PHOENIX: A Pro Hero Toya Todoroki AU

Chapter 28: Present Mic's Presentation (September 22, 2119)

"HOW YA FEELING, YO?"

"Have I mentioned how much I hate the press?"

"ONLY LIKE TWENTY-SEVEN TIMES! YEEEEEAAAAAH!"

"Is this necessary?"

"You tooootally need an attitude change,"

"Of course I do," I roll my eyes and cross my arms as I lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the table. Mic sharply inhales and throws his arms up in the air.

"SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT! LISTEN HERE, KID! I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOUR DUMB-TWADDLING SASSY DEMEANOR, YA DIG? IT'S KILLING MY VIBE AND EVERYONE ELSE'S! SHUT UP! FEET OFF THE TABLE! AND LISTENNNNNNNNNNNN!" Present Mic suddenly screams, making my eyes widen, and I immediately comply. I've never seen this guy mad before. Aizawa emerges from the shadows at the back of the small conference room and puts a hand on his husband's shoulder.

"My apologies, Todoroki. Calm down, Mic. Cut him some slack," The tired Pro yawns, rubbing his ever-dry eyes. Mic shrugs, staring me down past his thick sunglasses.

"I am calm, Shota. This kid is being an insufferable cotton-tailed nimbus-shunner!" Present Mic exclaims. Aizawa's eye twitches, and he groans:

"Can't you just say a real swear word for once? Sorry, again, kid. It's his time of the month."

"The fuck?" I cough, caught off guard. Eraser sighs and palms his forehead, shaking his head in annoyance.

"No. Not like that. It's the anniversary of yet another boy band breakup," he mutters, and Present Mic bursts into restrained sobs.

"How many more will tear my heart apart?! The Jonas Brothers? Big Time Rush? NSYNC? Who's next?!" He says in a grief-stricken tone. I roll my eyes and drum my fingers on my elbows impatiently.

"Can we just get on with it," I mutter, only for the DJ to whirl around with fire in his eyes.

"KID! DON'T TEST ME!" He shouts, threateningly pointing his finger at my face from across the skinny table. Aizawa grabs the back of Mic's leather jacket and slowly pulls him backward. He walks around the table to stand behind me and whispers in my ear:
"Seriously. Don't piss him off today."

"Eraser, I've hated the press ever since I was little," I groan, and he hums in recognition.

"And that is understandably valid. I don't particularly like them either. But, it is an important part of being a Pro. Just humor him. For your own sake," Aizawa urges.

I shrug and sit up straight in my chair at the conference table, making Present Mic nod in amusement.

"Was that so hard?" He remarks, crossing his arms.

"I've always had terrible posture," I comment, and Mic's eyes narrow once again.

"Well, better late than never to correct it. Now, let's take a look at what not to do. A prime example is your father," The DJ exclaims before brandishing a shiny remote and summoning a projector from the ceiling.

'Oh, I already knew that .' I laugh to myself, thinking of all the times my father has shunned fans and barreled through the paparazzi.

"To be honest, I'm not even sure how he thought this was okay to act in any context. Nonetheless, this is your first lesson: always be cognizant of your actions in the public eye no matter what. The press and the paparazzi are hyenas latching on to whatever mound of flesh they can get their grubby little paws on. You are a walking feast to them: a fresh new Pro Hero ripe for the picking. Do not do dumb crud-muffin-stuff like this, yo!" Mic drones as he presses a button, and a clip of my father begins playing on the blank wall. In the clip, the cameraman is obviously working for tabloids rather than a headlining news station. The camera is being shot guerilla-style, and no reporter appears present, rather, just a screaming woman in sunglasses. The camera zooms in on my father, who struts down the sidewalk. A kid about Shoto's age runs up to him, brandishing a small notebook and pen; I'm guessing he wanted my old man's autograph for whatever God-awful reason. My father barely glances at the child before roughly shoving the pad out of his hands and continuing down the sidewalk, leaving the kid shocked and in tears.

