Chapter 26

"The first rule of Study Group is—"

"Kaminari, c'mon." Kirishima rolls his eyes.

"—don't talk about Study Group," Kaminari finishes, snickering, which prompts Kirishima to groan loudly. "Aw, c'mon, Kirishima! I would've thought you'd like that movie. You're all about manly-man stuff, aren't you?"

"Yeah, not fake manly," Kirishima informs him. "There's a difference between manliness and being an entitled dudebro."

"That's true," Jirou says, straight-faced. "Just look at Bakugou, he's like the poster child for toxic masculinity."

"You want to say that to my face, you ear-dangling fuck?"

"I just did!"

Off to the side, Izuku takes a deep breath and ignores the prickling up his spine when Bakugou starts yelling again. He takes another deep breath and counts to ten, then continues until he reaches thirty-five and a tap on his arm jolts him back to the present.

"Are you all right?" Todoroki asks him mildly.

"Peachy," he answers. It comes out a great deal more serene than he feels, and he's not entirely sure it matches whatever is showing on his face. Rei isn't fooled, if the conciliatory shoulder-patting is any clue, and Kaminari and Yaoyorozu are giving him odd looks. He presses his hands together in front of his face, fingertips whitening. After a moment, once he feels that his feelings are properly leashed, he lets his hands drop to his sides again.

Why is he so upset? He gets along with most of them. Ojiro and Kirishima he even tentatively considers friends. He likes them and he hopes they like him too. It's only Bakugou who sets the hard, heavy pit in his stomach, so why does it bother him that they've all tagged along?

A loudly clearing throat turns every head toward Iida. "Everything else aside," he says. "Kaminari does make a good point."

Kaminari blinks. "I do?"

"He does?" Jirou asks.

"Yes! Well. We weren't expecting to have so many people involved, so perhaps things would run more smoothly if we set some ground rules."

"Rule one is don't talk about—"

"Give it a rest, Kaminari," Ojiro sighs.

"Maybe we should include that," Todoroki mutters, too quietly for anyone but Izuku to hear. "Talking about it is what led to a quarter of the class inviting themselves." Izuku coughs out a quiet laugh that can still reasonably be mistaken for a cough.

"Hey, Deku? Todoroki?" Uraraka pipes up. "This is kind of your thing. What do you two think?"

"Well… the only real rule we have is that we don't use quirks," Izuku answers with a shrug. "Because otherwise it'd be, y'know, kind of illegal."

"And the fight stops if one of us wants to stop," Todoroki adds. "Immediately, no questions asked."

"You know what?" Izuku says, slipping his backpack from his shoulders. "Let me get out my notebook and write some of these down."

Over the next ten minutes, they cobble together a list of six basic rules. Well, technically there are only four, but Izuku writes "Don't talk about Study Group" as the first two, if only to get Kaminari to stop trying to make that joke work. He's barely finished writing "Serious injuries that would require Recovery Girl mean the match is over and the instigator is banned," when the nitroglycerin on Bakugou's palms erupts with his impatience, and Izuku's pen scores a dark line across the page that nearly rips through the paper entirely.

"Come on already!" he snarls. "The only reason why I came in the first fucking place was because there was supposed to be some actual fighting happening! I'm not here to waste my time talking all day!"

"That's probably enough for now anyway," Yaoyorozu says, ignoring his outburst. "We can establish more rules as the situation calls for it."

"We still haven't decided to structure this," Iida says. "I doubt we can all spar at the same time the way we do in class, because then it's far more difficult to enforce these rules…" That sparks another discussion-slash-argument, and Izuku can feel Bakugou's impatience mounting.

He's not entirely sure how his and Todoroki's biweekly sparring practice has morphed into this cumbersome production, but the ball is rolling and he's not about to stop it when they might be on to something.

"Hey." He twitches at the sound of Bakugou's voice, so close to him so suddenly. Menace drips from his words like molten iron. "Get one thing straight, Deku—I see what you're fucking doing, and it's not gonna work."

Izuku swallows against the lump in his throat. "I think that's two things, actually—"

"Shut the fuck up, Deku," Bakugou snarls, heedless of the fact that just a few feet away, a little girl ghost's patience is also wearing dangerously thin. "You think you can mouth off like you're better than me just because you've been sneaking around with Half-face for extra practice? Get fucking real."

"S-see, the fu-funny thing about that is—" He's starting to stammer. It's severely impacting his ability to sound breezy and carefree. "—these, um, sparring practice sessions? That me and Todoroki have b-been doing? A-actually have nothing to do with you."

"Don't talk like you're above it all, you little shit!" Bakugou snaps. "You're not fucking better than me!"

"Midoriya never said he was!" Iida says, leaving off trying to guide the discussion.

Bakugou barely looks at him as he snaps back. "Can it, four-eyes, this is between me and Deku."

