Chapter 27: Awaiting the Equinox
Izuku avoided Mirio for the following days. Just looking at the boy was enough to make him uncomfortable; and that wasn't even including the embarrassment from losing control. Izuku had broken the rules, and therefore lost the match, even as he pinned Mirio with ease. It wasn't the loss that frustrated him, but the meaning. He'd lost control and he needed additional help. It didn't matter that Mirio had years on him in training; Izuku felt it. He could've won without Blackwhip, if only he hadn't lost control.
Nighteye had been dedicating most of their time to Mirio. Even as the winner of their bout, Izuku could tell the training was a sort of consolation prize. He wasn't enthused or quick with him, nor was he trying his hardest to teach. The instructions he gave Mirio were excellent regardless, however. The boy spent more naked than clothed, and even over the course of a handful of days, Izuku could see progress.
On the first day, Nighteye had him drilling for speed. He'd taken too many wide openers, he'd said, and that meant he needed to increase his reaction time. Setsuna had answered the call, then, testing Permeation's speed with her quick telekinetic punches. Izuku declined to assist. Over the course of only a few hours, however, he showed remarkable improvement. What once took him a second to pull off now took him a fraction.
It was here Izuku realized what a sponge Mirio was. Even looking back on their fight, he'd dominated with his own quirk, even as the older boy got in good shots. Izuku'd done everything in his power to undermine and counter his quirk, yet Mirio had come out the victor. Perhaps Izuku had struggled to pace himself towards the end, but still; Mirio had watched him, learned from him, and eventually overpowered and outmaneuvered him.
Izuku watched as Mirio ducked beneath the floorboards, popping out in Nighteye's instructed places. Even now, with such a volatile and physics-altering technique, he was improving at a rapid pace. A frown tugged at his chin as Blackwhip fluttered around him, curious in his idleness.
Blackwhip would do as he says, so long as commanded it to move. The relationship was much like a dog and its master, but Izuku was no dog-whisperer, and Blackwhip was no loyal pup. Tightening his grip, he urged half the tentacles to pick up some dumbbells, and the other half to work together on a couple of barbells. Izuku didn't have much use for barbells, but he made it work; collaborative projects like that were the lifeblood of the quirk's training.
So long as they kept moving, they bent the knee to him. It wasn't ideal, but it was all he could manage at the moment. It took a tremendous amount of concentration to keep them from going off on their own, picking up random things or chucking what they already held. He was beyond simply picking things up though, and forced himself to move. After all, what good was an archer who could only shoot standing still? In his focus, however, he might've drifted a bit too close to Nighteye.
Mirio flashed beside him in all his naked glory, startling Izuku out of control. All around him, the heavy plates and bars thudded against the ground. Each dropped weight echoed around the warehouse like a thunderbolt, drawing everyone's eyes to him. Mirio looked sheepish.
"Sorry for startling you, man." He said, pulling his pants up to his waist.
"No, it's my bad." Izuku said, backpedaling as Blackwhip picked up its mess and followed him.
Izuku kept to himself for the rest of the day, only communicating with Setsuna via text.
The third day after Mirio and Izuku's spar, Mirio didn't train in the gym. Nighteye had taken him on a patrol, leaving Izuku alone with Gran Torino for the day. It should've released the weight in his gut, but it only made that stone feel a little heavier.
Even exercise did little to elevate his mood; the adrenaline just didn't give him enough dopamine that day. When Izuku finished his squats, stretches, and run on the Course, he found himself sitting beside Torino, empty minded. He picked at the skin on his stub, not bored, but close to it. The area where his tricep used to be felt like ants were crawling over it.
"What's 1Z?" Izuku asked, not looking at the older man. Gran Torino paused from his drink, raising an eyebrow at him. Wiping his red lips with the back of his hand, the older man sighed, leaning into his chair.
"U.A.'s doing somethin' new this year. Guess they want more child soldiers or sumn'. From what I've heard, it's the highest tier of class they offer for the hero course. Apprentices only, the best of the best the country's got."
"So… me, Set, and Shoto?"
"Endeavor's brat? Yeah, you lot. Can't think of stronger kids."
What should've been a pleasant compliment tasted sour on his tongue.
"Mirio is stronger. Has more talent, too. Have you seen his new movements? He could've thrashed me if he had that precision during our spar."
"And you could've pulverized him if you used Blackwhip from the beginning; or unlocked float, or super strength, or any other crap One for All has in store for you. Not to mention he's not even a kid. He's a young man. A deprived one, at that."
Izuku wasn't quite sure what to say. He supposed it was true, but that didn't make it any better. He'd had Blackwhip for two years, and he still barely could keep a lid on it. Mirio seemed like he was mastering his quirk overnight.
"...Deprived? He seems pretty vigorous to me."
"I think you're under the wrong impression, here. Togata isn't some super learning prodigy, he's a dry sponge. U.A. is great, but it ain't perfect. It may churn out the best heroes, but that doesn't mean it's got the best teachers. Those guys know how to make rough diamonds shine, but they struggle with forging raw iron into good steel. The reason he's improving so much is because he finally has someone who can actually help him. Just 'cause he's learning faster than you now doesn't mean he's always like that. You have your own ups and downs, don'tcha?"
Izuku's eyes were burrowing holes into the floor. Ups and downs was one way to put it. The itching feeling spread, covering his phantom elbow and forearm. Flakes of dry skin were coming off under his fingernails where he scratched at his stub.
"How fast did… did Eight master One for All?" Izuku asked, the words falling out of his mouth faster than he could close it. Gran Torino froze. It was like his casual demeanor melted off his skin as he stood, walking around to face him. Each movement was solid and mechanical, even as he left his cane behind. Like rust flaking off a bike once the chain started spinning, the man who looked down on him now felt sleeker, sturdier. Like a surge of memories had eroded the years off him in waves.
"Counter question, brat. How fast do you think Mr. Togata could do it?"
Izuku's eyes shot wide as he staggered to his feet, backing up. That stone in his stomach ballooned outward, crushing his organs against his ribs and muscles.
"I-I—I d-don't—"
"You think we don't see it, too? We may not have been on speaking terms, but I knew Toshinori for decades before you were even born. Nighteye grew up in his glow, and was closer with him than any mundane sidekick would've been. Even Setsuna, who among us never even had the chance to meet him, can see it."
Izuku's lips opened and closed, but no sound came out. He continued.
"You'd have to be blind not to, you know. Bright, full of life... Really kid, I'm not blaming you. It's obvious to anyone who looks at him."
"...What is?" Izuku asked, mumbling. He already knew.
"That warm nostalgia. Have you heard his dream?"
Izuku shook his head; he hadn't talked to the guy much.
"He wants to save a million people. Even named himself after it. Lemillion. He's still working on the epithet, though."
Izuku stared at the man, shocked. His knuckles shook a bit, unnerved at the boy's apparent resolution. All the thoughts in his head flew back in time, remembering how he'd put everything on the line to save… what? Like ten people? The effort hospitalized him for weeks over just that few.
He looked at his hand, his one remaining hand, and wondered for a moment if it'd be enough. All Might had saved millions over the decades; that much was certain. Perhaps billions, if you counted hypothetical lives that would've been lost without him. With his strength, nothing could've stopped him. Had All Might wished for it, he could've done it all with a hand tied behind his back; so why was Izuku feeling that loss so hard right now? That empty, cumbersome weight of nothing that sucked at his shoulder like a leech. That dull itch that raced under his skin like static shock, yearning for freedom. That awkward balance, that uncontrollable power, that weakness in his flesh that made him want to explode.
