Chapter 20

Lunch with Uraraka and Iida the next day is a quiet affair.

Usually they're animated, with Uraraka and Izuku competing to see who can dominate the conversation with chatter, interspersed with Iida's booming voice and vigorous gesturing. But now, their little group is a muted pocket in the midst of the cafeteria's general buzz of activity.

It's not an uncomfortable atmosphere, but it is a somber one. Uraraka's finally stopped looking like she desperately wants to say something but can't think of what. Iida, ironically, is doing most of the talking; the main reason why they aren't totally silent is that he's making calm small talk—safe, day-to-day topics like school work and class schedules and training.

Izuku, for his part, is just trying not to stare at Tensei too much while he worries about things. Rei's taken a liking to him, but Izuku can't bring himself to enjoy the sight of her scampering around at his heels or hanging off his shoulders like a monkey. There's far too much on his mind. He has a message to deliver and no idea how to do so. There's a hero killer on the loose. His friend is sad and it's going to take more than a pep talk and a dirty dog to make things better. He has a short list of hero agencies to choose from and only a few days to make his decision, and Ms. Shimura's promised "Gran Torino" is not on that list.

("Be patient," Ms. Shimura has told him. "You grabbed his attention. He's just taking a while because he's making it out to be more complicated than it is. He'll probably send his nomination in a little late.")

There's only a few days before the deadline for his decision, and Izuku isn't sure how long he can afford to wait.

Eventually, even Iida runs out of topics, and their table lapses into silence. It's only a brief one, but Izuku sees the way Iida's hands curl and uncurl in his lap.

"I do apologize," Iida says. "I've been out of sorts, and if I'm making things awkward—"

"Of course you're not!" Uraraka cuts him off. "And—Iida, even if you were, it's not your fault."

"Th-thank you, Uraraka, but… even still." Iida's knuckles are nearly white. "In spite of everything, I still have responsibilities, a-and obligations that I mustn't let fall to the wayside—"

"No one's expecting you to snap back to normal," Izuku says, with a quick glance at Tensei. "Iida… you lost someone important."

"Yeah," Uraraka says softly. "I don't have any siblings, so I don't know what that's like, but… you know it's okay to not be okay, right?" She tries a smile, and it comes out a little wobbly. "I-I mean, I know you have engines in your legs, but you're not a robot."

Iida manages a smile of his own at that. "I suppose not…" He leans his chin on his palm, and his eyes lose a bit of their focus. "It's just… there's this one thing, and it's—it's such a petty thing, but it bothers me. Just thinking about it makes me feel ill, but…"

"What is it?" Izuku asks cautiously. Tensei looks up from where Rei is eagerly showing him how to finger-spell.

"It feels like the end of an era," Iida replies. "And—I know he wasn't top ranked, he was no All-Might or Endeavor or Best Jeanist, but… it bothers me to see the sun rise and everyone go on with their lives, even though the hero Ingenium is gone. It's over."

Uraraka makes a quiet, sympathetic little noise. Izuku feels Tensei's eyes on him, and sees an opportunity to fulfill an obligation.

He hesitates for a moment. He knows he's treading on treacherous ground here; he knows that one verbal misstep will make him look foolish at best and horribly disrespectful at worst. So he hesitates, cudgeling his brain for the right words.

"W-well… maybe it doesn't have to be?" he says at last.

Iida looks up at him, and the fog in his eyes clears and sharpens. "What?"

Izuku swallows the urge to backtrack, because he did make a promise and he's not likely to have an opening like this again anytime soon. "I mean…" He takes a deep breath, shoots one last glance at Tensei, and takes the plunge. "You're his little brother, aren't you? And… you haven't really picked a hero name." He sees Iida's face and bearing change, shifting from wary confusion to white-knuckled comprehension. His nerve nearly fails him then and there, but it's too late to backpedal now. "I just think, if anyone has a right to carry that torch, it's you."

The pounding of his pulse in his ears is almost deafening. Iida gapes at him, rigid with shock, unaware of the way his older brother is watching him intently.

"I…"

"It's just a thought," Izuku says quietly, which isn't quite the same as backpedaling. "I just… I think, if you don't want that to die, then—then that part, at least, that one thing… you can still protect that."

"I'm… not sure that's true." Iida's nearly whispering, which is something Izuku has never heard him do before.

It's what he'd want, Izuku wants to say, but he doesn't. He has no right to say that, as far as Iida knows. And Izuku doubts that there will ever be a right time to tell Iida the truth, but it certainly wouldn't be here and now. "Just think about it," he murmurs, and says no more on the subject.

