Chapter Text
There is something to be said about breaking points.
It’s not simply the fact that Shouto’s coming off of one of the longest patrol shifts he’s had to do in years. It’s not even the fact that he’s been pulling multiple extended shifts over the past fortnight. That was his decision. It’s not the fact that he’s overextended his Quirk for the first time in a long time.
Nor is it the fact that he promised Fuyumi he would help out more often. That he’s queued in the local hospital’s pharmacy fresh off his shift, waiting for his turn to pick up antibiotics for his niece’s nasty cough. Or that more than thirty minutes ago, he should’ve been home collapsed in bed with a hot water bottle to bring his temperature back up to healthy levels.
It’s the fact that just a few places in front of him in the line, there’s the back of someone’s head that he’s beginning to realize he recognizes. Recognizes for all the wrong reasons. It’s a man of average build and height, leaning forward to chat with the woman standing in front of him. Shouto can’t see the man’s face, but he sees hers. The bright smile, the way she covers her mouth to laugh. She’s swaying a little where she stands. Like she’s drunk. Or drugged. The man she’s talking to grips her elbow lightly, just below where her sleeve ends. Skin-to-skin contact. Shouto bets that if he gets close enough, her pupils will be dilated.
And then, the man turns at just the right angle for Shouto to see his face. His thin features, the lazy half-smile permanently fixed onto his face. He doesn’t look particularly intimidating. More than anything else, he looks like an off-duty salaryman. Not all Villains are flashy. Sometimes they just look ordinary.
And Shouto certainly remembers this one.
Civilian name: Watanabe Kazuhiko
Villain name: Null
Quirk: Subdue
And from the looks of it, he’s using it right now.
The world tightens down.
Shouto pushes forward through the line, ignoring the annoyed protests of those around him. Most people quiet down when they recognize him. That certainly helps him nearly reach Null before the Villain notices the commotion and looks up. Spots Shouto coming towards him. His eyes widen, and he starts to back out of the line. The woman he drugged with his Quirk doesn’t even seem to notice.
It almost feels like the cold is crackling under his skin. The civilians around him quickly back away when they realize what’s happening.
Null is walking, all but running, away. Every so often, he throws a panicked glance over his shoulder at Shouto.
He manages to make it into an elevator, the doors closing just before Shouto reaches it. He barely keeps from snarling with frustration. His Quirk lashes inside him.
“Call the police,” he bites out to an orderly standing nearby, staring at him with wide eyes. “There’s a Villain loose in the building.”
The orderly visibly pales and fumbles for his phone.
Shouto notes the elevator’s direction and makes for the staircase. Draws on his Quirk to travel faster between floors. It jumps to his call eagerly, spreading over his skin. There are some who misunderstand the nature of his Quirk’s weaknesses. It’s not that the ice is harder to reach for the lower his body temperature drops. It’s that it becomes too easy. Dangerously so.
The metal railing of the staircase groans when he touches it, the cold spreading too quickly. Frost races ahead of him. But he arrives at the right floor before Null does. Has the grim pleasure of seeing the Villain blanch when the elevator door opens. The doors rapidly close again. The same sequence repeats itself, once, twice. Each time, the Villain visibly grows more panicked.
It’s something like playing a game of cat and mouse, Shouto thinks as he runs for the stairwell again.
They would’ve continued like that for who knows how long if Shouto hadn’t rounded a corner straight into Null’s outstretched hand. And it’s always been a fast-acting Quirk. Shouto barely keeps from dropping to the ground the moment the numbness spreads to his limbs. Instead, he sags heavily against the wall, muscles going so lax he has to put conscious effort into keeping his lungs moving.
If Null pushed just a little bit harder, Shouto’s heart would’ve stopped beating entirely.
For a moment, they stare wordlessly at each other.
Null is breathing hard, his chest heaving with it. There’s tremors running through him. The Villain looks completely unsteady on his feet. Like a particularly strong breeze would knock him over. He opens his mouth, then closes it, his fingers twitching against each other.
