Chapter 36: Conversations and Decisions
Toshinori patted his side in disbelief, noting with certainty now that it was fuller than it had been a week before. Though he couldn't exactly lift his shirt in the middle of the teacher's lounge, he could practically feel that there was less scarring there too. Couple that with his returning ability to take fuller breaths, and the fact that he had eaten half a cheeseburger the other day and hadn't felt the need to vomit after, and he should have been feeling fantastic. Young Midoriya's quirk therapy pills were working, and if Chiyo's blood tests were any indication, there were no major negative side effects. A bit more tiredness than usual, but all things considered, he could live with it. That was the thing. He could live with it.
Realistically, he should have been feeling the best he'd felt in years, but right then it felt like he might have been only a little better than when he had received the contents of Mirai's damnable vision. His slowly returning stomach was twisting in knots, and the horrible, creeping guilt that he associated with being unable to save someone was washing over him. Young Midoriya had lost his trust in them, all of them. He had been attacked by a villain who never should have been near his boy ever again, and then he had more than likely had his spirit crushed during an interrogation by a bunch of likely corrupt police officers, if the recounting Nezu gave was any indication.
Honestly, if it weren't for the noble men and women he had grown acquainted with over the years like Tsukauchi, he would hate the police. For the most part they did good work, but just like heroism, a profession that promised power over others could attract some of the worst of society, as well as some of the best. Nezu had promised further investigation into the incident, citing the involvement of the HPSC as being entirely too convenient for them not to have had a hand in things. That more than anything made him nervous.
But now he was faced with an entirely different problem as his other boy, his successor, looked at him mournfully from across the couch, his shoulders low and his normally quite bouncy cowlick drooping with a weariness that seemed to radiate all around him. If Toshinori kept his true feelings close to his chest, which he most certainly did as All Might, then the boy before him wore his heart on his sleeve. At least, he did so in the private moments between them.
"He doesn't even want to talk to me now, All Might," he said sadly, "and I can't even really blame him. How am I supposed to say that I wanted to tell him and not make it seem like a lie? Like I'm just dodging the issue?" Toshinori sighed.
"Sometimes, Young Togata, the best thing we can do is give these things time. You know that Mirai and I were quite close for many years, but after my injury, well...we had something of a falling out. I'm sure you were well acquainted with his thoughts on the matter during your tutelage." Mirio gave him a half smile.
"He said you were stubborn, foolish, self-sacrificing to a fault, and one of the most bull-headed men to ever walk the Earth." Toshinori laughed, and noticed that no blood came out along with the sudden movement of his chest.
"Indeed, indeed, all of that is true. Er, rather, it is true that he said all of those things about me. But, thankfully, that is beside the point, Young Togata. The thing is, Mirai felt all those things towards me. He felt I ignored his counsel, felt I thought him unimportant, and yet, he still wanted to help me." Toshinori paused to make sure Mirio was following before he continued.
"Even though he was angry with me, he kept trying, because our partnership, our friendship, was stronger than the hurt that came between us. It meant more to him than his, or for that matter even my, pride. And if anything, the bond between you and Young Midoriya is stronger than mine and Mirai's. I am positive you will, in time, mend your relationship with him."
"But what can I do in the meantime," asked his successor, practically begging Toshinori with his wide uncomplicated eyes for the answer to a question he was struggling with himself. He sighed, and reached a hand across to the boy. "This isn't like saving a civilian or stopping a villain. I know what to do, what I need to be in those kinds of situations. But when there's nothing for me to stand against? No one that needs my help? What do I do then?"
"Truthfully Young Togata, I do not know that there is anything you can do per se beyond doing nothing and waiting for Young Midoriya to come to you. Help him if he asks, and respect his wishes if he doesn't." Toshinori chuckled sadly. "I've failed that boy twice now, but yet, I have no doubt there is room in his heart to forgive a foolish old man."
"You're not that old, All Might," said Mirio before lapsing into silence, seemingly lost in his own musings on Izuku and their damaged trust. Was there really nothing to be done beyond waiting?
