since succubi target males, not females."

"The word you're looking for is ‘incubus’. Yeah, that's my quirk."

"Isn't it... a myth?"

"Even myths originated from reality."

"Wait, hold up!" Kirishima interrupts, confused as to why Arata's face is almost green. "I still don't get it. Incubus? What does it mean?"

"Don’t you worry, it just means a simple sleep paralysis."

"No! It means that he's disgusting," Arata hisses, voice brimming with pure ire Kirishima didn't know she's capable of. "He has preyed on countless sleeping girls and harassed them in their own dreams. All of it to prolong his own lifespan!"

"What!?"

"Disgusting, you may call it. But, you should see it from my side, Little Red Riding Hood. If you had an access to eternity without violating anyone, why wouldn't you do it?"

"You sexually harassed those girls. It is a violation!"

"It's only a dream, and I assure you, they like it too. After all, who can reject the appeal of an incubus?"

"I don't care! Just because it happens in a dream, doesn't make it less real. The memories of— of what you've done... are still there! Those girls have to live each day with the pain!"

"Aren't you being a little double-standard?" A sinister smirk shadows over the temporary bruises on Ephialtes's face. Dark wings flutter mockingly on his back. "If so, what about my pain? Weren't you the one who said my sacrifice didn't count because your friend's punches didn't leave physical damage on me? At least I tried to repent for my sins."

"That's inherently different!"

Before Ephialtes can reply to Arata, a rock-solid fist clobbers his jaw, wrenching it out of place with a sickening snap. The next moment, another powerful one smacks against his stomach. The force sends him bouncing off the floor a few times, shattering it with small craters. It only stops when his body slams into a wall.

Arata blinks, surprised at the sheer strength displayed by the feat. "Wow..."

"Going around assaulting girls isn't what a man does!" Kirishima cracks his knuckles, expression darkening. "I'll make sure you won't hurt the girls again!"

"Really?" In an instant, Ephialtes appears in front of them, his wings spread open. "Then, you'd better start by protecting Little Red Riding Hood here. Because, our twenty-hit count is up."

Razor-sharp horns clash with hardened skin. Kirishima staggers backward, caught off-guard by the unexpected retaliation. He is about to counter when a large hand grips his head—momentarily blinding—and brings him crushing down to the floor.

"Kirishima-kun!"

Dang it! Kirishima winces as the sharp cracks of the ceramic tiles dig into the back of his head. I was too careless!

"Worry about yourself, Little Red Riding Hood."

Ephialtes launches himself to Arata's direction, yellow eyes gleaming mystically. She quickly averts her gaze and ducks low to avoid the arm whizzing above her head.

"Ugh!"

Did she just dodge my attack? Ephialtes narrows his eyes and tries to catch her with his other arm, only to find he misses her by a couple of inches once again, despite her movement being awkward and all over the place.

How? She wasn't even looking at me.

After following her line of sight, a realization blooms at the back of his mind, and he can't help but get impressed. "What a smart quirkless you are. You predict my movements based on my shadow and evade accordingly."

"You're wrong! Arata-chan isn't—"

"So what if I'm quirkless?" Cutting off Kirishima, Arata grits her teeth and leaps back cautiously, her green eyes still on the floor. "At this point, quirkless or not, you'll still target me. You can't chase after Melissa-san again."

"Correct."

Shuddering upon the sight of his shadow creeping closer, Arata takes another step back, but her back rams into a large tree bark. Crap! Did I just corner myself? Was he intentionally leading me to this spot?

One hand swiping his own curly bangs, Ephialtes extends the other forward. "Now, you can't go anywhere—"

Seizing Ephialtes's elbow, Kirishima hurls him to the ground face-first. Pinning the demon down, Kirishima begins to unleash a torrential fist barrage.

"Run, Arata-chan! I'll hold him off!"

Run? Run to where? We can't go anywhere outside this botanical garden! Arata grumbles, but she obliges nonetheless. First thing first. Getting away from the creep is my current priority. Who cares about the next.

This is a terrible match-up. My movement is restricted due to the danger of his hypnosis. Kirishima-kun couldn't hurt him enough to make it count.

