Chapter 16

He makes it just in time to see Iida face off against Todoroki. His classmates greet him. He's treated to jokes and gentle teasing, careful back-slaps that avoid his injuries. Mineta asks him loudly if Todoroki literally punched his eye out, until Tsuyu shoves him under his seat. If any of them notice how quiet he is, they don't say anything.

Uraraka sets Mika back in his lap. "Rotten luck," she says softly. Down below, the match is a quick one. Iida comes close to winning, but Todoroki freezes his engines and snatches the victory—without fire, Izuku can't help but notice.

He's only half listening. "Huh?"

"We could've lasted longer, you and me," she says. "But we got paired up with the two strongest right at the start."

"Guess so." Izuku pets Mika absentmindedly. "Not a good enough excuse, though. It's not like villains would throw the weak ones at us first just so we can level up."

Uraraka laughs. "That's a nerdy way of putting it. I like it." She's sitting on his uninjured side, and gently shoulder-checks him. "We'll just have to get stronger."

"Yup."

Iida rejoins them to a chorus of goodnatured congratulations. He's red-faced with embarrassment, but still smiles as he greets everyone. As far as Izuku can tell, he isn't near tears the way Uraraka was, but Izuku still lifts Mika carefully with one arm and offers her. Iida doesn't take her, but his grin widens as he gives her ears a scratch.

"I'm a bit sheepish," he admits. "I tried to learn from your match against him, but I guess it still wasn't enough. You probably got more out of his match with Sero than I got from his match with you."

"You sure look better than I do right now, though," Izuku answers.

"I suppose so—and really, Midoriya, you ought to have exercised more caution." And now Izuku knows for sure that his friend is feeling all right, because nothing screams "high spirits" in Iida quite like an officious tirade about proper safety, complete with vigorous hand gestures. "You know, everyone saw that you gave your best and put up a good fight, and there would have been no shame—absolutely no shame—in forfeiting when you were no longer able to continue!"

Sitting back, Izuku grins and shakes his head. "You still got pretty close, Iida," he says.

"I suppose so." Iida's smile turns sheepish again. "I wish my brother could have seen this, but he couldn't make it."

"That's too bad."

"Yes, unfortunately, he's been busy with hero work lately." Iida frowns. "There's some villain on the loose, making trouble, and everyone's on the alert."

"I've heard," Izuku says with a nod. "Somebody called Stain?" What a name, Stain. The reports that Izuku has seen make him sound pretty dangerous, though.

"Yeah, he's come up on the news, hasn't he?" Kirishima says. "Sounds like a real piece of work. Some people call him the Hero Killer."

"He'll be brought down soon enough," Iida says with a shrug. "If nothing else, All-Might himself won't allow him to continue much longer."

The next match draws their attention once more. The Sports Festival is drawing closer to its end, and the contestants have dwindled down to three.

Izuku isn't surprised when Bakugou beats Tokoyami. He's kind of glad Tokoyami made it that far, though. He deserves it; he's pretty much the only reason Izuku's team pulled into the running at the end of the cavalry battle.

The final round is Bakugou against Todoroki. Izuku already knows who he's rooting for.

Bakugou's explosions make him jump nearly every time they detonate. His ears ring, his fingers are nearly numb from gripping his seat, and he's clenching his teeth together so hard that his jaw aches. It's a close fight—closer than his match against Todoroki, as close as what the others are saying about Kirishima's fight against Tetsutetsu.

His vision is spotty from the bright flashing of Bakugou's explosions, but that's the only light he sees. Not a single spark of flame comes from Todoroki.

Izuku could hold his own against Todoroki without even using One For All. But Bakugou has a powerful quirk, and he's a strong and vicious fighter even without it. Ice alone isn't going to be enough, but Todoroki still doesn't bring forth his fire the way he did against Izuku.

"Do you think something's wrong with him?" He can barely hear Uraraka murmuring beside him; Bakugou's quirk nearly drowns her out entirely. "I bet he'd do better if he used his fire, don't you think?"

"He could still be injured," Tsuyu spoke up, pitching her voice above the din. "Pretty sure there's still a splint on his nose."