And Shouto wonders if Null will try to touch him again while he’s completely defenseless.
That would almost certainly kill him.
Instead, the man turns on his heel and flees down the hallway, quickly disappearing from view.
His Quirk is not coping well. Without his usual muscle tension, there’s very little keeping the cold from seeping out of him. The ice pushes out from where his shoulder is pressed against the wall, steadily crawling over every surface around him until the hallway is almost completely frozen. The sleeve of his left arm smokes ominously. A part of his Quirk that he’d always kept restrained starts to wake for the first time in years. Then his clothes start to smolder, searing his lungs with heat, cracking his skin.
He learns then that acute terror is a surprisingly effective antidote to Null’s Quirk.
It’s the adrenaline, he thinks as the numbness recedes. Tries not to think too hard about how being faced with his own imminent death hadn’t phased him nearly as much as the prospect of losing control of his left side. If it works, it works. And the moment he can flex his fingers again, he slams down on every last bit of the heat spreading inside him.
He staggers forward, heavily leaning against the wall for support, but at least he’s moving. Once the effects start to wear off, it isn’t long after that till he regains full mobility.
Shouto catches up to Null in the parking lot.
The police have yet to arrive, so the hospital hadn’t been evacuated. It’s something of a small blessing because that means there are almost no civilians gathered outside. The only people in sight are a couple of nurses on break, standing and chatting by the main entrance. They’re turning at the sight of the commotion. One of the nurses has her phone out.
Null is calling someone, speaking rapidly, urgently to whoever’s on the other end.
“Stop,” Shouto orders. His voice comes out strangely, the consonants slurring together. His head feels light. Some distant part of him notes that the effects haven’t worn off as much as he thought they did. His movements are less precise than he’s used to. Sloppy.
The Villain turns around. Clutches at his phone.
“You shouldn’t have attacked that woman,” Shouto says, enunciating as much as he’s able to.
Null shakes his head. “That’s not, I wasn’t—”
“We can resolve this peacefully. You don’t want me to use force here.”
He really doesn’t want to have to draw on his Quirk right now. He hasn’t ever overextended it this much before, and he doesn’t want to have to find out what will happen to him if he pushes it any further.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Null is saying. “I wasn’t hurting her. She was—”
“That’s not up to you to decide.”
“You’re not even listening to me.”
Shouto takes a step closer. Grimly draws his ice up and around him.
Null stumbles back, lifting his arm, his fingers splayed.
And something inside Shouto lurches at the sight of it. Maybe it was his close brush with death. Maybe Null’s Quirk affected him more strongly than he thought it did. Maybe it was something else entirely.
But suddenly, it’s too familiar. Too much at once. And then it’s not Null’s hand he’s seeing. It’s Shigaraki’s hand reaching for him. It’s Stain’s hand pushing forward to swipe at the blood on his cheek. It’s his father’s hand, wreathed in fire.
The breath catches in his throat, and he lashes out. The ice in his right side shrieks forward. Sharp. Protective.
For a long moment, all he can do is stand there, trying to stop the cold from reaching into his heart and lungs. The air in front of him fogs with every exhale. This is the closest his body has gotten to dying in a long time.
“Oh my god,” someone says behind him.
Shouto flinches a little at the sound. Remembers that he’s not fifteen, he’s not eight, and it’s been a long time since he was too helpless to fight back. There are finally, finally, the sound of police sirens blaring in the distance, drawing ever closer. He glances behind him to look at the source. The nurses are still there. Their eyes are wide and fearful.
Someone lets out a pained sob behind him, and Shouto turns back around.
“—you in here to discuss revising the disciplinary measures the HPSC has taken thus far.”
The HPSC President shuffles through her papers, her mouth pulled into a tight line.
Shouto stands in front of her, straight-backed, expression neutral. The declaration doesn’t come as a surprise to him. The evening news has spent a lot of airtime talking about how Shouto escaped with only a slap on the wrist. Temporary suspension of his Hero License. An official reprimand. The HPSC has drawn a lot of criticism for their handling of the situation.