Why the hell was it, anyway? Was it because the damage wasn't life-threatening? But, ugh, I can't know for sure!

Forget defeating him... Even if Kirishima-kun broke his limbs, he would just recover by cutting back his lifespan.

What should I do? Should I just use my quirk? A memory deep buried inside her then arises for the first time in forever.

Red. Red. It was all covered red.

Her body. Her praying mantis forelegs. The stone floor. The snow engulfing the basement.

... And, the teenager in front of her.

"You monster!" A flurry of screams echoed as the underground erupted in chaos. "How could you? How could you do this to him?"

"No, no... What... have I done?" Shivers racking her being, Arata sank to the ground and retched. Acidic bile mixed with the coppery taste of blood belched out from her mouth. It trickled down her jaw and neck.

"Stop feigning innocence! Look around you! Only a monster has the heart to do this!"

Her throat was burning like hell, but Arata desperately forced words out of it. "I'm— I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... H— He started it first! I was just—"

"To hell with it! Don't you dare come closer, monster! You're just like your mother!"

Stomach churning upon the memory, Arata shakes her head and banishes the idea immediately. No. Not my quirk. There's got to be another way.

The only way to incapacitate him... is using the non-conventional ways, Arata pants, cradling her limp right arm. Right, Shoto-san can freeze him. Maybe... Maybe, we have a chance, after all. Okay, to Shoto-san it is.

Dashing as fast as her trembling legs can, her green eyes glance around. She hasn't taken more than a few steps when gleaming yellow suddenly enters her vision.

Oh no!

"Hi there, Little Red Riding Hood." Ephialtes walks up to her. Unlike other times where she steered clear of him, this time, Arata is frozen in place. "Nice of you to finally look into my eyes. You should've done that from a long time ago. I like you better as a doll—my doll."

His cold hand tilts her chin as the other trails over his own suit, as if searching for something. He continues speaking in a rich, melodious voice, "Wondering about your friend's condition? I tossed him to the trees. He would be stuck there for some time, so there wouldn't be anyone to come between us now—"

"Fly to infinity and beyond, Shitty Hair!"

"Thanks, bro! Oi, you demon! Don't think you can get rid of me!"

Kirishima's body comes flying into Ephialtes with speed so baffling it can match a bullet. With almost no time to sidestep, Ephialtes barely dodges the human missile.

A loud smash thunders behind him a second after, and he involuntarily grimaces. The sound is enough to make him grateful that he doesn't get hit.

Clenching his gashed shoulder, a result of being grazed by Kirishima's hardened skin. Ephialtes turns away from Arata and directs his attention to the red-haired boy instead. "How did—"

Then, without warning, a round of chills shoots down his spine. Alert, he quickly snaps his head back, just to find Arata swinging her left fist to him, the item in her hold glinting under the lights.

She broke free from my seduction? Impossible! And that item, is that my—

Her hand comes down as fast as she can, aiming to stab him from behind. However, before it penetrates his shoulder, dark bat wings slam her in the chest, catapulting her body a few meters straight to the nearest object.

Ice wall blows up in her back upon the collision, showering her with cold wreckage and rubbles. Arata can't catch a break as gravity immediately jerks her to the bottom, knocking her temple against the frozen floor. Her clasp loosens and the item slips, clinking noisily a couple of steps away.

"Urgh!"

Not heeding the raw bruises all over her, Arata quickly pushes herself up, trying to get back on her feet. Right away, a stinging pain swallows her head and abdomen without mercy. It forces her to bow back down to the cold ground. Her vision is drowned in a momentary blackness.

No, no... That syringe of his— I dropped it... Where is it?

Like an ominous answer to her question, Ephialtes lands in front of her with a soft thud, his fingers wrapped around a syringe. The instinct in her screams for her to get up and run right now, yet none of her muscles can cooperate.

"First, answer my question. How did you break free from my seduction?" His voice slithers slowly above her, rich and calm. Too calm, even. It reminds her of the calm before the storm.

"..." Run, Arata! Run! Or else you'll end up like those girls!

"No answer, really?"

"..." I can't move at all... Don't get any closer! Please, someone, please help me!