Iida gives him a curt nod, and nothing more.

True to Ms. Shimura's prediction, Gran Torino's nomination comes through at the very last minute. Izuku finds out when All-Might pulls him aside for a conversation on the subject, looking like someone just walked over his grave. Ms. Shimura, as close to his side as always, looks like she's not sure whether to give him a hug or burst out laughing.

"Sorry, bean sprout, I didn't think he'd take it quite like that," she says, a little shamefaced. "But I guess, considering how things went, I shouldn't really be that surprised."

"His name is Gran Torino," All-Might says, and there's a strange tension in the smile on his face. He walks further down the hall from the classroom, keeping his back to Izuku. "He's taught at UA before, but only for one year. ...He was my homeroom teacher, in fact."

"Wait. What?" Izuku blurts out, darting to catch up. "He taught at UA? He taught you?" He shoots a wide-eyed look at Ms. Shimura, who gives him an innocent smile in return. The word she had used was friend. He'd never thought—he'd never even imagined—

Well, it was hard to imagine. All-Might was the greatest. The strongest hero, with no one equal to him, much less anyone better. Logically he had to have started out as a student, but… still.

"He knows about One For All, as well," All-Might continues. "That's probably why he gave you that nomination."

"Does he not usually, um, take on students?" Izuku asks, choosing his words carefully. Fishing for information from All-Might is not something he ever could have prepared himself for.

"N-no…" All-Might's hands wring at his sides. "I was… a special case. I think he was doing it as a favor to… well, anyway. He retired many years ago, and I haven't known him to be active otherwise."

"When's the last you heard from him?" Izuku presses.

All-Might's steps go uneven for a moment, and he pauses. "I… can't recall."

"Did something—"

"Midoriya," Ms. Shimura says sharply, and Izuku's tongue locks in place.

"Um… n-never mind," he murmurs.

All-Might, fortunately, barely seems to notice anything amiss. He's still speaking, but it's as if he's talking to himself. "I wonder… did he nominate you because my teaching is inadequate?" There's no denying it now; he's shaking. "I have to admit, the thought of him taking up his name again and nominating you is… a little terrifying." He holds up a folded piece of paper, and it crinkles in his shaking hand. "B-but in any case, while training you is my responsibility—well, you were nominated, so… i-it's not as if any of the other agencies can show you how to use—well. Ahem. You should g-go. Learn what you can from him. H-he's… you'll do fine. I'm sure of it."

Izuku takes the paper, feeling his breakfast creep back up his stomach. What kind of person is Gran Torino, if just hearing from him is enough to throw All-Might for a loop?

"Oh! And one more thing," All-Might says, grasping eagerly at a chance to change the subject. "Your costume! It just got back from being repaired. You can pick it up after school—you'll need it for next week's training."

Izuku's heart leaps. He'd missed having it when villains attacked the USJ; it would have been nice to be able to fight in it instead of his gym clothes. He'll just have to take better care of it this time. "Okay. Thanks, All-Might." He hesitates. "Any… any advice? For learning from Gran Torino?"

All-Might's hand falls heavily on his shoulder. Izuku can feel it still shaking. Without a word, All-Might squeezes his shoulder, pats it lightly, and walks off.

"Okay then." Taking advantage of the fact that All-Might has his back to him, Izuku shoots one hand out and catches Ms. Shimura by the wrist, stopping her from following. Once All-Might is out of sight, and his footsteps have faded to silence, Izuku raises his eyes to Ms. Shimura's pale face.

"There are things he's not ready to talk about yet," Ms. Shimura tells him quietly.

"Ms. Shimura, did you stop me because he's not ready to talk yet, or because you're not ready for me to know?"

Her face tightens.

"I'm going to find out," Izuku tells her. "One way or another. You can't force me to put it off forever." He glares up at her, still gripping her wrist. "I may not know how you fit into all of this, but I'm in this up to my neck. I can't force you to tell me anything. I can't force anyone to tell me anything. But if all you're going to do is stonewall me whenever I need answers, that's not fair."

Ms. Shimura can't look him in the eye for long, and soon turns her head away. "…You're right. You're right, I'm sorry. That was… I wasn't thinking."

"What do you think is going to happen when I find out who you are?" Izuku presses. "Why are you so afraid of that?"

"Because you love him," Ms. Shimura blurts out.

Izuku blinks.

"You love Toshi," she says quietly. "You love him with all your heart, and I'm glad, Izuku, I'm—I'm so happy that he found you." The smile that curls at her mouth is a bitter one; there's not a drop of joy to be found in it. "And that's why I know you won't forgive me when you find out what I did to him."

