Chapter 56

Afternoon has turned to early evening by the time Shouta catches sight of Midoriya walking back to the dorms. It's actually hours after he should have been back; Midoriya texted him a while ago to let him know that he had fallen asleep on the train and missed his stop. That, and the periodic updates Midoriya had sent on his way back, is the only reason Shouta hasn't raised any alarms.

And so, against all odds, his student has come back in one piece, with no sign of him getting into a fight while Shouta wasn't looking. He is, however, holding a plastic bag from a corner store, and Shouta doesn't recall any mention of a grocery run in Midoriya's updates.

He's about to point this out when he sees the look on Midoriya's face. With a sigh, he intercepts his student before he gets to the door.

"Get those squared away, and then come back," he says. "I'd like a word." If it were anyone else, he would expect nervousness. But Midoriya simply nods and disappears inside.

Shouta takes him to one of the lounge areas in the teacher's dormitory. It's mostly empty, except for All-Might sitting stiffly on one of the couches, and Snipe, who sees Shouta coming and quickly excuses himself. Unlike the students' common rooms, this area is easily closed off for the sake of privacy. They're going to need it.

All-Might sits up a little straighter when he sees Midoriya come in, which is a departure from how cowed he's looked since this afternoon. Shouta doesn't regret any of what he said, but he'd rather All-Might didn't keep cringing at him like he thought Shouta was going to start up that discussion again. He's said his piece, what's done is done, and it's time to move forward now that they're all relatively on the same page.

"What happened after I left Nighteye's office?" Shouta asks bluntly, once they're all settled and alone. With that single question, he has All-Might's full attention.

Midoriya shrugs. He won't look at either of them. "I stayed a little longer and Nighteye sent me home," he says. "Then I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop."

"That's what your text messages said," Shouta replies. "Want to tell me what actually happened?"

This time, Midoriya thinks his answer over before he offers it. "Just a misunderstanding," he says. "It's cleared up now, so there's no point in worrying about it. Am I in trouble for being late?"

"That entirely depends on why you were actually late," Shouta says. Midoriya doesn't answer. "I'm bound to find out eventually. You might as well save us both the time." He frowns. "I was discussing your internship with Nighteye before you arrived. If you're having problems—"

"If I was having problems, it wouldn't matter since my internship's almost over anyway," Midoriya tells him. "Also you didn't have to yell at All-Might for hiding my quirk. He didn't know about it until a month ago."

Shouta raises his eyebrows. It's an abrupt subject change, to show off a bit of knowledge Midoriya shouldn't have. If Shouta didn't know better, he'd say Midoriya was trying to throw him off on purpose. "If you know that much, then you'll know that my main point of contention was his failure to tell me, the person responsible for teaching you and evaluating your abilities, that you were coming to school with a quirk that you'd had for all of two months. I can guarantee that I would have adjusted your education accordingly had I known from the beginning."

"It turned out fine anyway," Midoriya says.

Shouta zeroes in on Midoriya's scarred hand, sharply enough that he knows the boy is following his gaze. "I beg to differ. In any case, it's not a mistake I'll be making again, which is why you're here right now." It's easy to get to Midoriya's level when he's sitting. "I want to know as much about your quirks as I can—and I do mean both of them. All-Might has already told me about the one he gave you. I want to hear about the one you grew up with."

"I told you everything at Nighteye's office," Midoriya says. "I see ghosts, I make them stronger, and with One For All I can make them visible. There's not much besides that."

"It's not on any of your records," Shouta says. "As far as I can tell, you were registered as quirkless until you were fifteen."

"Hard to get registered for a quirk nobody believes is real," Midoriya says flatly.

"Then I take it you haven't seen a quirk counselor about it?" Shouta asks.

Midoriya stops avoiding his eyes and actually looks at him, surprised by the question. "What?"

"All children with quirks go through mandatory quirk counseling in grade school," Shouta says patiently. "Without a registered quirk, you were excluded, correct?"

"Yes," Midoriya says. "But…"

"Have you spoken to a quirk counselor at all about it?" Shouta asks.

Midoriya's face scrunches up in thought. "Um… s-sort of?"

"Elaborate?"

"I mean, he was a quirk counselor," Midoriya says. "I just… I don't think his license was still valid when I talked to him."

"He lost his license?" Shouta asks.

"No, he died."

Shouta closes his eyes and counts to ten. "…Let's back up for a moment." Ask a stupid question—

"What happened with this particular ghost?" All-Might asks, as Shouta tries to get his thoughts together.

