Patricide

Extra Credit

In the first few weeks of my time at U.A., an arrangement had been struck between me and the homeroom teacher of 1-A, Shouta Aizawa. I had never deemed my entrance exam noteworthy, but something about how I had marketed my own made-up hero, Nitrogen, had caught the pro-hero's eye. Consequently, he had offered that I perform my practical work on the example of his class - an offer I had dutifully accepted. I had heard previously from upper-years how notoriously difficult it was to find a hero course student who'd willingly subject themselves to the scrutiny and advice of the marketing course. Now, instead of the anxiety of finding no-one, I had the pressure of choosing just one.

The first tag-along I was invited to was to U.S.J., a training facility where Thirteen would test and teach the class on various aspects of rescuing civilians. The room I found myself in was sprawling, and also reminiscent of my own small apartment, with landslides in one corner and floods in the other. Cozy, I decided, tapping my pen gingerly against the leather-bound notebook I had opted to take with me. Students were quickly piling in after Aizawa and Thirteen, and I was already busy scanning the array of faces for potential. Of course, a lot of marketing was based on the quirk and personality of a hero, however, there was a lot that could be gauged from a first impression.

For example, the fairly plain-looking girl - at least as far as pro-heroes went - with a brown bob, chosen more so on the grounds of comfort than the lushious locks of many heroines. Her eyes were wide and admiring, giving her a more youthful look than that of her classmates. With a few tweaks to her costume, she could be a breath of fresh, cute and sincere air in the middle of the oversexualized ranks of pros. I made a swift entry for her, leaving space for a name, quirk, and description.

A few steps behind her, positively gleaming, was a lanky young man of the type I knew very well. Although cliche, heroes drew in women and I knew few who really disliked the gained attention - at least in theory. I wouldn't have even put it past All Might to have signed a breast or two. So this guy, blond, well-kept and with attention-demanding blue eyes would pretty much market himself. Next to his description, I wrote 'flashy quirk?'.

Then, of course, came the brooders. It was almost a requirement in each hero course to have someone dark, unsmiling and mysterious. These guys were also a marketing goldmine, though they would need a little bit more effort on my part - these types weren't usually interested in marketing themselves and believed foolishly that All Might was a symbol of peace because he saved a bunch of people. Despite their gloomy outwards impression, they were idealists at heart, blind to the real workings of the world where a hero's appeal was perhaps even more important than their quirk. From my cursory glance, it seemed no different in 1-A - a raven-headed young man with a black, ragged cloak hiding his form (a good costume choice, if you're going for the whole angst angle), and behind him, in the most unimaginative costume was-

"Shoto?!"

My incredulous outburst had drawn nearly all the attention in the room, beginning with Todoroki's imperious gaze and ending with everyone else staring with aghast eyes at the familiarity towards their classmate. But I wasn't really that focused on them, as I was on the dawning recognition that settled on Todoroki's face, his impassive eyes widening an inch. My stomach churned - so he did remember, but...

"Ame-"

"Hah! Small world, isn't it?" I interrupted, my wide grin not matching the pleading look in my eyes. "Hello 1-A, I'm Reiki Sato, from the Hero Marketing course, here to observe you for my practical assignment. Don't mind me standing in the sidelines and do your best, please!"

If Todoroki had anything to say about all of that, he didn't voice it, and as Thirteen brought the classes attention onto herself, I allowed a sigh of relief to deflate the tension in my shoulders. Frost shimmering on my fingertips, I reached for my fringe, pulling the blue curtain in front of my eye, hoping to shield the view of my past from me. So the little kid from by the creek was shooting to be a hero now, huh? It made sense, he had been the prodigal son of Endeavor, after all. Gathering my courage, I peeked from over my now raised notebook towards the back of Todoroki's head. He stood taller than me now, I realized, and looked ... I wasn't sure. Tougher? It was hard to see the little kid I had played with under that expensive hero-costume now, but when he had walked through that door, my heart had sung in recognition before my eyes even really fixated on him in earnest.

If my past was so adamant to come to haunt me, I was glad it came in Shoto's form.In the cover of Thirteen explaining her quirk to the inquisitive minds of the class, I took a timid step to Todoroki's side. I could see him stiffen at my approach, and I wondered if I reminded him of times that were just as painful as my own.

"Reiki, huh?" he mused under his breath, not looking at me.

"I am now, yea." My fingers tightened around my notebook as I realized that although I had taken the courageous step, I really didn't know what to say to him. It had been what- 8 years? With so much time between them, even the best of friends can grow into strangers.

"I like the hair."

"You think so?" I asked, trailing my fingers along my buzz cut.

"Yeah, it looks good."

A silence fell between us and I fidgeted with my pen, and when I was sure no-one was looking, I stuck the tip nervously between my teeth. From the look of him, Todoroki wasn't that much better off either. His hands kept sinking deeper and deeper into his pockets.

To take my mind off the silence between us, I focused instead on Thirteen. She was saying something that drew the attention and wide-eyes of almost all of the class, but I figured it wasn't hard to impress them. This was barely the second step in their journey. The proverbial stage light was promptly moved from Thirteen to Aizawa, however, he never got the chance to speak. The confused murmur of students overtook him, caused by the sudden dimming of the lights around the hall. The waterfall at the center of the building sputtered on and off, failing to maintain its decorative flow. I had to rub my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things - the water seemed to wrap in on itself as if it was a mirage created by desert heat.

But it wasn't.

In a swell motion, lilac tendrils shadowed the fountain, ripping open the maw of a large warp gate, staring at us with impenetrable darkness. It wasn't empty for long, though - from the void, villains pushed through into the sunlight, stumbling a few steps like newborns, heavy with the odd sensation of being warped. Gnawing teeth, sharp nails and mundane faces with more powerful quirks hidden under their surface. They were all here.

"Thirteen! Protect the students!" Without any sort of hesitation, Aizawa rushed into the fray. My body wanted to respond in kind, but a large hand enveloped my wrist and I was pulled back and into the midst of the class 1-A.

"Stay close," Todoroki ordered, his fingers still grasping at my wrist, putting crinkles in my neatly ironed uniform. I had half a mind to swat his hand away, retort with some line about not being his damsel in distress, but...

He was right. This wasn't a simulation, it was very real.

Suddenly, my prim uniform and thick notebook felt so insignificant in the midst of all these heroes, and in the face of a league of villains.