Kirishima nudges Izuku lightly from behind. "Yeah, you guys really messed up each other's faces. Your eye okay?"

"It's fine," Izuku replies. Down in the field, Todoroki takes a bad hit from Bakugou. It's a vicious punch to the gut, with an extra kick from the explosion detonating in Bakugou's palm, and it sends Todoroki flying back. When it makes contact, Izuku shuts his eyes and flinches. He's felt that one before. It's not fun.

Beside him, Rei growls softly.

"I think it might be over pretty soon," Uraraka says softly. "Todoroki's only on half power, and Bakugou…"

"Bakugou looks pissed," Kirishima says.

"He always looks pissed," Tsuyu points out.

"Yeah, but… I dunno, it seems different."

Izuku can see what Kirishima means, but he's trying not to think too hard about it. Bakugou's anger is not something he's eager to keep in mind. It's bad enough that he has to see it, and remember all the times that he's felt it before.

"He's hardly used his fire, though," Uraraka says. "Deku, you're the only one who saw it up close. Do you think something's the matter?"

The answer, of course, is no. He doesn't think, he knows that something's wrong. It would be harder to name something that's right.

It's depressingly simple, really. All this means is that it takes more than one conversation in the middle of a fistfight to fix what's broken.

Izuku's fingers tighten in Mika's warm, silky fur, and he watches through one stinging eye as Bakugou roars and blasts his way to victory. When Midnight calls the match, his resolve finally cracks. He can't watch any more. He can't watch the medal ceremony, either.

"Deku?" Uraraka says when he gets up from his seat. "What's the matter?"

He's already walking to the nearest exit from the stands.

He takes refuge in a waiting room, far enough away from the stadium that the cheers and noise from the spectators is a dull roar in the distance, muffled by a separation of thick steel walls. All he has for company are a cat, a ghost, and the occasional drifting spirit that pays him no mind, and that suits him just fine. Settling into a chair, he curls around his cat and breathes in and out and in and out until he stops feeling phantom gut-punches in his memory.

It's probably petty. It's probably a little pathetic. But he really, really didn't want Bakugou to win.

Of course, he'd started the whole Sports Festival with the burning desire to win. But in the (admittedly likely) event that he didn't, he'd known that at least there were several classes full of kids who weren't Bakugou and might win, and that would have been a consolation. But no. Bakugou wins, again. Like always. He won against Todoroki who was fighting with half his power, and Izuku could just barely keep up with Todoroki fighting with half his power.

He wonders, for a wild moment, if this is what Endeavor's felt like, staring at All-Might's back for years and years.

It can't be, though. Izuku isn't angry that he lost. He knows why he lost, and he knows he traded his chance to win for something just as worthwhile. This isn't about him winning or losing. This isn't just about Bakugou winning (again, again, over and over, might makes right, like winning erases all the things he's done). This is an old sting, a hopeless loop rinsing and repeating in which Bakugou wins and wins and wins and because he wins, he never thinks he's wrong. He never thinks that just because he wins, it doesn't make him a great person or even a good one or even a decent one.

He just wins and wins, everyone sings his praises and turns a blind eye to his temper and his selfish mean streak, and Izuku is sick of watching it happen and sick of feeling like a petulant child for letting it hurt so much.

Izuku's eyes burn, but this time he holds back the tears. This isn't worth crying over. He'd feel that way even if he weren't sick and tired of letting Bakugou make him cry.

Mika purrs against his belly, and Rei's cold hug wraps around his uninjured arm. Izuku breathes in and out, slowly and steadily, until he feels better.

By the time he uncurls, ready to face the world again, it looks as if he's missed the medal ceremony. There are voices and footsteps in the halls. Not many—Izuku picked a waiting room that was out of the way of the main paths of foot traffic. Quietly he slips out into the hallway again. Maybe his friends will be wondering where he is.

"Um, excuse me? I hate to bother you again…"

Izuku looks up to see Suzuki standing not far off, twiddling her pale thumbs.

"It's just, I don't know who else to ask," she says. "I've never met anyone like you before."

"Is Okumura bothering him again?" Izuku asks.