"Oh, he's long gone now," Midoriya answers readily. "I met him when I was eight, a little after I… moved schools. I don't really know where he came from, he just showed up one day and started doing counseling sessions with me. He didn't know he was dead, so he was just doing what he was used to, and since I was the only kid who was answering him when he talked, he treated me like a patient."

"That's… rather unconventional," All-Might says. Midoriya gives him a "what do you expect" sort of shrug.

"It did help, in the end," he says. "I mean, I think he did a good job."

Shouta frowns. "How so?"

"Well… ghosts are—I mean, they were —" Midoriya stops. "They're just scary sometimes," he says lamely. "Especially for me, at that point. I just… I was stuck with this quirk that nobody believed I had. I couldn't turn it off. I couldn't make myself not see it. And it was hard. It felt like I was spending every day surrounded by monsters that nobody else could see. Any one of them could hurt me if they wanted, and nobody would be able to do anything about it, and—that scared me."

Shouta has a lot of thoughts. He doesn't voice any of them, but nods for Midoriya to continue.

"They'd show up all the time, without any warning," Midoriya says. "They'd try to talk to me, or grab me. Sometimes they'd go after me if I ran. I hated it, and there was no way to make it stop. But then Karasu-sensei changed things." He pauses, hands tangling in his lap. "He asked me what they wanted."

"What they wanted?" All-Might echoes.

"I didn't know they wanted anything," Midoriya says. "I never thought about it, and it never occurred to me to ask. So I started asking, and it turned out, a lot of them did want things. They weren't trying to hurt me. They were trying to ask for help."

"With what?" Shouta asks.

"Nothing bad, usually," Midoriya answers. "Finding things, passing on messages, stuff like that. But that's not important." He pauses, hair falling into his eyes. "When I knew how to help them, it was a lot easier to see them as people instead of monsters. So I kept doing it." He takes a deep breath. "And that's the real reason why I was late. A ghost needed a favor."

" Midoriya ."

"I didn't go far, just a few of stops down. He lost his wallet." Midoriya averts his eyes and fidgets again. "It helps me to be helpful. It made my quirk less scary, and more… normal. And now, when I'm being helpful, everything feels less scary and overwhelming. It works with helping living people, too."

"Well, I've heard of worse coping mechanisms," All-Might offers.

Midoriya half-smiles at that. "Anyway, that's the closest I ever got to seeing a quirk counselor. Karasu-sensei finally figured out he was dead, too, which helped a lot of things."

"It helped him to know that he was dead?" All-Might asks.

"He thought he was going through a rough patch in his marriage," Midoriya says. "When he found out his wife was only ignoring him because she couldn't see him, it took a lot of weight off his mind."

His eyes flicker toward Shouta's face, wary and watchful, as if keeping a close eye on all of Shouta's reactions. He looks like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Shouta isn't sure what his student expects from him, but it probably isn't anything good.

"One last question," he says. "Does anyone else know?"

"My mom," Midoriya says. "Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki, and… Bakugou. And Sir Nighteye."

Shouta sighs, setting aside his annoyance that several students have been notified before him. "Here's what's going to happen, Midoriya," he says. "Tomorrow, I'm making sure Iida and Yaoyorozu know to put you on extra classroom duty, for your unauthorized excursion today. In the future, if you have any pressing ghost-related issues that need resolving, you will notify me first. If you have any further developments in your quirks—and I do mean either of them—you will notify me as soon as possible. That goes for both of you." He shoots All-Might a sharp look. "I want open communication from now on, and I won't compromise on it. If that's too much to ask, then you should probably find a different place to learn."

All-Might splutters, but Midoriya just looks relieved. "I'm fine with telling you everything," he says. "I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."

"I don't care one way or the other if you're sorry." Shouta gets up from his seat. "Don't ever hide these things from me again. Training from an ignorant teacher with false knowledge about your abilities is worse than no training at all." He holds Midoriya's gaze for a moment longer, until he's satisfied that his student isn't shining him on. "All right, then. Go on, back to your dorm. Get some sleep."

Midoriya complies without any fuss, and Shouta can only hope for the best, at least for now. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it have a good night's rest.

"You didn't press him on what happened with Nighteye," All-Might says, once Midoriya is out of earshot.

"Today has been a day for frankly unprecedented honesty from him," Shouta says dryly. "I'm not about to press my luck and risk having him shut down again. I'll keep an eye on the situation." He sits down with a heavy sigh. "I had a feeling he'd be the problem child of the class, you know. I just never realized how much."

All-Might opens his mouth to reply, but a whisper cuts him off. Shouta doesn't recognize the voice, only barely registers it as a woman's, warm and amused.