"All right class, listen up," grumbled Aizawa from the front of the room. It was their second day back from the extended weekend, and most had still been looking over their internship forms in the minutes before class. Now with Aizawa calling them to attention, people were beginning to notice something strange about the classroom.
Izuku had picked up on it as soon as he had walked in that morning, and would have been laughing about it if he weren't still upset. He had yet to really look Aizawa in the eyes since he had shown up at the police station, and while he was undoubtedly grateful to the man and the principal as well, the deception reminded him all too keenly of the teachers at Aldera. Still, if his suspicions were true, then things were about to get more interesting.
"As you all know, those in other departments can move into heroics if they perform well in the sports festival," Aizawa began, casting his gaze around the room. "That said, we spent yesterday arranging the transfer, so as of today, you have a new classmate. Shinso, get in here already."
Aizawa smirked towards the door which slid open to reveal the perpetually tired boy, who walked into the room with an air of nonchalance. Naturally, most of the class tensed, realizing what a new student meant. Izuku smiled to himself, turning around to lock eyes with Yaoyorozu, who was already suppressing a small smile herself and a knowing look in her eye. He nodded quickly before turning around. It made sense that she had figured it out, seeing as she was one of the students sitting in front of Aizawa's surprise, after all. Oh, and she was whip smart, that probably helped as well.
"Judging by the looks on your faces, you understand the significance of having a new student in class 1A. Heroics classes have twenty seats, but now we have twenty one students. So, the solution is quite simple," he glared at them all, not looking at anyone in particular, and Izuku almost couldn't hold the snicker threatening to escape his lips. Okay, maybe Aizawa would get back in his good graces a little quicker than the others. "The solution is to add more chairs."
Izuku covered his ears and Jiro barely managed to do the same in time before the collective shriek of WHAT practically rattled the windows. Izuku startled laughing, while in the back of the room Yaoyorozu sighed good-naturedly and piped up.
"I'm rather surprised no one else noticed the new row of seats in the back this morning," she chirped, sounding almost exactly how she had after the quirk apprehension test.
"Oh, huh," said Sato, turning in his seat to look at the new row of desks behind him.
"I noticed, but I figured Aizawa would expel someone anyways," said Ochaco a bit nervously. Todoroki simply shrugged and said nothing, but it didn't pass Izuku's notice how he seemed even more reserved than before. Nor did he miss how Aizawa seemed to stare at the boy in question after Ochaco had spoken up.
"Given the option of expelling one student with potential to make room for another, and dealing with the headaches and whining that would cause, or rebuilding the room overnight and adding some new desks, one seemed easier than the other. So long as you all continue to showcase potential and give me your full effort, you will still have a place in my class." At that Izuku finally looked up and met the man's eyes, earning a small nod after a moment of eye contact.
"Aizawa-sensei likes us, kero," came Tsu's quiet croak from Izuku's right, and he couldn't help but agree to an extent.
"Quiet down or I'll expel all of you," said the teacher, quirk activated and hair floating. "Shinso, properly introduce yourself, the rest of you, welcome him. Student reps, you have a meeting this afternoon. Oh, and there's a new seating chart, it spreads out the empty desks until I find something worth putting in them, so get yourselves into your proper places. I'm going to be asleep for fifteen minutes, wake me at your peril."
With that the man collapsed into his sleeping bag and fell behind his desk, seeming to pass out almost instantly. Shinso introduced himself after that, receiving a much warmer welcome than either he or Izuku had anticipated him receiving, and then they had gone about settling into their new seats.
As it happened, the gen ed transfer ended up to Izuku's right, while he overall moved up the row by one. The new chart seemed to have put most people nearer to their friends while leaving a little more space around some of the more...abrasive personalities. It seemed like a lot of thought had gone into the placement this time around, and Izuku wondered if Aizawa himself had spent the time revamping the arrangement. He did seem more tired than normal, after all. Okay then, he was making an effort, and Izuku had been able to look him in the eye without feeling sick, so that was progress.
Still, it was easier to talk with Shinso about his new coursework than it was to deal with his feelings at the moment, so that was what he did. He could untangle the knot in his stomach after the internships, which, there were now only four days left to decide on. That was...unfortunate.
