Chapter Text
“Listen up!” an aging man with a stack of papers barks, silencing the classroom, “You guys are a year away from high school, so you better start thinking about your future. I would hand out career aptitude tests… But I know you all wanna be heroes!”
The class erupts at this announcement, showing off a slew of flashy Quirks. “Yeah, yeah; you all have amazing ‘Individualities’, but keep a lid on it when your outside.”
“Please, don’t lump me in with these walk-ons,” a voice cuts through the clamor; its owner, a student with dirty blond hair and scarlet eyes, leans back in his chair before continuing with, “You and I both know they can’t measure up to me!”
This declaration was, naturally, met with an even bigger outburst. Though the teacher asking, “Oh yeah, you’re applying to U.A., right Bakugou?” turns it into a dull murmur.
Their whispers of “ Doesn’t Yuuei have a ninety nine percent fail rate this year? ” and “ Of course he’d go for Yuuei, his Quirk is perfect for heroics, ” only go to fuel his overconfident smirk.
“Of course I am,” he says, “I am the best, after all.”
“Feet off the desk, Bakugou-” he picks up a stack of papers from his desk. “-But anyway, we still have to do these,”
At the third outcry from his class, he sighed. “Look, don’t blame me for this, the district wants all students to take them. I’d get fired if you don’t.”
The class is filled with a cloud of grumbling as he passes them out. Once finished, he sits back down at his desk, a single unused exam being added to the general clutter covering his desk.
And in the back of the room sits a lone desk, just as empty as the day before.
“Damn it!” He rushes through the sewers, clawing at the overhanging pipes and railways to push him forward faster.
How could this have happened? It was supposed to be a simple job, just grab some money and run. Why did All Might have to show up? How did he show up? He was supposed to be in America! There was even a report about him in America just this morning!
A burst of wind hits him from behind. Shit, he’s running out of time. He looks around frantically, spotting a manhole cover just above his head.
He rushes to it, lifting it up and flowing out. He was in a tunnel now, and panic begins to overtake him because there was nothing! He can’t find anything he could possibly use for cover, not with his size, anyway.
Maybe he could leave some pieces here? Sure, it would be a pain to try and make some more, but it was better than the alternative. But how much could he lose? If he wanted to t-
“ HAVE NO FEAR! ”
Shit! He’s really starting to panic now. He looks around desperately, trying to find something, anything to put in between him and the hero
“ WHY? ”
There was nothing. Nothing he could use to hide.
“ BECAUSE I AM HERE! ”
In an act of desperation, he lashes out, launching several stone bearing tenderals of viscous sludge at the symbol of peace. One final act of defiance that was blown away with a single punch, along with the rest of his body.
All Might, thinking quickly, empties a bottle of soda he had on him and used them to contain the thief. A job well done, he made sure he was alone, and reverted back to his true form.
Yagi Toshinori left the tunnel, his body heavy with exhaustion but mind light knowing that he stopped the villain before he could hurt anyone.
And behind him sits the underpass, remaining as empty as it was the day before.
He feels a headache starting to form behind his eyes, an occurrence that he has gotten used to over the years. He hears a phone ring in the other room, a sound that he has come to associate with the previously mentioned pain.
He sees nothing.
He is writing, he feels the words flowing from his hand with ease, despite his disdain at its contents. He hears a voice calling out from beyond his room. “Izuku!” it says, “We have customers!” He sighs, quickly finishing with the paragraph he was on and setting down his pencil.
He sees nothing.
He closes his notebook, lifts it off of the desk, and holds it out to his door in a single, practiced motion. He feels his chair shake with each heavy footsteps that approaches his room. He hears the door opened, a faint squeak coming from the hinges as whoever was outside entered. “I need you to-oh,” the voice cuts itself off, footsteps making its way further into the room to reach him.
He sees nothing.
He feels the notebook being pulled from his hand. There's a gruff, “Thanks,” before more footsteps go to the door.
“C-close it on your w-way out-Please,” he mutters, his voice horse from disuse.
“Right,” he hears the voice answers back, along with the usual squeak of his door closing.
He sees nothing.
He sighs, moving over to his bed and falling backwards into it. He knows that that entry was half-assed, especially with who they were going to meet. He reaches to his face, feeling the rough cloth that covers his eyes. This is met by his head giving a particularly painful throb. He sighs again, already wishing to take more of his medication.
His hand clenches at his blindfold, he’ll just take some after, he thinks. Ripping the bandana off his face gives the brief impression that his head was splitting.
And then it's gone; no pain pumping through his head, no terrible guilt curtling in his stomach, none of the things that makes his life so miserable. He sighs, knowing it can't last. He has things to do, afterall.
He feels eternity at his fingertips, the eons flowing through his hands like grains of sand. He hears a thousand lifetimes pass him by, the whispers of eternity washing over him.
And he sees… everything.