"No, it's just…" Her voice trails off sheepishly. Her blank eyes implore him to understand.

And he does, a little.

"Where is he?" he asks.

She vanishes after giving him directions, and Izuku tucks his cat against his chest with one arm and strides off to see what he can do.

He finds Todoroki exactly where Suzuki said he would be. It's another waiting room well out of the way of the main hallways, quiet and empty aside from the odd spectator who took a wrong turn, or spirits passing through disinterestedly. Izuku pauses at the doorway and peeks in, not wanting to be noticed quite yet. Todoroki's in much the same state as Izuku's been in for the past ten minutes. He's hunched, almost curled in on himself, fingers tangled in his hair. He's not too badly hurt, but he still looks wrecked.

The only difference between him and Izuku right now is that he doesn't have anyone offering him comfort.

For the moment, Izuku pulls away from the doorway. He feels like he's being pulled two ways. On the one hand, he wants to help. He's started down this road of helping Todoroki, and it would be stupid of him to leave it hanging now. But on the other, he's not sure if Todoroki would accept his help right now—or anyone's for that matter.

Well. Maybe anyone except…

Izuku takes a deep breath, backs further away from the waiting room, and hoists his cat up until they're almost eye to eye. It's hard to do with one arm, but he manages, and Mika's always been an agreeable cat.

"Alright, you," he whispers. "I've got another job for you. I need your A-game, got it?"

Mika presses her paw to his chin.

"I don't have any treats right now," he says. "Treats when you're done. Do your best, okay?" He plants a kiss between her ears. "Make me proud, Mika."

"Oh hey," he says as he steps back into the waiting room, as if he's completely surprised to find Todoroki sitting there. Todoroki straightens up as if someone's sent an electric shock up his spine, and Izuku pretends not to notice. "I hate to ask this but everybody's leaving so could you watch my cat real quick please because I have to go do—" He isn't really thinking about what he tells Todoroki he has to go do, and from the bewildered look on Todoroki's face he's probably not listening anyway, so he plops Mika into his classmate's lap and hurries out again with a "Thanks, I'll be right back."

A few minutes and he'll come back. Five minutes. Maybe ten.

He's not two steps from the doorway when he looks up and catches Aizawa-sensei's eye.

His homeroom teacher is in the hallway, out of sight from within the waiting room but well within hearing range. Narita still flanks him, patiently waiting as always.

Even with the bandages on his face, Izuku can see when Aizawa's eyebrow rises gently.

He shrugs at his teacher and keeps walking. It's really not something he can explain away with words.

There is a cat in Shouto's lap and he's not entirely certain how he ended up in this situation.

He hasn't kept track of how long he's sat by himself in this room, dreading hearing his father's voice and feeling like the emotional equivalent of getting hit by a truck. He's been punched halfway across the stadium and back twice in one day and been shouted at by several different people, all for different reasons.

He wonders if anyone is really happy with the results of the festival. He knows he isn't. He's willing to bet his worthless father isn't. Aside from this sudden non sequitur outburst, Midoriya's been acting like someone kicked a puppy in front of him, so he knows he isn't.

Bakugou isn't happy with how it turned out, and he's the one who won.

And who's fault is that? Maybe if you'd just used fire instead of fighting like a coward, you could have given him a decent fight instead of half-assing it and leaving everyone dissatisfied —

The press of paws on his thigh startles him out of his train of thought. Shouto holds still as Midoriya's cat turns circles in his lap before shifting over and settling down.

On his left side.

Shouto isn't sure why he does it. He's cautious, not sure if Midoriya's cat is the scratching type, as he gently lifts the cat up and shifts it over so it's lying more evenly in his lap. Its head turns, and—oh, it's only got one eye. The left one is missing, the fur dinted with scars.

The cat lets out a soft, trilling meow, and shifts over again so it's curled up on his left thigh. He tries it again a couple more times, just to be sure, and each time, the cat moves back to its preferred spot. When he leaves it alone long enough, it shifts further so that it's pressed up against his stomach.

Cats like warm things—the thought comes to him unbidden. That's why you always see pictures of them lying in sunlight, or on people's laptops. Of course it likes his left side better than his right.