" The best ones always are, wouldn't you agree? "

When he glances at All-Might, confused, the other man looks as if…

Well. He looks as if he's seen a ghost.

Nighteye mentioned hell freezing over when they last met, but the last thing Toshinori ever expects is to look down at his ringing phone and see his old friend's name on the incoming call screen.

Pure, habit-driven instinct has him answering before his thoughts reach his hand. If Nighteye calls, then he has to answer, he has to know what's wrong, he has to help —

He forces those feelings down. Nighteye hasn't called him for something like that in a long time.

Silence meets his slightly stammered greeting. This is unusual; Nighteye prefers not to waste time when making phone calls. He was like that even before their falling-out.

At last, Toshinori hears a quiet breath, then—

" Yagi ."

Toshinori's pulse jumps. It's the name, to start—a middle ground between the formality of addressing him by his hero name, and the closeness of first-name basis they once shared.

Since he first got in touch with Toshinori to inform him about Mirio, Nighteye has been… polite. He hasn't been hostile, but his every word has pressed distance between them. Toshinori doesn't blame him. He set that distance himself by walking away six years ago. He has no one to blame for that but himself, which doesn't make it hurt any less.

But in two syllables, Nighteye brings back the open, raw emotion that he let show the last time they spoke face to face. It's not a happy emotion, but—

"Is something wrong?" There must be something wrong, for Nighteye to sound like this when speaking to him, instead of aloof and formal.

" If it's not too much of a bother, " Nighteye says, " can we talk? "

Toshinori knows better than to press him for details over the phone. "Of course," he says, and to his own ears he sounds pathetically hopeful. Their last conversation didn't end the way he would have wanted, but maybe now… "I'm free right now, if that's best." It's technically true. It's a school day, but Toshinori isn't scheduled for any classes today. "Where would you like to meet?"

Silence meets his question again. Then—

" I could come to you? "

"Are you sure?" He would have thought—things aren't even close to back to normal, they've played it safe by phoning each other from a distance or choosing neutral ground.

" I honestly don't care where we meet, " Nighteye says wearily. " I just want to talk. "

This has something to do with whatever happened yesterday. It had to be something; Izuku has dodged every question about it, but Toshinori knows that something shook him enough make break school rules for a coping mechanism. Something went wrong and now Nighteye wants to talk.

The hope that rises within him is sweet and merciless. "You could come around to UA," he offers. "I'll arrange a visitor's pass for you. Give me a few minutes, and I'll call you back."

" Thank you, " Nighteye says, and sounds like he means it.

A quick call to Nedzu secures him the pass, and he calls Nighteye back to tell him he's clear to come, though he's fairly sure Nighteye is already on his way. He never did like to waste time.

"I'll meet you outside the south side gate," Toshinori tells him. "It's closest to the faculty dorms. The other teachers don't get in until late, so we won't be disturbed."

" Is there any chance of us running into students along the way? " Nighteye asks.

"Maybe some upperclassmen?" On a hunch, Toshinori adds, "If you're asking about young Midoriya specifically, then no. He's on classroom duty today, so he's not likely to be wandering around."

" Ah. Good. "

"Good?"

" We …" Nighteye sighs. " We didn't part on a good note yesterday. If he were to see me now, it would only be an intrusion. I'd rather avoid that. "

"I see," Toshinori says with a sinking heart. "Well. I'll see you soon, then." He hangs up, sets the coffee maker in the faculty dorm's shared kitchen, and heads out to wait.

Nighteye has no right to be here.

He's not being dramatic when he thinks that; being here, in Toshinori's presence, in his space, is a privilege and not a right. If he hadn't lost that right before, then he certainly has after yesterday. If he'd been more clear-headed he would have done what Toshinori had done and picked out somewhere comfortable and neutral for both of them.

But that's the problem, isn't it. He's not clear-headed. It feels more and more like he hasn't been in a long time. The only thing he's sure of is that Toshinori helps, and Nighteye loses nothing by asking.

Things aren't all right. Nighteye isn't all right. And the best cure he's ever known for not being all right is "Talk to Toshinori". Nighteye does his best to make things better for others, to keep spirits up and leave people better than he found them. He gives his all and still falls short, while Toshinori has always done it without even trying.

And so, here he sits with a mug of freshly-brewed coffee, looking across the table to his former friend and wondering how to tell him about his colossal failure.

"Nighteye—"

"I fucked up," Nighteye says, and winces.

"Oh," Toshinori says, blinking in surprise and a little bit of dread. "Deja vu."

"What?"