He blinks, and suddenly he's alone in the hallway, holding on to nothing.

"I hate it when they do that," he says to Rei. She heaves a sigh and shrugs.

He returns to the classroom without arousing anyone's curiosity. If nothing else, the tension he's felt over nominations is more or less resolved. Almost everyone has already made their choice, and is happy to discuss it when there's a free moment in class. Uraraka's choice focuses on hand-to-hand combat. Iida's picking a more average agency to get a feel for the general work environment. Mineta picked Mount Lady, and Izuku isn't sure whether to pray for Mount Lady's sanity or Mineta's physical safety.

Even Todoroki has come to a decision, which is frankly a miracle considering how many nominations he had to choose from.

"You're picking Endeavor's agency?" Izuku asks, not long before the lunch bell is about to ring. "You got more nominations than anyone. You could have your pick of any top agency in the city."

Todoroki shrugs. "I can. So I'm picking the highest one."

"Well, yeah, but…" Izuku's voice trails off. His own newly updated nomination list is in his hand, less than half a page long, unlike the veritable ream of papers in front of Todoroki. "I dunno, I figured you'd have had your fill of learning from him."

"Maybe I feel that way," Todoroki says. "But regardless of how I might personally feel, he's still the second-strongest hero, and the most prolific. He knows the industry forward and backward." The volume of his voice drops. "He's a bastard, but he still has his uses."

"Mm." The noise Izuku makes is noncommittal at best. Rei's apparently feeling mischievous, because she casually blows at the list on Todoroki's desk, sending the top two pages flying. Seeing the prank coming, Izuku snatches them back out of the air without looking and puts them down again. "Still, though."

"You don't have to worry about me," Todoroki says flatly. "What I learn this week will have nothing to do with my father or how I feel about him. I'm not so weak-minded that I can't focus on what needs to be done."

"Didn't mean to imply you were," Izuku says. "But… for the record, Todoroki?" He pauses, one finger on the stack to keep Rei from blowing it away again. "Avoiding things that hurt you doesn't count as weakness."

Todoroki raises an eyebrow at him. "Doesn't it?"

"Not if there's a choice. And, uh." Izuku looks at the list. "You do have loads of choices. But it's not really weakness. It's more just… taking care of yourself." He shrugs, feeling awkward. "I dunno. It's up to you. I just don't think you have to prove anything."

"I understand. And thank you—for your concern." Todoroki straightens the papers, his face set. "But honestly, I think this will take me where I need to go." He glances up. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you know who you're choosing?"

"Yeah." Izuku glances down at the page, eyeing the name at the very bottom of the list. "I had one recommended to me, so that's what I'm gonna go with."

It's high time he got some answers.

The week of on-the-job training arrives. The class splits up at the train station, everyone laden with cases containing their hero costumes. Aizawa sends them all off, and Izuku can already feel his nerves buzzing.

It's not just for himself, either. He doesn't like the look on Todoroki's face, or the way his classmate—friend, Todoroki's his friend—avoids talking to anyone. He knows full well that Todoroki skimmed details when they spoke at the Sports Festival, and he can't help but worry about Endeavor's idea of training. And Todoroki's not the only who's quiet.

"Hey, Midoriya?" Izuku looks up to find Tensei standing by him. "Listen… I just wanted to say thanks. For being there for him. I've been worried about him lately, so…"

Izuku grins, and signs a quick "you're welcome." He's seen Rei teaching him simple signs when she gets bored during school hours.

"I'm still worried," Tensei says. "In the past couple of days… I don't know, it's like he's got his energy back, but I don't know if it'll last. So just… thanks for looking out for him."

Nodding, Izuku looks past him to where Iida is already walking away. Uraraka catches on, as well—silence is hard to miss when it's coming from Iida.

"Hey, Iida?"

His friend pauses. Izuku hesitates, not quite sure what to say. Since their conversation at lunch, he hasn't mentioned Stain or Tensei once—nor has the latter left his side. Izuku would like to think that this is because Iida is grieving privately, or gradually coming to terms with it, but he can't be sure.

"You know you can talk to us, right?" he says at last, as Uraraka stands beside him and nods along. "If you need to. We're your friends."

"We're here for you, Iida," Uraraka adds.

Izuku doesn't quite see what flits across Iida's face in that moment; it passes too quickly for him to be sure whether or not he sees anything at all. But in the next moment, Iida's smiling back.

"Sure," he says. "Thank you, both of you."

As Iida turns away, Izuku considers bringing up their conversation from earlier, and his suggestion on Tensei's behalf, but he decides against it.