Had Izuku been All Might, it would've been easy. Get shredded, learn to fight, stop crime. A three step process; streamlined and easier done than said. He imagined golden hair falling around his shoulders, thick, corded muscles wrapping his frame like a suit just as the darkest alleyways glowed blue under his vigilance. Shotguns and assault rifles tickling his stomach, just as he shielded a hundred citizens with his right arm and stopped a hundred criminals with his left.
His imagination ran wild. In these visions, his strength was a thousandfold what he'd ever hoped for, his powers fluid and easy to call upon. He clouded entire evil lairs, sensing out danger across cities, snatching up every villain in one big tentacled swoop. And at last, when the only man strong enough to challenge him stepped up, he needn't worry.
All for One's smile was bright, his destroyed face whole once again as he pulled a fist back. A thousand stolen quirks compiled for the penultimate strike, the speed of the punch blurring somewhere between the speed of sound and light. Even still, the wielder of One for All didn't even budge. It ripped through his chest, yet All for One's smile fell apart as his hand came back bloodless and seamless.
And when Nine threw the ultimate smash of his life into All for One's face, he didn't bother with avoiding his block. His fist phased through it, connecting with his perfect chin like a nuclear missile. The thought, while glorious in a bubble, felt like poison as it spread in his mind.
"...His spirit is exceptional. Perfect." Izuku said, his voice dry as bark.
Gran Torino shrugged.
"You could say that. Things like that aren't universal, though." He replied; but Izuku wasn't finished.
"His physique is far beyond mine."
"Not relatively. You're probably more fit than he was at fourteen."
"He's older, and'll be out on the field sooner."
"Being in 1Z will make you better equipped when you start, though."
"He's a better natural fighter."
"You knocked him down just as much as he did you, even though he's a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier."
"He's got better quirk control."
"Not from where I stand. You blew him out of the water with Smokescreen."
"...He's getting better way faster than I am."
"You have far more to learn than he does. Mastering two quirks requires exponentially more energy than mastering one. You have three with more to come."
The stone in his gut was shifting, growing hot. Izuku worked his jaw as the next words spilled out, annoyance building up.
"...He was born with a good quirk… I'm adding nothing to the legacy."
Torino shifted, giving Izuku a hard look. There was a glint in his eyes that he couldn't quite decipher.
"If you really want to give it to him, why haven't you? The decision's always been up to you."
It was like a truck hitting him at full throttle. Izuku slumped back down in his seat, exhaling all his anxieties.
"I-I don't know. I don't want to… I just feel like—"
"Then don't."
A beat of silence.
"Why?"
"A hundred reasons. A thousand, maybe. Who did All Might entrust it to?"
"...The only person he could."
"And that's where you're wrong. To him, he'd effectively killed his nemesis; hell, I would've believed so too if I smashed that bastard's brains in. There was no reason to just hand off One for All. Its job was done. Why would he risk passing it along to someone when the world didn't need it anymore?"
"He m-might've known t-that he wasn't dead for real. He might've panicked."
Gran Torino said nothing for a moment, mulling that over. Izuku watched as that youthful vigor he'd assumed crusted over with age, his withered form hunching as he started speaking again.
"I've never asked this once, and I will never ask again. How did Toshi look when he died?"
It wasn't like how it'd used to be. Izuku wasn't teleported back to the moment; iron wasn't the only thing he could smell, nor helicopter blades the only thing he could hear. The images had an odd haze around the edges, time having stolen portions of the memory's strength. Still, the visceral horror he once felt crept up his spine, the nightmares under his eyelids reminding him every time he blinked. He swallowed his spit, the saliva going down his throat like a golf ball.
Instead of hiding from it, however, this time he let himself hover, remembering. All Might. Blood. EMTs. All for One. All Might.
He remembered his ears popping as All Might delivered the finishing blow. How his glorious smile had faded into that of a grin, choked with blood. The memories flew overhead like clouds, obvious, vast, and untouchable. Each felt bigger than anything he'd ever seen, yet there were a thousand in the heaven of his brain.
His gentle hand in Izuku's own; the ragged, but accepting rise and fall of his chest. His dim eyes filled with a small satisfaction. It was like Izuku was a sponge, and the memories were wringing out his water through his eyes. All Might hadn't known. In the real world, his fingertips traced the path of his spontaneous tears, curious at the sensation.
Maybe Five was talking to him, but Izuku couldn't hear him. One for All churned as always, each wave purposeful.
"He was… almost satisfied. He'd completed his goal, and his only regret was not passing on the power. He made me… swear an oath. Of honor. Then he fed me his blood. Told me he believed in me. And died smiling."
Gran Torino listened, still and silent as Izuku choked out the words. It was like by telling him, it relaxed some eternal intensity that Izuku'd never noticed, allowing his shoulders to sag.
"Years ago, when we first started teaching you, you were holding onto the quirk like a lifevest. Yet after all that turmoil, you think it'd be best to give it up?"
"Until now, I hadn't seen anyone worth considering it. Livewire was just a faceless name to me. But Mirio? Lemillion? With One for All, he could be a great hero."
"He's already going to be one."
"But he could be invincible! Imagine my varied quirks, Eight's strength, and his Permeation! He'd be… he'd be the perfect Pillar for a new age of peace, sir. And I… I don't think I could measure up to that."
"Did you know that Toshinori was quirkless?"
Izuku's jaw fell open.
"N-no, I don't believe I did…"
"Well, he was. He was also a scrawny idealist. No power to back it up. An absolute wiener. Don't you think he considered giving the power to another hero with a better quirk? What could've stopped him in those early years, when his power was little and his skill even less?"
"I…"
"Sheer. Fuckin'. Will. The same thing that stopped him from passing it on as he got older. He never saw the point, because he couldn't think of anyone that worked harder than him."
"But he passed it on to me?"
"And he passed it on to you. I'm not no fuckin' therapist, kid, but let me tell you somethin'. Toshinori was brutally honest. He knew his way around the world, and it was like his eyes could cut through your own, right to your soul. A million kids asked him if they could be like him, and he turned 'em all down, pointing their way down a different, more suitable path. If he allowed the greatest power of the world to fall into your hands, giving you his blessing all the while, then I'd take that as a fuckin' honor."
"...I do. But—" His voice was small.
"Then you should know that all the holders had two things in common. For one, they were selfless, good hearted heroes. Not a single one of them had a shred of evil in their bones, even if some of the earlier ones were rough around the edges. As for the second…" He said, turning away from Izuku, "was a massive fuckin' ego. You can't fight an eternal, undying evil without having balls of steel."
"But I don't—"
"Ego may sound counterintuitive to selflessness, but you need to be a certain type of demented to dedicate your life in service to others. It's hard, it's scary, and it's draining beyond hell. You have to believe in your own hype to be of any use, and that even went for All Might. He might not have been perfect, but—"
"I don't have an arm! I'm just… I'm just wasting your time with guys like Mirio running around!"
And with that, the fear was out in the open, staining the air with its stench. Gran Torino turned to him, slow and mechanical. A small shock grew over his face, his brow furrowed and lips parted. It was the first time he'd ever seemed grandfatherly, even over the four years he'd known him. It all came snowballing out, now that he'd said the worst of it.
"I-I've been stuck on Float for years! I was out of commission for months just because Danger Sense was overloading me… I almost choked to death the first time Smokescreen activated… I can't manage Blackwhip… I've still got more quirks to learn of, let alone unlock…" Izuku said, pausing to cough into his elbow. "And on top of it all, the cherry of failure on this freaking cake of disappointment, I can't even use the superstrength! That should've been the one thing, the one-fucking-thing, that I couldn't mess up."