"No it isn't," Izuku says, trying not to raise his voice over the sudden rushing noise in his ears. "There's nothing between us." Without thinking, he shifts back. Kirishima's looking over, opening his mouth, probably to try and placate Bakugou. More people are getting involved, and that's the last thing he wants—to drag his friends into his and Bakugou's dark, muddied history. So he shifts back, turns away to put distance between himself and Bakugou, and finds it easier to speak when Todoroki and Uraraka fall in his line of vision instead. "Anyway, if we're gonna get started we should decide—"

"Quit blowing me off, Deku!" and Bakugou's hand closes on his upper arm.

There's a split second in which nothing happens, and within it Izuku believes, for that minuscule increment of time, that it's finally getting better. That maybe, this time, he can react to a simple grip on his arm like a functioning human being.

But then he realizes that the reason why it feels as if nothing happens is that it's silent, and the reason why it's silent is that his ears are so thick with white noise that he can't hear a thing. He's staring at Bakugou, face blank, as Bakugou's mouth moves and Izuku hears none of the words coming out of it.

He blinks, his ears pop, and the first thing he hears is "—then fight me."

"What?"

The grip tightens, and terror drills into his mind like an ice pick through his skull. Rei jerks into view like she's been shocked, and her face melts away to something skeletal and malevolent. Darkness creeps into the edges of his vision and Bakugou won't let go.

"I said fight me." Red eyes bore into him, burning points of baleful light. "You here to fucking spar or not, Deku? Fight me."

"Let go." The words are out before he can stop them, and a mouthful of bile nearly follows them.

"Are you hearing me—?"

"Whoa—whoa!" And then Kirishima is between them, his hardened grip closing on Bakugou's wrist. "That's enough, okay? Come on, Bakugou, you said you'd be cool about this."

"I never fucking said that," Bakugou growls.

"We're here to practice, remember?" Kirishima goes on, ignoring him. "There's a difference between training and just picking a fight."

"The hell there is—"

Rei's patience snaps, and Izuku's ears burn with her enraged screams. Curved finger-claws plunge into Bakugou's chest, and the words stutter in his mouth before petering out to nothing. Red eyes widen until they're fully ringed with white, the crushing iron grip leaves Izuku's arm, and he remembers what it feels like to have lungs.

His best and oldest friend hovers between him and Bakugou, and his vision clears. The only darkness he sees now is what gathers around her, as dense and heavy as a miniature black hole.

"Fine." It's not confidence that forces an answer from Izuku. It's not even anger. But in that moment, he looks around and finds everyone staring at him. Alarmed. Confused. And he wants to duck out—he wants to turn and go straight home, but if he does then people will wonder why—they'll ask questions—they'll want to know why Bakugou makes him act like this, why he makes Bakugou act like this, and—

So he does what he knows he would do if he weren't so terribly afraid of Bakugou.

"If you want to spar so bad, then fine," he says, and he's proud of how light his voice is. It's easy to be brave when he's surrounded by friends, surrounded by Rei, with Bakugou's grasp only a memory and a light ache in his arm. "No need to throw a fit over it." His confidence is like a cloud of smoke—swelling and spreading, but only as insubstantial wisps. A light swat would clear it away.

"Hey, I want to spar someone first!" Uraraka breaks in, and her high voice cuts through the fog still hanging heavy in his skull. "I-I mean—it's only fair, right?"

"Fair how?" Kaminari asks.

"How about the fact that Iida and I were actually invited?" she says dryly.

More than a few of the others exchange sheepish looks.

Jirou isn't one of them. "Wait a sec," she says, stepping in. "So are we gonna take turns on this, or just break up into pairs or whatever and do our own thing? We still haven't decided."

"Take turns!" Kaminari calls out. "Take turns! We should totally take turns so we can watch each other fight!"

"Man, you are really fixated on this Fight Club thing," Ojiro mutters.

"It makes sense, though," Uraraka pipes up. "If we watch, then we can demonstrate stuff and critique each other, right?"

"And act as collective referees," Iida agrees. "Not that I don't trust you all, of course! But more than one of us have had a history of… getting carried away, with practice bouts." Bakugou snarls wordlessly.

"That's putting it lightly," Jirou mutters.

"Besides, we do it that way in class because we have teachers supervising us," Yaoyorozu adds. "And if we're going to do this ourselves, then we're going to have to keep each other in check. So, spectating each sparring match is the best way to do it."

"Okay, cool!" Kirishima brings his hands together sharply. "It's settled, then."

"Sure is!" Uraraka says cheerfully. "Fight me."

Kirishima blinks. "What?"

"C'mon, spar with me!" She bounces on the balls of her feet, eyes glinting eagerly. "There're some moves I learned from Gunhead that I didn't get to try out in class!"

It doesn't take long for Kirishima's surprise to turn to delight. "All right! Bring it on, Uraraka!" He happily ignores the impatient scowl that Bakugou tries to beam into the side of his head, and joins Uraraka in the middle of the rough semicircle that the others are forming.