"You know, I was very confused when I couldn't find my sleeping drug. Now, I know why. You've been holding onto it—to my syringe—and planning to use it on me. It's bad, Little Red Riding Hood. Didn't your parents teach you manners?"

"..." Shoto-san, Kirishima-kun, Bakugou-kun... I'm so scared... He is going to put me to sleep, like the others... Then, in my dream... he will...

"Still no answer? Okay, I think I would have to teach you some."

What he said should have been a red flag. A red flag for her to do something. However, her limbs don't budge. They can't.

All she can do is stare at the leather shoes near her face. And cries out in anguish as one of them kicks her mess of a right shoulder, keeling her body over forcefully. A veil of wetness involuntarily emerges from her eye sockets, blurring her sight of the lights up there.

It hurts. It hurts so much. Is this it? Is this how I would end up? And what would it be after the dream?

"Oh, I understand now. Your right arm was badly hurt. And you clenched it with your other arm to disrupt my seduction effect using the pain. Wasn't that so? You have tricked me."

His knee pins her left arm down, and Arata can't help but scream when her other arm is yanked harshly, sending a jolt of immense pain. Yellow gleam enters her vision, and she immediately shuts her teary eyes, fearing the unknown.

Could I even wake up and look the others in the eye? He wants to feed on me as much as he can... How long the dream would be? A few minutes? A couple of hours? All night long?

Would I just shrivel up and die afterwards? Would he leave enough for me to see myself all wrinkled and old? Even so... would I be able to live with the experience...?

"Shh, stop struggling, Little Red Riding Hood. The needle will break mid-way if you keep doing this. You'll hurt yourself and I don't like it. I need you to be in top condition for me."

Grappling blindly, Arata wriggles with all of her strength. Still, the vice-like grip on her right wrist doesn't yield. Peeking a little, she can see that the syringe is only centimeters away from piercing her blood vessels. "Stop! Let me go! Don't inject me with that!"

Anyone, please... Help me... I beg you...!

"It seems scary right now, but everything will be great once you fall asleep. You're going to enjoy it, I promise."

Chapter Text

Shoto usually has a great control of his own emotions. Even during dire situations, cool head takes precedence, and he tries not to let his own feelings get in the way of a fight. However, this calm spell shatters like a cheap-rate glass once he discerns an escalating plight from the other area of the botanical garden.

"Stop! Let me go! Don't inject me with that!"

The second Shoto hears Arata's frantic screams, it's like a switch flipped over in his brain. The moment he registers what he is seeing: a demonic villain cruelly trampling her down, a syringe glinting above her wrist, a heated, bubbling panic slams into his being like bursting lava.

Crap! Is he trying to drug her? Why!?

"Ara!" His own fight be damned, all of his ice power instantly goes to his right foot, charging himself towards her with the maximum speed possible.

Where is Kirishima!? He's supposed to be with her! Did that demon get past him—

"Where are running off to, Cocky Brat?" Nobu roars, catching up to him, and unleashes a blue-transparent blast right to his face. "Feel so high and mighty that you're two-timing me for that bitch now?"

Shoto barely manages to jerk himself sideways as the air convulses an inch shy from his left ear, hollowing the space where he had been into nothingness. Gnashing his teeth together, he curses Nobu's ability to displace matter.

It's a natural enemy for his ice, and if he ever slipped up, even if it was just for one time, he could end up with detached body parts. Most importantly, it deprives him of the chance to help Arata, who is struggling against the demonic villain with all of her might.

"This is just beginning. I'll see more of you after this." Shoto can barely pick up Ephialtes's words to Arata, but when he does, something hot and scathing erupts in his chest. "I'm sure you look more beautiful. In the dream. Without this dress."

"N— No! Help! Shoto-san... Kirishima-kun... Anyone...!"

Shit! That sick bastard! His glare quickly flicks to Nobu as the goat-faced villain impedes his path. I don't have time for this! Ara is in danger!

A raw growl escapes Shoto's throat as ice surges from his foot, lashing out viciously for Nobu. "You, out of my way! Now!"

"This again? Pathetic!" Nobu bites out, his webbed hands slapping the ice before it reaches his face. "You won't be able to hurt me— What!?"