"It's not important," Toshinori says, shaking his head. "What happened , Nighteye? I know that Izuku was upset about something when he got back yesterday, but he wouldn't say why."

That ought to be a boon, that Toshinori doesn't know. It means this is the first he's hearing about it, and Nighteye can control the narrative if he wants. But that's not why he's here. He needs help, not validation. He needs the truth, no matter how unpleasant, and he can only have that if he offers it first.

So he does. He picks it out, piece by piece, and lays it bare at Toshinori's feet.

Toshinori's eyes are closed by the time he's finished. "Oh, Nighteye ," he says. He doesn't sound angry, as Nighteye had feared. He just sounds disappointed, which is somehow even worse. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"I don't know," Nighteye admits. "I don't know what I was thinking. I can only conclude that I wasn't." He covers his face with his hand, pushing his glasses aside to massage the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "You were right, Toshinori, I didn't understand." He winces when he realizes what he just said; the name had slipped out so easily.

Toshinori, at least, doesn't seem to notice. "I should have told you," he says quietly. "I told his mother I'd be willing to lay down my life for Izuku if necessary—" Nighteye flinches. "—and she made me swear that I wouldn't. I spoke to her again after he told me the truth about his quirk. She said that dying was the cruelest way I could possibly hurt him." He purses his lips with disapproval. "Did you bother to ask him about his quirk before you threw out accusations like that?"

No anger, only cold disappointment. Nighteye grinds his teeth as the knife in his belly twists, but he doesn't complain. He doesn't have a right to, when this whole mess was entirely avoidable. "What do you want me to say?" he bursts out. "That I hurt and belittled a boy that I was supposed to be helping? That I've been terrified and angry for the past six years, and I took it out on him? That's what happened." His throat threatens to close off. "I can't justify that. I don't have any excuse. I don't want an excuse. I want to make it right."

He stops, then, leaning on the table in front of him more heavily than he was before. He's tired, he thinks. He's been tired for years, and now he's starting to wonder if Midoriya Izuku is even the first person he's made to suffer for it.

"That boy means a lot to you," he says. "Doesn't he."

Even without looking at Toshinori's face, Nighteye can feel the weight of his attention. "How much does Togata Mirio mean to you?"

How is he supposed to answer that? How is he supposed to describe the feeling of teaching someone—of dipping his hands in and helping to shape someone's future? How can he possibly put that kind of raw relief and catharsis into words?

Toshinori must take his silence as an answer, because he laughs softly at whatever expression is on Nighteye's face. "I always thought you'd make a good mentor if you put your mind to it," he says. "Glad to know I was right."

"I don't feel like one at the moment," Nighteye says, still staring down at his coffee. Before he knows it, Toshinori's hand is stretching into his line of vision, covering one of his.

"None of that, now," Toshinori says, gently stern. "Self-flagellation won't help anyone, least of all young Midoriya. Believe me, I should know." Nighteye reluctantly raises his eyes to Toshinori's face, questioning. "Remember when I mentioned deja vu? Well, I was an utter novice of a teacher when I took him on, and I still consider myself a novice now. You think I haven't made my own mistakes? I let him injure himself repeatedly while he was learning how to control One For All. Several times now, I've forced him to work with someone who hurt and abused him in the past. I didn't know that at the time, but there was ample warning that I either didn't notice or actively ignored."

Nighteye thinks back to a conversation with Mirio, about teenage boys doing their best and feeling alone, he wants to prove himself but he's also desperate to find someone who understands what he's going through. He had asked for Mirio's input from his own mouth, and then brushed it off a moment later. "How do I fix this?" he asks.

"Be better ." Toshinori gives his hand a squeeze. "Be better than you were before. Everything you just told me, about how wrong you were and how much you regret it and wish you'd done it differently? Tell that to him, and then honor your own words. That's all you can do."

"Right." It's obvious. Or at least it should have been obvious. Maybe if he'd been thinking straight instead of slipping into self-flagellation, he would have come to that on his own. "Right, sorry, I don't know why I didn't think of that myself."

Toshinori sighs. He doesn't sound disappointed anymore. "You always did get lost in your own head when things went wrong."

"I guess I haven't changed much." When he says it out loud, it feels distressingly true. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not proud of how I've been living these past years, either," Toshinori says.

Nighteye hears the olive branch and knows it for what it is. He's not sure that it would be right to accept it, after all this time, but… "I think we were each other's impulse control back then." He hates this, hates the feeling of walking on eggshells around someone he used to know so well. "Between my habit of overthinking and…"

"And mine of not thinking at all," Toshinori finishes for him. His hand doesn't leave Nighteye's. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Since we last did… this. The talking. It always helped before."