He checks the tag on the cat's purple collar. It's a she, and her name is Mika. When he lowers his hand again to pet her, she responds with a bone-deep purr. Maybe he's imagining it, but it almost feels like the lingering aches in the spot where she's sitting are starting to fade.

"Hello," he says softly, as she pushes her head into his hand—the left one. She rolls over on her side and presses her paws to his stomach. "I'm wondering—what does he have to do that's so important that he'd give you to me? Do you know?"

The cat doesn't answer, of course, unless circling around so that she's leaning against his stomach again can be considered an answer.

Sadly, it isn't long before his father finds his hiding place. By the time he does, Shouto is dangling a shoelace for Mika to bat at. She isn't trying very hard, because she's more interested in draping herself bonelessly against his left side, but he dangles it low enough for her to catch between her paws.

"If you have time to be mucking around with stray cats, then you have time to come home and train," Endeavor snaps. "After today's showing, you clearly need it—especially if you're finally giving your rebellious little temper tantrum a rest."

"She isn't a stray," he says, ignoring the rest of what the old bastard tells him.

"What?"

"She's my classmate's cat," he says, without looking up. Mika pulls the end of the shoelace down and chews at the plastic casing until he tugs it out of her grip again. "They asked me to watch her for them. So obviously, I can't move from this spot."

From across the room, he feels his father's temper pulse.

"My hands are tied," he says flatly. "You might as well go home without me. I'll catch up."

His father's boots scrape on the floor as he steps closer. Startled, Mika shifts so that her paws are beneath her again, and she's facing Endeavor. His father's voice is a growl, and Shouto focuses on the cat in his lap—as far as he's concerned, the most worthwhile thing in the room right now. "I have had enough of your petty, worthless little tantrums—" He reaches for the cat, and Shouto tenses to pull away.

Thorn-sharp claws dig through his pant leg and prick at his skin. The fur on Mika's back stands on end, and she lays back her ears and hisses loudly enough to make his father stop talking, which is frankly impressive. Her tail switches back and forth, and when Endeavor's hand comes too close, the hiss becomes a bubbling yowl as she lashes out at it.

Endeavor yanks his hand back, at the same time as Shouto scoots his chair further away. Mika, apparently unaware of how closely she's courting danger, keeps her ears flat against her head and spits. Her single eye is narrowed, and her mouth is open in what bears only a passing resemblance to a smile.

(He's reminded, just for a moment, of her owner.)

"I think," he says calmly, as he refrains from petting her again until her temper calms, "I should just. Wait for my classmate to get back."

He doesn't need to see his father's glare to feel the force of it. But glaring is all Endeavor does. Apparently he doesn't find the argument worth the trouble, or he's not interested in possibly losing a finger, because he storms out without another word. Mika settles down again, though it takes quite a bit of petting to get her purring again.

Not that Shouto's complaining.

Izuku does find a way to keep busy, while he gives his cat time to work her magic. He hates leaving things unfinished.

So, Rei helps him find Okumura again. Luckily, the poltergeist isn't hanging close to Endeavor at the moment. He probably figures that Endeavor's not likely to drop dead anytime soon here. So for now he's just drifting and sulking and making all the nearby ghosts skittish.

Okumura notices him right off, and his steps waver when the ghost drifts closer. This is his cross to bear, with an ability like this. At the very least, he's a novelty. At most, he's—for lack of a better term—a lifeline. And as far as he knows, he's the only one there is.

He doesn't speak at first—he just leads Okumura off, to somewhere they can talk in private without anyone with a pulse walking in and finding Izuku arguing with a wall.

Just to be safe, he puts his special little trick to good use. He takes out an old earpiece—one of those Bluetooth devices that have fallen out of style. It's old and useless and isn't connected to anything, but at the very least it'll make him look less strange if anyone finds him conversing with empty air.

"What do you want?" he asks, looking directly at the poltergeist's face. Okumura looks vaguely like the person he used to be, just… off. His death wound is gruesomely visible—not that Izuku isn't used to blood.