Izuku ends up with Todoroki standing between him and Bakugou, and he has to wonder if that's just how the cards fell, or if he's instinctively hiding. His stomach turns at the thought, but he swallows his shame and continues to look at Uraraka, at Kirishima, at anyone who isn't Bakugou. Privately, a small part of him wishes that Uraraka and Kirishima's match would last the full two or three hours before he can reasonably excuse himself.

"One of you fuckers better hurry up and get your ass kicked," Bakugou snarls. "We don't have all day."

"I'll spar against whoever wins," Todoroki says, and his facial expression doesn't even twitch when Bakugou screams in inarticulate rage.

Tape on Uraraka's fingers—one on each hand—keeps her from activating her quirk by accident. Izuku watches eagerly as his two friends trade blows. The change in Uraraka is startling; it was hard not to notice it when they were sparring in class, and it's just as obvious when he's on the outside looking in. If anything, he can see it with more clarity like this. Instead of having to observe lightning-fast and react, he can stand back and let his analytical eye take in the progress that his friend shows. Whatever teaching strategies Gunhead used, they worked.

Still, Kirishima eventually floors her first by virtue of a more solid center of gravity, and Uraraka demands that they extend it to best of three. They have an audience now—not just classmates, but curious spirits wandering through the park are stopping by to observe. He's glad of that—Rei gets bored easily, Tensei didn't come, and Izuku can't give her his full attention when he's surrounded by his living friends like this.

Their cheering rings in Izuku's ears when Uraraka wins the next round, and then the third.

There's a pause for a break, and a friendly tousle between Kaminari and Ojiro evolves into a sparring match all on its own. True to the rules they've established, Ojiro keeps his tail out of it as best he can, but even with that handicap he still knocks Kaminari off his feet. Bakugou stews quietly in the background and does little more than scowl.

Gradually, Izuku relaxes again.

"You're telegraphing too much," Todoroki says, the second time he beats Uraraka. Izuku winces on her behalf. It's not that Izuku's a better fighter than her, but he's simply been sparring with Todoroki longer, and he's learned his friend's tells. He can match the feeling of Todoroki's weight shifting to most of the moves in his friend's arsenal, and he has no doubt that Todoroki has learned his rhythm just as well, but he still has a distinct advantage that Uraraka lacks.

"How do you figure?" Uraraka's breathing hard, both from exertion and from hitting the ground so roughly.

"You swing wide when you're about to make a move, most of the time," Todoroki answers. "It's easy to tell what you're going to do next. It's not as much of a problem when you fight Kirishima because he does the exact same thing."

"Hey!"

"Besides that, you tire out too quickly," Todoroki continues, ignoring Kirishima. "You use too much energy for too little. You need to move more efficiently."

Uraraka chews her lower lip, frowning thoughtfully. "How, though?"

Todoroki's brows knit together. "It's… it's hard to explain."

"It's mostly intuitive for you at this point," Yaoyorozu says. "Isn't it? You haven't had to think about it in a while?"

"More or less," Todoroki says, shrugging in a way that's almost apologetic.

"I… think I have some ideas," Ojiro offers. "C'mere a second, Uraraka, I think I can help."

Study Group is, in Izuku's humble opinion, a success. Any worries he'd had over sabotaging himself by only sparring with one person are rendered moot. Sparring with Todoroki is vastly different from sparring with Ojiro, who in turn is vastly different from Uraraka or Kirishima. All four of them manage to drag him into a few rounds, and Kaminari wheedles him into showing him a few throws.

They're almost an hour and a half in, and Izuku isn't sure how much longer Bakugou will allow himself to be stalled, when his phone rings from where he left it with his bag. He's hot and sweaty and liberally grass-stained as he retrieves it and answers the call.

"Hello, Izuku!" his mother's voice greets him cheerfully. Somewhere in the background, something breaks. Maybe glass, maybe ceramic. "Are you having fun with your friends?"

"Yeah, Mom—is something wrong?"

"I'm afraid so," she says, sounding contrite. "It's Mr. Kurosawa again—I think he's having bit of a fit. He's just started throwing things again. Only the cheap corner store plates, though, so don't worry because I can always—" A distant clatter drowns out her next words. It sounds a bit like a full drumset tipping over. "Oh, dear, he's gotten to the pan cabinet. I'm so sorry to pull you out, Izuku, but you always know how to talk him down."

"It's okay, Mom, I'll be right over." Izuku hangs up, sighing a little—it's either relief or faint exasperation, he isn't sure. Rei, hearing him, darts back from where she's been trying to catch ladybugs to join him. "Sorry, guys, I gotta go. Something came up." He tries not to make it obvious that he's very deliberately not looking at Bakugou when he says this.

It doesn't matter, because Bakugou's already dubious patience snaps. "You're seriously ducking out now?" he demands.

"Said I'd fight you," Izuku answers, purposely keeping his voice light. "Never said when." To the others he offers a sheepish look. "Sorry, guys, I thought I'd have more time."

"It's cool, man," Kirishima says with a grin. "You okay with us carrying on without ya?"