“I apprehended the Villain,” Shouto replies simply.
The President sighs and pinches her brow. For the past weeks, her hands have been full with cleaning up the public relations mess he caused, now dubbed the Hospital Incident.
There’s a part of him that’s deeply satisfied that he’s such a headache to her. The HPSC has always been primarily concerned with image management. Given the choice between self-preservation and doing the right thing, they choose the former every time. The only reason they care about how Shouto handled the situation now is because a video of the incident was posted online and went viral.
“It has been brought to our attention that a more stringent approach may be necessary, considering the circumstances.”
Shouto’s eyes narrow. “You’re trying to save face.”
“Of course, we are. Damage control tends to become necessary when the Number One Hero cleaves off a man’s arm.”
The ice in him grumbles and spreads cold fingers up his ribs before settling back down. “Yes, there was more I could’ve done to avoid harming him to that extent. And I do deeply regret that. I am ready and willing to comply with the HPSC’s disciplinary measures for excessive force. I’ve already filed all the appropriate paperwork and have spent this past month reviewing the case and my actions with the disciplinary committee. I have done everything that was asked of me.”
“And I commend you for your cooperation thus far. Unfortunately, I and the disciplinary committee find your lack of concern for your actions disquieting.”
It’s not as if he can do much about that now can he. “I suppose that’s regrettable,” Shouto replies.
The President’s brow draws down lower.
"You are not a well-loved man at the moment, Todoroki. And like it or not, your conduct reflects on the rest of the HPSC. This stopped being something we could handle with normal procedures the moment you resorted to such extreme violence.”
“As I have described in both the incident report and in the subsequent HPSC inquiries,” Shouto says, not quite managing to keep the slightest bite from his voice. “I was still recovering from the effects of Null’s Quirk. I was not able to act with the same effectiveness as I normally would. Had I not been under the influence of his Quirk, he would not have been harmed. Even under duress, I still detained Null to the best of my abilities.”
The President crosses her arms. “A man will be crippled for the rest of his life. You’re right. I see no flaws in how you handled the situation.”
Shouto falls silent, clenching his jaw.
She studies him for a moment before sighing. She sits in front of the conference table, opening a binder as she goes. He remains standing.
“Some modifications will be made to your suspension,” the President says brusquely. “The HPSC will be holding a press conference at the end of this week that will hopefully settle this matter in the eyes of the public. In the meantime, we’ll be instituting more substantial disciplinary measures.”
He can feel some of his Quirk defusing down through the soles of his feet.
The President doesn’t seem to notice the frost crusting on his shoe, continuing on, “You’re lucky that you technically acted within the scope of your usual responsibilities, even if you were off-duty at the time. You would’ve faced jail time otherwise. But your actions have still drawn too much scrutiny onto our regulatory policies. The prominence of your position means that like it or not, you represent the entire body of Heroes licensed by the HPSC. If we let things slide now, we’ll likely be forced to tighten the leash on the rest of the Heroes employed in our agencies to avoid media backlash for other similar incidents.”
“You want a scapegoat.”
“We want plausible deniability.”
“I’m sorry?” Some of Shouto’s surprise slips through, his neutral mask falling away for a moment before he can pull it back into place.
The President snorts. “Again, your status as Number One Hero is both a curse and a boon in this. It’s easier to call this a momentary lapse in judgment, than any true wrongdoing. So we’re spinning this as a loss of control situation. Your Quirk going haywire at the wrong time.”
“I can handle my own Quirk.”
“You shouldn’t be complaining. It’s something like the truth.”
