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Izuku cried at Sir Nighteye’s death. And, truth be told, he didn’t know if his tears came from Nighteye’s passing or the palpable pain that filled the room as he did. Toogata screamed his anguish and All Might was the most moved Izuku had ever seen him.
Izuku had always been a sympathy crier, so he didn’t know what brought those tears to his eyes—Nighteye or the people who loved him.
Deaths were an unfortunate commonality in the business of heroics. When you spent day and night fighting superpowered enemies, it was nearly guaranteed that one day, you’d get unlucky. One mistake was sometimes all it took to snuff out any bright spark.
Many heroes—especially the popular ones in the limelight—had two funerals. One that was public, so the people could mourn the figure, and one that was private, so friends and family could mourn the person.
As someone who generally avoided the spotlight, Nighteye only had the one.
It was a somber affair—though Izuku supposed that most funerals probably were—with a shockingly small number of attendees. Many heroes from the raid had been invited, but Izuku didn’t know if that was because they had actually been friends with Nighteye or if they simply felt some semblance of… responsibility, or something.
Izuku didn’t really ask. Despite being the man’s intern, he’d only known Nighteye for a month—and, in all honesty, Izuku had spent most of that month at school instead of at the agency. He felt like if he spoke, he’d reveal how little he knew of his employer after all. How little he deserved to be there.
He only ever even learned the man’s real name when All Might slipped up and called him ‘Mirai’ and when Bubble Girl and Centipeder began saying ‘Sasaki-san’.
Toogata, when he wasn't glued to Amajiki and Hadou’s sides, spent a decent amount of time with Izuku himself. He kept telling bright stories about the silly things he’d done and said with his mentor. All the happy moments he could think of, anything to get a laugh.
“Sir wouldn’t want his funeral to be full of crying, y’know?” Toogata said, “I think he’d want us to laugh a little.”
Izuku had nodded, but he'd still remained silent from the funeral’s start to its finish. A couple people tried to encourage some words from him, but what would Izuku have even said? That the only memories he had of Nighteye were muddied by the man’s overwhelming disappointment in him? That he’d probably be rolling in his grave at the thought of Izuku attending his funeral?
No, Izuku would hold his silence. There were people who deserved to grieve, who deserved to have their pain spoken and understood. What pain did Izuku feel?
A small part of him said that he didn’t even feel all that much.
In the end, not all that much changed. Izuku and the other interns went back to school, the work studies having been put on hold in the wake of the Shie Hassaikai raid, and things returned to something resembling normalcy. Aizawa checked up on all of them, impressing upon them that Hound Dog’s door was always open if they needed to talk about anything.
Izuku knew that Uraraka and Asui went to him a couple times, that Kirishima went once and seemed to decide that was enough. Izuku didn’t bother. He had nothing to say about Nighteye’s death. As painful as it was in the moment, it didn't take all that long for the pain to fade.
The worst thing he felt was simply the guilt that he couldn’t do more for the people who were truly grieving.
Time heals all wounds, or so it was said. And as the days and then months went by, Izuku found himself inclined to agree. People… moved on. And so did Izuku.
“Oh, wow,” Izuku breathed out, “my first paycheck…!”
Across the room, both Katsuki and Todoroki paused.
“… Your first paycheck?” Todoroki asked. “Didn’t you work under Nighteye for your first work study?”
“Y-yeah?”
“… Didn’t you get a paycheck from Nighteye?”
“Oh,” Izuku blinked, “Nighteye didn’t pay me.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, Katsuki leaned forward, a sort of snarl on his face.
“He what? ” Katsuki growled out.
“Did you… not work for him long enough to get a paycheck?” Todoroki asked, brows furrowed.
“No, it said in our contract,” Izuku explained, “my work study with Nighteye would be an unpaid internship.”
“You realize that's wrong, right?” Katsuki said, crossing his arms over his chest, “you’re not that stupid are you?”