Watching Iida leave with his ghostly brother close by his side, he considers quite a few things that he doesn't go through with.

(If only foresight were as clear as hindsight.)

The train ride gives Izuku forty-five minutes to stew alone in his nerves as he watches the landscape go by. Well—not quite alone. Rei distracts him by signing things she sees out the window, or with silent impressions of the other passengers on the train. Izuku has to take his phone out and pretend to browse his texts to keep from looking like he's laughing at nothing.

From the train station, the address takes him to a building that looks less like a hero agency and more like a condemned apartment complex. The front door has a broken neon 'Welcome' sign hanging over it, almost mockingly. Izuku… isn't sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell isn't this.

He comes to a halt and casts a dubious eye over the place. "Um…" He glances at Rei, who cocks her head this way and that as if the slight change in angle will reveal more information.

I'll check if it's safe, she signs to him, and vanishes from his side. Izuku counts in his head and makes it to ten before she reappears, and she looks no less confused than he feels.

"Well?" he asks.

There's a man in there, she tells him. He's lying on the floor in a puddle of ketchup.

"I-is he okay?"

He's completely fine, and he's awake. He's just lying there covered in ketchup.

Izuku wishes with all his heart that Ms. Shimura were here. Then maybe he could turn to her and ask Hey Maybe What The Hell? But she's not here, and this is probably all the information he's going to get (which is more information than this mysterious Gran Torino expects him to have) so there's really nothing for it. With a shrug at his friend, Izuku walks into the building.

With Rei's guidance, he finds the ketchup-covered man in question. As it turns out, "lying there covered in ketchup" is… a bit of an understatement.The floor is a mess of spilled food and shattered crockery. The trailing end of the string of sausage links that protrudes out from underneath the man has a passing resemblance to intestines. The whole scene might have made the little old man look eviscerated, if not for the fact that Izuku already knows what actual evisceration looks like.

And he really is a little old man. He's a lot shorter than Izuku expected, especially if he's the Gran Torino that All-Might quietly fears, and that Ms. Shimura has been talking up this whole time. In fact, he's not just short; he's tiny. Izuku has more than a head and a half on him—or at least he would, if he were standing up.

From this distance, if Izuku squints a bit, he can see the man breathing. "Um. Hello?" he starts. "Are you oka—"

The man's head shoots up, and he screams. "I'M ALIVE!"

Izuku startles badly enough to drop the case with his costume in it, right as Rei tries to leap into his arms. It doesn't quite work, and she ends up scrambling up onto his shoulders instead. It takes all of his self-control to stay still while she does that, while also fighting to get his heart rate back to a more reasonable level.

"Um," he says, as Gran Torino gets to his feet. "Is… is this hazing? Is that what's going on? Am I being hazed?"

"WHO'RE YOU?" Gran Torino asks, by shouting it in his face.

"Oh, I'm from U.A.," Izuku answers, relieved that maybe this is moving forward. "I'm Midoriya Izuku."

"WHAT?" Gran Torino shouts again.

"Midoriya Izuku!" Izuku repeats, enunciating as clearly as he can. Slowly, Rei starts climbing down off of him. "You nominated me, remember?"

"WHO'RE YOU?"

"I'm—"

Either he's talking too quietly or the man isn't paying attention, because Gran Torino cuts him off with, "You know, I'm starving. I wanna eat something!" and plops back down in the puddle of ketchup.

Two thoughts occur to him. The first is the recollection that All-Might has not seen this man in years, and a simple logical leap takes him to the fact that if All-Might hasn't seen him, then Ms. Shimura hasn't, either. The second is Oh God help him the man is senile. It's not as much of a shock as it could be; Ms. Shimura did imply that he was getting on in years, and if she hasn't seen him in a long time, then there's probably a lot that she doesn't know about him.

"W-well, okay," Izuku says. Senile doesn't mean wrong, nor does it mean useless; it just means he needs a little more creativity and patience than he would have predicted. "That's fine, but I was actually hoping you could help me. Do you remember nominating me, at least?"

The old man looks him in the eye, frowning as if trying to recall a name. And then he does—recall a name, that is. It isn't the correct one, but Izuku can't find it in himself to complain because the name he says is "Toshinori."

Izuku goes still and silent.

So this is the student that Nana's little golden boy has taken a shine to. He ain't much to look at, if Gran Torino is any judge. But then, neither was Toshinori when he first laid eyes on the brat. Of course, even Toshinori was taller than this one. This kid looks soft and doe-eyed, and a drunk monkey could tie a necktie better than that. But mostly he looks like he hasn't had a proper sleep in at least a week.