Gran Torino only stared at him in shock as the rant dragged on. Izuku paid him no mind as he shuffled over to his original seat, grabbing something.
"I'm lopsided, a terrible student… I don't even have an original quirk to fall back on—" He never saw the cane coming as it thwacked against his ear, knocking him out of his chair. The pain exploding across his head almost drowned out the man's next words.
"When did you become such a sissy? Just because you saw someone who might make a better hero than you, you fumble? Falling apart at inadequacy is unacceptable. You're too young to give up now, you moron. Who's to say you won't be a hundred times the hero Mr. Togata is by the time you're his age?"
"I-I—" Izuku tried starting, only for the wracking pain in his head to twist his tongue over itself. Swallowing hard, he got to his feet, nursing his head. "Mirio would've been the perfect candidate. He's already just like All Might! He'd be better, with that power!" Danger Sense exploded as the cane rocketed past the tip of his nose, his perfect dodge the only thing saving the cartilage.
"Damnit, son! Who knocked your senses loose? There's no such thing as a perfect candidate! The power is only what you can make of it; to trust the power to anyone but yourself is admitting you're not good enough, and would Nana entrust her quirk to someone who wasn't worthy?"
A burst of bitterness welled up in Izuku's gut, drowning out his misery and loosening his tongue even further.
"...If One for All is Mjolnir, then it's pretty obvious I can't lift it. I don't even have the barest hint of All Might's strength. Mirio could; he's practically All Might's son."
"Oh, like Girlie called you that one time?" Gran Torino said, forcing Izuku's jaws closed. He opened them for a retort, but only air came out, no words. His cheeks felt warm.
"T-that was a total misunderstanding…"
"Well, it makes sense." He replied, planting the butt of his cane against the floor.
"W-what? No, that was just a random thought that slipped out."
"Doubt it. Girlie's always seen the best in you, kid. But that doesn't mean she's the only one. If you know that we all see Mirio's greatness, then you gotta acknowledge that we all see yours, too."
Gran Torino settled back into his chair, not looking at Izuku. That small warmth on his cheeks grew, flushed with fresh blood.
"W-what?" He asked, feeling like a balloon expanded in his chest. Torino grunted, a slight annoyance audible over his tone.
"Don't make me spell it out, kid. Let an old man have some dignity."
"B-but I don't…"
"Gods above, kid." Gran said, sighing. "You're exceptional. You're bright, honest, hardworking, and talented. In that, you are no worse than Togata. But that isn't it. Do you think Nighteye would bend over backwards for a mere exceptional child? To make the world wait for someone who was just "great?"
The air was turning stale in Izuku's lungs.
"You're more than just a good candidate, Midoriya. You have the capacity to be a key."
His lungs fought him as he spoke, unable to intake any new breath under the sudden pressure.
"...A key to what?" Izuku asked, his voice just above an exhale. Gran Torino shrugged.
"Anything you want. Even as you are, stunted and broken, you might be able to change the world. That's the kind of power you hold in your hands. But what's more important than the power is the wielder, and in that role, there is no one better. Mirio is as close as we've ever seen, but even he lacks what you have in spades."
"...I still don't understand. There isn't a single thing that I have that he doesn't have more of. What could I possibly have over him?"
Gran Torino was still looking away from him.
"The answer would be different coming from anyone. Me? I'd call that seventh element of yours Urgency. Nighteye might call it Heft. I couldn't be fucked trying to read a teenage girl's mind, but even she'd have a name for it, if pushed."
He didn't stop there, only pausing to wet his drying throat. Gran didn't usually talk so much.
"Mirio is an easy read, you know. Bright, strong, with a good head on his shoulders. But he's cautious in a way you never are. He's confident and self sacrificial, but calling him brave would be wrong. He's dutiful. He's dedicated to the profession, and wants to save a million people to prove it. A million is a substantial, borderline impossible number, yet…"
Words felt weird on his tongue, like he was speaking with a different mouth.
"Yet what?"
Gran Torino coughed into his fist, rising to his feet.
"Yet your goal isn't to just save a million people, is it? You want to help everyone."
With that, the old man walked away, escaping with only his cane for company. Izuku remained sitting, shocked, and could only watch as Torino turned the corner and left the complex, shutting off the lights beforehand. Right before darkness settled over the facility, however, Izuku saw it.
A faint blush marred the old man's cheeks.
[x]
He couldn't do it the next day. Nighteye was all over Mirio, correcting his form, drafting up at-home exercises, theorizing about his quirk, putting every effort towards Mirio. It seemed their patrol had gone well, given the man's sudden urgency. Izuku would rather not admit that he couldn't even bring himself to interrupt their breaks, however. At several points in the day, Mirio would be sitting alone, rehydrating on his break.
Izuku would hover around him, though he avoided Mirio's line of sight like he had a death glare. He found himself getting close, but when he tried to grab his attention, the words would turn to sand in his throat. Their bodies just felt like polar twins, the magnetic field between them always propelling them in opposite directions.
When he wasn't drilling his own quirk, his phone was in his hand. Setsuna texting between her classes kept him occupied; though they came few and far inbetween. Her last year of middle school was busier than any other, and neither of them wanted her too distracted.
It was an odd time. With Setsuna in school, Nighteye drilling a different guy, and Gran too embarrassed to talk to his face, Izuku found himself adrift in the warehouse. His workout already finished, he just meandered around, trying out the machines he didn't touch often. He hung by the hook of his toes, tried leg presses, and even grabbed a jumprope before realizing how stupid that was.
When the session was over and he still couldn't bring himself to talk to Mirio, he made a resolution. If he didn't find the courage tomorrow, his last day with them, then he'd do something crazy.
What crazy was, he couldn't say; a thousand situps in a week? Pull a prank on Setsuna? Either way, not something he wanted to happen.
The next morning, he walked into the warehouse fully prepared. He'd taken careful observations of Mirio and Nighteye as they worked, and during a lull in his instruction, Izuku would slip in. It was the perfect plan.
But when he took his first steps in, Nighteye wasn't there; nor was Gran Torino. Across the wide, open floor plan of the facility, only a single body stood amongst the machinery.
Mirio waved him down, jogging over with evident confusion on his face.
"Hey, have you seen Sir? What about the older guy? They're nowhere to be found." He said, coming to a stop. It was automatic, the way Izuku bit his lip and stepped back; he didn't mean anything by it. To Mirio, however, that didn't matter. His eyes widened as he too stepped back, giving him space. "S-sorry. Forgot."
Izuku's eyes widened.
"H-huh? N-no, you're fine." Izuku said, forcing himself to step forward. "I actually don't know either. You got Dangerous Places?"
Izuku pulled out his phone for emphasis. Mirio nodded, mirroring him as he opened up the active hero news map. Together, they both gasped as the top story revealed a dozen odd heroes easing civilians into ambulances, fires burning in the background.
"Holy hell…" Mirio said, to which Izuku bobbed his head.
"Damn. Another bomb? Is that the fourth this year?"
"Yeah… Sir's on the front page again. Wait, is that little yellow guy Gran?" Mirio asked, turning the phone around. If it wasn't for the man covered in grime and soot, he might've laughed. His suit stood out horribly in the grim setting.
"Wow… they're both there? Must've been serious." Izuku said, looking around. Half the lights weren't on; Mirio must've only lit the ones at the entrance. Going over to the hidden panel across the building, he flipped on the rest, highlighting the gym area. Mirio watched him like an owl, his face never moving from Izuku's own.
Izuku stood on the precipice of the weight wrack, digging his foot into the floor. The words stuck in his throat; he could only hope the way his eyes flicked between his senior and the weights conveyed the right message.
