𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - when the heroes are out

May 3, 2XXX

                    𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥. The most acceptable job you could've gotten when Japan was still working its way back to its fullest after the devastating war and you wanted an opportunity to start doing things on your own, the way your Mentor Midnight always convinced you that you were capable of doing. So when the offer came to the new reformed commission with only one president standing in toe, you jumped at the idea and haven't looked back since. 

Missions, moving, work, and family. It was a constant cycle, but one you made work efficiently. Always moving from one place to another when stationed around Japan and always dropping in for important dates when you could to physically be there for your brother, Okada, as he got older. It's the older they get when you don't want to miss them growing up. 

Blink for a second and before you know it...

They're starting UA. They're filling the shoes you couldn't because you were too afraid of the spotlight to be a hero, it's why you went the route of being a stealth hero and even lost all formalities of ever being called one. 

At least to Okada, you knew he saw you as his hero. 

But he was gone, and you had a new mission. 

Auntie Fang was the first owner of the restaurant below your studio—you also rented the studio from her. And when your brother had passed, you blamed it on her mother's intuition that she knew something was wrong the day you walked back to the restaurant, through the kitchen, and up the stairs to your apartment without your usual greetings falling off the tip of your tongue. 

You passed it off as "a death in the family," nothing more. And as pushing as she could be, she didn't push because she knew how closed off you were about your life. 

So when you were walking out of your room today,  the hour close to ten in the morning, and for what felt like the first time in the last month, you had managed to take Aunty Fang by surprise. Auntie didn't make a direct comment at your appearance, but her eyes did when looking you from head to toe. You looked acceptable—not the usual same clothes you probably slept in for three days, or have been washing in the sink just to avoid going to the laundromat. 

In Mandarin, the older lady who was only late into her fifties addressed you from behind the kitchen island. Hands neat at work, folding. and placing—something she's done so many times and had no problem taking her crystal like eyes, that had to be plucked from ancient caves, away from her work to look infront of her . "Good, now you won't scare away my customers ever." 

Nevermind. 

"Good morning to you, too, Auntie." You respond in Mandarin equally as such. were also hands deep into your purse each step you took. Switching between your compact mirror and swatching on [Preferred Color] shade of lipstick. 

With an exaggerated pop of your lips to even the color, you shined your teeth to Auntie Fang when walking in the kitchen. "You look wonderful this morning too, Fang. Are there any specials today?" 

"Only my special urge to not throw you out, truly, how specially kind of me not to do so." Sbe looked away, biting her tongue. Auntie Fang spoke as youthful as she appeared to be, graceful and a light complexion so smooth that had you wondering where you went wrong with your facial routine. Her bob-cut hair also had no imperfection—not gray hair in sight! You swore you pulled a few of your own gray hairs this morning. "You're late on rent again." 

"Is it the 3rd already?!" You said with shock, standing at the other end of the kitchen counter. It was only you two in the kitchen, Auntie Fang's husband was most likely running around doing errands, and her other workers were due to show up soon. "Give me to the middle of the month, I'm so sorry. Time... got the better of me with everything going on, it all went towards the funeral—" It really did. "And right now I'm going to my new job." 

"Ah, you're always gettin' a new job, girl!" Fang grimaced and shook her head. Scoop, fold, place. "I'm amazed you get hired anywhere with how often you get fired. Are you gonna do the same thing when you get married. Get ten hundred divorces?!"

As harsh as the lady could dig into you with her words, you didn't let the wolf keep its teeth latched onto you because there was always so much you could let be known about you—being  perceived as the hopeless, on her own girl, who was always getting a new job was what kept that mysterious cloud about you afloat. It kept you ways a step ahead of everyone else. 

You smiled at her, "I'm just as amazed, myself. It's a miracle that I'm even still alive."

Fang stopped and looked at you, scoffing at your mockery tone. "Your miracle might just be running out. You look sick, girl. Here, eat something so you don't drop dead."

With graceful and quick movements, Auntie Fang poured broth into a tall container with her special soup wontons; with the lid sealed tightly, she practically shoved them into your hands with to-go chopsticks on top. And... 

A fortune cookie. "You'll need it." Was all your elder said. 

Your growling stomach was thanking her for you, "I can't thank you enough, auntie. You've done so much for me, and now you're being so worried about my well-being to not drop dead at my new job. I really appreciate it." 

She scoffed. "I don't want you to drop dead in my restaurant. Go somewhere else and do that. Just get out of here and turn the sign at the front on your way out, Stupid Girl." 

You did as you were told. 