"What a dickhead," I growl, drumming my fingers on my elbows. Mic cocks his head as if he's only non-verbally agreeing with me before he clicks the video feed off.

"In addition to whatever that was... the top three mistakes a Pro can make. Losing your composure, obvious question dodging, and being caught in a lie, even if it's for the public's best interest."

"Lie?" I raise my eyebrow, and Present Mic snorts:

"Yeah. What, you think heroes tell the truth ALL the time, punk?"

I sheepishly rub the back of my neck and mutter, "Well...yeah. I guess..."

"There's a difference between lying and telling a version of the truth. Sometimes white lying is necessary in order to prevent chaos from ensuing. Ya feel me? For example, take a gander at what your old man did wrong in this interview," Mic remarks, pressing another button on the remote. The projector wall comes to life once again, displaying a picture of my father in front of a burning building.

"Endeavor?! What's going on in there?! Is everything going to be okay?!" The reporter hastily questions my father, who immediately scoffs.

"I doubt it. They've all surely burned to charred bits by now. All we can do is wait for the Water Hose heroes to finish putting it out, and then we will collect the dead," He says emotionlessly, waving her away like a fly. The reporter gasps and stands there, speechless. Mic pauses the feed and turns to me.

"What'd he do wrong?"
I crack my knuckles and lean forward on my elbows. "Well, there was absolutely no sugar-coating. He should've just instructed her to remain calm and let them know he had the situation under control...right?" I half-smile, and Present Mic nods.

"Very good, Third-Degree. What else?" He holds his hand out, expecting me to continue.

"Um... Uh... He shouldn't have been so graphic with his description? Especially because children may be watching," I add, and Mic twirls his hand, beckoning me to give more reasons. I nervously scratch the back of my neck.

"And...um... oh! He should've said everything is going to be okay, even if it wasn't, so panic doesn't ensue!"

"There ya go, kid! Exactly!" Mic clasps his hands together in amusement before flicking through the video feed. "Now, I found an excellent interview of someone I know you'll appreciate," Mic smirks before pressing a button, and my boyfriend stands on the projector wall. He's extremely out of breath, and half of his feathers are absent; he's probably rescuing people as he's talking in this interview with them.

"Hawks! Is everything alright?! Is the bridge stable?!" The news reporter hastily questions Keigo. They're standing in front of a crumbling bridge in Kyushu; it looks like the aftermath of a villain attack. Keigo calmly puts his hands up.

"Please stay back, for your own safety. The other Pros and I have everything handled, and we are actively monitoring the situation. Don't worry, we're getting as many people out of the hazard zone as possible. It would be wise for you to get to safety; we can finish this interview later. Right now, I need to get back to the bridge," He says with a friendly, peaceful smile, gesturing for the cameraman and newswoman to stand back. I try to bite back my smile; I'm so proud of Keigo. Mic pauses the feed, and the winged pro remains frozen on the wall.

"Now, Hawks is a special case, but, tons of Pros take years to master interacting with the news crews and press. You're going to have to bite your tongue and be patient, which I know is something that you already struggle with, yo. It's gonna take practice. You've had a presentation course for three years. How are you performing in Yaoyorozu's Presentation practicum?" Present Mic asks, and I shrug.

"I've done pretty well. I got a C one semester, but otherwise, I've exceeded or met the requirements. Professor Yaoyorozu insists that my personality type will appeal to a lot of people, whatever that means. She and Mirko are always going on about my 'rebel bad boy' persona. Apparently, it'll be even more appealing when we join Hawks' Agency in January," I reply, sitting up straighter in my chair. Present Mic nods and brandishes a microphone from inside his leather jacket before sitting across the table.

"Well, time to put that to the test, kid. Your job today is to pass my mock interviews! Get ready! YYYYYYEEEEEEAAAAH!" The DJ screams erratically, and I sigh. I'm ready for this part of the field course to be done with.