The blonde looked between him and weights for a few seconds, a blank expression clouding his eyes. Exasperated at his own weak communication, he forced himself to nod his head in the weights direction, looking into the boy's eyes. It was like a lightbulb went off above his head, understanding dawning in his face.
They were silent as they changed, and that silence remained even as they began. For Mirio, it was a leg day, while Izuku was in the middle of a pull day. Izuku was a poor spotter for squats most times, but with Blackwhip, he kept the older boy steady even as he began lifting closer and closer to his PB.
Mirio gave him an odd look as Blackwhip whirled around him when they finished, no longer under any direction. Izuku coaxed them to fetch him one of his preferred dumbbells; twenty kilos was way out of his league, but the fifteens were good for warming up.
Rows were easy, but Mirio still stood nearby incase Izuku dropped anything. Blackwhip held him in place, since he couldn't hold himself without an arm. Towards the end of a set, Izuku felt a shiver run down his back where one of the whips sprouted.
Pausing mid row, Izuku turned to Mirio, who looked like a kid caught awake past his bedtime, a single finger brushing the whip. Without thinking, he let his control of that particular whip loose, allowing it to do whatever.
It smacked Mirio across the nose, as if offended by the touch. He yelped, stepping back just as Izuku laughed.
"Don't touch it without its consent, man. Rule number one."
Mirio cringed, but managed to bark out a laugh anyway. He was good at rolling with punches, Izuku thought. Well, he already knew that, given the first hand experience.
"My bad, guy. What's rule number two? Don't rub its belly?" Mirio retorted. This time, Izuku was the one who found himself laughing. He repped out one more row before having a whip restock the dumbbell. Stretching, he let the burn simmer before ordering a different whip to grab his water.
"Basically. These things do whatever they want if they aren't actively commanded. Makes them hard to control, since I don't always want them to do something. If they activate while I'm distracted… Well, you saw what happened. I-I guess I'm trying to say sorry about that. Really. I should've had more control."
"Hey, hey, it's no problem. I shouldn't have suckerpunched you; I thought you were still in the moment."
"You had no way of knowing I was trying to hold these guys back, though. The blame still falls onto me."
"...Alright, fair enough. When they first grabbed me, I almost pissed myself. I'd been wondering what Gran meant by "ropes". Crazy that you were holding out on me the whole freaking fight. You kids are amazing."
"No, no. What's crazy is how much you've improved since then. I'm basically the same, while you're like, twice as good."
Mirio seemed to dim a bit at that, like it saddened him.
"Yeah, well… My second year hasn't been super kind to me so far. I'm pretty good, but I'm definitely the oddball of the class. No one really knows how to handle me. I'm so glad Sir decided to take me on; the guy's really putting me through it. I appreciate the hell outta it."
"Agreed. He's a hardass and a manipulator, but I couldn't imagine a better mentor. He's been teaching me since I was ten."
"No wonder you're such a monster. Even… without the arm, you had me on the backfoot more than once. It's a godsend to have such a proficient man working with you when your quirk is so… strange."
Izuku didn't say anything for a moment. The conversation itself was simple, yet freeing. He'd been so worked up since their spar that he'd almost missed this; this warmth, this easygoing joy that Mirio radiated. The muscles of his face pulled upwards, just below that of a smile.
"The arm isn't off limits, by the way. It's fine to talk about; I lost it when my quirk awakened, if you were curious."
Mirio's eyebrows shot up, surprised.
"Oh!? If my genes manifested any differently, unphasing inside objects would've obliterated me. I got lucky; my cousin lost a hand when she was five, so I can sympathize. What, uh, happened to you?" He asked, his voice full of hesitance. Izuku appreciated his thoughtfulness, though it wasn't his questioning that was making his gut squeeze. He still couldn't quite see it, that quality in himself that apparently made him such a good Ninth. His nub itched. In his peripherals, Five grew into existence.
"Well… my quirk is weird; I think you noticed." Izuku said, to which Mirio nodded. "You saw the smoke, and obviously the tentacles… think of them like side effects. My real power is having a lot of energy, which fuels my superstrength. The other things are just unique ways I can manipulate that energy."
The blond's reaction was quiet, but even Izuku could see how the cogs were twisting in his brain, the teeth not quite biting.
"Wait… superstrength?"
"Yeah. Like, ultra-superstrength. Like the bench-pressing-buildings superstrength.. You know how I called us all finesse and technique?"
"Uhm, yeah?"
"I kinda lied. I should be a powerhouse-type, but the first time I ever…tested it out, well…" Izuku said, gesturing to his nub. Mirio put a hand to his mouth, scandalized.
"No way…"
"Yeah. Now, I can't even find it within myself to try again. It just… doesn't come when I ask. The extra powers are great and all… but I'm basically defective."
They lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts. Izuku felt apprehensive, wondering what Mirio would say. He knew that the guy wouldn't just spit on his shoes and leave, but whether his reaction would be good or bad was still debatable.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. The small, weaker part of him wanted Mirio to scorn him, to complain about not having such a power himself. That weaker part wanted to pull away the curtain, to reveal the fact that, yes actually, he CAN have such a power himself.
The other part, the portion born from the conversation with Gran Torino, his seventh element, held fast. It was like his head was tearing itself apart as anxiety crept up his spine.
Before his thoughts could begin drifting, however, a hand pressed against his shoulder, calming him. It wasn't warm; it wasn't flesh and blood, despite how realistic it appeared.
"Relax, kid. Look; the guy's about to say something." Five said, pointing one of his thick fingers in Mirio's direction. Following its direction, Izuku realized that the boy seemed to be building himself up for something, his lips pursed. Only when it seemed like the boy was about to burst did he speak, flooding Izuku's ears like a broken dam.
"I've been thinking about you a lot, since our spar. It just… boggled my mind how competent you were. I figured our fight must've been a daydream, or you were some super prodigy in the flesh; but I think I get you now. You're not some demigod, or some hallucination… you're just… really cool. I was worried I pissed you off, after our spar."
Izuku tried to reply, but the surprise in his throat stole the air out of his lungs.
"You avoiding me and stuff kinda hurt my feelings, but I can kinda figure why now. You just felt bad about throwing me around when you lost control, right? Keeping your cool and staying in control is important."
A flush spread across Izuku's cheeks as he swallowed down some lifesaving air. He hadn't thought that Mirio had noticed.
"I—Uhm, well… Kind've? I might've avoided you a little… but it wasn't exactly… because I went loose on you…" Izuku said, ducking his chin into his chest. He wanted nothing more than to just stare at the floor and evaporate, never wanting to meet Mirio's eyes again. There was nothing he could do to stop Five, however, when he lifted Izuku's chin for him.
Mirio looked a little surprised, embarrassment stricken across his face. Izuku couldn't blame him, this was really weird. He tasted the next words on his lips, and found them almost edible.
"I… just got to thinking about my quirk. I can't use my strength, I'm missing an arm, I'm barely proficient with any of the abilities I do have… I just wondered… what if—and I know this is impossible, but I just imagined what it would be like if you had my quirk instead. You seem so… pleasant and talented, that I couldn't imagine using my own power better than you could."
Mirio barked out a laugh.
Izuku stayed dead silent. The older boy paused, looking scandalized.
"Wait, you're serious?" He asked, his eyes roaming Izuku's for the joke. Izuku nodded, though the motion took a thousand years. Mirio just blinked for a few seconds, flabbergasted.
"I—wow. That's not something I've thought about for years. I-I guess I can see your point; I'm older, I'm a little bigger, and I've got a little talent under my belt… But I think you're wrong." Mirio said, firm and full of a confidence surprised him.
"Really?" He asked; Mirio nodded, a clear conviction in his eyes.