You never drove anywhere, and you had your suspended license to thank for that. It was something you had to check on, that is, considering you forgot about it between missions, and the final year should be wrapping up. You still think Hawks wouldn't be so keen on the idea of you driving when your emotions were in such disarray. 

So you walked everywhere when you weren't taking the bus.

Today, the bus would've been the best option for the spring weather, to not beat the reports foreshadowing this to be one of the coldest spring seasons yet. Taking your leather coat had been the best decision you could've made—second best of course getting food from one of the weirdest living situations you've found yourself in over the years. But you couldn't complain. You enjoyed the banter even if Auntie Fang could be overwhelming at times—the food was great, and rent was cheaper than most places. 

It wasn't like you needed some sort of penthouse. 

Although, looking up as you shoved a hot wonton into your mouth, savoring the flavors unfolding through each chew. There was a part of you that could, just for a second, imagine yourself living on the highest floor of those apartments across the road from you, always being greeted by the bellhop boys, tossing your keys to the vallae. Never would you worry about trashy curtains because at least those windows would have blinds on them(another reason you had black out curtains.) 

But you had to be a hero for those types of things, a rich one. And that life didn't fascinate you as much as it should've. You turned away from the admiration of the tall apartment complex and fell into step amongst the morning rush of Musutafu.  

If there was one thing you could get behind, you do remember UA being this intimidating. The large-scale buildings and arenas stretch far back behind it. The training fields reached so long that it would be nearly impossible to see from the outside gate that was also well above your height. The paint on the gate looked fresh and new, and even without a sign warning you not to touch, you had the natural urge to swipe a finger across the cinder blocks. 

"Hey, I asked for an extra dry martini that long ago." Someone off to the side of you said. 

A boy, or well, kid, had spoken, and it startled you. Even with all your training and awareness, it was a little boy parroting the agent code that shook you to your core. You had gripped the cinder block—shit, it was fresh paint—and remained pressed there to the wall with your hands when looking  over at the blond haired boy, roughly around seven years old, who had a blue binder in his hand. No emotion, he switched sides, and he sucked on the lollipop before speaking.  

"That's wet paint."

"Yeah, well, I noticed that." You grimaced. You were yet to remove your hands. 

"I asked for an extra dry martini that long—" 

You yelled, "I heard you for the first time, kid. I'm late, I know! I had to pick up olives or something, don't you see I'm busy!" 

"I—" The little boy crushed the lollipop with his teeth, "—got places to be, so do you, Agent Mars, this can't take all day. And soon enough, they will realize that their camera feed has been playing the same footage from yesterday." 

You never thought you would see the day a child was ordering you around. To avoid further argument or any chance of this relaying any more than it already will to the commission, you pulled your hands away from the wet paint—sheet white—and with a sour face, you wiped them on your leather coat. Forgive me, coat. 

Your hands were still stained with paint, but you fixed yourself when standing in front of the boy. He didn't seem fazed. 

"Okada's file." He handed you the binder first. Then, he reached into the side pockets of his backpack, taking out two things. A teacher lander yard, with an already made UA teacher  ID attached to it, and a pair of glasses.

Red glasses. 

"Goodbye." The kid was immediately turning around just like that after handing you a newly identical pair of glasses to your former mentores. 

"You're leaving just like that!" You yelled out of confusion. What is the agency teaching them nowadays? 

A purse on your shoulder, and binder tucked under your arms, a lanyard around your neck, and... glasses. Maybe it wasn't obvious your eyesight was deteriorating, Midnight knew about it when you wore her glasses, but this was heavier than you could imagine. 

Placing the frames on your face, you walked up to the keypad at the metal part of the gate, dividing the wet paint cinderwalls that stretch across the school. You flashed your ID across the scan screen and with a click. 

A click from the system and a loud screech as the gates scraped across the cement, you watched as the gates automatically opened inwardly. 

Okay. Yup. This place is still terrifying. 

It felt ironic that there was already oaint under your short nails, where you use to spend days walking the halls of UA covered in rhe primary colors, you find yourself even at a later age still covered in paint. Midnight—your former art and art history teacher—would be laughing at you. 

Crescent remains as you loosen your grip from the blue binder you held and wrap your arms around it instead as a source of comfort, pressing it up to your chest—which was also covered in paint and should have been enough to officially declare you a hazard to anyonr in a five yard radius. 

With your eyes adjusting to the prescription lenses, you were whipping your head back and forth at everything that's changed over the years. While the school was never the same after the war considering it was flown across japan and harboring all off the civilians—you would like to include how that could've caused possibly an extinction level catastrophe, but you didn't want to second guess Mei Hatsume back then—you found some sort of comfort in the warmer feeling that came with stepping down hall. Shadows of heroes across the walls, old and new, and the motto of 'GO BEYOND, PLUS ULTRA!'  was right up there with it.