"Stop getting in my way," Okumura snarls. Rei doesn't like his tone, and Okumura recoils when she growls right back.

"What do you want with Endeavor?" Izuku asks. "Why are you following him? What do you intend to do?"

"I'm going to make him pay."

"How?" Izuku presses. "What do you actually mean to do?" He checks his surroundings again. "And bothering Todoroki? What's that supposed to accomplish?"

"You know nothing," Okumura rumbles dangerously.

"You're right," Izuku tells him. "I don't understand what you're trying to do." His fists clench. "Do you think it will bring you back, if you tear his soul apart?"

"Shut up."

"Do you think putting ugly thoughts in Todoroki's head will will get all the ugly thoughts out of yours?" he asks. "Do you think it'll stop hurting, then? It won't."

"You don't know that!"

"It's like scratching a bug bite," Izuku says, ignoring him. "You think you're making it better, but you're only making it worse so you can't stop."

"I don't care!" Okumura's voice scrapes like knives in his ears. "He has to pay."

"Why does it matter so much to you?

"He killed me!" Okumura roars. "I didn't want to fight anymore… I didn't want to die." His form flickers back and forth, between the man he was and the nightmare he now is. "I didn't have to die, he didn't have to do that! Is it so wrong to just want him to know that?"

Izuku considers that for a moment. "Yes," he answers.

Okumura's eyes flash. "You—"

"It's wrong for you," Izuku tells him.

"You don't know anything about me!" Okumura lashes out, and Izuku hops back out of reach as Rei shoves herself between them. Okumura rages on, heedless. "Don't you understand? All I want—all I want is for him to know what he did. To know it was wrong." He shrinks in on himself. "It was wrong. Wasn't it? I didn't have to die."

"He's the one who hurt you," Izuku says softly.

"That's what I've been saying!"

"Then why are you trusting him to make you feel better?"

"I don't trust him!"

"Then why'd you make it so the only way you'll feel better is if he does something for you?" Izuku demands.

Okumura goes quiet at that. He seems to settle, and for the first time he looks more man than monster. "I didn't… I didn't make it this way."

"Maybe," Izuku says, trying to sound firm. "But you don't have to keep it this way. You shouldn't keep it this way."

Okumura stares at him. His face keeps shifting, as if he can't decide whether he wants to look angry or sad or frustrated or helpless.

"You can't wait around for him to be sorry," Izuku says. He's quiet now. This isn't something that's meant to be shouted. "Maybe he'll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn't know he did anything wrong, or he doesn't care. It doesn't matter." Cautiously he takes a step forward. "You can't depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it's never going to get better. They'll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they'll be gone and you'll be waiting forever."

Okumura doesn't move away. He's quiet for long enough that Izuku isn't sure he'll answer at all, but finally he shifts, like he's taking a deep breath that he doesn't need. "I don't want to wait forever," he whispers.

Izuku touches his arm. It's as cold as any ghost's, and Okumura twitches but doesn't pull away. "Then don't. Move on by yourself. Leave him behind. Can you do that?"

"I don't know."

"I think you can do it," Izuku tells him. "You don't have to pass on. Not if you aren't ready. But I think you can leave him behind. I think you can be happy again, without his help."

Okumura stares at him like Izuku is the strangest thing he's ever seen in his life—and death. "I'll… I can try," he says at length. "I think? I'll try."

"Thank you," Izuku says, and means it.

"I think…" Okumura's form wavers, and finally settles. He looks younger like this, without all the rage twisting him into something monstrous. "I need to think about this."

"That's fine. You should." Izuku tilts his head to the side. "Just leave Todoroki alone, okay? He didn't do anything to you."

"…All right." Okumura slumps. "All right, fine. You win." He vanishes before Izuku can get another word out.

Rei's floating high enough off the ground that she can reach out and touch his face. Her fingertips are ice-cold as they brush his cheek, and Izuku notices, for the first time, the wet salty track down the right side of his face. There might have been an identical one down the other, if it weren't for the bandages.

"It's okay," Izuku whispers. "I'm okay. Just crying again. You know me. Happens all the time."

Rei hugs him tightly all the same.