"I-I don't have a problem with it!" Izuku looks to Todoroki instinctively, but his friend simply shrugs at him and goes back to watching Ojiro critique Kaminari's technique. "Um, anyway… I'd better get going."

"Want some of us to tag along?" Uraraka suggests. "We could still hang out, Deku."

"N-not a good idea," he says. "Pipes are being repaired. The guy's trying to raise his prices, so my mom wants me home to help haggle him back down."

"Darn. Maybe some other time, then!"

"Yeah, maybe," he answers. "See you in class, guys!"

The jog from the park to home isn't a long one, and Izuku is barely out of breath when he reaches his door. Rei is already inside before he gets it unlocked, and he can hear a commotion still going on within.

A waft of air freshener scent hits his nostrils as he walks in. It's the citrusy kind that Morino likes—Mom must have gone out and bought more. Further into the apartment, he can hear Kurosawa's familiar panicked sobbing, before something clatters into the wall and Rei lets out an unearthly shriek. With a sigh, Izuku jogs to investigate.

The kitchen looks like a war zone. A few of the cheap dishes from the pantry lie broken on the floor, along with at least half the contents of the cookware cabinet. Pots, pans, saucepans, and lids are strewn about the place, and his mother is off to the side, out of range of any more projectiles while she tries to clear away the edge of the mess. Kurosawa flits about, blinking in and out of view, screaming and crying out while Rei tries in vain to chase and corral him. Blood pours from the wounds that killed him, and with a sweep of his arm he sends a row of spice shakers flying.

"Sorry, Mom," Izuku says, raising his voice to be heard when Kurosawa slams a cabinet door. "Kurosawa! Mr. Kurosawa, please, you're all right—!"

"No, no, please—get away from me!"

It's always like this, when Kurosawa has one of these poltergeist episodes. He forgets everything that's happened between today and the day he died; he returns to that night, and his blood spatters the floor all over again.

Rei finally pounces and catches him, forcing him to stay in one place. He struggles wildly, but he can't melt and mold and shift his form the way she can. If he wriggles free, she catches him again and holds him still. He quiets for a moment, transparent tears pouring down his face, and Izuku seizes the opportunity.

"Kurosawa, you're dead!"

The ghost stutters in Rei's grip like a broken video, sobbing hoarsely in the center of the kitchen. Izuku swallows the taste of bile as it creeps into his mouth. In his more lucid moments, Kurosawa has told him that he once lived in this apartment, decades ago, and he died in it too. (Not in the kitchen, though. He hid in the closet when he heard robbers come in, and they panicked and killed him when they found him by accident.)

"They already killed you, Mr. Kurosawa," Izuku tells him. He's lost count of how many times he's had to remind him. "They can't hurt you anymore. No one can."

Kurosawa cries out as if his heart is breaking. Rei lets go, and the kitchen is empty. Morino and Mrs. Matsuda peek out from the hallway, but don't come out.

His mother gets to her feet, sighing in faint exasperation. "I was saying the very same thing to him, before you even came home," she says. "They listen to you far better."

"Rei held him still for me. Thanks, Rei." Izuku sets about picking up the scattered cookware. His mother joins him briskly. The kitchen is a mess, but it's not so bad when there's two of them.

"Did you have fun?" she asks. "With your friends?"

"Yeah, it was pretty cool. A bunch of my classmates showed up." Izuku opens one of the lower cabinets and starts organizing pans into a neat stack.

"That's good. Make sure you throw that shirt in the wash, okay? The fast you do it, the easier it is to get those grass stains out."

"Okay, Mom."

"I'll make sure to use to stronger detergent—oh dear, did he come back?"

"Huh?" Izuku looks over his shoulder, to find his mother staring in concern at Rei. The latter is picking her way through the mess, picking up broken pieces of ceramic. To his mother's eyes, it must look like the fragments are floating on their own. "Oh—no, that's just Rei, she's trying to help. Wastebasket's under the sink, Rei." His friend dutifully opens the cabinet and drops the broken plates in.

"Oh," his mother says softly. "That's… that's new, isn't it? I thought you said it was hard for them to, to pick things up and move them."

"It… usually is," Izuku replies, as Rei continues clearing away the ceramic shards. "I dunno, I think Rei's getting stronger."

"Kurosawa too," his mother says. "That's easily the worst it's ever been. Usually he just knocks a few things over, or pulls everything off the hangers in the closet. First time I've ever seen things fly."

"I… guess they're all getting stronger," Izuku says softly. "Around me." He purses his lips. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize for your own quirk, dear."

"It's both of them," he says softly.

She looks up, arms laden with kitchenware. "Pardon?"