I would've turned the other way if I saw this place lookin' like this back then. You thought, heels clicking against the wood, casting out the soft echoes into the quiet, sunlit hallway. Morning classes were in session with students of all different grades in their respective classes that had doors practically touching the ceiling. You were guilty of dipping your head to each of the windows on each side of the doors—looking for a glimpse at the life of the students you would be teaching for the next three months until midterms came around.  

You turned down a hall on your left and stopped in the middle of the intersection to get a grip on your stomach that was rolling with distance. You wish you couldn't see so clearly right now. 

Maybe you wouldn't see your brother on a poster plastered across the expanse of the wall, smiling back at you in his student uniform. 

He looked alive and present. Like he was going to step out of the poster at any second and start gossiping about the latest hero drama he has heard, laugh so hard, you and him were both wheezing and holding your stomach with the pain induced humor. 

The pink in Okada's hair was shaved down on the sides, in this photo, that way his natural hair color showed while the rest of his mullet was spiked up with pounds of hair spray to stay in place through the toughest of battles. "You got me the Red Riot Unbreakable hair spray?! I thought it was only sold in Korea! You jerk, this is amazing..."  His voice suddenly sounded so clear in your head. 

The pink was obviously not in Red Riot style—if the name was any give away, but Okada was nothing but if not considerate to to all the heroes he was in love with. His style and great sense of personality from the international hero Red Riot and his favorite color only being associated with none other than Japan's favorite lady: Pinky. They were the best duo, great old friends of yours; and idols of your brother's that became undertones for a growing personality of his but what were the chances you had been overlooking something else this whole time.

Was there more to his eagerness, his determination? Another driving factor tossed into the mix that was the vital cause. 

You turned your head first before your step; staring so hard at a face you were not trying to get attached to was making your breakfast want to come up. 

"Ms. [L/N]. You're late." You were hit with the chill that crept up from the ever recognizable Aizawa Sensei who looked halfway out of his homeroom door. One hand on the inside door frame to brace himself on his good leg, while the other half of his body leaned outwards with the door he gripped at the handle. 

You threw yourself to the furthest wall, pressing your back up against it. Clenching the binder to your chest. Play the part. You reminded yourself.  

"S-Sir," you breathed, calming the rush of your heart. You dipped your head and body low for a halfway bow in the direction of the first year teacher. "I didn't see you there! I'm sorry. Truth is, I didn't know where I was going—actually, I was looking for principal Nezu's office too, but I couldn't find that either, then I thought I turned the wrong way but—" 

"It's fine." You looked up through your red frames, and Aizawa already turned, door wide open for the whole classroom of hero teachers to bear witness to your tardiness. Something told you it wasn't fine. "Just don't let it happen again." 

"Of course, Sir!" You said in a rush that only his well trained ears would've been able to understand the stammer. You straighten your posture and push away from the wall to follow the bob-cut teacher into the room. 

"Please, shut the door behind you, Ms. [L/N]." Principal Nezu address. You smiled with a nod, tucking your binder under your armpit, and closed the door. From behind, you did not miss the softest gasp let out from someone in the dead silent room. Equivalent to a pin-dropping. 

"I understand why Hawks suggest to give you clearance to the art room—a physical portfolio is always preferred, don't you think so, Mr. Midoriya?" Nezu, bringing attention to your tarnished clothing was the least of your worries. All you heard from his comment was the mention to him. 

The mention of a name that made your skin crawl with want, the need to ruin your clothes in another way. Oh how your mind raced to be covered with red instead of wet paint. 

You shut the door with your back to the teachers. "I think it brings a welcoming sense of  fashion that we can all appreciate." Midoriya said. 

"Proving to others that having a strong sense of identity is the first step of overcoming whatever is holding you back," You turned fast on the stilts of your heels. "UA tends to lack in those areas despite loving the sound of your own voice—no offense, Mr. Nezu. But to go beyond, plus ultra, is only something that can truly be said, after a good example has been proven rightfully so, time, and time again." 

Yamada let out a loud laugh from one of the desks he was sitting at with the other teachers lined up with him in the front row. Aizawa was the only one standing in between the desk and seats. Nezu was sitting at the desk close to the door. Ectoplasm and Cementoss were sitting at the middle seats. 

And Izuku fucking Midoriya, was sitting kicked back on the desk. Fingers spread out away from the loose papers in need of grading. And sunken in eyes trained on you and soft, pale lips slightly parted with shock. 

He looked away first.  