“Midoriya, you essentially worked as a sidekick for him,” Todoroki cut in, a slight furrow in his brow, “as per the school’s policy, he should have been paying you a sidekick’s wage. UA’s really strict about that.”
“Um.” Izuku wasn’t quite sure how to explain the… nuances of his work study with Nighteye. “There were… extenuating circumstances…?”
“Deku, you’ve gotta talk to sensei about that,” Katsuki said, collapsing backwards into his bunk, “If your shitty boss really scammed you out of a paycheck, the school’s gotta do something about it.”
“I mean… it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” Izuku murmured. “Nighteye’s dead and I don’t work for the agency anymore. It’s not really a big deal, anyways.”
“You worked for him for nearly a full month,” Todoroki seemed to be getting increasingly confused as he spoke, “even if you only spent the first and last week actually at the agency, that’s still at least two paychecks he didn’t give you. Not to mention, since you were in a raid and since you were the one to take down Overhaul, you should’ve received both compensation and some sort of reward for participating in a villain’s takedown.”
“Nighteye was sort of dying at the time, so forgive him for not talking about compensation on his deathbed.” Maybe Izuku was getting a bit snappy, but this entire topic had him strangely on edge.
“And his sidekicks couldn’t do anything about it?” Todoroki asked. “That centipede guy ended up taking over, right? But he just terminated your contract instead of giving you a paycheck?”
“C-Centipeder knew about my contract-”
“So he knew your boss was scamming you and UA for free labor and he still kept his trap shut?” Katsuki piped up, still lying on his bunk. “Sounds pretty fucked to me, nerd.”
“Right, exactly—” Todoroki said, “they still had Toogata-senpai on their payroll, so they’d know the proper procedures on how to pay provisional heroes, and if they still didn’t pay you, it means they either willfully ignored UA’s many rules on the subject in favor of upholding a frankly illegal contract, or they never even thought to check, which in itself is a form of negligence on their part that could still get them in trouble.”
“And they basically fired you on the spot,” Katsuki rolled over, pushing himself up and pointing at Izuku, “And they took whatever money the commission gave them to compensate you, which is full on fucking stealing and can get you super arrested.”
“That’s not-!”
“Honestly, we could probably tell my old man about this,” Todoroki mumbled, “he could probably get them in serious trouble with the commission-”
“Both of you, stop it! ”
The room went silent.
“Look, I-” Izuku glanced between his two classmates, “I don’t really want to talk about this. I don’t- I don’t care that Nighteye didn’t pay me because- because I only ever did the one patrol and the raid, and then- I- … I’d just rather we leave it behind, alright? It’s fine.”
“It’s actually pretty not fine,” Katsuki grumbled, “you’re just gonna let them get away with- what, with stealing from you?”
“Maybe Nighteye did a bad thing, but he’s dead, ” Izuku emphasized. “It’s- it’s over already, okay? I don’t… I don’t mind, alright?”
“Midoriya-” Todoroki began, but Izuku held up a hand.
“Just- at the very least, can we just… talk about it some other time? I- I really just want to sleep right now.”
Katsuki huffed and rolled over in his bed. Todoroki gave him a long look before nodding. With a sigh, Izuku sat down on his own bunk.
“Another time, then,” Todoroki said, though something in his eyes told Izuku that he wouldn’t be able to put off this conversation forever.
A day or two before Christmas Eve, Aizawa had announced that not only were work studies being resumed, they were also becoming mandatory to all students with a license. Some of the students had called up agencies they’d previously worked with, some had reached out to new ones.
Izuku had called Nighteye’s agency, now run by Centipeder, to see if they’d be willing to take him back on, but Centipeder had relayed that Nighteye’s agency was up to their ears in paperwork. Taking on an intern would be more than they’d be able to handle at the moment.
Izuku had taken rejection with a sigh of disappointment and a touch of relief. Yes, he was upset that he didn’t really have anywhere to go for the upcoming internships, but a part of him was thankful that he wouldn’t have to go back to Nighteye’s agency.