"Yeah. No offense, but I've got my hands full with what I've got. If I sprouted sentient tentacles and farted clouds, I think my head would pop like a balloon." He said, forcing a chortle out of Izuku. "Plus, if there's one piece of advice that got me through my first year of U.A., it's something my dad once told me."
Izuku leaned, intrigued and silent. Mirio's chest seemed to puff up when he brought up his dad, a fun smile plastering itself over his lips. He put his hands out in a performative manner, clearing his throat for the quote.
"No one is better at using your power than yourself. Someone might be able to teach you, to guide you to be better, but you are the only master of your power. It didn't click for me at first, but I think I've figured it out. He meant that it's a waste of time to covet someone else's power, and I guess it works vice-versa. I wouldn't wish Permeation on anyone, just like how I wouldn't want whatever you got. It's a total nightmare to navigate. Only I can bring Permeation to its maximum potential, just like how only you can maximize—wait, what's your quirk called again?"
"One for All—" Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth, horrified. He swayed in place, a sudden alien nausea overtaking him. His stomach felt like a boiling, angry pot for a few seconds as Izuku regained control. Mirio flinched, alarmed at Izuku's reaction. "Oh, fuck, uhm… Ignore that. That's the name… Nighteye has for it, but if we're being honest, it doesn't have a legal name. I unlocked my quirk at a later age, so I'm not in the system. I'd appreciate it if you forgot that, please."
Mirio looked torn between suspicion and surprise, but after a moment of silent contemplation, seemed to lean towards the latter.
"You… unlocked your quirk late? And you're that good with it? When?"
Well, the cat was already halfway out of the bag.
"Uh… ten?"
"You're unbelievable. I refuse to believe you're a real person, standing in front of me."
"S-sorry?"
"Don't apologize. I'm just mourning my future world records, given that demons like you will be my underclassmen next year."
After that, they lapsed back into silence, returning to the workout. All the while, however, Mirio's advice was bouncing around his head, destroying old anxieties and creating new ones alike.
The thought that he was the only one who could master One for All was a comforting one. It made sense, too; Izuku couldn't imagine mastering Permeation. Relief surged through body as his words solidified in Izuku's brain. Mirio wouldn't want One for All. It was like he was Atlas shrugging off the weight of the world. The euphoria he felt was only matched by a new anxiety, a silent fear which before now had only existed in the ether between his conscious and unconscious.
Could he really master One for All's quirks, if he was not their original user? Could he ever tame the wild Blackwhip; or grab the elusive Float, which had been hiding from him for so long?
"It may take time, kid, but I think you'll get there. The vestiges are always with you, after all. No hero has yet mastered One for All; until you, we didn't even know there was something to master." Five said, his will o'wisp form manifesting an imitation of Blackwhip off his left hand. "The only way to know for certain that it's impossible is if you give up. Forget your anxiety. Forget your doubts. Damnit, forget your arm! The only way to find out is to act, kid, so that's what we'll do!"
It was like someone flipped a switch, or added a semicolon to the end of a broken line of code. Five, otherwise known as Banjo, otherwise known as Lariat, raised his left hand up in the air, urging Izuku to mirror him. He wasn't sure what was going on, but One for All was building up inside of him. It raged like a wild dog, barking and biting and scratching against the door in a frenzy. Izuku, for a moment, didn't know what to do, but a sudden yearning in his heart guided him. No thoughts were necessary; his next movements were instinctual. Izuku let the rabid dog in.
A surge of prickles washed over his stub just as a dozen Blackwhips exploded outward. Mirio stumbled from where he stood nearby, mouth agape as the storm of tentacles started spinning like a tornado. Weaving themselves into a braid, they stuck themselves to Izuku's shoulder like an octopus. Thinner whips wrapped his body like a climbing harness, concentrating and growing out of his stub like a wild tree sapling. To say the whips calmed themselves would be an overstatement; they stabilized, forming a rope-like trunk a few feet long. The tips of the branches remained restless, always moving, always shifting, but the general shape remained the same.
The arm was a bit long; longer than his real one, hanging down as far as his knees, but that didn't matter. He didn't force his will into the whips, instead urging all of them to move as a group. The hand wavered; some threads frayed a bit, but it moved, and it was wonderful.
Mirio was staring at him, star struck.
"Is… is that new?" He asked, his voice far away in Izuku's booming ears, blood pounding like sacred drums.
"Remember when I said that if we kept going… we'd become better?" Izuku asked, almost unable to hear his own voice. Mirio nodded. "Then how about we spar again? I've got eight months until the entrance exam, and I get the feeling I'm going to need all the practice I can get."
A wild smile replaced the shocked look on his face, his teeth dazzling in the warm light of the warehouse. He really did look like All Might.
"It'd be my pleasure, partner."
Chapter 28: Triumvirate of the Wicked
"Sir, the Omega delivery has arrived," a voice said from behind him, the rustle of inexpensive pant legs accompanying their arrival. He'd liked this subordinate; they were usually so unobtrusive.
His chair swiveled around, revealing the new arrival to him. There, beneath his dirt brown cloak and stock mask, stood a nervous man. Rolling to the side, he revealed the window's view. They cringed, taking a step back. Omega was in clear view, their avian logo on full display as the delivery men unloaded crate after crate into their storage.
He'd placed his office at this vantage to avoid receiving this asinine report. No one had a better grasp on their resource management than him, and hearing a mere grunt explain it to him left a terrible taste in his mouth. A heat spread through his breast, his agitation growing. The thin surgical gloves that protected his hands warped and wavered, his power rising with his annoyance. The goon took another step back before bowing at the waist.
"Sorry, sir! I just thought that—"
"Cease."
They shut their mouth; or rather, Kai Chisaki assumed he shut his mouth. He couldn't quite see it through their plague mask. Calming the raging Overhaul in his hands, he drummed his fingers against the polished wood of his desk. It was worth more than the goon's salary, he remembered. The man held the bow, waiting for his boss's approval. Kai watched the curve of the man's spine begin to shake, exhaustion wracking his frame from holding such a hard bow.
Kai said nothing as the man's posture warped like decomposing squash, bending and melting. Two minutes passed in silence before it occurred to him that he should put the man at ease.
In the end, he didn't need to. The man collapsed where he was bowing, hard breaths beating against the filter of his mask. A note of disgust played through him, seeing the man laying on the filth-infested floor. Kai ran a finger across the groove between his own plague mask and his face, making sure the seal was still airtight. Suppressing a shudder, he stood. Turning away from the embarrassing welp on the floor, he took a second look at the unloading bay; and it struck him that something was wrong.
Only the ticking clock and the harsh, recovering breaths of the goon bothered his ears. Bar them, and the sound of his own breath, the room was dead silent. He was careful to keep his face impassive, fighting off his growing scowl with the strength of Atlas.
"Where is the Beta truck?"
"S-sir, that is what I came to tell you—we don't know. Omega and Beta are a pair, but—"
"Gods above. You think I don't know my own organization?"
"Sir—"
"Cease!" Kai said, turning around. That chime of digust had grown into a song, seeing the man still on the floor. "Right yourself, immediately. You're to disinfect the moment I dismiss you."
The man scrambled to his feet, almost falling back down in his haste. Kai could hear the soft clap of his hands meeting behind his back, could see the way his shoulders shook at his voice. The goon was making himself as tiny as possible in his presence, and for that, Kai didn't kill him.
"Now…" Kai began, pulling the edges of his surgical gloves tighter. "Where is Beta?"
It was like every word he spoke was a gong, the song reverberating through the man's skeleton. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, but maintained an element of composure that Kai found respectable. Like watching a child act brave in a lion's enclosure. The goon's saliva squeezed down his throat like a boulder tumbling down a mountain.