Once the ice clears up, without warning, Shoto appears in front of him. Right hand ready to slam on the floor and grey-cyan eyes flashing dangerously. "Get frozen... or get away!"

This villain can displace my ice, but there must be a limit to it. Then, I'm going to overload that limit!

The instant his palm connects, an enormous ice glacier bursts open. Giant frost shoots with an unimaginable speed, plummeting the area around them into subzero. And even when ice begins to surface on his own skin, Shoto doesn't feel cold at all. It's like invisible flames are scorching his body, blazing in fury.

That degenerate demon, I will crush him for this.

He needs Arata to be okay. To be safe from that disgusting creep. Fighting and getting injured are one thing. But, he is not going to stand by and watch the villain forcing himself onto her. It doesn't matter that she's far away. The fact he can't go there and shield her himself doesn't matter either.

Distance doesn't matter. If he needs to plunge this entire garden into ice age to protect her, then so be it. Because her safety is his top priority.

A massive influx of ice strikes. Nobu swiftly leaps back, avoiding a direct hit. He quickly releases another displacement blast to the ice. Space sizzles and hollows out, displacing a part of Shoto's ice. However, the majority of it is left untouched, whizzing straight for Ephialtes.

This kid— he's certainly not normal! Even my displacement can't expand that big! Nobu's dark eyes widen at the sheer size of the glacier. And that range... He's covering almost a fourth of this botanical garden with ice!

Channeling the rage in his being into firepower, Shoto wrings every bit of coldness he can conjure, sheets of ice manifesting on his right half. "Leave her alone!"

Alarmed by the sudden drop in temperature, Ephialtes looks up in time and dodges. The glacier whips like a belt, its jagged edges almost graze his soles if he doesn’t leap away from Arata in time. His heels haven't even touched the ground when the ice swerves and shoots up, drawn to him like a magnetic force.

"Ice, huh?" Ephialtes grumbles, fluttering his wings to maneuver in the air. One hand is fisted next to his waist, clenching the syringe. "What an annoying quirk."

A large-scale move like that must've been so difficult to control with precision, yet that boy could pull it off flawlessly, Ephialtes eyes the definite absence of ice around Arata. It will be troublesome if he continues butting in. His quirk is more threatening for me than the Hardening one.

Trembling, Arata's breaths rise in white puffs as she tries to get back on her feet. The needle didn’t pierce her skin, but she can’t feel relieved yet. Because the air is so frosty that it overwhelms her senses with a familiar, burning numbness. A tapestry of bluish white veils everything she lays eyes on. Her blood runs cold, fright splashing like tidal waves.

Snow? Why is it snowing—

— No, is this... ice?

The crisp air pricks her eyeballs as they desperately search for a hint of white and crimson. When she spots it at last, the biting cold piercing her lungs and the tension in her muscles dissipates, albeit just a bit.

Shoto-san... He has saved me again, even with all this distance between us...

It's cold. It's cold. It's cold and Arata is afraid. Still afraid. The fear that has taken a hold of her does not lessen, it's still drowning her up to her neck. However, at the same time, this cold... It makes her feel safe. It makes her feel protected. No matter how paradoxical it sounds.

Because, all this coldness... It is his and I trust him.

"Sho— Shoto-san... Thank you..."

"Ara, are you all right?" Shoto shouts over the garden while sidestepping to dodge another of Nobu's blast. "Ugh! Can you get closer? I can't—"

"Little Red Riding Hood here belongs to me," Ephialtes pipes up, evidently unhappy with Shoto's interference. "You'd better mind your own business, Ice Boy. Hasn't Nobu given you enough trouble?"

"She is not yours. Touch her again," Shoto's promise rumbles in the room, heavy and forbidding, "and you'll answer to me."

"Oh, dream on, Ice Boy. I don't think you're in any position to say so. You're so far from me and Little Red Riding Hood. And there's no way you can create that giant glacier again. It must have taken everything you had. Not to mention, you're also fighting Nobu right now. Aren't you being too greedy?"

