Ultra Responsibility (My Hero Academia X Spider-Man Reader)

Issue 19 - Test Number 17

I practically sprinted through UA's corridors like the building personally owed me money.

My bag thumped against my hip. My hoodie was half-zipped. One trainer was on, the other was... technically on my foot, but only if you count "hanging off the heel like a sad banana peel" as footwear. I hopped on one leg, yanking the laces tight, weaving between students like I was playing some unhinged version of Frogger.

"MOVE, PLEASE, SORRY, THANK YOU, LOVE YOUR HAIR," I fired off in a breathless chain, then nearly ate the floor when I hit the corner too hard.

The workshop doors came into view.

I shoved them open with my shoulder.

A few support students turned, tools in hand, expressions ranging from "concerned" to "is he always like this?" I didn't give them a chance to ask.

"He's here!" I shouted, like I was announcing the arrival of a celebrity. Or an asteroid.

From behind a curtain, Otto Octavius lifted his goggles onto his forehead, grinning like he'd been waiting for that exact line.

"Y/N! You arrived just in time!" He grabbed my elbow and practically dragged me across the room, his excitement powered by something that had to be illegal in at least three countries. "Come, come, come, you need to see this!"

He pulled the curtain back with the kind of drama usually reserved for game shows.

Behind it sat the mechanical arms.

Four of them, mounted and folded in like a metal spider pretending to be furniture. Polished segments, exposed wiring where it mattered, joints that looked like they could lift a car or accidentally remove a wall. The whole rig sat on a harness frame, half prototype, half "if this turns evil, I'm moving planets."

My brain did the thing where it tried to whisper "normal" while my soul screamed "NOT NORMAL."

Otto spread his hands like, yes, this is what happens when you give a genius a workshop.

"So," he said, taking one step closer, reverent, "this is the latest iteration of the neural interface system. The arms are designed to respond to thought impulses routed through—"

"Neuron mapping and command translation," I cut in, because if I didn't stop him now, we'd still be here during graduation. "Yeah. I get it."

Otto blinked once, then laughed quietly, a little sheepish, a little proud.

"Right," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Of course you do."

He grabbed a pair of yellow gloves from the table and pulled them on with a sharp snap, then clipped a belt harness around his waist. The whole time, he moved like someone suiting up for a mission, except the mission was "prove I can do it" and the enemy was "physics."

He tilted his head to show me the small chip tucked against his skin near his neck.

"Neuron inhibitor," he explained, tapping it gently. "A safeguard. If the arms stop responding to my conscious control, the chip should interrupt the signal and trigger a shutdown if—"

"Otto," I said, holding up both hands. "I know."

He exhaled through a smile, eyes bright behind the goggles.

"It's refreshing," he said softly, almost to himself, "to have someone who understands."

Then he pointed at a camera on a tripod.

"Record this," he instructed, like I was his official documentarian. "If we're going to refine the calibration, we need footage."

I picked up the camera and gave him a mock salute. "Yes, sir, Mr Totally-Not-About-To-Become-A-Supervillain."