The memory squeezes Nighteye's chest like a vice. "It did," he says and the simple truth eases the pain. "I've missed it. I know, it's my own fault, but…"

Toshinori's hand squeezes his again. "I wasn't listening."

Nighteye looks up at him, surprised.

"I got caught up in my own head, in my own fear and despair, and I was so terrified of no longer being useful that I stopped listening to reason, I stopped listening to you, I just…" His voice trails off. "I stopped listening ."

A short, breathless wheeze of laughter escapes Nighteye. "Yes… I think I did all of that, too." He'd left, after all. Midoriya Izuku hadn't meant any of it at the time, but there had been some truth to it. He'd left, and he'd been too prideful to try to reach out on his own without pulling together some grand gesture, like finding a successor for him.

Toshinori purses his lips. "I don't know if I ever held that against you, but for whatever it's worth, I forgive you," he says. "Whether or not you forgive me is your business, but I'd like it very much if you could forgive yourself."

Nighteye doesn't know what to say to that. It's far too gentle for what he came here expecting. He's so caught up in trying to come up with a response that he doesn't notice Toshinori get up until his old friend is already next to him, drawing him into a hug. As easily as if the past six years never happened. For Nighteye's part, it's as awkward and borderline-frightening as the first time he ever did it.

"Of course," Toshinori goes on, without letting go. "That's just where I'm concerned. You said something very hurtful to Izuku, and he's not as good at hiding it as he thinks he is. If you don't make things right with him—or if you don't even try—well. I'm not sure I could forgive that. So keep that in mind."

"I'll talk to him," Nighteye promises.

"Good."

It's frightening, how much he'd forgotten how to feel safe.

Chuuza Junko is a lifesaver.

The fact that she's a villain (former villain?) isn't too much to get past. Okumura was one, too, and there were many others besides. Villains die just like everyone else, they have regrets just like everyone else, and Chuuza puts hers to good use.

With her help, Izuku has a better idea of how Overhaul's operation works, and that means he can go out and ask better questions. She's not the only dead yakuza underling unhappy with the current regime; there are plenty of malcontents who are only too happy to offer up information on Overhaul, his circle, and their current plans.

"Thank you for trusting me," Chuuza tells him one day, as he compiles more information to deliver to Nighteye.

"Thank you for helping me," he answers. "And for helping Eri."

The ghost hums quietly. "It's strange, spending time around people like you."

"People like me?" Izuku asks.

"People who care about little girls like Eri," Chuuza says. "People who would risk so much, just for the sake of a single child."

"No child deserves to grow up in pain and fear," Izuku says, turning back to his notes. "One of the many reasons I'm going to be a hero."

"It's not about what's deserved," Chuuza says. "It's about what matters, in the grand scheme of things. A single child in a big, rotten world."

"Well, that's what a person is, isn't it? A world," Izuku says, closing his notebook. He has permission from Aizawa to pay a visit to Nighteye's agency. If he hurries, he can make the early train. "Memories, and thoughts, and feelings. Hopes and dreams and stuff. So if I save one person, it's like I'm saving a whole world."

"Imagine saving a whole world's worth of people, then," Chuuza muses.

"That's the plan." Izuku heads out the door. "I mean it, though. Thank you. I don't know if I could've gotten this much without you."

The ghostly woman smiles. "It's worth it," she tells him. "I never thought I'd ever have a chance to make things right."

The trip to the agency is uneventful; too soon, Izuku finds himself walking into the familiar building, steeling himself for an awkward, hopefully brief conversation.

He means to leave his notes on Nighteye's desk and leave, so of course, as he's turning away, Nighteye says, "Just a moment."

Izuku tries not to sigh. Rei gives Nighteye's desk lamp a casual swipe, making it flicker violently. Izuku can see Nighteye give a quick glance around, as if looking for the ghost responsible for it.

"Yes, Sir?" he says, a little reluctantly. He wants to leave. He's still mortified about the last time they spoke.

It takes surprisingly long for Nighteye to start speaking again. His hands are clasped in front of his face, his eyebrows drawn together in a pinched frown. More than once Izuku sees him open his mouth, close it again, and keep frowning.

He's considering the pros and cons of simply backing out and leaving when Nighteye finally speaks. "There are things that—" he stops. "What I mean to say is, it's difficult to explain…" Two false starts, then a third. Izuku sneaks a glance at Rei. She looks less than impressed.

"…I owe you an apology," Nighteye says at last.