Shouto opens and closes his hands, forcing his ire down. “There’s a difference between suffering the after effects of a Villain’s attack, and losing control over my own Quirk like an untrained child.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t make it known to the public that you’d been affected by Null’s Quirk.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will raise questions why he felt the need to defend himself in the first place,” the President says. “Maybe your actions were understandable, but Null still has the most legally defensible position. He really hadn’t done anything wrong before you started to pursue him. We have testimony from the woman he used his Quirk on that she had explicitly and knowingly given her consent beforehand. She suffers from chronic pain. Null offered to alleviate it with his Quirk, and she accepted.”
“Her consenting doesn’t make it any less illegal,” Shouto protests. “He’s unlicensed.”
“It’s a grey zone at best. We can’t possibly arrest every civilian who casually uses their Quirk for some mundane purpose. That would be outright draconian.”
“He’s not a civilian.”
“That’s correct, and Null did breach the terms of his probation. But it was still not your place to go after him. You should’ve reported the violation to his parole officer and been done with it.” The President sighs. “Todoroki, you should’ve known better than this. You’re not a rookie anymore. There’s a reason why the HPSC saw fit to discipline you beyond what normal procedure calls for. And public ire has very little to do with it.”
Shouto grits his teeth. “What is it that I have to endure then?”
“Mandatory counseling and Quirk suppressant therapy.”
That brings him pause.
He’s more than familiar with Quirk suppressants. He’s certainly seen all the papers and studies published about how safe they are and their possible usages. The public fear over the side effects has subsided a lot in recent years to the point that some are advocating for its use for civilian purposes. Still, it’s hard to view it as a good thing, having experienced it weaponized against himself once already.
You can never quite got over the sensation of fighting for your life, desperately reaching for a Quirk that’s not there. Like trying to grab for smoke with your bare hands.
So yes, Shouto hasn’t exactly been a supporter of the recent popularization of Quirk suppressants. But the HPSC certainly is.
“How long would I have to be on them?” he asks, wary.
The President’s mouth twitches, and she scratches a note down. It grates at him how triumphant she looks. “A few months at most,” she says. “Just until this mess blows over, and the press finds something else to talk about. A panel will review your case then. After that, your Hero License will be reinstated, and you’ll go back to work.”
“And if I refuse?”
“We will have no other recourse than to permanently revoke your license and immediate dismiss you from the HPSC. You would then possibly be subject to criminal prosecution if the victim decides to press charges once you’re no longer under our purview.”
Shouto weighs his options. It’s clear that the President is trying to corner him into a particular decision. But in the end, even without her applying pressure, there was no other decision he could possibly make. And it’s not even that the possibility of going to jail is a particular threat. It’s just simply that he cannot afford to lose his Hero License.
Not after all that having it has done for him. The moment he could truly feel as if he could live free from his father was the moment he held that little slip of plastic in his own hands. He had earned it on his own terms. He had used it to build his career on his own terms. Everything before that point in his life had been so carefully managed and controlled, but that all changed with his official instatement to Licensed Hero. That was the moment his life changed.
There’s very little he wouldn’t do to keep from losing it. Maybe the President knew this. Maybe she knew exactly where to apply pressure to force him to bend to her will. And bend he will.
And in the end, it really could’ve been much worse. It’s not like arbitrary and unjust punishment is new to him. This is just another obstacle in a lifetime full of them. Another burden. Another trial. If anything, this is nothing compared to the brand of discipline his father favored. He’d almost be grateful to the man for building up his tolerance for small miseries like this. Almost.
What’s a few months without his Quirk? What’s a dozen meetings with an insufferable therapist? He quiets the irritable snapping of his left side, the slow resentment coiling in his right. Shouto’s lived through worse. He’s overcome worse. He wouldn’t be standing here now if he couldn’t endure.
“I’ll do the counseling,” he says.
“Good,” the President replies, snapping her binder shut. “I’ll have the details sent to you tomorrow morning.”
The aforementioned details don’t arrive until late in the morning the next day. And even then, it’s not much more than an email from some HPSC secretary with a short greeting followed by an address and a meeting time. Shouto doesn’t even know what he was expecting.