There was nothing wrong with it, really—not anymore, at least, whispered a traitorous corner of his mind—but something about the agency felt… stifling, in a way. The thought of going back there, to the bones of Nighteye’s carcass, felt like a betrayal. Of what? Izuku wasn’t sure. But he knew that walking back into that building would be like stepping on a landmine, and Izuku wasn’t quite ready to put himself through that sort of stress.
He was relieved, then, when Todoroki gave his offer a few nights later. The new number one had his own baggage, so to speak, but it wasn’t as though Endeavor had ever looked at him and found him profoundly unworthy of the power he’d been given. As far as Endeavor was aware, Izuku’d had this power his entire life.
There were certainly expectations, but Izuku wasn’t being singled out this time. And, as he came to find, Endeavor actually made quite the teacher. Izuku may have loved All Might and greatly respected Aizawa, but Endeavor had an eye for quirks like he had never seen anywhere except perhaps in Gran Torino.
Old school teaching had its merits, he supposed.
Endeavor was a gruff man who had high expectations for all of his employees, but especially those who followed him into the field. If you messed up anywhere, you were often in for an earful. Even so, Endeavor clearly cared a decent amount about the people under his care.
He figured that it was just favoritism, the first few times he saw Endeavor look Todoroki over after a villain encounter, so imagine Izuku’s shock when the same was done to him after he pushed One for All a bit too far, too fast.
Izuku didn’t really have a father. Well, he did, in the biological sense. And in the sense that his father hadn’t died or proverbially gone out to get some milk. But it had been over a decade since Midoriya Hisashi had left for America and Izuku had spent that decade without much of anything to fill that void.
Perhaps he’d projected a bit onto All Might, but to ever refer to his hero as a father figure felt presumptuous beyond measure. Aizawa was in a similar boat, where he was kind and caring sometimes, but he was too much of a teacher to really be like Izuku’s dad.
Endeavor, when he wasn’t running the three of them through the ringer, was strangely fatherly. In the way that fathers could be distant and rough around the edges and perhaps a bit emotionally constipated at times, but warm and caring all the same.
Izuku sort of appreciated that Endeavor’s brand of fatherly care wasn’t so intense. Him being kind of bad at parenting and yet still wanting to parent all three of his young interns was sort of like… exposure therapy for Izuku. But for fatherhood.
Still, he hadn’t quite realized just how far Endeavor was willing to go for his sake.
Izuku wasn’t sure what to think when he was singled out of his fellow interns and told to go to Endeavor’s office. His heart pounded and his head was practically bursting with ideas of all the terrible things that could’ve happened, that could still happen if this meeting went bad.
There was something particularly daunting about Endeavor’s office. Maybe the fact that the one room was bigger than izuku’s entire apartment. Maybe how sparsely decorated it was; a long rug, a few chairs with a table between them, and Endeavor’s lone desk. Maybe that Endeavor never seemed to want to turn any lights on, more than fine with the sunlight filtering through the huge ceiling to floor windows on the far wall.
Maybe it was simply that Endeavor was one of the most intimidating men Izuku had ever met.
But Endeavor’s expression wasn’t that of a scowl or a glower, rather a sort of concern.
“It has been brought to my attention,” he began after Izuku closed the large door behind him, “that your former employers didn’t give you a salary or your compensation for taking on that yakuza group.”
Izuku was so blindsided by the topic, that for a moment he didn’t respond at all, just sort of gaped at his boss. Then he remembered that there were probably only somewhere between three and five people who should’ve known about that and only two who seemed at all upset about it.
“They told you? ” Izuku yelped out. He didn’t feel quite as betrayed as he probably should have—in fact, he was even a little touched that apparently Todoroki and Katsuki were that worried about him—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least a little upset that his classmates didn’t listen to him.
“They did,” Endeavor confirmed. “You realize why they did, right?”