"Hmm, well, you've got a lot of offers from B-Listers, but I'm seeing two that stand out the most," said Shinso, leaning over in his chair to look at Izuku's list of offers. His brow furrowed, and he grunted. "Although since one happens to be related to the human jerksicle, I'd say go for option two. Nighteye seems like a good choice." Izuku's expression turned sour.
"I'm...not exactly sure I want to be with Nighteye right now. An upperclassman I know interns for him, and I uh, found out some stuff recently and I don't know if I want to be around them for a while yet." Shinso just shrugged.
"Weird that he left that instruction at the bottom too. 'Don't tell Mirio?' I'm guessing that's the upperclassman you mentioned."
"Yeah, he won the third year stage."
"Well, sounds like you get to choose between one headache or another then, unless you go for some bottom of the barrel hero. I'm working with Aizawa on underground tactics and also a crash course in all the lessons I haven't been present for over that week, so I don't really have to choose."
"That's great Shinso! Aizawa-sensei is a really good teacher, and your quirk and skillset would make you a really formidable underground hero!"
"Hmph, thanks for saying so," he said, crossing his arms and looking back towards the front of the class where the teacher in question was dozing in his sleeping bag. Whether or not he was actually sleeping or just lulling them into a false sense of security was anyone's guess. "Between the jerk you've always known is a jerk and the friend that suddenly turned out to be a jerk, I think I know which one I'd prefer to deal with, since I hate surprises. Did you figure out what kind of headache you want to have for your internship yet?"
"Yeah actually, I think I did! Thanks, Shinso-kun, I appreciate the advice." After a moment of seeming disbelief, his newest classmate actually smiled back at him beneath the tired eyes.
"You know, you still don't hesitate to answer me when I ask you questions Midoriya. It's uh...nice, I guess." Izuku beamed back, glad to have one decision made already, and quickly made up his mind on another that he had been considering.
"Hey Shinso, I need to meet a few of my friends in the lab I use on Thursday after school. Do you think you could join us there?"
"Well, I don't-"
"Shinso," said Izuku, all levity gone from his voice in an instant. That caught the other boy's attention as he turned to regard him. "It's very important, and I would really appreciate your presence." Shinso looked at him consideringly for a moment before simply shrugging and slipping back from his look of surprise into the usual sleep-deprived expression of neutrality he wore.
"Yeah, okay sure, why wouldn't you have a personal lab? I guess I'll be there Thursday. Now why the hell do you have a lab, where is it, and seriously, why the hell do you have a lab?"
Izuku was genuinely excited for the all years student council meeting. The UA council chambers, because apparently this school had the budget to have a room for everything , was a large oak paneled conference room that was used by the upperclassmen as part of their operations training. Planning, briefings, simulated press conferences, pretty much anything that involved a lot of speaking happened in this room.
At the moment Izuku was seated to Yaoyorozu's right, with Iida to her left, at the first year's end of the long conference table. Tokage was to his right, followed in short order by Kendo and Shishida. The other class representatives from the first year courses were arranged in a similar pattern around the long table, formed into a U shape in mirror of the third years at the opposite end, while the second year class reps took up both sides of the middle. To Izuku, it almost felt like a war room.
"Thank you, everyone, for coming today," said the class 3E president and overall council leader, clearing his throat. He was tall, lean, wearing shiny glasses and neatly combed and parted brown hair; Izuku privately thought he looked like Sir Nighteye's younger brother, even if his name was Watanabe. Maybe they were half brothers? "Now that we've ratified the minutes from our last meeting we can get on with the matter at hand. With the return to our normal schedule there are a few upcoming all-school events that we need to begin planning for, but first I'd like to open the floor to new business. Does anyone have any new items they wish to introduce? Are there any questions, or perhaps concerns, that anyone wishes to bring to the faculty's attention?"
Izuku's hand was in the air before he realized it, and he went to retract it just as quickly. Unfortunately for him, the president caught the movement quite easily and shot him a small smile and a nod of his head.