"Don't hurt yourself," Izuku says dryly, then winces at his own loose mouth. Stupid comments at least half the reason things ended up the way they did.

So he's a little surprised when Nighteye kind of laughs.

It's only kind of, not a real laugh with happiness behind it, just a quiet huff of breath with something like bitter amusement. But it's also a far cry from the unimpressed silence from the first day they had met. It isn't a laugh, but it isn't not a laugh, either.

"I suppose I deserve that," Nighteye says.

Oh, hell, this is actually happening. "Sir, you don't have to..."

"I do, actually," Nighteye says firmly. "I really do. It's difficult for me not because you don't deserve it, but because I honestly don't know where to begin."

"Look, it doesn't matter, okay?" Izuku averts his eyes. "It's not like I told you why I picked you for an internship. That was my fault—"

"This isn't about what you wanted from me, or my ability to read between lines," Nighteye tells him. "This is about—" He stops again, eyes closed. "This is about you deserving better from me in general. Not as a supervisor. Not even as a question of professionalism. Just… basic decency."

"What does any of this have to do with basic decency—"

"Because —" Nighteye stops, clamping down on what may be a flash of temper, or embarrassment, or… Izuku isn't sure. He doesn't have Rei's empathy quirk. The hero's fingers drum on his desk until the sudden flare of emotion calms again. "I… have not dealt with you fairly, Midoriya. I have been dead set against you from the start, and I have been more focused on proving a point than making your internship useful for either of us—proving it to whom, I have no idea, but that's not important." He shakes his head. "I've been taking six years of unresolved conflict out on you, and that was wrong. You deserve far better, and it shouldn't have taken so much for me to see what I was doing. It should never have gotten that far."

Izuku stares at the floor as Nighteye falls silent, and he realizes distantly that it's probably his turn to say something. He wishes he knew what—it's not that his mind is blank, just that he's too busy squirming with discomfort to think of the proper response.

He's still not used to grown-ups with pulses apologizing to him and meaning it. Maybe he never will be.

At last, he offers a "Thanks. It's… thanks." He can't say it's okay, because it's not. But Nighteye's sorry, and maybe he's even not going to do it again, and that's a little better than having to grit his teeth and put up with bad blood like he's been doing.

Nighteye nods, clears his throat, and shuffles through some papers on his desk. "I did have something else to discuss with you," he says. "When I first put you on leave, I did specify a set period of time, which is coming to an end soon."

Izuku stands a little straighter. "I can go back to active duty?" His internship is nearing its end, but it's better late than never.

"Provided you pass a psych evaluation first," Nighteye says. "For your own good, more than anyone else's."

"That's fair," Izuku says, hiding his reluctance.

Nighteye levels a steady stare at him. His earlier awkward humility is gone. "You're sure? After what happened with Compress, I wouldn't blame you for needing more time."

More time, as if Izuku has been sitting around twiddling his thumbs since he got taken off active duty. As if Nighteye doesn't know perfectly well that he hasn't. "I'm sure," he says. "I want to see this through."

Nighteye holds his gaze for a moment more before nodding. "I'll let Eraserhead know, then."

"Aizawa-sensei?"

"Most experienced underground heroes are trained to give such evaluations," Nighteye says. "And it will make things a great deal less complicated if we're all on the same page, regarding quirks."

"Understood." Izuku hesitates. "Thank you, Sir Nighteye." His eyes flicker toward the empty spot on the shelf in the far corner. "Sorry about your snow globe."

Nighteye waves off the apology and sends him on his way.

"Well that could've gone a lot worse," Nana says, a little too brightly. "Considering where it started."

"He didn't say anything about what I said before," Izuku muses, clipping on an wireless earpiece so he won't get weird looks from the other train passengers.

"How do you mean?"

"About… why I picked him," Izuku says. "What I wanted his help with."

"Ah." Nana nods. "You expected him to offer to make up for it? Invite you to ask for his advice on how to deal with seeing things no one else can?"

"I don't know if I expected it." Izuku purses his lips. "I just…"

"Did you want him to offer?"

"No," Izuku says decisively. "Definitely not. It would've been weird. After everything that's happened… I don't know, I can't just talk about that with him." That would be delving into some very heavy, very personal business, and Izuku… can't. He just can't, not with Nighteye. It's one thing to talk to Todoroki, who exudes security like an aura, or All-Might who's shared secrets with him from the start, or even Aizawa-sensei who's been as steadfast and trustworthy a teacher as Izuku ever could have hoped for. Nighteye isn't any of those things.

Yet, a small voice suggests.