"None taken, I can only help to keep finding out new reasons why Hawks has suggested you to help us at this time of need." Nezu said, firm. You wanted to seem more pleased by his assurance but you could only think about how mesmerized you were left by Midoriya's curls; the flutter they had above his shoulders like a satin sheet that casted you out entirely. Covering his face as he looked to the ground now, leaning over the desk just enough to not fall off, but have the world—you—shut away by the blanket called his green curls. 

"It's good to know, Mr. Midoriya and his students will be in good hands for the remainder of this term." 

"What?" Midoriya's shock flared a line of tension in the room. 

Aizawa sighed first. 

"Don't act surprised. I already went over with you that a direct oversight will be carried out in your classroom from now on—" 

"You didn't not say I was going to be monitored. By the commission nonetheless?" 

"Can you calm down for five minutes and not act like a problem child, it's standard protocol, just go along—" 

"Ahh, let's intervene for a second," You grinned and too humming teacher darted their heads toward you. Never would you expect that an angry Aizawa and Midoriya combo would suddenly make you nervous. "I'm actually not from the commission, so don't go shooting the messenger... Ha? Not the time for jokes, right." 

You glanced around at everyone once, "Basically, I'm licensed, I just haven't been working for the last few years as a pro since I've been Hawks secretary. Which is a lot of work, trust me... As Mr. Aizawa mentioned, when there is a death of a student, it is protocol that the teacher affiliated and the school are monitored for a short while. Normally by Internal Affairs but Hawks pulled some strings and got me stationed here; to make things feel more comfortable for the time being." 

You didn't know what was worse, how easy it was for you to lie, or that it didn't bother you.

"Considering my history at the school." The first truth that has managed to leave your lips. 

A tight frown drew across Midoriya's face and he hoped off the desk. A dark brown pants and suit jacket  overlaid his careless wrinkled button shirt he tried to hide by closing one of the middle suit buttons quickly—tucking his red tie under. He snatched his coat off the table, a long, cream color jacket, and made haste to the door you were blocking.  "I've heard enough." 

"You're not dismissed," Aizawa reminded. 

"I got papers to grade." He retorted and only whispered a quiet "excuse me" mere seconds before you could step away to avoid his firm, muscular shoulder that should've thrown you off balance. He threw the door open and left. 

Unto the silent room, you apologize with an "excuse me" before follow close behind your assignment.

He was far ahead, a frustrated hand deep in those silk curls. "I don't care to hear it right now." 

"You entitled jerk," You started.

And he turned only his head for a moment and shrugged his coat on harshly. His glare was cold—a coldness you were able to hlhandle.  

You huffed. "Just because you're bothered and aggravated doesn't mean you get to be an ass, I get it. I put up with assholes all the time and don't want to be here as much as you don't want me her but if you want this to — ahghh!" 

You weren't paying attention when following the teacher. He had turned down a hallway that was the entrance to the cafeteria and without your knowledge, passed a Wet Floor sign. A wet, soapy floor and heels was never a good combo and you went up in the air, tossing the grip on your stuff. 

The contents of your purse spilled and the binder was flat on the ground while you... 

You were pressed up against something strong, off balance but secured by the hold of Midoriya who had his arm wrapped around your back. Large green eyes watched as you slowly blinked into the realization of what just took place and used the palm of your—thankfully dried— paint stained hands to shove his chest away from your face because he smelled to good for looking like an absolute trainwreck. 

You stumbled to your feet, clearing your throat and adjusting your clothes. Except Midoriya had his eyes lower than he should've if he wanted to be respectable. "Yeah, real sense of identity you're gonna be bringing." 

You frowned when he walked away and looked down at... Damn it. 

I WANNA BE SAVED ♡

Izuku Midoriya left you there in the corridor, alone, to gather all your scattered things as the door behind him shut loudly. You think he slammed it in purpose. however, to not put him further on your shit list, you didn't include think to hard on it. 

Item after item, you picked up everything, binder under your armpit and filled up your purse—while being careful how you stepped. That's when you saw Auntie Fangs's fortune cookie on the floor. Leave it to the gluttony filled temptation and desire to remain unharmed in it's clear packaging. 

Guilty that you forgot about it, you knelt to get it and discarded  the wrapper quickly to crack it down the middle with the use of both your hands. 

I can only imagine what it'll be this time, last time she predicted I was going to come in with money and I scored that robbery mission. Though, I didn't make much off of it. You thought this as the anticipation of the fortune was unraveled. 

"You will soon be swept off your feet by someone you once admired." 

Oh what the fuck. 

A/N: Hope you enjoyed ;) don't be a ghost . next chapter soon.