On the other hand… there is something to him, something besides the scar on his face and the weird way that the light hits his eyes in the dimness. It's the sort of something that he wouldn't have expected Toshinori to pick up on, because it isn't the same blinding-brightness that Toshinori himself practically sweats. No—this particular ankle-biter has something different.

Maybe it's the fact that he barely blinked at Torino's little prank, which could just mean he's dense, or it could mean he's too sharp to be fooled by a ketchup puddle and a few sausage links.

…Well. Either way, he can work with that.

The senile act has thrown this kid off balance already—not as much as he'd like, though, so he throws out Toshinori's name, just to gauge his reaction.

He expects confusion, or at least for the kid to write it off as the 'dementia' talking. But instead the kid freezes, and his eyes lose that glazed look of patient confusion. He blinks, and for a split second he looks like he's seen or heard a ghost.

"Toshi…nori?" the kid echoes, and steps forward with a sharp look in his eye like Gran Torino holds all the answers to his questions—which, let's face it, he probably does. "Is that his name? Is that All-Might's name?"

Gran Torino blinks, and the boy steps forward again.

"I have questions for you," he says. "Lots of them. And someone—well. I've been told you can help me. With my power?"

Now they're getting somewhere. He could still use a little more information on this kid, though—after decades of radio silence from Nana's brat, he figured asking Toshinori himself was probably a no-go. Torino watches the boy out of the corner of his eye, pretending to ignore him as he turns to the case that the kid dropped earlier. Casually he opens it, and finds a neatly folded green jumpsuit inside. This is his hero costume, from the looks of it. "One For All, huh," he cackles, and sees the boy's eyes light up almost literally. "I'd like to see how well you can handle it."

The eagerness dims then, and if Torino were any judge he'd say the kid was shrinking back a little. "Er, well…"

"You got a nice costume here," Torino continues, and he does, just judging by a cursory glance. Not too bad, for a Mark 1. "So why don't you put it on and come at me." Before the kid can answer, Torino barks out another "WHO ARE YOU?" because it is damn funny to see him jump.

"I can't control it yet," the kid answers, and there's an edge to his voice—ohoho, he's starting to try the brat's patience now. "That's why I came. I need to learn how to deal with these powers, because All-Might doesn't have much time left." His hands curl into fists—Torino can see scars on the right one. "Can you help me?"

Torino keeps quiet just long enough to let the boy squirm a little. Then he moves.

His quirk's just like riding a bike, really. He's not one to let excess fat grow on his bones, but he imagines that even if he went years without using his power, it would still come back to him like an old friend. In the blink of an eye, he ricochets off the ceiling, walls, and floor—so he's showing off a little, sue him—and ends up staring down into Midoriya Izuku's shocked eyes. There's a grin that Torino can't keep off his face, and he tosses the facade to the side because they are in business.

"Remains to be seen," he says, and commits the dumbstruck look on the kid's face to memory, just in case he ever needs a private chuckle. "Can't help ya if I've got nothing useful to work with. Think you're big, kid? You're barely a twinkle in your mother's eye. Now—if you meant all those pretty words, then get over here and come at me."

The boy blinks, and his eyes flicker to the side. "A ruse," he says, like he's talking to himself. "What is it with teachers and logical ruses? Would it kill them to just say what they mean?"

So, he's not just a brat—he's a mouthy brat. In a heartbeat, Torino knocks him off his feet and makes it up to the opposite wall. "I said my bit already, boy," he says. "You wanna learn a thing or two, or are you all talk?"

When the boy's eyes meet his, they're shining with eagerness, lingering confusion, and just a little bit of relief. Those are busy eyes; he looks like he's not sure what to think, and that suits Torino just fine. Better to keep him guessing. Just for a moment, there's an almost knowing look in those eyes, like the brat's got some private joke that he's not about to share.

"I still have questions for you," he says.

"That's nice, boy," Torino replies. "Tell ya what. I'll give 'em a listen once you prove to me you're worth wastin' my breath on answers."

"Fair enough," the brat says, as his eyes search Torino's face as if he can find his answers written in the wrinkles. And then he smiles.

Gran Torino takes that smile and locks it away for later, for any future moments where he needs to remind himself that this wide-eyed, wet-behind-the-ears rookie isn't another Toshinori. 'Cause Nana's brat smiles a hell of a lot, but he ain't hardly ever smiled like that.

Toshinori's smile is mask and a symbol, an inseparable part of what makes All-Might, All-Might. He puts his smile on like it's part of his costume.

This kid brandishes it like a weapon.