“Look,” Izuku started, heat rising in his face, “i-it’s really not an issue. It only affected me and I don’t even care that it happened. You don’t have to- to make a big deal out of it or anything.”
“Deku, this does affect more than you,” Endeavor rebutted. “You weren’t Sir Nighteye’s only intern. If he was skimming the money owed to you, then who knows what other things he’s done-”
“But he wouldn’t do that to Toogata-senpai! Sir Nighteye’s problem was just with me!” It was only after blurting it out that Izuku realized how that might sound. He slapped a hand over his mouth, cringing.
Endeavor’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“He- I-” Izuku stumbled over the words, drawing his hand away from his mouth. “… Nighteye didn’t really… approve of me, I guess. But I thought- I needed his help with- um, with my quirk. So I said I’d agree to whatever terms he had for me. And… and Nighteye said he’d only let me work with him if I gave up my paycheck. So I did.”
Now Endeavor began to scowl. “He coerced you into an unpaid internship?”
Izuku cringed again. “Well it sounds bad when you say it like that…”
“Deku, UA has strict rules and regulations about their work studies,” Endeavor said, rubbing a hand over his face. “If he pressured you into a contract where you got no pay, then his agency is practically asking for the school to come knocking at their doors with a lawsuit in hand.”
“Yeah, well, he’s dead,” Izuku snapped. He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts before continuing, “And my contract was terminated, and I only worked there for a month, and I don’t want to go back anyways! So- so it’s fine!” His breathing was coming quicker, and Izuku desperately tried to get a handle on it so he didn’t just sound like he was throwing a tantrum. “It’s fine, okay? I don’t care.”
Their conversation came to a standstill. Endeavor said nothing more, just gestured vaguely in the direction of the door after a long moment of silence. Izuku didn’t know if this was an argument he’d won or simply shelved. He hoped that this would be the last he’d ever hear on the matter.
He hoped—dear god, he hoped—that this would be the last he’d ever hear of Nighteye.
But, of course, having such hope was futile. On both accounts, though he didn’t realize it at first.
A few days, maybe a few weeks later, as the last class before lunch came to a close, Aizawa called out, “Midoriya, stay behind for a moment.” A couple students made noises of surprise, a couple made teasing comments, and a few more lingered around the door. Izuku wondered for a moment if Aizawa would shoo them away, but his teacher spoke without care for their presence.
“Bring me your copy of your contract with Nighteye’s agency tomorrow morning,” the man grumbled. Then, after a beat, “That’s all.” Izuku blinked and nodded.
He was joined by a few friends as they walked down to the lunchroom. Uraraka leaned over and said, “Did you never hand over your contract for UA to put on file?”
“I guess… I forgot,” Izuku murmured. The tense nature of his interview with Nighteye, wondering if he’d get fired on his first day, then running into Eri and Overhaul on his first patrol. Waiting for the raid, the raid itself… and then Izuku’s contract had been terminated with Nighteye’s death. So, no, he never got around to it.
Todoroki gave him a long look and Izuku was reminded of the other reason he hadn’t ever turned it in. Nighteye hadn’t ever said anything, but Izuku knew there was an expectation that the contract was for their eyes only. Izuku broke eye contact with Todoroki and looked back towards the hallway ahead.
Later that day, he found the contract in question. It had been tucked away in a drawer beneath some other papers, out of sight and out of mind. Until now, at least. It was nearly identical to any other work study contract, but in puny fineprint, tucked away between blocky paragraphs and written in subtle terminology, was a clause that stated all earnings Izuku made would go back to the agency.
Once upon a time, Izuku had seen nothing wrong with that. Once upon a time, Izuku had signed this very contract, because it was that or nothing. He wondered what would happen if that same contract was put before the Izuku of today. Would he be so desperate for mentorship that he’d take someone who practically loathed his very existence? Who thought he wasn’t worth respect?
The sad thing was, Izuku didn’t know.