Ephialtes's guess is on point, but Shoto would sooner die than admit it. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"If that's true, you would've gotten past Nobu. Protected Little Red Riding Hood here. But, what did you do? Shooting ice from the other side of the garden? Perfectly shows that you couldn't do it. Just stay there with Nobu and wait while I put her to sleep."

Shoto's heart lurches to his stomach as Ephialtes swoops down, undoubtedly targeting Arata. "No! Ara—"

A gust of displacement roars threateningly, almost claiming Shoto if not for his knee-jerk reflex. "Keep that up and you will wind up dead before her!" Nobu sneers at his distraught look. "Would you like to buried together with her shriveled corpse?"

"Screw you!"

The truth is spelled out clear in front of Shoto. The fight is moving too fast, and he can't keep up. He's not strong enough to defeat Nobu. Not fast enough to escape him. Not smart enough to foresee and counteract this situation. And now, Arata will pay for all of his shortcomings.

Is this all I can do? All my abilities amount to? I'm going to see her taken before my own eyes, and there's nothing I can do!

A blur enters his peripheral vision, sprinting on his ice like a red lightning. At that moment, the crushing pressure on Shoto's shoulders slightly lets up.

"Don't forget about me! I'll beat you, demon!"

Before Ephialtes can glide further, Kirishima leaps as high as he can, taking advantage of Shoto's glacier as a foothold. Two hardened arms zap up, catch the villain's ankle, then hurl it with all of his might.

"ORAAA!!!"

Fissures appear on the wall as Ephialtes's body smashes into it head-first. Ignoring the terrible ache, Ephialtes tries his best not to fall, wings flapping furiously. Wounds are of no importance to him, for he can compensate them by feeding on the girl later. However...

These boys are getting infuriating. If not for them, I would've been feeding on this girl. Sucking the sweet nectar of youth. Smoothing all these ugly wrinkles. Turning young once more.

I really ought to do it this time, Ephialtes clenches his fist, fully expecting to sense a cylinder-like object in it. But, there's none. Wait. Where is my syringe? Did it fall off just now?

"Looking for this?"

Without warning, dull thuds reverberate in the air, along with a few clatters and clanks. His yellow eyes swiftly flit to the source, then widen. Down below, Arata is standing with a smug expression, blood gushing from the skin of her right heel. Under her bare feet are glinting pieces and crushed ice debris, traces of liquid crimson here and there.

"You bitch!"

"I think your syringe is, um, broken. So... you can't make anyone sleep again now."

Or at least that's what Arata is hoping for. Anyhow, it can't be true. Her little victory ends when Ephialtes dives down with an unbelievable speed and mutters in her ear, "Have I ever said anything about that?"

Arata snaps her head back in surprise. "What the—"

In a single move, Ephialtes wrenches her over. His shoulder jabs into her stomach without a care, yanking out a pained gasp from her mouth. Powerful, dark wings lash downward like an arching belt. The next time she blinks, they are already soaring high. So high that Kirishima can't reach them again even when he jumps.

"Arata-chan!"

"Ara!"

An enormous ice wave rapidly surges, clawing skyward. It barely scratches the soles of Ephialtes's feet when a bluish blast cuts it short, hollowing the space it is passing. Instantly displaced, rounded blocks of ice plummet to the floor and bounce off.

Arata's profile is rapidly getting further and despair tastes palpably bitter on Shoto's tongue. He snarls, teeth chattering against each other as he hounds the flying blur.

"Get back here!" Another ice skyscraper shoots upward fiercely, running on every last drop of his almost non-existent energy reserves. "Release her!"

Cutting the attempt short with displacement, Nobu gloats, sadistic glee dancing in his tone. "Give up, Brat! She's going to get the best mindfuck she could've ever dreamed of!"

He then bellows to his demonic ally in the sky, "Finish your business, Ephialtes. And jerk off in another room, will you? Do me a favor and fuck off! I'm sick of cleaning up your mess!"

"Oh, I'd gladly do so. I'm also sick of getting undermined." A vile glint crosses Ephialtes's yellow eyes. He clutches the writhing Arata tighter and speaks into an earpiece. "Did you hear that, Mr. Hacker? Got someplace where I can feed without disturbance?"