"I… we think it's another M.L.A. situation."
With that simple claim, Kai Chisaki's desk was a splintered mess, his fist bloody and glove ruined. Blood rushed through his head like rapids, his heart slamming against his ears as the words settled in his brain.
M.L.A. The initials searing into his brain like an iron brand, sizzling and rupturing his neurons. Thoughts became blurred, that song of disgust bursting into a symphony of wrath.
It was like he dunked his head in boiling oil, his face so red with sudden rage that he almost popped. A foul air floated throughout the room—piss, he noted absently. The subordinate pissed himself. Pissed himself.
He didn't throw up in his mask—but it was a near thing. A flush raced across his neck, an itch close behind. His collar was tight, his clothes hoarse and shoes constrictive. Filthy. Disgusting. Was his office a fucking pigstye?
Kai didn't coil into a spring, hoarding energy for one graceful leap. He didn't take the time to plan out the next moment. He didn't even hesitate. One moment, he was behind the wreck of his desk, the next, the revolting pissbaby was a red smear on his wall.
The goon had been fine at best, Kai told himself. Clapping his hands together, the damage to his hand healed over, the tears in his glove closing. He didn't bother fixing the desk. A simple button-press on his phone was all it took to summon Hari Kurono.
"Sir?" Chronostasis asked, appearing in the threshold. Taking a brief look around, he shrugged, stepping over the blood soaked carpet. Seeing the man brought a clarifying sense of ease onto Kai, reminding him that not every one of his officers were useless.
"Is the girl stable?" He asked. Chronostasis shook his head, his cloak fluttering around with it.
"No sir. She's still restless after the relocation."
"Good. We're changing facilities again. I will never step foot in this room again."
"Of course, sir. May I ask who is painted on the walls? I shall update his file."
"Not a clue, Hari. Just another quirked pig."
"Understood. The secretary? I shall have them replaced."
Chronostasis pulled out a tablet, his fingers firing away as he escorted Kai out of the room. Together, they made their way down to the loading dock, snaking their way around to the garage. They skipped the limo, heading straight for a blue collar van. Kai got in the driver's seat, just as his companion opened the rear passenger's.
"Come now, Hari. Don't be dense." Kai said, locking said door. Chronostasis sighed, slipping into the shotgun.
"One day, you'll have to stop treating me so familiarly, sir. The Assault Team doesn't appreciate the favoritism. If we intend to keep those monsters under our thumb, we will have to cater to them."
"Stay your hand. They wouldn't dare act out, not when we're so close."
Chronostasis paused, the rapid tapping upon his tablet slowing.
"Close to what, sir? The Quirk-Destroyers are still in Beta."
"Bah. In regards to revolution? We are closer than any other. In a cosmic sense, we are already done. No—what I refer to is a far more… annoying prospect."
The tablet-tappings slowed to a total stop.
"...M.L.A.? Are we speaking of Beta's theft?"
Kai was unforgiving on the transmission as he bumped it into third. A slow creaking noise grinded against their ears as the steering wheel bent under his strength.
"That fucking humunculous Destro has gone too far this time. It lines up perfectly. The only people capable of that level of thievery are those Meta bastards."
"That is a serious accusation, sir. Such would be like the old Soviet Union breaking M.A.D. It'd be war."
"We've been at war for years, Hari. This is nothing new."
"Sir… with all due respect, there is a difference between a cold war and a hot one. If the M.L.A. actually stole from us so brazenly, then that only means they're ready for a fight. They could be ready to change the world—and we're close, so, so close, but we're not there yet. Eri is still borderline untested—"
Kai slammed on the breaks, jerking Chronostasis to a stop. Overhead, a redlight was blinking.
"We've already conquered the underworld, Hari. The Boogeyman is dead. We have stolen his strength, his title, his resources—everything. There's no greater force in Japan. The Plague that has swept our world will not overtake us. Even if it takes a decade to perfect the Cure, we will persevere. They could bang on our doors for a century, and we would not crack."
A green light. They drove slow after that, their destination around the corner. The air conditioning was obnoxious and loud between their silence.
Kai could hear what went unsaid. Between Omega and Beta, Beta was the more valuable stock. It contained a sample; one of their precious few successes. The theft was a massive security breach; they might as well just email them their plans. The Meta Society was playing a dangerous, dangerous game, and they'd just taken a piece off Kai's board.
If any other organization had stolen the sample, he might've stayed calm. While he'd put all the small-time Yakuza and gangs under his belt, there were still other crime orgs that wanted All for One's old money. Of course, he'd beaten most of them into submission as well, but the Meta Society was an entire other beast. They were… zealous. They thrived on their putrid abilities, holding them as inalienable rights to be respected. It would be problematic, but manageable. He'd never found a wall he could not climb; and when he did, Overhaul could just break it down. Re-Destro would be no different.
He shifted into second as they neared the turn, gritting his teeth. Abandoning the old facility was just an insult to injury; but it was trivial, in the end. One day, there'd be no "Metas" or "Quirks" to oppose him. He was at an equilibrium of hardship; a thousand difficult decisions lay conquered behind him, a thousand more lay tall and strong ahead. Only by conquering them all, however, would they be free of quirks.
They crawled into the new facility's parking lot, cruising around on first gear. Kai pulled into the closest slot to the door; a disabled spot, and shut the car off. Without the low hum of the car, Kai felt the weight of the silence, and decided he disliked it.
"Well?"
"Is this… a new property? I don't remember this on our budget." Chronostasis said, checking his tablet.
"Patience, Hari."
Pulling out his phone, it only took a few swipes to find the property's listing on the underground market. He didn't even check the price.
One button press, and this was his new headquarters. At least for now.
"Have Eri settled in by this afternoon, Hari. Delivery operations will continue unimpeded." Kai said, walking around to the back. Popping open the doors revealed a vast swath of every cleaning material on the open market, tools and chemicals alike. Unloading the truck only took milliseconds with Overhaul, disassembling the resources inside the truck and reassembling them to the side. He motioned Chronostasis to get into the truck as he put on an apron and a hair net. "I'll prepare my new office in the meantime. Also, have Mimic organize an infiltration team."
"...Yes, sir." Chronostasis said, slipping into the driver's seat. "Where shall they be infiltrating?"
Kai Chisaki paused, looking up from where he was loading chemicals onto a cart.
"Detnerat, of course."
[x]
Rikiya Yotsubashi considered himself a humane man. His ancestor, Destro, had been one of the greatest freedom fighters in history, and Rikiya liked to think their will passed on to him. His family was one built on fighting, but it'd always been for the benefit of the marginalized.
Sometimes, though, he wished it was beneficial for everyone. Staring down at the broken neck of his secretary, he sighed. She'd been a lovely woman; straightforward, powerful, dedicated… but it'd been her downfall. He simply could not allow someone with such an unbendable, twisted view of the Meta Society to continue existing as a top official for his company. Crouching down, he brushed the hair out of her face, closing her eyes. She wasn't dead yet, but without any motor functions, she'd suffocate soon. Rikiya didn't want to see the expression in her final seconds of life.
Standing back up, he shuddered as Stress bloomed in his body, his quirk devouring and storing his negativity. Swallowing the saliva stuck in his throat, he walked back around to his desk, booting up his computer. It took a few minutes; he wasn't very good with computers, and a lot of mistreatment had given it a long wind-up time. It'd been his secretary's job to mitigate his carelessness, now that he thought of it.
Leaning forward in his seat, he could just manage to spot the awkward crook of her neck. He was going to miss her; Rikiya would make sure to hire a more moral person next time. Extensive screening would become standardized for hiring, he decided.