The address isn’t familiar to him, and it’s located in a part of Musutafu he’s only had passing acquaintance with. It’s in the odd no-mans-land between the old heavy manufacturing district and the rows of apartments for lower income households. Not particularly densely populated. The only thing of note nearby is a prison for minor Villains with weak Quirks. Less secure than the Tartarus facility, which is probably why property value in the surrounding area is so low.
Why the President didn’t just send him to the HPSC’s own Hero Counseling division, he doesn’t know.
That is until he’s standing outside the right building staring at the neat characters carved into a sign on its weathered facade. The Musutafu Villain Rehabilitation Center itself is a nondescript construction. Drab but clean, more of an office building than anything else. Underwhelming for all that’s supposed to be done within its walls.
They’ve sent him to Villain Rehabilitation Services in lieu of prison. Somewhere, he’s sure, the President is laughing at him.
But at the end of the day, Shouto didn’t get as far as he did by balking from unpleasant things, so he pushes open the door to the lobby. There’s a lone VRS employee leaning against the receptionist’s desk, shuffling through some papers. He has the drawn-thin look that most people get after a certain number of years spent in government service. Vaguely blank, tired, an odd hungry quality. The other man looks up when he hears the door chime ring out upon Shouto’s entrance. Squints. Then frowns.
“My apologies,” the VRS employee says, his voice just barely tinged with irritation. “We’re closed at the moment.”
“The door was unlocked.”
The VRS employee’s frown deepens. “The sign clearly says closed.”
“I didn’t see it,” Shouto says. He was too busy being distracted by the President’s idea of poetic justice.
An exhale just short of an exasperated sigh. Then a strained but polite smile. “If you have business with Rehabilitation Services, please return after we open for the day at 1 PM.”
“I was told to arrive here at eleven.”
“I’m afraid whoever told you to come at this time was mistaken. We’re only open in the afternoon on weekends.”
Shouto hadn’t even realized it was Saturday already. He’s largely lost track of the days from being out of the office for so long.
“It was on the HPSC President’s request.”
The other man’s expression had been steadily growing frostier through their entire conversation, and mentioning the President definitely doesn’t seem to have helped. After a moment, resignation crosses his face. “I see,” he says. “Please come with me then, Todoroki.”
He pivots on his heel and walks deeper into the building. Shouto follows.
With the cold reception he received, he hadn’t been entirely sure if the other man had in fact recognized him. His Hero ranking does mean that his face is one of the most well-known in Japan, but there are still times when he goes unrecognized. It’s good to know that the VRS employee’s obvious distaste is targeted at him personally, Shouto supposes. As far as interactions with the civilians have gone over the past weeks, this probably ranks as one of the more bearable ones. At least the VRS employee was making an effort to be cordial.
“What did the President want us to do for you?” the man asks, interrupting Shouto’s train of thought.
“It’s—” He hadn’t thought he would have to explain his presence in the first place. Shouto—he’s not entirely sure what he expected. Something more orchestrated. The disparate branches of the HPSC conspiring to execute the President’s elaborate plan to humble him. “I was told to come here for further information on Quirk suppressants.”
The line of the VRS employee’s back tightens. “I was not aware we were supposed to brief you on this subject.”
Shouto doesn’t know how to respond to that. So he doesn’t.
The tense silence stretches on until they reach an office door. The plaque outside reads Department Head. It’s only when the man strides in without missing a beat that Shouto makes the connection that he’s supposed to be in charge here. This thin exhausted man.
The VRS employee, now Department Head, casts a look at Shouto. Sighs. “I need to make a phone call to,” he pauses, “verify the specifics of what we should be briefing you about.” Which Shouto takes to mean, Interrogate someone about what the fuck is going on.
He’d like to know himself. Why they would send him to VRS of all places for what’s by all accounts, an experimental therapeutic regimen.
The Department Head is looking at him, and it takes another moment for it to click that this is probably not a phone call the man wants to make with Shouto within earshot. He gestures vaguely to the door. “I’ll just—”
“Thank you.”
