Fucking Christ! I swear to Asmodeus this took me waaaayyy longer than it really, really should have. Everything's been going to utter shit since C-19 hit the world. Delay after delay after fucking delay -

But! No more delays!

We're BACK BABY! WHOOO!

Finally, Finally, Book 2 of The Nightmares of Alamir is out on Amazon after nearly two weeks of COVID related delays. "Janus and The Prince" is here and ready and you can find the link on my profile! YES! Any support you can give to the book would be very, tremendously much appreciated.

Thank you for your patience and support through these past several months, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you guys!

So, back to our favorite not-quite-sociopath story. To be honest, I've been having a blast re-imagining slightly more competent versions of every character in the MHA universe, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

A Precise Note

The emptied aluminum-can landed in the trash, reverberating the echo of metal against plastic. "I remember."

"How was it?" came the girl's question. Tittering with enough excitement to send a flitter of discomfort down his stomach.

The event hadn't started, and everyone was looking to pass time. As always, the easiest ice-breaker was Quirks. Their functions. Their abilities. Their origins. Interesting stories behind them, funny relatable moments growing up. You were popular if you had a powerful quirk. Popular if you had a risqué quirk. Popular if you had a quirk that was simply aesthetically pleasing to the eyes or senses.

"Fine." The word slipped from his lips. The excitement died from her brown eyes with painstaking apparentness.

"Just fine?"

His mind made to form a scathing response, but his lips never had the chance. Another girl approached, almost nearly identically similar to the disappointed one. "Ignore her," the objectively smarter girl said.

"Nee-san, come on – his Quirk, I mean, it's –"

"One more word and I'm shaving our head."

"Y-you wouldn't dare –"

"Keep talking and those dreams of wild hair-pulling flings you keep having are going to remain just that."

The first girl groaned. "Ugh. I hate you." She stuck her tongue out. "Spoilsport."

The first girl wandered off, mingling with individuals in the crowd. She approached another boy, around his age. Awkwardly talking to a hamster on his shoulder, huddled quietly, he jumped out of his skin once the annoying girl snuck up on him. A small swarm of insects arrived with astounding speed, forming a protective barrier.

"That dolt…" the girl in front of him sighed. "Sorry about my sister. She's…" she looked for a word, it seemed, that would properly encapsulate all she wanted to say. She didn't succeed.

He tilted his head, slowly, in understanding. He tilted his brow, a second later, when the girl 'yelped' cursing underneath her breath. A small trail of marks appeared on her arm. Insect bites, he observed. Insect bites, but yet, no insect in sight. He stared, for a few seconds, and she caught his stare.

"Ah," an awkward laugh escaped from her lips. "Don't worry, I'm used to it." She cleared her throat. "At least we aren't joined at the hip y'know? I heard it's a thing. Twins born with the same body. Conjoined twins, I think?" She shuddered. "Now that would be the real nightmare."

He allowed himself, a small, noncommittal grunt.

"Wow, calm down, we've barely just met and you're giving me so much personal details."

"What do you want?"

She crossed her arms. "Your name, for starters."

"I'm not here to make friends."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm asking for your name, not your eternal loyalty."

He let his gaze stare on her for a few seconds. "Shinso." He allowed. "Shinso Hitoshi."

The recognition flashed in her eyes. She tried to hide it. "See, that wasn't so hard?" She said, smiling at him. "To think the 'Emperor of Nabu Middle School' could be such a friendly guy."

His fingers twitched. His mouth, moistened and dried, his tongue quickened and slowed, his brain worked fast, and yet slow, all to consider his next words – his next action.

"Whoa, whoa, relax," she rose her hand up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not looking for trouble. My sister and I are here, just like you, just like everyone, for the same reason. We aren't… enemies."

The girl's gaze flickered, darting to him, and then back to her sister. The tiny hamster on the boy with the rock-head gnawed on her sister's index finger, and he watched as an identical wound appeared on that of the girl. She gritted her teeth, giving him a faint, clearly displeased smile.