With his computer on, he began the difficult, complicated, long-winded process of covering this up. He sent out a mass-cancellation of his meetings today, and forwarded a few hundred thousand to his clean-up crew.
With that burdensome duty out of the way, he leaned into his chair, exhausted. Ending a life was never easy; but it was all for the sake of his people. A tear slipped down his cheek; he didn't bother to wipe it away. Rikiya stayed there for a long time, mourning.
A knock at the door had him alert instantly, a wild panic overtaking him for a brief second. To kill twice on the same day would surely steal away his precious sleep.
Stress slowed his racing heart, however, sucking away the crazed anxiety like a vacuum, calming him. Standing up straight, he walked over to the front door and opened it, prepared and at ease. Despite his sudden apathy, he cracked a grin. It was just Tomoyasu.
"I've got news, Commander." The tall brunette said, his eyes a mystery behind his bangs.
"Oh, now might not be a good time, Tomoyasu."
"Sorry, but this is far more important than your impromptu murder. I was successful in our raid."
Rikiya didn't gulp; he didn't flinch or turn away, either. While he was curious how the man knew, he'd grown used to it. Tomoyasu didn't let a fly escape his notice, let alone his commander wiping out his schedule and throwing dollar signs at specialist crews. He leaned into Stress, allowing it to absorb even more of his anxiety.
"Of course. You mean on the Shie Hassaikai?" Rikiya said, stepping forward and closing his office behind them. His secretary would be gone by the time he got back. Together, they made their way to the elevator, Tomoyasu talking all the while.
"Don't be dense, Commander. Know thy enemy. The Shie Hassaikai are no more; they've evolved past it." He said as they stepped into the elevator. Tomoyasu's finger trailed down from the top-floor office they were on down to their furthermost basement. Slapping the button, he stepped away, pulling out his laptop and sitting down. It would be a long way down to the basement.
"Of course. They're fascist animals who hate with every fiber of their being. At least when the old dogs had still reigned supreme, they'd operated on an honor code. Having that brat Chisaki tugging them by the balls is like handing your racist nephew a gun." Rikiya said, tugging on the cuffs of his suit. Stress thrived on this kind of irritation; even as he began to heat up, his quirk devoured the feeling, leaving him just as apathetic as before, but no happier. Tomoyasu nodded.
"Easily worse, which is why our raid is such a big deal. I can't believe those morons left their tracker unencoded."
A chime echoed between them, announcing their arrival at the delivery bay. Rikiya helped Tomoyasu to his feet as they left. Despite being the Detnerat Building, only Meta Society members worked on this floor.
"Re-Destro!" A worker called out, his tentacles waving in excitement at Rikiya's appearance. Rikiya gave the man his best smile; wide, full of pearly teeth, but all business. Any joy he felt at seeing his beloved employee felt shallow after his secretary. A few other workers paused to greet him as well, all friendly and courteous. He took their pleasantries all as stones to his burden, the weight in his gut unsalvageable even by Stress.
Tomoyasu guided him around all their employees, bringing him to a single truck. Three suited men stood to the side of the vehicle, mirroring a similar group of women on the opposite. He gave them all a single nod, stepping back to watch them work.
Each woman was a veteran bombsquad leader, and treated the task like a misplaced finger spelled all their deaths. Ever since the Yakuza had begun terrorizing the major cities, Detnerat had been mass producing anti-bomb equipment for heroes and paranoid civilians alike. Rikiya watched them work with a keen eye, wondering exactly what kind of modifications or improvements they could make in their product.
"We're unsure if it's tagged or not, but we know there isn't anything computerized inside. At best, we may find a USB." Tomoyasu said, whispering into his ear. He nodded, watching as the deft fingers of the bombsquad disassembled the back door, opening it in such a way that it wouldn't go off even if it was rigged. Rikiya tugged at the wealth of energy Stress stored, just in case. A light black shell encompassed his form as he took a step ahead of his lieutenant, a subtle arm poking out like a mother right before a car crash.
Seconds passed as they peeled away the door, revealing the interior. Rikiya himself wasn't much of a scientist, but even he could see genius when it lay bare before him. Half the load was just crates and desks. The other side was microscopes, beakers and a dozen or so other scientific utensils. It was like a mad scientist's lab, condensed and modified to fit in a truck.
The bombsquad did one more sweep over the truck before declaring it safe. From there, the three men stepped inside and began unloading, studying, and organizing their findings. They found all the tools to be sterile, the equipment unused or cleaned to perfection. They even waved a blacklight over everything, confirming no lingering material clung to the interior.
When they tried to pick up the crate, however, the three men struggled.
"Woah, this guy's a heavy one!" One of the men said, wiping sweat from his forehead. Tomoyasu and Rikiya glanced at each other.
"No problem, boys. Allow me." Rikiya said, the black shell on his left arm thickening and elongating with the words. Using Stress to amplify his strength tickled. It relaxed him, using his stockpiled stress; like letting go of a grudge. Without an ounce of effort, he lifted the three crates in one large hand, moving them so as to view them himself.
Not giving it a second thought, he popped the lid off the first crate. He blinked. Stress shrunk his arm back down to size, breaking off into fragments that melted back into his now pale skin. A horrible feeling was building up in his insides, his eyes unable to believe what they were seeing.
Oh god, he thought. A whirlwind of disgust was tearing through him, consuming his insides like a wildfire. It was—horrible, it was awful. Never in a million years had he expected this; he knew the Yakuza hated quirks, but…
He recovered the crate with the lid. Everyone present gave him a strange look as he walked away, facing a wall. Rikiya couldn't help himself; Stress ate his negativity, not his nausea. He threw up.
Behind, he heard his fellow Metas open the lid after him, their gasps piercing his ears like spears.
"Quirk… Destroyers? Trial… 48?" One of the suited men said, his voice flat and numb.
"Oh my god… what are they making?" A woman whispered.
Tomoyasu didn't speak; but the rapid firing of his laptop's keys spoke loud enough for him. In an hour's time, all the lieutenants would know.
Rikiya's lower lip trembled, his jaw spasming alongside his erratic heart. Blood was beating against his ears, his breaths ragged and torn. Quirk Destroying Serum?
It was like designing a poison to rot off all your limbs, a venom that killed your soul. Meta Abilities were a gift, the pride and joy of every individual's life. They were to be celebrated… not destroyed. It was mutilation of the highest order, a newfound fear that he'd never even imagined.
His fingernails punctured the skin of his palm, his fists bulging alongside his quirk. As his emotions blossomed, so too did Stress, devouring it like a starving god does worlds. This time, however, it couldn't quiet him, couldn't bring him to apathy. No, his sudden hatred for the Yakuza transcended the power of his quirk, rocketing out of the realm of reasonability into the atmosphere of madness.
"Fuck!" Rikiya screamed, his massive blackened fist slamming into the floor. All around them, the building shook. For a millisecond, he feared the building would fall, but he remembered he built it.
No one said a word. Not Tomoyasu, not his specialists, and especially not the more casual employees littered throughout the basement. The only sound in the vicinity was the song of his heart, and it was hateful.
"Men! Women! My friends, gather round!" Rikiya yelled, calling them to his side. They came to him without hesitation. Fear was in their eyes, but not of him, no, not even of his monstrous black form. Tomoyasu, his six specialists, and over two dozen additional employees gathered to his side, eager for his input.
It was these moments he lived for. His life was a difficult one, filled with thousands of hard decisions behind him and a thousand in front of him; but they'd be free, in the end. Before, he'd thought his sole purpose was to lift the veil of oppression, but these Yakuza had revealed a greater truth to him.