"Well then," Nana says with a smile. "There you are. Sir Nighteye's a lot of things, but he isn't stupid. He's bound to realize all that, and after everything that's happened, he'd be an arrogant idiot to try to push forward anyway." She drapes a pale arm over Izuku's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "If I were in his position, I'd let you set the pace, so maybe that's what he's doing. Go at your own speed. Or don't go at all—your internship's almost over, and then you'll never have to talk to him again if you don't want to. You have time to decide, kiddo."

That's the most comforting thing Izuku has heard all day.

"I need you to understand something," Shouta says as he signs off on Midoriya's psych evaluation.

His student's eyes flicker down to the forms, as if double-checking to make sure he really has passed, and Shouta really is approving it. He meets Shouta's eyes again warily.

"I don't like this," Shouta goes on. "If I could have my way, you wouldn't be directly involved in what comes next." He knows a little of what Nighteye has planned, and it's not a bad plan—Nighteye's never are—but it is a dangerous one. "You would have more time off from field work, and proper counseling." The boy winces. "But," Shouta continues wearily. "I know you too well."

He braces himself for a snide remark, maybe something about how he didn't know Midoriya nearly as well as he thought he did, but Midoriya stays silent.

"You were taken off duty by your supervisor, and your response was to follow his orders to the letter and still involve yourself so deeply in this mess that I genuinely wouldn't know how to start extracting you from it."

Midoriya has the nerve to suppress a smile at this.

"I'm in a tough position, now," Shouta tells him. "I always know that I can't protect my students from the world, but… you have access to a world that I can't even touch. For all I know, if I were to deny you this, they could give you a dozen different ways to go behind my back and put your safety on the line anyway, and I'd be helpless to stop you. So. To save us both the trouble, I'll clear you for field work, and make sure that when you inevitably start summoning ghosts, you're at least somewhere I can keep an eye on you."

He slides the forms across to Midoriya and holds his gaze for a moment.

"Got it, Problem Child?"

Sir Nighteye stands before a meeting room crowded with heroes. His own sidekicks are present, as well as Mirio and Midoriya. Seated beyond them are the rest of his growing operation. Eraserhead slouches in his seat close by. Fatgum is there with two of his own interns: Mirio's friend Suneater, and Red Riot who made a name for himself apprehending a man wielding both the Trigger drug and Overhaul's quirk-canceling serum. Ryukyu the Dragon Heroine is here as well, with her interns Uravity and Froppy, two of UA's brights up-and-comers; all in all, a decent showing from UA's hero students past and present.

The time for waiting and planning is rapidly drawing to a close. The information from both Nighteye's usual channels and now Midoriya confirm it. Part of Nighteye dreads the inevitable clash, and an equal part of him is relieved that it will soon be over, one way or another.

He's been outlining their situation for the past twenty minutes, and the faces watching him hold nothing but determination for the task ahead. He wouldn't have chosen these people otherwise.

"The problem is that Overhaul's factions are growing in reach," he says. "They may not have the social power they once did, but they do have connections, and access to vital information. That's the hazard of an enemy that falls out of the public consciousness and survives underground. What's more, their alliance with the League of Villains is confirmed, and while All For One is no longer in the picture, we still don't know what resources they've retained."

"Meaning they'll eventually find out where we're keeping the girl," the hero Rock Lock says. He's been tense for the whole meeting, and Nighteye doesn't wonder why. The man has a baby at home, after all.

"Wrong," Nighteye says. "They already know. At this point her greatest defense is that they can't reach her. But our sources indicate that Overhaul is amassing what power he does possess, and positioning his pieces around her location. We're doing our best to keep him away from the most strategic positions, but in regards to his making a move to recapture Eri… it's a question of when, not if." Nighteye presses his glasses back into place. "In fact, it's not even that, anymore. Sources that I can't name have narrowed down the date on which he'll attack." Spies who can only be detected by one person are terrifyingly useful. They are very lucky that Midoriya Izuku is devoted to being a hero.

"Let me guess," Eraserhead says flatly. "This means we can't move her, either."

Nighteye nods grimly. "Not without risking open war in the streets. And besides, if we move her then it gives them an opportunity to follow and eventually find the next place we hide her, and the next…" The line of his mouth tightens. "Please keep in mind. This is a child. A six-year-old girl. To spend her childhood locked away or on the run… that is no way to grow up. This stops here, and it stops now, while we have enough information to counter their invasion."

"Here, here!" Fatgum calls out. A few others echo the cry.