Whacked across like a ragged doll, Arata crashes into a towering object. A pained gasp escapes her mouth as her spine smacks against its metal frames, overfilling her body with agony.

Several drawers fall upon the quake, pelting her dangled head with thousands of tiny, dry balls. Struggling to stay conscious, Arata feebly brushes her fingertips against them.

Are these... seeds? Arata thinks, mind terribly fuzzy. It is also hard to see here, almost pitch black. Is this room... the botanical garden's seed storage? Crap, did he separate me... from the others?

Loud, repeated bangs—hardened skin against steel—penetrate from the other side of the door. Muffled shouts barely penetrate the thick steel, but she thinks both Ephialtes and she know who it is.

"Your red-haired friend sure is strong." Ephialtes's chuckle reverberates in the storage, yet she can't exactly pinpoint his location due to the veil of darkness. "Although, he's dreaming if he thinks he can bust this door down using sheer strength. And your ice-wielding friend, he's about to be demolished by Nobu. After all those feats, he won't last long."

"You don't— Urgh!" A hacking cough escapes her throat, then she spits the metallic tang out of her mouth. "You... don't know that. Don't— Don't underestimate them."

Something rattles on the floor, followed by a hard stomp and a crackling sound. What is it? Arata squints, trying to figure out the wrecked item beneath his soles. Could it be... his earpiece?

"Now we're truly by ourselves. Nobody can butt in anymore." His footfalls echo closer and closer, making all hairs on her body stand up. "Shall we begin, Little Red Riding Hood? Ready for a sweet dream?"

This time... It's truly over for me, Arata whimpers, choking back tears, as his hand enters her blurry vision. There are only I and this demon in this room here. No one else.

No one could save me from this nightmare anymore.

No Kirishima-kun.

No Bakugou-kun.

No Shoto-san.

I'm all alone... like I had always been in the past.

Chapter Text

It has only been a while, but Aizawa feels weird, coming home to an empty apartment. Arata left on a red-eye flight for I-Island with Todoroki yesterday, and since then, the living room feels a bit emptier. There isn't her soft hum to fill the silence. There isn't a clean detergent scent wafting in the air. There isn't a warm, home-cooked meal waiting to be eaten on the table.

And speaking of eating, once again, he forgets to get a take-out. Oh, darn it, he kicks his shoes off with his feet on the dark entryway, stomach rumbling in protest. Maybe he should have joined U.A. faculty's dinner outing—Principal Nezu's treat for their hard work to prepare the upcoming training camp.

However, a conversation he had with Recovery Girl that evening has prodded his curiosity, so Aizawa decided to go straight home to look into the matters himself. The phone on his hand is still ringing dial tones as he strides into the bedroom. He quickly scours every stack of papers on his desk.

After half a minute, the dial tone dies out. His screen returns to show his messages with Todoroki a couple of hours ago.

Is he still attending that reception party? This late? Aizawa grumbles as he fishes out a certain document. I thought he’s the type to leave parties early.

Oh well, I hope they're having fun. I'll just wait until he replies back. Let's check Arata's case file first.

Quickly skimming the first few pages, he finally stops when he comes across the section he has been searching for. It contains the information on Arata's past with the Shirayuki, the one she confessed to Todoroki in the hospital, entirely transcribed in print.

And there it is, the part that Recovery Girl mentioned to him, right in the middle.

"The beatings didn't last long. After a year, they went back to ignoring me."

Aizawa sinks to his chair and takes a deep breath, thinking back to what Recovery Girl said.

Recovery Girl sipped her tea and raised her eyebrows at him. "Has it crossed your mind that perhaps, Arata-chan wasn't being totally honest with you? With Todoroki as well."

"What are you talking about?" Aizawa frowned. "Is this about her past? If you thought she lied about it, why hadn't you said anything before we accepted her into U.A.?"

"No, not that kind of lying. More like, omitting a few truths from her confession. When I was recapping the result of her first Good Will examination, some things piqued my interest."

"Well, mind sharing them with me?"

"I'll start from the most glaring one first. I remember reading that she started receiving physical abuse right after her mother… Uh..."