"My brothers, sisters; my nieces, nephews, and beloved cousins… Listen, listen. It is today that we acquire a great burden; a cross we shouldn't have had to bear. The Yakuza, Kai Chisaki's Crow, has created an ultimate evil. Within that box," Rikiya said, pointing to the Quirk Destroyer crate, "is the fledgling concoction of sin. An unholy half-child; something so inhumane I shudder to think of it. A Meta-Erasing serum."
Gasps rang through the unaware employees; his specialists could only stare in horror. None took their eyes off of him.
"Re-Destro? Are we… going to be okay?" One employee asked; a young man built like an ox. His sclera was blood red, but his irises were baby blue. His heart softened, looking at the man. Two hundred years ago, he would've been lynched alongside Rikiya's ancestor. Even now, had he been born in the countryside, he would've been battered and abused beyond belief.
"My boy, are you a Civilian or a Soldier?" Re-Destro asked, feeling his torso expand with the wild flow of his strength. The young man drew eyes, and he looked nervous, but that strength in his frame won out over the anxiety of his spirit.
"S-soldier, sir! I'm a soldier of the Meta Liberation Army!"
"Damn right you are! And what do soldiers do!?" He called out, this time to all his audience. Their response was unanimous.
"Protect our rights!"
Their call rang through the facility, almost as loud as Rikiya's blow to the floor. That crazed terror that overrided his quirk screamed with them, the tension releasing in his bones. Re-Destro shrank a bit, returning to his normal size. This time, he gave them a real smile.
"Good. Before we liberate ourselves, we must first eliminate our natural enemy. The Yakuza will be extinct by next Christmas."
[x]
Garaki's screwdriver clattered to his desk, his hand numb. He'd been working on this project for months, and to see it completed—it was unreal. A sleek black finish, polished to shine. A bit larger than the lord's skull, but form-fitting—elegant, but gothic. Across the room, relaxing under the bulky life support, All for One sat, patient as a statue. Garaki lifted the helmet, admiring it even as its visage sent fear striking through his heart. The lord had always had exquisite taste, he'd found.
It was too heavy to move with ease, so Garaki placed it on a cart. The shoddy plastic bent with the weight, but held. It was only going a few feet, after all.
All for One didn't move, even as Garaki sensed his attention. There were no eyes to track, no tilt of his head. Even despite the dissolution to his sensory nerves, the lord watched him with a careful eye. His attention came from all sides, all angles.
Stopping the cart at the foot of the lord's bed, he coughed into a fist.
"My lord, perhaps you would like to change into a more elegant top. This apparatus will not be coming off, once it is on. I wouldn't want you to be inconvenienced by the gown."
It was like the statue twitched; when the lord moved, he moved with the weight of granite. Garaki could almost hear the grinding of stone as the lord's head shifted in his direction.
"Of course, Doctor." All for One said, his voice butter and silk. The lord didn't snap his fingers, or clap, or chant an incantation. The only visible effort he made was the twitching of his temporalis muscle.
The hospital gown melted away, turning purple and gaining a mud-like consistency. The purple mud warped and bubbled for a few seconds as the lord debated; soon, however, it began to wrap around the lord like a second skin. Sleeves grew around his appendages, layers distinguished themselves, and the purple tint faded into charcoal black and pearl white. What lay before him was the perfect imitation of an Italian Kiton, even matching the embroideries on the inner cuffs.
"My word, lord. I scantily remember you having such taste. Lovely color." Garaki said, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the suit-imitation. The lord did not smile, but that all-seeing presence grew loose, and that told him everything he needed.
"Thank you, Doctor. My favorite suit is ashes now, if I'm correct. I shall have Kurogiri fetch me an authentic suit when the moment is right."
"Of course, my lord. Shall we begin?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
It took a few minutes; none of which were awkward, despite their closeness. To say the lord had friends would be… incorrect, but had he possessed such, Garaki liked to think he was at the top of such a list. The bulge of the doctor's gut did not bother his patient's shoulder, nor did the somewhat unkempt smell. Garaki had, after all, been working on this for months. Such an efficient time meant nonexistent breaks. Perhaps, should the lord prove independent, he would take a long shower.
Perhaps, for a normal man, this procedure should've classified as a surgery. Garaki plucked bone-deep artifacts from the lord's flesh, unplugged precious life-saving tubes and removed the oxygen mask that kept the lord living. Had the lord been lesser, Garaki would've had to put him under. Instead, All for One took his lumps in silence.
A scalpel cut openings into his neck, his shoulders, and his skull; all without any protest. These bloodless wounds stayed dry as Garaki began attaching his new creation to his lord. It might've looked like torture, to an outsider. The aparatice stuck to his rough skin like a brand, iron hooks slotting into the fresh wounds. A foul odor wafted through the air as the last piece of the helmet fused itself to All for One's skull.
Where the life support once kept his heart beating and lungs squeezing, there was now just the helmet. Where multiple tons of equipment had barely kept his blood flowing, now just the helmet lay. At last, Garaki pulled the final plug on the life support, All for One was free.
Each breath reverberated around the room like an engine, the purr of his life-force evident. The mechanism had no batteries, needed no charge. It pulled the nutrients from the surroundings, transmuting even the stalest air into the purest oxygen.
All for One swung his legs over the bed's edge as a lord, but when he stood, he was a king once more. Garaki looked up to the man; tall, imposing, beautiful, and couldn't help the tear that trickled down his cheek.
The king flexed his fingers, silent but for the hum of his life. Each knuckle popped, a thunderstorm amidst the roar of machinery. Gradually, the king popped every joint in his body, from his fingers to his toes. He stretched, exploring his new limits. Garaki just watched in silence, mesmerized.
At last, All for One slowed, stopping his warm-up.
"Doctor, what have I lost?" He asked, his voice echoing around the bunker with a metallic twang. Garaki shuddered.
"I would never presume to know your limits, my king."
"Thank you, Doctor, but this is serious. I can feel it, you know."
"Feel what?"
"The tension. It is as thick in the air as butter. Should I stick a finger out, it would come away covered in grease."
"My king?"
"The friction between the Warlords. The thief, Chisaki, and the descendant, Yotsubashi. They are to battle, no?"
It was the most All for One had spoken at once since he'd awoken. Pride filled Garaki's frame just as confusion tainted it.
"My king, I'm afraid… I don't follow."
All for One didn't sigh in disappointment, didn't treat Garaki like a lesser. It was one of the million things that drew them to partnership; geniuses in their own right, together against the world. The great king turned, looking to the north like he could see through the walls. In a sense, he could.
"The boy with my empire, and the man with his own. If we are to take advantage of our cute little generals, then I must know my own strength. To meddle while unaware of my limits would be the height of folly, no?"
Garaki simply stared, stunned. His king had stood up for the first time in half a decade, and already he intended to put plans into motion. A wave of nostalgia hit him. Before the princes, before One for All, before all that mess with All Might even started. Just the king, Garaki, and the world to conquer.
"I suppose it would. I'll draft you a report immediately."
"Thank you Doctor, but you're welcome to take the day off. You are my most loyal companion, and I wouldn't see you burn out even more. In any case, I have things to attend to that are more pressing than such a report. We can reconvene in that department next week."
Garaki paused, already half-way to his computer. His king was so understanding. It would be very nice to have a break after all this time. As always, however, it seemed his lord had bigger plans than he liked to say.
"Alright, I shall take some time off… but what is this urgent business of yours?" Garaki asked, slipping off his lab coat. All for One shifted, now facing more eastward than north.
"I must check on my child, of course. The prince may still rebel, but that doesn't erase a parent's concern."