He steps out, letting the door click shut behind him. There’s a small window set into the door that presumably should’ve been covered, but the Department Head seems too occupied to remember to draw the blind before starting his call. So Shouto stands in the empty hallway. Trying not to watch the other man pace around his office. And largely failing.
He can’t hear anything that’s being said, but it’s clear that the department head is angry. In the ostensible solitude of his office, he lets all pretenses at politeness drop. Grits his teeth. Gestures in sharp jerky movements. Stalks back and forth like a caged animal.
But then, slowly, he seems to start to calm down. There’s still tension running through his entire body, but it’s restrained now. There’s a focused intensity to him as he argues with whoever’s on the other end. And it looks like he’s losing. With every passing moment, he somehow manages to seem even more exhausted and worn-thin than he did at first glance. His dark circles are more pronounced. His skin sallower. He has coffee stains on his wrinkled shirt. The fluorescent lighting tinges his hair a sickly sort of green.
He looks like every other life-long bureaucrat who’s pestered Shouto over the minutia while somehow managing to miss the bigger picture entirely. The kind of person who thought they could decide what a Hero could and couldn’t do from the safety of their sterile office buildings. Who judged those who had to make split-second decisions as death stared them in the face.
And it’s this man who would be dictating the course of Shouto’s life for the foreseeable future.
Izuku is not having a good day.
It didn’t start with Todoroki Shouto appearing unannounced on VRS’s front stoop, but in a way, pretty much everything on Izuku’s plate right now is thanks to him. Thanks to the Hospital Incident. Normally, Rehabilitation Services is prepared for things like this. Every so often, a story crops up in the news that becomes something of a flashpoint for their clients, especially the inmates. Abuse of power, excessive force, any hint of Hero corruption. Things like that tend to stir up old ugly emotions. A lot of folks here have suffered a great deal because of low accountability in the Hero system. But this time manages to be worse.
Because nothing should’ve happened to Watanabe. He was at the hospital to get a routine prescription refill of all things. Even had a court order approving it. VRS made sure of it. The man didn’t need it per se, but they’ve had enough issues with probation officers trying to hit parolees with drug violations for medication that it was just better to go the extra mile. It was all perfectly above board, legitimate, mundane. Most of their other clients make similar trips to the hospital every odd month.
And then an off-duty Hero had to recognize Watanabe and corner him. Force him into a panic. Escalate the situation so wildly out of control, Watanabe loses an arm. And now he’s back in custody, parole revoked because he violated the Quirk prohibition clause of his probation.
If it had been any of the other parolees, the clients would’ve been upset over what happened. But this was different. Easygoing, friendly Watanabe with his strange charisma was different. The man was popular. And Izuku’s quickly learning that well-loved men are very, very easy to martyr.
Much as he himself is angry over what happened, it has also started to make his job very difficult. Every case for the past week has walked in utterly seethingly furious. Yesterday, a client nearly came to blows with one of their counselors for trying to convince her to calm down. Later today, their most difficult cases are coming in, their appointments hastily shuffled away from the busy week-days and into the relative calm of the weekend. Everyone will have to pull more hours, but it gives the counselors more breathing room to focus on picking their way through the more delicate appointments.
So Todoroki is really the last person Izuku wants to see walking in through the door. Especially not now. Not when in a few short hours, they’re going to be seeing clients who would gladly kill Todoroki given the chance. At this point, it’s starting to feel like some sick cosmic joke’s being played on VRS.
Then the man has to ask about Quirk suppressants, and—Izuku really does not have the time to deal with this right now.
He tells the President’s secretary as much when he calls the HPSC Central Office about the problem they unceremoniously dumped into his lap. The fact that she doesn’t seem to have much of an idea of what Izuku is even supposed to do with Todoroki means that he at least gets quickly transferred over to the President’s line.
The first thing he says when she finally picks up is, “I wasn’t aware VRS had anything scheduled with Todoroki today.”