The next morning, he handed off the paper to Aizawa. Would his teacher notice the fineprint? Would he care? Aizawa’s eyes skimmed over the sheet for a handful of seconds before he set it down on the podium. Izuku felt a prick of disappointment for half a heartbeat. Then, he took a steadying breath and reminded himself, you don’t care, you don’t want this to be an issue anymore.
Izuku couldn’t be ambivalent about how he was treated and feel hurt that no one noticed. It was one or the other, and Izuku had already picked.
He didn’t care about Nighteye. He didn’t.
Really.
(Shouta heard it from Nedzu, who’d heard it from Endeavor, who’d heard it from Todoroki, who’d heard it from Midoriya himself. When he’d been told by the principal, Shouta had felt more confused than anything. Sir Nighteye had been an exemplary mentor to Toogata those past two years. For him to suddenly turn around and refuse one of his interns pay? It was baffling.
He wasn’t even sure he believed it at first. On one hand, Nighteye was a respected member of the heroics community, the wiser half of All Might for the better part of two decades, and the idea that he’d so callously choose to ignore one of UA’s rules was practically out of the question. On the other hand, it would be exactly like Midoriya to somehow piss off the only worse All Might fanboy than him to such an extent that the man would refuse to put him on a payroll.
Still, up until that morning, Shouta had been skeptical. And then the contract between Midoriya and Sir Nighteye, which had never been properly filed due to the mess of the Shie Hassaikai raid, was in his hands. And, sure enough, tucked between two paragraphs about due diligence, was a tiny row of words that didn’t exist in any of the contracts UA offered. Shouta had schooled his expression and set the paper aside.
Endeavor had warned them, after all, that Midoriya would put up a fuss if any attention was brought to the situation.
Still, Shouta saw the brief slump of the boy’s shoulders. And he wondered, for just a moment, if there was more to this than just a lack of pay.)
Another week went by and Izuku forgot about the contract. He pushed Sir Nighteye out of his head, because he really would rather forget than wallow. He devoted himself to his studies, to the training they did in class, to the patrols he shadowed Endeavor on. Truth be told, it was easy to get lost in it all. Even when there wasn’t school or work, there were people.
And if there was ever the perfect distraction, it was people. Week nights spent in the comfort of 1-A’s shared commons, and those Saturday nights where Todoroki and Katsuki would join him between patrols in their shared room at the agency. Izuku’s days were full of life and brightness that he hadn’t had in… well, that he hadn’t ever had. These days, it was easy to forget that there had ever been a ‘before’.
Some days, though…
It was a Saturday when it happened. Classes had let out and Izuku was walking shoulder to shoulder with Todoroki, the both of them a step behind Katsuki. Izuku had been chuckling at some statement Todoroki made to Katsuki when something landed hard on his shoulder. He was practically wrenched around and then a hand was fisted in his blazer.
Toogata’s dark eyes glared into his, an expression of anger that Izuku had never seen before contorting his face into something frightening. And for a few short heartbeats, Izuku stopped being Deku the hero, who went to UA and had friends and was respected, and became Deku the useless, who could do nothing but curl up and cry when faced with a fist.
“What did you say to them?” Toogata snapped. Izuku barely heard it around the sound of his own heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears. All he could do was try not to drop to the ground as he attempted to regain his bearings. What was Toogata talking about? What could Izuku have said?
A hand suddenly shoved Toogata back, and then Todoroki was standing between the two of them. Izuku couldn’t see Todoroki’s face, but he could feel the heat pouring from his left side.
“What’s your problem?” Todoroki practically hissed. A different hand settled on Izuku’s shoulder and he just barely resisted a flinch. This touch was still rough, but it didn’t wrench him around. Soft heat emanated from it as Katsuki stepped up beside Izuku, his face even more sour than usual.
“You wanna start shit, senpai? ” Katsuki growled out. Toogata didn’t even spare him a glance, eyes still trained on Izuku.