"I mean—" Izuku pauses. "This quirk that All-Might gave me. It doesn't just make my body stronger; it makes my quirk stronger, too." All the pans are back in their proper place, so he closes the cabinet. "There have been… things. Little things, like Kurosawa throwing things or Rei picking things up, more easily than before. But there's also—I've seen ghosts, Rei especially, touch people. And just looking at their faces, I could swear that they feel her. Not the way I can, but they feel something." He rocks back on his heels. "Rei told me that she made Todoroki get to me faster in Hosu, but I'm not sure how, and I don't know how to ask Todoroki if he felt her. And at the USJ, Aizawa-sensei fell unconscious, and I saw him too. He wasn't even dead, but I saw him and I talked to him, and he doesn't remember any of it now, but sometimes I catch him looking at me like he's trying to remember to tell me something. I can't prove anything, but sometimes I wonder if I would've seen him if I didn't have One For All."

His mother is quiet for a moment after he finishes, silently turning things end over end in her head. Rei has cleared away almost all the broken dishes when Mpm finally raises her head and speaks. "Izuku, have you… have you considered, well… telling anyone?"

Fear slams him like a mallet, and in an instant he finds himself standing on the precipice—one step, one wrong move, and he'll pitch forward into the crashing waves. He feels things, crawling things—cold fingertips spidering up and down his arms, his spine, his neck. But it's not ghosts this time, no—just fear. Just cold dread and terror, locking tight around his throat and his heart like a noose of barbed wire.

"Can't say I have," he says.

"Before I say anything else, I need you to know—at the end of the day, I won't force you. And I won't tell you who you should or shouldn't trust." She purses her lips. "I want you to feel safe, and right now, keeping this a secret makes you feel safe. You'd have to get me good and desperate before I ever touched that. But… I've seen you, Izuku. You're so… so bright, and happy, and you always were, but never at school, and never with other living people." He can see tears glistening briefly in her eyes. "But now… it's not like it was with—with Katsuki. It's like they raise you higher, sweetheart."

"They do," he whispers. His voice is hoarse. "And I can't risk losing that."

Her face falls. "I understand," she says softly. "And I'll support you, no matter what. But Izuku… at least consider telling All-Might."

"I have," he answers. " Considered it, I mean. I think about it every day. But… I can't, Mom. I just can't, yet." He leaves the "yet" in. Might as well allow a little hope for the future.

Aizawa lets his scarf mask how he sighs deeply as he feels the newly excited fervor buzzing among his students. It's not like he wasn't expecting this; saying the phrase "summer training camp in the woods" out loud to twenty teenagers is the fastest way to wake up a room full of twenty teenagers. The eagerness will stick with them over the next few weeks, and with any luck it will keep them energized and motivated throughout their exams.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little eager, as well. It won't be all fun and games; the camp is a decent opportunity to gather the first-years and test them in new ways, and the heroes they have lined up to help with training are competent, trustworthy, and enthusiastic.

His students are enthusiastic as well, though sometimes—

"You're really trying my goddamn nerves, shitrag!" he hears Bakugou roar, and pauses in the hallway before his students can spot him. It's been a while since he's seen Bakugou work himself up into a proper self-righteous fury. "You're gonna eat shit before the term is over, you cocky little bastard!" As Aizawa watches, Midoriya spends a moment staring straight through Bakugou before turning and cold-shouldering him, which predictably does nothing to improve Bakugou's mood.

Aizawa sighs. Bakugou's worse than ever, and the exam stress probably isn't helping. His interactions with Midoriya have never been anything but turbulent—something's going to have to be done about that.

The students in Class 1-A aren't the only ones getting into the spirit of things, either; Class 1-B is as earnest as ever, every bit as determined and strong for all that they didn't share in the events at the USJ. Though, he will have to have a word with Sekijurou and some of the other teachers if that Monoma kid keeps trying to stir up drama. Heaven knows they don't need yet another trigger for Bakugou's temper running around. Ms. Kendou can't babysit him all the time.

And speaking of teachers…

By some ordained miracle, All-Might still has time left in his hero form by the last period of the day, and he takes the opportunity to address the students with some last-minute sage advice.

The advice itself is good. Valuable, even. But still, watching from an objective viewpoint, it's all Aizawa can do to keep from rolling his eyes.

All-Might makes his dearth of experience painfully obvious whenever he steps in to teach. Any teacher would be lying if they said they didn't have favorite students, but at least most of them can hide it reasonably well. Not so with All-Might; Midoriya Izuku is his favorite, and everyone with a bare minimum of half a brain and one eye can tell.

It makes perfect sense, of course. Midoriya may be quiet, skittish, unpredictable, and downright strange at times, but Aizawa can see the seeds of that same dogged sense of duty that All-Might has in spades. Midoriya is brave, selfless to the point of being self-destructive, and brimming with far more single-minded determination than should reasonably fit in a body that size, and Aizawa is willing to bet money that All-Might recognizes a kindred spirit when he sees one. Just… one that's a little more fidgety than he is.

But Aizawa sees something new now.

Class is more or less over now, and All-Might is still hanging around (really, how much longer does he have in that form?) and chatting with students. He keeps looking to Midoriya, as if to check that he's still there, but to his credit he's giving due attention to everyone present.