The President doesn’t miss a beat. “It was a late addition. The memo was sent out after closing yesterday.”
“I must’ve missed it.”
“I’d advise that you check your inbox next time, Midoriya.”
He checks his desktop. The email update had arrived less than an hour ago. Even with a cursory skim, the details are frustratingly vague.
“Duly noted,” Izuku grits out. “It’s still a little unclear to me why he’s here. Quirk suppressants are not under our purview.”
Not for lack of trying on the HPSC’s part. They’d been pressuring VRS to incorporate Quirk suppressants into its regular processes for a good few years now. They would’ve succeeded a long time ago too if Izuku hadn’t been adamantly opposed to it.
“It is true that Todoroki would normally be routed through Hero Counseling,” the President says.
And—that hadn’t been what Izuku was expecting. He’d imagined some sort of briefing was required for a mission once Todoroki was reinstated. Not counseling.
“That department has been vastly overextended after the Aichi operation went south,” she continues. “Even with overtime hours, there’s just not the resources for them to handle Todoroki’s case at this time.”
“My department isn’t equipped to handle this case either. We can’t afford to divert time and resources away from our current clients—”
The President snorts. “Every department is short-handed. Try another one.”
“—And we’re unqualified to administer anything remotely like a standard Quirk suppressant therapeutic regimen.”
“VRS is the only department aside from Hero Counseling that keeps full-time psychiatrists on staff,” she counters. “And with the updated licensing standards, any of your counselors who’ve been recertified within the last two years should be perfectly capable of administering suppressants in a therapeutic setting.”
“That’s—” Izuku starts to protest.
The President lets out a long sigh. The sound is just exhausted enough to remind him that he’s not the only one who’s been dealing with the fallout of this mess. “Allow me to be blunt then,” she says. “You and I have very different visions for the future of the Villain Rehabilitation Program. This matter has little to do with that conflict. I am not asking this of you to maneuver you into enacting the policy changes I want.”
“It’s hard not to read an ulterior motive into this.”
“And that’s regrettable, but the fact of the matter is, Todoroki’s conduct the night of the Hospital Incident has given rise to serious concerns regarding his continued fitness for active duty.”
Izuku almost wants to laugh at that. Of course, it has. It’s why the public was so angry. For a moment, they had to confront the reality that Heroes made mistakes. This was never really news to Izuku, not for a long time. But it was certainly an unpleasant reminder of how few consequences a Hero truly suffers. Watanabe is permanently disfigured now, and Todoroki walked away with barely a black mark on his record.
The footage was just ambiguous enough to allow the narrative to be redirected along less damning paths. Todoroki had no choice. He had to make a quick decision. Lives were at stake. Any other Hero in his place might’ve done the same. This isn’t the first time footage like this has circulated through the public, and the HPSC has always dealt with it by closing ranks around the Hero in question.
Except—the tone of the President’s voice is off. There’s something different about this particular incident. This time it almost seems as if the HPSC is worried about something.
“What really happened that night?” Izuku asks.
The President sighs. “This was never made available to the public, but Todoroki was having difficulties reining in his Quirk after the fact. It was initially thought his loss of control was due to the after effects of Null’s Quirk, but a later physical examination by HPSC doctors found that Todoroki’s Quirk shouldn’t have been affected at all by Null’s Quirk. The cause seems to be purely psychological.”
There’s a long pause. He can almost imagine the expression that must be on her face—the one she gets when she’s carefully sorting through what she wants to say and how she wants to frame it.
“He had to be sedated before it was safe for the police to enter the scene, Null had not actually been seriously wounded enough to require amputation had he received immediate medical attention. But the time required to subdue Todoroki meant that Null was not treated in time to save his arm.”
“The man was standing in front of a hospital. How long was he out there?”
“Over half an hour.”
For a moment, Izuku is completely speechless. “Why would you even try to cover up for him after a stunt like that? He should’ve been forcibly decommissioned.”