“UA’s suing Sir’s agency. Because of you, they said. What did you say?”
UA was what? Just as Izuku had nearly settled back down, he was sent reeling again. Because of him? What could he have even done to-?
“Oh, that’s finally happening?” Todoroki said, interrupting Izuku’s thoughts. “About time.”
What?
“How dare you?” Toogata snapped. Katsuki huffed, leaning his weight on Izuku’s shoulder.
“Damn, you really didn’t know?” He asked, giving an exaggerated tilt of his head. “Your teacher was an asshole, it turns out. Now his shitty agency is getting its due.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Toogata finally looked over at Katsuki. There was a sort of desperation in his eyes. Obviously he didn’t know anything about the contract. Why would he? Nighteye had no reason to tell him the real reason he’d deigned to take Izuku on.
“Sir four-eyes didn’t give Deku a paycheck,” Katsuki spat, “from what I heard, his sidekicks pocketed Deku’s check from the commission, too.”
Toogata blinked. Then he looked back at Izuku.
“This isn’t a funny joke.”
Izuku very nearly flinched at that. How many times had Izuku’s hurts been called made-up? Over-exaggerations, lies, things to be swept under the rug. Be it teachers or peers, Izuku was never one to be believed. Never one to believe in.
Except—no, Izuku wasn’t there. He was a student of UA, where his teachers cared and listened. And- argh, no again, this wasn’t a hurt! Izuku didn’t care that Nighteye hadn’t paid him! It didn’t matter! He never even told-
Izuku’s head snapped in Katsuki’s direction. “You told?” he finally asked.
Katsuki snorted. “As if. Half n’ half’s the one who went crying to his daddy about it.”
“What he did to you—it wasn’t fair,” Todoroki offered as an explanation. Toogata looked between the three of them.
“You’re serious,” he breathed out. “You’re being serious.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki grumbled.
“He wouldn’t- Sir would never-”
“Maybe if you ask, Nedzu will let you see the contract,” Todoroki said, an almost smug air about him.
Fuck, the contract. Izuku wanted to slap himself. Of course they’d notice. Of course Nedzu wouldn’t let such a thing slip by. He pushed down the moment of jubilation that screamed, someone did notice! Someone saw! Someone cared!
Izuku didn’t care, truly.
“He- I-” Toogata took a step backwards. Then he looked at Izuku. “But he liked you.”
Izuku felt a bit like laughing.
“I think he hated me,” Izuku admitted instead. “I think he wished sometimes that I didn’t exist. Or that I wasn’t a hero, at least. He didn’t think I deserved to be one—he said.”
Toogata’s face crumpled.
“I’m sorry, I-” Izuku wrung his hands, suddenly unable to look Toogata in the eye, “This must all sound so disrespectful. I’m sorry. I didn’t want anyone to do anything about it, I swear. I just wanted to let it rest, you know? I promise! I promise.”
Toogata didn’t say anything. He just stared for a long moment. And then he turned away. Izuku watched him disappear down the hallway and felt a bit like he might puke. Todoroki gently bumped their shoulders together, warmth lingering in the touch. Katsuki pulled away and crossed his arms.
“Can we go?” He snapped. Izuku nodded after a moment.
“… Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
“Hey, Kirishima-kun?” Izuku asked into the silence of the common room.
“What’s up, Midoriya?”
“Did you receive compensation for the Shie Hassaikai raid?”
“Oh, yeah!” Kirishima leaned over the back of the couch, head resting on his arms. “Fat sent UA a check that they handed off to me, I’ve just sort of been saving it for something important, y’know? It was a lot more than I thought I’d get, but apparently helping out in the takedown of a villain can get you a lot! Oh, but- heh, you probably already knew that, didn’t you? How much did the commission pay you for taking down Overhaul? Wanna compare numbers?”
Izuku looked down at the floor.