Midoriya catches his eye, and when All-Might looks, the boy's hands curl and gesture. This, by itself, is nothing extraordinary; Midoriya gesticulates more than anyone else who isn't Iida, and Aizawa suspects that he'd go mute of his hands were tied.

Except, for the first time, Aizawa recognizes it. It's not that different from Midoriya's usual nervous hand-wringing; Midoriya's hands jump and fidget almost every time Aizawa happens to glance his way. But now there's a clear purpose and direction to the movements, as clear and deliberate as if Midoriya were shaping the air like clay, and most of all it's recognizable.

The motions are brief, and to Aizawa's vague surprise, All-Might responds in kind.

Since when does All-Might know sign language? he wonders, but that's hardly as pressing a concern as what they're actually saying.

Aizawa's knowledge of sign language is limited to what is useful in stealth missions, with other heroes who happen to know it, and he'll be the first to admit that his comprehension isn't the best. That's the main reason he never recognized Midoriya's fidgets as sign, much less understood them.

Probably just more muttering, given Midoriya's verbal habits.

But now they're clear enough, and simple enough, for Aizawa to pick up on them, and what he reads in the gestures has him sidling up to All-Might once the students are out of earshot.

"So is there a reason why Midoriya knows about your time limit?" he asks, and tries not to feel too smug when All-Might startles like a baby deer. It's an odd and awkward action for such a hulking figure.

"W-what?" All-Might almost shouts, then forcibly lowers his voice. "What exactly do you mean, Aizawa?"

"I saw your little exchange just now," Aizawa says flatly. "How many of the students know, and why wasn't I made aware?"

"I—er." All-Might looks a little poleaxed. "Just the one," he says at last. "Only Midoriya, none of the others."

In an act of unmatched self-control, Aizawa manages not to roll his eyes. "Really. All-Might, I know you like the kid and I understand why, but confiding in him about something like that is taking the favoritism a little far, don't you think?"

"I don't—I didn't—" All-Might splutters, clearly flustered. "I didn't confide in him, Aizawa—"

"How'd he find out, then?"

"Er." All-Might blinks at him. "Well—that is…"

"USJ," Midoriya says from behind him, and he damn near manages to sneak up on Aizawa. He hears the boy coming, but it's a closer thing than it is with most students.

Aizawa turns and looks at him sharply. "What was that?" Midoriya looks up from his phone—Aizawa can see him browsing gifs of baby animals from here.

"It was at the USJ," Midoriya replies, and oh, that's why All-Might has that hangdog look on his face. No one likes to remind Aizawa of the time a villain smeared him into the pavement in front of a handful of terrified students. "I was right next to him when the teachers showed up and ran off the rest of the villains, but my legs were sort of useless, so he couldn't really make me leave before his time ran out."

"That must have been a shock," Aizawa says, and his voice sounds deadpan even by his own standards.

"I think I screamed," Midoriya replies just as nonchalantly, glancing down at a moving photograph of a kitten falling off of a pillow. "But I did have two broken legs, so I don't think anyone thought anything of it."

All-Might looks pleasantly sheepish, and Aizawa tucks away this new piece of information. It's good to know there's at least one student in his class that he doesn't need to be over-cautious around concerning All-Might's secret. And, he supposes, it's a comfort that the injured idiot has one more set of eyes to watch him.

Not that Midoriya has a history of exercising caution, but All-Might might as well take what he can get.

Aizawa heaves a sigh and lets his usual disinterested mask fall back into place. "You two deserve each other," he says flatly, and moves off again before either of them can reply.

"That was quick thinking, my boy."

Izuku hums quietly and puts his phone away, all the while catching Ms. Shimura's eye and trying to convey "Thanks for the warning" through facial expressions alone. "Not really," he admits. "I've sort of had that one prepared."

"Oh?" All-Might raises an eyebrow at him.

Izuku shifts in place uncomfortably, cursing his own modesty. "I mean, sort of? Me knowing about your limit is pretty easy to excuse, and… you never know, right? Something might come up, and, well, something just came up, just now."

"Hm." All-Might looks thoughtful for a moment, before apparently deciding upon approval. "Well, I will say that for heroes in general, especially considering out… unique situation, that's just the sort of skill that's most useful for dealing with the press, young Midoriya."

Izuku frowns. "Lying?"

"Sometimes. But mostly it's more like… deflecting. Crafting your answers in such a way that it encourages people not to probe further."

"Oh," Izuku says softly, pensively. That really is perfect, isn't it. "I can do that."

In the blink of an eye, there's only one more week before the end-of-term exams. Academics have never been Izuku's weak point, but he still studies diligently at home, committing information and themes and mathematical formulas to memory. He won't gain anything by being overconfident. Yaoyorozu's tutoring half the class at this point, covering subjects across the board.

Majority rule leads them to arrange another "study group" meeting after school on Wednesday. Somehow, it's gotten even more hectic than before.