"Ah, excellent, Midoriya-kun from 1A, you have something you'd like to address?" Izuku paled a bit as Yaoyorozu shifted in her seat and Tokage regarded him quizzically. There were a lot of eyes on him, including, unfortunately, two very round ones that he refused to meet from the third year end of the table. Stupid automatic reaction , thought Izuku bitterly.
"Uhm, w-well, Watanabe-senpai, I, um, feel free to interject if I'm w-wrong, Masura-san," said Izuku, glancing towards the 1C class president who stared at him blankly, "but I've o-only ever seen the Sports Festival from the outside before. But n-now that I've participated, I um, well, it d-doesn't really seem, uh, fair? To those in g-general education who d-d-don't want to move to heroics?"
A sea of uncomprehending faces stared back at him all along the table, and Izuku felt himself begin to shrink a bit under their collective look. He waved his hands in front of him, as if trying to dispel their confusion like a fog.
"W-well it's just that, w-while we were w-waiting to go on, I h-heard someone f-from one of the gen-ed classes s-say it was like they were o-only there to make the hero course l-look better. And, the uh, w-well, the Sports Festival l-lets the hero course students get s-scouted for internships, a-and the support s-students s-show off their inventions. And b-business course students g-get to run simulations and p-practice marketing. But, it um, it d-doesn't really let g-general education d-do anything for themselves, and t-that doesn't seem f-fair to me."
"Indeed, considering support course students are allowed to use their inventions to compete, and hero course students have significant practice already, it leaves general education kids at a major disadvantage," said a second year business student, twisting in her seat to look at Izuku.
"E-especially when you consider they d-don't get any training in a-advance of the f-festival, and then they h-have to compete against hero course students who have classes on b-both combat techniques and q-quirk practice."
"I seem to recall you complaining that you hadn't seen any of us using our time to train or scouting for information ahead of time," said one boy from his year that Izuku recognized from the mob outside 1A's door that one day. "Shouldn't the rest of us just be expected to work on it ourselves?" Izuku shook his head.
"My p-point at the t-time was that w-within the s-system they had, t-they weren't r-really doing everything they could to p-pursue their s-s-stated goals. That wasn't to s-say the system was f-fair, and if we have an opportunity to c-c-change it, we should at l-least try."
"You'll hear no objections from me on that," said Watanabe chipperly, making a note of the item on his laptop and confirming it with the secretary. "We'll bring this up with Nezu at our next meeting with the faculty, and see about drafting a formal petition to take to the board for structural changes to the festival. Now then, does anyone else have any new items to introduce to the agenda?" A brief survey of the room saw no additional hands raised. "Excellent; we'll work on the language of Midoriya's suggestion and have it come to a vote at our next meeting. Now then, onto today's business…"
Chizome stepped through the portal and found himself deposited on the roof of a building near his warehouse. To say he had been surprised by the meeting he had just endured would have been a massive understatement. His hands didn't shake, but it was a near thing. Whether they would have been trembling in residual, instinctual fear or vibrating in anticipation, he wouldn't have known. Thankfully the point was moot.
He danced across the rooftops alongside ghosts of rising steam and looming shadows, approaching his base of operations without even a hint of noise or movement. It was such a contrast to his days as Stendhal; he had been silent then too, but he had only worn the shadows back then. Now, with a proper conviction motivating him, infusing his every movement, he wasn't simply dressed in shadows. He was one of them.
Even as isolated as they were in this part of town, Chizome had taken special care to insulate the warehouse. Though not professional by any means, the walls were decently soundproofed, so that the ringing clash of swords and knives only sounded like normal industry from the outside. Not that there was anyone around this area to notice, but precautions were necessary when leading a revolution.
He slid up to a window near the top of the building, the faint lights from within accentuating the delicate back and forth of his followers going through their drills. Those without quirks suited to purging the false idols directly were being trained in the graceful, subtly powerful techniques of swordplay he had mastered. Of course, their strikes had to be delivered with more strength and less speed than his own. After all, he only had to land one cut in order to end a fight. Such a quirk as his, it was made for this crusade.