“… I didn’t get compensated for taking down Overhaul,” he admitted. He spoke softly, but it still sounded too loud in his ears.
Kirishima blinked. “What? Really? ”
“And I’m realizing-” Izuku swallowed around his words, “that that’s maybe… bad.”
“Woah, wait,” Kirishima pushed himself upwards, “you mean, like- like, Nighteye’s agency didn’t pay you on purpose?”
“I mean,” Izuku made a vague shrugging motion, “it’s not like I had a paycheck before then.”
Kirishima sat back hard on his haunches. There was a truly shocked look on his face.
“Dude, that’s- that’s super messed up. You realize that right? Right?”
“I’m starting to,” Izuku whispered.
“Damn. I guess it really is always the ones you’d never expect.”
“He hated me,” Izuku blurted out, “Nighteye, I mean. He didn’t even want me there. He said that I didn’t deserve this quirk.”
“Shit, Midoriya, that’s…”
Izuku stiffened.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Hey. Maybe you should, like… talk to someone about this,” Kirishima said.
“Who would I talk to?”“Hound Dog’s office is always open for us,” Kirishima pointed out. “If there was ever a reason to go to him, I feel like this might be it. You seem like… like you’ve got a lot of thoughts about this whole thing. It might help to voice them. Or something.”
Izuku sighed. Maybe. Maybe.
“Nedzu was wondering if you wanted to testify.”
Izuku blinked. It felt as though he were drifting. Was this real? It didn’t feel like it. Aizawa and All Might sat across from him, a cup of steaming tea still warming Izuku’s hands.
“You don’t have to,” Aizawa continued, “we already have enough evidence to win our case. But it would probably help if we had your actual word.”
Izuku stared down at the liquid in the cup, a swirling sea of green. It reminded him of himself, in this moment. Very slowly, Izuku was coming to terms with the fact that maybe—just maybe—Nighteye had hurt him. But was that hurt enough of a reason for Izuku to walk in front of a court and tell people about Nighteye’s disdain for him?
“… I’d… rather not,” Izuku said, not looking up from his cup of tea. Still, he heard a slight shift of cloth—Aizawa nodding, perhaps.
“Alright. We’ll take care of it for you, then.”
Izuku glanced up in time to watch Aizawa stand and leave the room. The door closed and then it was just Izuku and All Might.
“… Why didn’t you say anything?” All Might asked, his voice sounding strained. Izuku stared at the table between them. They were barely more than a meter apart, yet the distance felt like miles.
“You loved him,” Izuku said. “You loved him even though you hadn’t talked in half a decade and I thought- I thought maybe you wouldn’t believe me if I did say something.”
“I would’ve,” All Might insisted.
Izuku shrugged. “And then he died, and it didn’t matter anymore. Or… I thought it didn’t, anyways.”
“I’m… sorry. It was my fault you and him got tangled up in each other. If I had just… said something. Maybe-”
“He wanted me to give up One for All,” Izuku cut in suddenly. All Might blinked.
“Pardon?”
“That was the only reason he took me on. He wanted to make me give One for All to Toogata-senpai.”
All Might took in a deep breath, the sound rattling in his lungs. Then he stood and rounded the table, kneeling before Izuku and resting a hand on his knee.
“My boy,” All Might began, “I may regret many things, but I will never regret choosing you as my successor. And that choice was mine to make. Not Sir Nighteye’s. What he thought I should do with my quirk doesn’t matter. And what he thought you should do with your quirk doesn’t matter either, because it’s yours to do what you want with. Not mine, not his, not Toogata’s. Your’s.”
Tears slipped down Izuku’s cheeks and arms wrapped around his shoulders. And maybe—just maybe—Izuku wasn’t okay. But maybe—just maybe—he would be.
In the aftermath of the case, Aizawa handed an envelope off to Izuku.
“The money you’re owed,” he said simply.