"Massacred half the clan and abandoned Arata," Aizawa gruffly resumed her words, a bit impatient to get to the point.

"Gee, it won't kill you to tone down that apathetic choice of words once in a while, Eraser Head." Shaking her head, Recovery Girl continued. "Arata-chan admitted that the physical abuse only lasted for a year, then afterwards, the Shirayuki got less violent. You see, this is very strange, because in general, physical abuse escalates over time, not decreases.

"It often begins gradually. First, it could be a threat. A shove. Then, a slap. Next, a choke. In extreme situations where nobody interferes, it can grow into a literal torture. Possibly resulting in death."

What a meticulous observation... I could never... Aizawa rubbed the bridge of his nose, signaling her to continue with a nod of his head. Recovery Girl really has an eye for detail. Especially when it involves health and well-being.

"It doesn't make sense for the Shirayuki to have stopped, above all when they didn't have a change of heart." the nurse tapped her large syringe on the infirmary floor. "In fact, if they really hated Arata-chan that much, why didn't they… starve her to death? I don't want to sound cruel, but the easiest way to remove a threat, is to crush it from the very start."

Recalling Arata's strange views on food, Aizawa remarked, "Instead of starving Arata, it seems they had her fed. Not a lot, but enough for her to survive. And it seems like she mostly ate meat during captivity. She was particularly happy she could taste vegetables more often."

"Yeah, I also reached the same conclusion about her diet." Recovery Girl shrugged and pointed to her computer screen. "Look, I've seen Arata-chan speak and act during the Good Will examination. I think all that confession about her past— it's all genuine and true. But...

"Why did the Shirayuki stop abusing her? What happened?"

Dark. Cold. Alone.

Sitting on the hard floor. Back slumped to a cupboard. Splitting ache tearing her brain apart. Throbbing sensation in both her arms—the right one as lifeless as a rock. Black spots in her sight that blend with the darkness surrounding her. Pain all over her body.

When did Arata last experience them all at once? A few years ago? Or was it a few months ago? Her time with the Shirayuki feels so far away despite it being only a few weeks ago.

Ever since she met Shoto and Aizawa, every day has passed with a little warmth, a little light, and a little company. Some days, it was even more. A lot more than she could have ever imagined.

It makes her return to this familiar darkness, coldness, and loneliness more difficult. Much, much more difficult. It is like she had tasted heaven, then suddenly exiled to hell again. This hell right here, with an incubus as her executioner.

"How many more times can you take this, Little Red Riding Hood? We've done this for quite a while now."

"..."

A large, chilly hand locks Arata's left elbow, pinning it to the metal rack behind her. More metallic tang sprouts in her mouth as another hand smacks into her right cheek. A searing pain comes alive on her skin, doused by silent tears.

A sob almost jumps out from her throat, but Arata bites her lips and swallows it back. No, not that pathetic sound. Don't give him the satisfaction, Arata.

You have to be strong. You have to survive. In this place, you have no one but yourself. Nobody can save you anymore.

"Come on, just faint already." Ephialtes's long, cold fingers tilt her chin, his yellow eyes looking right into her stern green ones. "Geez, this is why I prefer using a sleeping drug. Getting physical only adds to the ache for you. The more hurt you are, the more difficult it is for you to collapse. The pain disrupts your body's relaxing state. See? Now you can even see my eyes without getting seduced."

"W— Why..." she croaks out, voice shaking. "Why are you... doing this?"

"It's just how I was born. My quirk burns through my dormant potential thrice as fast a normal human does. That means, I had the body of 45 years old when I was your age. Can you imagine that abomination? Between myself and others, of course I choose to prioritize myself."

"Even by... violating the girls?"

"It's not a violation. It's not even illegal." Ephialtes laughs darkly. "Do you know the best thing about my quirk? It all happens in a dream. All that pleasure, pain, experience— it is all a dream. You can't report it, because the act itself never took place in reality. It's not real."

"Dream or not, you have ruined their lives..." Arata whispers weakly, trying to stay awake albeit the heaviness weighing her mind. "They have... to spend their whole lives with that nightmare. With that memory... You can't— You can't erase that fact."