He slipped the window open noiselessly, pressing himself up against the ceiling and the various rafters that hung above the sparring soldiers, grinning down like some malicious god surveying its worshippers. He was no god, but rather, the prophet that would lead these men and women to a better society, even if he made martyrs of them all in the process. And ah, there at the front, as Chizome knew he would be, was Young Spinner, barking out corrections and demonstrating forms.
Chizome made his way to a spot on the ceiling directly above the youth, finally releasing the long, blood dyed scarf he had tied about his neck to dangle free. The flicker of movement was enough to draw the boy's eye, but none of the others glanced upwards, too engrossed in their swordplay. His apprentice's eyes went wide at the sight of him, but he only held a finger up to his nearly lipless mouth, ordering the boy to remain quiet. He received a brief, almost imperceptible nod of confirmation before he returned to leading the drills.
Chizome scurried about from place to place on the ceiling, at one point hanging only by one foot from a rafter, upside down like some blood covered bat, and he surveyed the progress. There was more discipline being showcased now, more steel behind his soldiers' own...steel. Given how the meeting had gone, it was a good thing that Spinner had succeeded in training them as well as he had during Chizome's absence.
He recalled the details of his trip as he continued to observe, a slight chill running down his back. He had entered an immaculately kept bar in an impossibly run down location, and met with a child who spoke of purging society of liars. He had asked for his assistance, and Chizome had almost believed the boy, had almost been willing to aid the youth's cause, when the boy had gone on to declare All Might as the greatest liar of their time. Then he had the audacity to state that his goal would be to tear down the false society the hero had built up around his lies, and the very concept of a symbol of peace along with it.
Chizome had struck, hard and fast, immobilizing the mist man with his quirk and pinning the boy to the ground with a blade through his shoulder. One of his cheaper ones, and he was grateful for that, because it was disintegrated moments later. When he had the brat on his back, bleeding, he had seen something else behind his eyes; it wasn't a proper fire, not really. But there was more at work there than just senseless destruction; more than just anarchy for anarchy's sake. That was when the television at the end of the bar had started laughing.
He shuddered involuntarily at the memory once again, remembering the black sludge that had poured from his mouth as the bar had melted away into a dark, quietly noisy room that stank of antiseptic, blood, and luxury. It was an odd combination that made him want to gag more than the choking teleportation had, but as he took stock of his surroundings he found himself losing sensation altogether. He had known he would likely meet the boogeyman as a result of the summons, but he hadn't actually thought he would be in his presence at any point. He had known that he might not return from this outing, but he also hadn't truly felt the fear of that possible death until he had been in the thing's presence.
He almost drew a katana, almost threw a knife; he had, after all, attacked one of this being's soldiers in his own territory. That would have been enough to earn a reprisal if it had happened to one of Chizome's own, anyways. Apparently the merchant of quirks had found the display pleasing, and Chizome's ideals something laudable. He had talked with the man for quite a while after that.
His host had been...accommodating, charismatic, and so horribly, entirely wrong that Chizome had found himself wondering if the man in the dark room was entirely human. He had spent three days discussing philosophy, history, even aesthetic theories and music with the creature, before it had finally settled down to business. With the information in hand and a request from the ancient being himself hung about his neck like a damnable albatross, Chizome had been released, entirely unharmed, back to his own work.
Now the debate was whether or not to take the opportunity that the monster had presented; it would happen a week from that Thursday, and would proceed with or without his and his followers' involvement. All for One had simply deigned to inform him of an opportunity to enact his crusade ahead of its intended start. So often Chizome and his soldiers were reactive, but if what the villain said was true, then in less than two weeks time, he would be presented with the most bountiful hunting grounds he would likely see for anything short of a megatsunami wiping out the entire coastal region. They had a chance to prepare, to ambush, to pursue their prey in something other than an attack of opportunity.
Of course, in doing so, he would also be serving the villain's interest. As much as they had talked, and as much as their disdain for the current society aligned, it was clear they had vastly divergent end goals in mind. Where Chizome wanted purification, revitalization, All for One sought out the annihilation of everything which existed outside his reign. Much like the manchild in the bar, he wanted All Might dead, and if Chizome were to add to the chaos in the week to come, it could end up bringing the monster that much closer to his goal.