"That's all very well," Ryukyu says. "But how, exactly, do we plan on countering it? If his forces are spread out, then attacking them all at once seems difficult without risking them communicating with each other." Her eyes narrow. "The two-pronged strategy at Kamino was complicated enough, and we all know the price that carried."

Three interns wince: Midoriya, Kirishima, and Uraraka. Ryukyu must not know that her own intern was involved more directly in Kamino than she ought to have been, or else she might not have spoken of it so lightly.

"We won't be launching an attack," Nighteye said. "Overhaul will. Right into a trap of our own making."

Silence falls over the room as the gathered heroes mull over his words. The only one who doesn't look thoughtful is Midoriya, doubtless because he already knows exactly what Nighteye is talking about.

"Wait," Rock Lock says, eyes narrowing. "Are you telling me we're setting a trap for villains, and using a little girl as bait?"

"I'm saying that we're mounting a defense instead of an offense," Nighteye tells him. "The villains will come, that much is clear. But thanks to our intel, we know when, where, and how, and will therefore be ready."

Rock Lock scowls. Nighteye doesn't blame him; there's no such thing as a perfect plan, and there's plenty that Nighteye doesn't like about this particular one.

But it's the only one that has any hope of guaranteeing both victory and finality.

"Nervous?" Nighteye asks, before Mirio has left for the day.

"No more than usual," his protege says brightly. "You always come up with the best strategies, Sir."

From anyone else, such a statement would sound like flattery. From Mirio it sounds like a simple fact. Nighteye isn't sure how he does it, but everything Mirio says sounds like that. If it comes out of Mirio's mouth, it's straightforward, honest, and uncomplicated. Nighteye knows for a fact that it's not something Mirio ever learned from him.

"I'm glad you and Midoriya are getting along," Mirio continues blithely, either missing or pretending not to notice Nighteye sputter over it. "I was a little worried for a while, but. Better late than never, I guess."

"Yes, well," Nighteye says at length. "Things got out of hand, I'll admit. But I came to realize that I wasn't taking your advice, even though I had asked for it in the first place."

"Oh." Mirio's cheeks darken. "Oh, I'm sure I didn't—I mean, anyone could've—"

"Don't let me catch you selling yourself short," Nighteye says in a mock-scolding tone.

Mirio grins. "Right. Sorry, Sir, won't happen again." He shrugs into his jacket. "Do you need anything from me before I go?"

"Not that I can think of," Nighteye replies. "Go, before you miss a curfew."

"Thanks, Sir. Oh, I almost forgot—my internship for the term is almost up, but is there still space for winter?"

Nighteye frowns. "You're sure you should be worrying about that? That's the last term before you graduate. You'll want to focus on exams, I would think."

"Oh, I will be." Mirio smiles ruefully. "If I can't manage to get an internship, that'll be all I do. Our teachers are already starting to drop hints about drilling us, and I'll need to break it up with something I love doing, or I might just crack. Please? If nothing else, it'll remind me why all the cram sessions are worth it."

For a moment, Nighteye can only gape at him. He wasn't expecting an honest-to-goodness heartfelt conversation today. He isn't at all prepared.

Mirio's grin turns impish. "Did I lay it on too thick?"

"Little bit." Nighteye takes the offered chance to spin it into something flippant. "I mean, really. As if you would have any trouble managing to convince pro heroes to work with you."

His protege beams. "Well, I learned from the best."

"Bah." Nighteye returns to his papers. "You're always welcome here. You know that. And I'm sure you don't need my help filling out the paperwork."

"I'm serious," Mirio says earnestly. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you, Sir."

"You made it this far because you made the effort," Nighteye says, trying to match the matter-of-fact simplicity that Mirio wields so easily. "I didn't force that from you. You did that all on your own."

It's only as the words leave his mouth, that he realizes how incredibly, bewilderingly true they are.

Mirio is going to be a great hero—though that was never in question. But he's come so far in the short time that Nighteye has known him, from a boy who could barely control his own quirk to a masterful combatant with or without it. And he's done it through his own desire, his own will to keep moving forward and fighting and striving—his own, and no one else's. He's never needed anyone's power but his own.

Mirio's going to be a fantastic hero, without One For All. That was always going to be true. He doesn't need Foresight to know that. He can see it unfolding right in front of him; he's seen it every day since the moment he first laid eyes on him.

His protege leaves for the day, heedless of what he might have had in a future that never was, unaware of Nighteye's quite little revelation. Nighteye smiles over his work as something settles within him, something very much like peace.

For the first time in six years, the path ahead is clear.

Everyone and everything is precisely where they need to be. The future is theirs to shape, and they're going to make it a bright one.