A month’s pay and whatever the commission felt he deserved for taking out Chisaki Kai. To think an entire court case had amounted to this was almost laughable. The envelope was thick, and it felt incredibly heavy in Izuku’s hands. The weight of shame. The weight of the truth. The blood of a dead man.
Izuku sent the money to his mom. He didn’t know what else to do.
In the aftermath of the case, Izuku sat with Toogata on the steps of the UA building.
“I won’t be able to go back to them, if I ever get my quirk back,” Toogata said. “I’ll be able to sign on when I graduate, sure, but…”
“It’s weird, right?” Izuku guessed. “Even though you know they would never, just knowing what happened makes it…”
“Weird.”
A beat.
“… You know it’s okay for you to go back, right?” Izuku asked, looking over to Toogata.
“I just-” Toogata paused, struggling with his words. “I never thought he’d ever do something like that, you know? The two years I spent with him, I thought-… I dunno. I guess it’s weird realizing you don’t know a guy as well as you thought you did.”
“Everyone has a million sides to them. It’s alright if you still love the Nighteye you knew. He loved you. That, at least, I’m sure of.”
Izuku didn’t tell Toogata that Nighteye had only chosen him for his potential as a successor. Whatever reason Toogata and Nighteye had met didn’t matter, not when it was clear that Sir had thought the world of his student. Some secrets… some secrets are better left unspoken. Toogata was already drifting from this revelation. He didn’t need more piled onto his plate.
“… I wish I could talk to him again,” Toogata murmured. “Even if it was just once.”
“… Yeah.”
It took a war and a half, a hundred thousand deaths, and almost a full year before Izuku finally got around to visiting Nighteye’s grave. The memory of the man grew fuzzier by the day—had his hair been green like Izuku’s, or closer to a shade of lime?—and any old hurts inflicted by him had either faded or been eclipsed by something else.
Izuku kneeled before the large stone, bearing the name Sasaki and standing as tall and imposing as Nighteye himself once had. For several minutes, he simply sat there, cataloging every imperfection in the polished rock. He spent those few minutes trying to think of proper words to say. What was there to say? Izuku didn’t know this man. Izuku had no place being here.
“… I proved you wrong, you know,” he finally said. Perhaps it was a bit petty to gloat, but it wasn’t as though there was anyone here to scold him for it. “And, for the record, One for All would’ve just killed Toogata-senpai if All Might had given it to him.”
Izuku received no response. The stone remained stalwart in its silence.
“… I think I was afraid of you. Or maybe jealous. I’m not sure. In a weird way, it was sort of like looking at some strange other version of me.” Izuku snorted. “It’s kind of funny actually, that you and All Might picked successors who were more like each other.”
His smile fell.
“You were perfect at everything. Toogata-senpai was perfect at everything. So I believed you when you said that he deserved One for All more than me. I tried giving him the quirk, you know. After you died, I went to Toogata-senpai and tried to offer it to him. He said no. Can you believe it? Said that if I gave him my quirk, then I’d just be the quirkless one instead and we’d be right back at the start of the issue.
“I see why you chose him. I think he’ll do great one day. Though, I suppose you already knew that. I bet you’re proud of him.”
Izuku paused. With halting movements, he reached a hand out to touch the stone. It was cold and smooth, almost like glass.
“I hope… that maybe you could be proud of me too.”
A beat.
Izuku removed his hand, looking away.
“You don’t have to be, though. I don’t really care, either way.” He smiled. “It’s funny. You made such a huge impact on me, but we only knew each other for a month.”
Izuku heaved a long sigh and then stood. He cast a parting glance to the stone, and said softly, “Goodbye.”
As he left the graveyard, the sun peeked out from the clouds, casting the many tombstones in glittering light. And Izuku, who walked with his head held high and his shoulders set, put his past down behind him and moved forwards into the future instead. The future that he had, against all odds, twisted into something better and brighter.
He probably wouldn’t come here again. Time heals all wounds, or so it was said. People moved on. And, as it turned out, so had Izuku.