There was much to consider, and little time to consider it. Still, for the moment at least, he could remain in the shadows, and watch his students practice their art, their conviction and dedication to a better world shining out like diamonds caught in the mud and detritus of their surroundings.
To give them a chance to shine all the brighter, could he really take the risk of hurting a true hero like All Might? But then, he was a true hero, wasn't he? Could anything really ever truly hurt someone so selfless, so pure and noble? If not for All Might's sake, and the sake of the society he sought to build, then who else could the Stained ever spill blood for? Who else would be worthy of the martyrdom they were enacting upon themselves?
Shoto was not a person who let his emotions rule him; too much emotional display and his father would increase his training. It was better, after all, to suppress the anger, the resentment, to accept his role. And if he had to accept his role, why couldn't other people? He hated what he was, after all. He hated heroism, he hated his father, and he hated his quirk most of all. His quirk was the reason she had left; because he was like his father. And he had tried so, so hard to bury that aspect of himself, never healing the scar she had left on him. He had wanted to show the old bastard that he didn't need his power to live up to the role he had been forced into, that he could reject him like his mother had.
But he hadn't been able to win with only half his power, had he? When push came to shove, it wasn't enough. His father had come to him in the aftermath of the Sports Festival, playing some new game where he told Shoto how he wanted to respect his vow, but that he couldn't afford to. That there were obligations he had, that required him to use his everything. That he was sorry of all things. As if Shoto believed him. Everything he said, every action he took, all were in pursuit of power. Power through his heir where he couldn't attain it himself, power through control over his perfect creation.
He would be interning with the man, forced to spend full days with him where before he had been given the respite of school at least, or the occasional evenings where it had just been him and Fuyumi. He had thought of rejecting the internship, going instead to one of the lowest ranked offices that had requested him, just to spite the old man. But that would have meant consequences, he was sure. Harder training in the evening after he would return home, earlier mornings, and more brutal lessons throughout. At least his father never laid hands on any of them outside the sparring ring. That aspect of the man had always surprised him.
But now, with everything weighing on him heavier than it had ever been before, and his father hounding him more than ever to use his fire, and a mere quirkless boy usurping the role of the Symbol of Peace, the only one great enough to challenge his father, he had to do more. He had to be more. That was why he was outside the door, hesitating, unsure of what he should, of what he could say. It had been so long since he had seen her, so long since she had burned him, since he had made his vow. He could feel the flames beneath his skin, building in intensity, begging for permission to be let free, but it wasn't his permission they needed. He couldn't afford to wait any longer.
Quietly, he pushed the door open, stepping into the glaringly clean room, and surveyed its contents. Simple, boring colors, very little furniture, an attached bathroom and sink. A slim, frail figure dressed in white clothes that matched the hair that fell down to her waist. She was sitting on the solitary bed, staring out the window at the setting sun.
His breath caught, and she turned at the noise, staring at him wide eyed for a moment before her features softened and her eyes began to water. Shoto felt a lump form in his throat, and he suddenly realized what a terrible mistake he had made in coming here. Seeing her face, he realized he was hurting her worse than if he had just stayed away.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I should go," he managed, turning and reaching for the door.
"Shoto!" It was a musical, lilting voice that was like coming home, and after ten years, it may as well have been. Had his house ever really been a home since she had left?
He stopped in his tracks, not daring to leave, but also unable to turn around, to face the woman who he had driven away, and then ignored for an entire decade of her incarceration.
"Oh Shoto...Please, sweetie, look at me." He couldn't disobey her. He never could. Slowly, with more fear in his heart than he had held even when facing a monster made to kill All Might, he turned to look at her, hands clenched and eyes shut. He couldn't open them, no matter how he tried. To open his eyes would be to embrace the emotions that he so desperately held down.
There was a rustle of cloth, a slight pressure on the floor, and then cool, gentle hands were cupping his face. They reminded him of times when he was younger, when training was too hard, or when he would simply slip and fall, when those same hands would hold his wounds and he could feel the love and care behind them. Before he could stop himself, he opened his eyes, tears already filling them, and saw the pained smile his mother was wearing.