"This… this is a good thing, right?" Todoroki asks him under his breath. "An improvement?"

Everyone who was at the previous meeting is here now, save for Kirishima who ducked out for the sake of an extra evening of cramming, but word has spread. Tsuyu is here today, as well as Sero, Hagakure, Ashido, and to the consternation of every girl present, Mineta.

"Who the hell invited him?" Jirou demands.

"I mean, technically nobody 'invited' you guys last time," Uraraka points out. "I'm not sure this is really an invitee kind of thing anymore."

"Who's side are you on?" Jirou asks, quietly seething as Mineta nearly vibrates with excitement.

"I'm just saying."

"I mean… I guess it was nice before, just hanging out," Izuku answers with a shrug. "But this is probably better in the long run? For actually figuring out hand-to-hand together. Especially since the practical exam is coming up and we technically don't know for sure what's in it."

"Mm." Todoroki takes in the scene for another beat. "Could do without Mineta."

"Yeah," Izuku sighs, relieved that Todoroki said it before he did.

"It's your first time here!" Kaminari calls out, pointing to the newcomers. "That means you gotta fight! It's in the rules!"

"No it's not, Kaminari, shut up!" Jirou yells.

In spite of this, the first sparring match to break out is between Uraraka and Tsuyu. Rei cheers in static from the sidelines as the girls take their positions and the match kicks off. Izuku can see Tsuyu biting down on her lip to keep from using her tongue.

(Mineta's wordless whooping turns into… suggestions. Said suggestions continue until Tsuyu foregoes the no-quirk rule to seize him around the waist with her tongue and shotput him halfway across the park.)

Izuku wants to watch the whole match, but a cool hand descends on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Iida Tensei watching him. The lateHero Ingenium barely bats an eye when Rei clambers up to sit on his shoulders.

Izuku hasn't heard much from Iida's older brother. He doesn't hover by Iida's side quite as constantly as before. Izuku assumes he has other things to attend to, other people to check up on. But he's here now, and Izuku grins at the sight of him.

"Hey," Tensei says. "You holding up okay?"

"Sure," Izuku says under his breath, barely moving his lips. "Why do you ask?"

"Why do I… Are you kidding, Midoriya, I really should have asked sooner." Tensei looks away briefly. "But I've been keeping busy lately, going around checking up on my old sidekicks and stuff, and after Hosu, I wasn't sure if you wanted the company or wanted to sort things out for yourself. Rei says you've been having a little trouble."

"Just bad dreams," Izuku murmurs. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before."

Tensei's about to reply when Rei hisses, and he looks up. "Watch out," he warns. Izuku turns to follow his gaze, and Bakugou's in his face before he has time to draw back.

"We're next." It's not a growl or a snarl. Bakugou says two words the way a hammer strikes an anvil, short and blunt and brooking no argument. "You and me. No more putting this off, Deku."

"Okay." His heart jumps to his throat and sticks there. All at once his nerves are ringing with tension, and he fights to keep it off of his face.

By some miracle, he manages to hold that as Uraraka and Tsuyu finish their match and Bakugou bulls his way into the middle of things. He imagines that his face is made of glass, smooth and cool and unmoving, slippery enough that nothing catches on it, nothing sticks. Everything slides right off, leaving the cold, polished surface unmarked and pristine.

Bakugou's knuckles crack when he makes fists, and Izuku remembers that glass is transparent, and it breaks easily.

It's too late to worry about that now, facing Bakugou and surrounded by people both living and dead. As he always does when he needs to, Izuku files it away to deal with later.

Bakugou, as always, starts with a strong right.

Izuku learned over three years of middle school to avoid those hands like his life depended on it, and there were moments in which he was sure it did. In this moment he tells himself, no quirks, no quirks, he won't use his quirk, but his ears ring with phantom explosions, and he ducks out of the way of the punch just in time to catch the other full on the shoulder. Landing the first hit galvanizes Bakugou into action, and the fight starts in earnest.

Immediately, it's starting poorly. Izuku is on the defensive, dodging and weaving and deflecting—or at least trying to. Bakugou's fists hurt, whether Izuku takes a hit or knocks it away.

He lets them come anyway. There's a rhythm to it. A pattern, even if Bakugou doesn't realize it. Izuku ducks and waits and dodges and watches, until Bakugou's breath hisses between teeth clenched in frustration.

"Stop screwing around and fight me already, Deku! Or are you too much of a little bitch to throw a punch at me?" Tension curls along his spine at Bakugou's words.

Izuku fakes a punch at Bakugou's throat, and when Bakugou catches it, Izuku follows up with a knee to the gut. He's rewarded with a grunt of pain, and lashes out again, only for Bakugou to catch his other fist.

"You think your fucking cheap shots are gonna work on me?" Bakugou grits out, and Izuku fights against bile and nausea and ringing in his ears as he struggles to get free.

To his surprise, Bakugou lets go. It's not for the sake of kindness, though; Izuku can tell by the look in Bakugou's eyes. He's not being nice; he just isn't done making his point yet.