"I agree with you. Humans are memories embodied as flesh. But, you know the funniest part? We make multiple, layered laws for offense performed on the flesh. Yet, we don't regard the ones that affect the memories. It's not my fault that there's no law to cover it."

Not his fault. Not his fault, he said? It's not other people's fault either he grew old so fast.

"Heh..." she scoffs, letting out a soft snicker, as she references his own words back to him. "There's no law to cover your wrinkled face too."

Arata winces as the grip on her arm clenches harder. A powerful slap strikes her cheek, flooding her eardrums with a loud buzzing sound. For a moment, she almost thinks she will turn deaf, but fortunately the sound starts to lessen bit by bit.

"Maybe I've been too nice on you." A dark undertone lurks in Ephialtes's voice as he clasps her right shoulder with one hand. "Say it again. If you dare."

His nails are digging into her flesh, clamped around her upper right arm. The bruises are writhing horribly, screaming in white-hot pain. Even so, Arata forces herself to smirk and retort back, "You've got a nice pair right there... smooth brain and wrinkled face."

"Shut up, you bitch!" Roaring in anger, Ephialtes lifts Arata by her arm and hurls her with all his power. A loud crack echoes in the room as her back smacks into the wall a few meters next to him.

Under the veil of darkness, he sees that she tries to get up for a moment, but ultimately her head slumps to the floor. A thick liquid oozes from her right shoulder, trickling down her right arm, seeping into the fabric of her dress like roses.

"Finally. At last, she's knocked out," Ephialtes sighs, quivering in excitement as he walks up to her limp body. "Let's fix your position first before we dream, shall we?"

Crouching, he is about to reach for her when her eyelids fly open all of a sudden. Arata launches herself on him, sending both of them rolling on the floor. Silver glint gleams from the syringe in her left hand as she aims at his shoulder.

This girl— She faked fainting! Did she throw those insults to get this chance?

"Ugh!" Ephialtes swiftly snatches her wrist, just an inch shy from pricking his shirt.

"Please! Come on!"

Arata growls in something akin to agony and presses deeper, trying her best to use her weight to drive the needle to his skin. Her wrist is trembling in his grasp and he clenches tighter, eliciting a cry of pain from her as the syringe tumbles to the floor.

In one move, Ephialtes wrenches her under him. He chuckles amusedly at the wilting hope in her gaze. "Nice try, Little Red Riding Hood. You never disappoint. That ploy might have actually worked if you could use your right arm."

"No, no, no..." Arata thrashes right and left, struggling to get him off her, but he doesn't budge.

Why? Why is he not moving? I've given my all here, but he isn't budging!

The demon merely cackles, having no problem to hold her down with one hand. "Oh, don't cry. That was truly your last trick, wasn't it? If not, you wouldn't be this devastated. Now tell me, how did you sneak the syringe here? I saw you stomped on it back then."

"..."

"No answer? You give me no choice then."

Arata blanches when his other hand begins to slither on her dress. It sends a jolt of desperation up her spine, drenching her being in indescribable fear. Even the slightest touch makes her reel. The moment it creeps to her chest, she yields.

"S— Stop! I'll explain!" she whimpers, plea saturating her timbre. Ephialtes pauses his activity, then raises his eyebrows in question. "It was only ice! I stomped on ice shards, okay? I— I had been keeping the syringe... in this dress' hidden pocket the whole time..."

"I see." Ephialtes whistles, spinning the syringe on his hand. "Sadly, by doing that, you're returning the syringe back to my hand. Let's not waste more time. I'm sure the anticipation is killing you as well."

"Please— Please let me go—"

"Little Red Riding Hood, you know I can't do that."

Arata lets out a pained shriek as the needle penetrates the back of her thigh. It makes way for the thick, purple sedative liquid to enter her system. Each second is agonizing, and she sniffles as she senses the growing presence of the sleeping drug in her body.

It's all over. I don't have any trick up my sleeve anymore. I have nothing. I have nothing to fight back with.

"This way, you won't wake up until morning." Ephialtes pulls out the syringe roughly, tosses it over his shoulder, then casts an eerie smile at her. "That is, if you wake up... All the more reason to enjoy this whole night with me, right?"