"Shoto," she said, suddenly holding him to her and rocking back and forth. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, my poor sweet Shoto." She was crying with him, holding him as tightly as she could, as if he would melt away like the ice that crept up through the room. "I'm sorry so much has fallen on you, but I'm still so very proud of you. After all this time, you're still trying to be a hero."
He gasped, a sharp intake of air that reinforced just how tightly his mother's arms were wrapped around him from the way they pressed into his back with the motion. With her again, being held, it was so familiar, and something he had missed for such a long time. It brought more than feelings back with it. There were memories, too, things he had forgotten.
A peaceful evening, one where his father had been laughing, and his mother had been as well. Toya had recounted something funny during dinner, and it had set them all laughing, a rare moment even then. His father was usually so serious, so dedicated, but that evening had been different. He had been warm, instead of scalding.
His father and Toya had gone to training, while Shoto and his mother had simply gone to the living room, watching a special on All Might. She had asked him then, and he had answered truthfully, if he wanted to be a hero. Of course he had wanted to be a hero. It was noble work, work that he could be satisfied with. Righting wrongs, helping others, it was the best thing one could aspire to.
"I, I suppose I am." He collected himself, unsure if he could tell her that his motivation had changed so drastically from when she had last known him. To tell her that he was only still driven to be a hero by spite, to surpass his, no, their tormentor and jailer, with only her power. He couldn't get those words to rise, so he settled instead for the other matter that burned in his chest. "I'm sorry, mother. For not visiting or writing. It's my fault you're here in the first place. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from him."
"Please Shoto, don't blame him, and don't blame yourself. There's nothing either of you could have done." Shoto felt himself stiffen in her grasp, but he was unwilling to let the contact end. Instead, he only turned his head away so she couldn't see the expression on his face.
"Why did you always defend him? He doesn't love you. He doesn't love any of us. He put you in here because he broke you. Why, mother? Why?" In ten minutes he had shown more emotion than he felt he had in ten years, and it was eating him alive. Confusion, indignation, rage, sorrow, grief, all of it was rising above him like a wall of deadly water, threatening to crash down on his head and break him completely.
But then, there was his mother, her gentle arms pulling him out from under the falling wave and into the calm shallows of her unfaltering love. After everything, she still loved him, still tried to see the best of people, even in a man like his father. It was too much.
"I think you're so much like him at times, Shoto, that you can't ever really hear what each other says. He talks about you so much, and he wants to do right so badly." He turned to her, wide eyed himself now.
"You, you talk to father?" She smiled at him, finally letting him free of her grasp and guiding him to sit next to her on the bed. Gently, oh so gently, she wiped his face, and then her own.
"He visits at least once a month, Shoto, to tell me how you're all doing. He can't bring himself to look at me, he just says he doesn't deserve to. But, you know, he sends me a bouquet of Amaryllis every week." She gestured towards the vase on the windowsill, the flowers basking in the sunlight. "I only ever told him once when we were first courting, but he's remembered for all these years that they're my favorite flowers."
"That doesn't mean anything, mother." Shoto said, standing. "Not after everything he's done to us. He bought you like property, he killed Toya, he's ignored Fuyumi and Natsuo for years, and he's raised me like a weapon! How? I don't understand how you can say that it's all okay because he brings you flowers!" His mother recoiled as if struck, and Shoto suddenly felt sick with himself, worse than he ever had before. He hadn't come to yell at her, to accuse her. He had come to beg forgiveness, and to seek her advice.
Now, staring up at him, she looked so sad, so fragile, where only moments before she had seemed strong, indomitable, even imprisoned as she was. He couldn't stand it; he didn't deserve her. She reached out to him, grasping his wrist and pulling him back down beside her.
"Oh my poor boy," she said, eyes filling up with tears again. "I defend your father because he blames himself, and because he didn't have a choice either. Enji didn't buy me. He wasn't the one that arranged our marriage Shoto, he was sold too, just like me." She paused, looking small and afraid but since again unbreakable at the same time. "The one that arranged everything, the one that keeps me here. It's my mother, Shoto. It always has been."
And just like that, everything Shoto thought he knew flipped upside down.