A sharp jab splits Izuku's lip, his heart rate spikes, and that's when he throws caution to the wind.

He's going to lose. The fight's only just started, but he knows instinctively that he's going to lose, just like he always loses. The tension spreads from his spine to his fingertips. He feels it in his teeth, buzzing and tingling and uncomfortably hot.

He's frustrated.

So he fights. It's the kind of fighting that he won't be proud of, when he looks back on it later. He pulls out every dirty trick, remembers every cruel weak point he's been taught. He aims low, he aims for the throat, he aims thumbs at Bakugou's eyes, he tries to get around behind him to jam his elbow into the spot where his kidneys are.It's low, it's dirty, and maybe he's fighting this way because he doesn't want to fight for real anymore, if he ever did. Fighting Bakugou doesn't make him feel like a hero, because Bakugou has a talent for making him feel low.

He wants to stop this stupid match, he wants to call for Rei, he wants to talk to Tensei or Ms. Shimura or Uraraka or Todoroki or Iida. He wants to not be here anymore, and that—

That isn't fair.

These sparring sessions were supposed to be a break from the pressure of school, a chance to train and practice under friendly eyes, to talk to his friend and make stupid jokes and challenge himself to get Todoroki to crack a smile. They're supposed to be safe, and—

Izuku nearly retches when Bakugou's fist makes full contact with his stomach. While he's bent double, Bakugou grabs him in a headlock, and his vision goes white.

"Give up, Deku," Bakugou hisses, inches from his ear. "You're never gonna catch up, got it? No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, I'm always gonna be better."

Bakugou wrecks everything he touches, but only the things that belong to Izuku. Every milestone Izuku reaches, Bakugou tramples. Every safe place Izuku carves out, he invades.

The arm around his neck tightens. But Izuku isn't choking yet. He can still breathe, just about.

"I said give up, Deku," Bakugou growls, and there are other voices now, calling foul, yelling at Bakugou to stop, but Bakugou ignores them. "I'll let go if you give up. Now say it, you worthless—fffucking god damn it!"

The taste of mingled sweat and blood foul his tongue, and then the arm around his neck is gone, his teeth ache when Bakugou's arm wrenches free, and Izuku find arms holding him back. Dark hair whips against his face—Rei. Rei is standing in front of him, and from the sound of her, she's angry. He isn't sure how strong she's gotten by now, but if Bakugou comes close again, he hates to think of what she'll do.

The fight is over, and Izuku goes limp.

Across from him, Bakugou strains against Kaminari, Sero, and Iida. He's clutching his wrist and glaring at Izuku with raw hatred in his eyes.

"Did you just bite me, shitrag?"

Oh.

Izuku spits into the grass until his mouth is dry. Someone pushes a water bottle into his hand, and he rinses.

"Okay, new rule," Jirou says. "Midoriya and Bakugou aren't allowed to fight each other anymore, because what the hell, you two."

"Sorry." Is he shaking? He hopes he isn't shaking, because there are still people holding on to him—oh, that's Uraraka, and Ojiro, and there's Todoroki stepping in front of him, a physical barrier just in case he or Bakugou try to pick up where they left off.

(It won't be Izuku. Izuku didn't want this fight to happen at all.)

"Y-yes, that was…" Iida releases Bakugou reluctantly, and only when it's clear that he's not going to try to charge again. "I think it would be best if you both avoided sparring in the future."

Uraraka and Ojiro let go of him, and Izuku nearly sags to the ground then and there. He keeps his feet until Tensei appears at his side to steady him, and then he backs out to the edge again. "Sorry," he repeats. "Got carried away, lemme just—" He grabs his phone and nearly drops it twice as he checks it.

They'll have questions. They're all confused and alarmed, he can tell.

Maybe one day he'll find a way to explain things to them. But for now…

"My mom texted," he says, and doesn't even look up to see if anyone believes him. "Sorry, gotta go." Grabbing his things, he leaves the group and the park without a backward glance. No one stops him.

Messages come to him over the rest of the day. He answers none of them. At school, the few attempts to ask him about the incident die away. The group doesn't meet again for the rest of the week, and Izuku trains and studies on his own.

"We've already predetermined who you'll be paired with and which teacher you'll be fighting for this exam," Principal Nedzu explains. "We took into account your grades, your familiarity, and your fighting styles and strategies. The matchups are as follows."

Izuku's heart sinks when Todoroki and Yaoyorozu are paired together for the practical exam. He would have liked to team up with Todoroki—but then, that wouldn't have been much of a challenge. And he's partnered up with Uraraka enough that he doubts they would let them do it again.

Oh, well. There's really only one person he knows he can't work with, what are the odds that—

"Midoriya," Aizawa-sensei says. "You're with Bakugou."

Rei shrieks loud enough that it feels like he's being stabbed in the eardrum, but Izuku simply gives a placid blink as the world comes crashing down around him.