“Believe me, I would if it were that easy,” the President snaps. “The last three Number Ones had all been forcibly, painfully, publicly retired. All Might, Endeavor, Hawks. Every high-profile retirement has been a grievous blow to national morale for how poorly they all went. Even if that weren’t the case, nearly every Hero after Todoroki in line for Number One can barely be counted as an improvement. Who would you have be Number One now? Ground Zero? The HPSC can only withstand so much more of this before our efficacy is called into question.”
“Then let them question us. A little accountability—”
He’s interrupted by her barking out a sharp laugh. “Don’t play the fool, Midoriya. We have hostile forces who would almost certainly take advantage of any moment of weakness on our part. You saw what happened during the Paranormal Liberation Front days. They didn’t get as far as they did because they had more firepower or resources. They nearly won because they knew how to play the media narrative better than we did. I won’t allow that to happen again.”
Izuku shakes his head incredulously. “The PLF's been gone for nearly a decade. We can’t act as if there are enemies lurking in every shadow. We’ll just go mad with paranoia.”
“To pretend that there aren’t is just naive. The PLF may be gone now, but don’t think for a moment another won’t take its place given the chance.”
“Then maybe you should start asking why the PLF won so much ground-swell support in the first place. Why, over a decade later, that hasn’t changed.”
“Write an op-ed on your own time,” the President drawls impatiently. “The fact of the matter is, Todoroki is too large a public figure to be allowed to fall. We need to resolve this problem as quietly as possible with the resources we have on hand. And if we’re to keep this in-house, it will be your staff working with Todoroki until the HC counselors aren’t as over-booked.” She pauses, takes a breath. “If it’s any consolation, he’ll only be your problem for a few months at most.”
Izuku has to set the phone down for a moment and rub his forehead.
This is not going to end well.
“I’ll do it,” he finally says. “But I’m not bringing Quirk suppressants into this mess.”
“That’s non-negotiable, Midoriya.” It’s a testament to how chaotic this situation is that she hasn’t once formally reprimanded him so far for insubordination.
“Quirk suppressants are difficult to incorporate effectively under the best of circumstances. And this is far from ideal.”
“And what will you say to me, however many weeks from now, when Todoroki demolishes everything in a half-mile radius?” the President demands. “Millions of dollars in property damage, who knows how many lives lost. A disaster on every conceivable level. With a Quirk Factor as powerful as Todoroki’s, I cannot in good conscience allow him to undergo what will likely be an unpleasant emotionally distressing process without some sort of safeguard in place. Especially when thus far, his only known trigger is high stress.”
“And have you communicated these safety concerns to him?”
“It wouldn’t do much good. Todoroki doesn’t tolerate those who doubt his efficacy. He’s already resistant to the HPSC’s mandatory counseling sessions as it is. As absurd as it sounds, we’re more likely to convince Todoroki to cooperate if he believes this is a convoluted punishment scheme. God forbid we actually try to help the man.”
And doesn’t that strike a chord with some old unpleasant memories. Izuku has to take a moment to clear the sudden ringing sensation in his head. Like the aftermath of an explosion detonated right next to his ear.
“He must be such a pleasure to work with,” he remarks eventually.
The President laughs dryly. “I hate to say it, but VRS might really be the department best equipped to handle Todoroki in this state. Difficult, fraught, potentially lethal cases aren’t exactly uncommon for you.”
“What does it say about Heroes that their best and brightest has a psychological profile like that.”
“If we wanted sane, we would’ve run out of Heroes a long time ago. Not with what they have to handle on a daily basis.”
Izuku manages a weak chuckle. “And what does that say about us?”
“Nothing good, I imagine,” she replies. “Shuffle the caseload around. I’m sure you’ll survive.” Then she hangs up.
Izuku blows out a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. Even understanding her reasons, he can’t help but resent the President a little for putting this disaster under his purview.
Then he lifts his head and meets Todoroki’s eyes through the window of his door.