"On second thought, consider her your enemy. I really would appreciate it if someone could whisper into her ear to make her stop doing stupid things for just one second."

She sucked on her bleeding finger, before sighing. "Sorry Hitoshi-san, give me a minute."

She stalked off, muttering under her breath before punching her sister in the arm. Shinso's eyebrow quirked as both girls flinched simultaneously. A small, odd bickering session of pinches and hard pats ensued, which ended abruptly as soon as one girl slapped the chest of the other. Both stalked off in the same direction immediately after, clutching their arms around their chests, and still bickering.

The sight amused him, along with several others who'd gathered in this strange, odd place. His amusement died not long shortly, as he remembered what brought him here, and remembered what'd been the words that put him off against the younger of the two twins.

"Do you remember when you first activated your quirk?"

She'd asked him. Such an innocuous question.

As if he could forget.

He remembered the day. The moment. Vividly, burned into the back of his memory with laser-like precision. Whenever he closed his eyes, his mind could replay the imprint of that moment. Of those uncertain, dangerous few seconds.

He remembered the hospital, the Doctor's room, the nauseating stench of artificial cleanliness and bleach. The sterile air and silent, quiet tension.

"T-that – that can't be right," his mother had said. He remembered how she clutched her purse, both hands shaking, as her eyes darted from his father to the doctor. "That – that can't be right at all. I'm – I – I – no – no, I don't believe it."

She'd stammered, repeating over her words. His father had placed his hands into a steeple. He was silent. Unnervingly, frighteningly silent.

"Pardon me, Shinso-san," the Doctor had said. He adjusted his round brimmed spectacles, lightly brushing aside his comical mustache on his portly figure. "But surely you must have noticed something before now? Incidents that seemed to… resolve themselves easily? Or perhaps certain requests being accepted more likely than not?"

"I –" his mother had licked her lips. "I assumed – I mean – I – I was always fairly attractive growing up – so – so I always just assumed –" her lips pressed tightly together. Her head, slowly, fell into her hands. "Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Maruta-sensei," his father's voice had come out. Cold. Stern. "Are you certain of what you're saying?"

He remembered how the doctor had adjusted his spectacles with a single push of his index finger. "Absolutely."

"Honey, listen – believe me, I – I didn't know. I – I swear I didn't know. I –"

"Nine years." His father had said. "For nine years. Since we met in High School. I always wondered… always wondered… why I could never say no to you."

He remembered his mother's voice breaking. "I – I swear I didn't know –"

He remembered his father snarling. "How can you not fucking know you have a quirk?!"

He remembered, he could not forget, that it was first time he'd heard Shinso Kagayaki swear. The first time his father rose to his feet, eyes brimming with the flames of hatred. Love, easily, so ever easily, morphed into utter detestation.

It wasn't his fault. Nor was it his mother's fault. That lying bitch or that manipulative slut as were the names that his father had deemed her over the years. Somehow, his father failed to believe that his mother never knew about her quirk. Shinso wasn't certain who he believed either. A part of him remembered her innocent plea, the eyes that looked up at him, begging for support. Then, he'd heard her words, softly, slithering into his mind.

Believe me. Please.

Believe me.

Believe me.

"Did you know?"

It was a simple question. One question. One moment. One second. His mother's eyes changed. His father's breath stilled. The doctor, twirled his mustache with above-average professional disinterest. The seconds that followed that single question he'd uttered had rippled across his life far faster and far more chaotically than he'd anticipated.

She never answered. At the time, his quirk couldn't do such a thing. She hadn't known that, then. That he couldn't make a person answer questions. He wondered, if things would have gone differently, had she known that fact. Had she, tried, so desperately, to not answer those three words.

"Hallo everyone!"

Two words uttered from the center stage broke him from his reverie. The lights in the hall finally flickered on, one-by-one, one after the other. The stage was elevated, and atop it, stood a weird, morphing wisp of purple-darkness in the form of a person. Dressed in an elegant suit, his gloved hands tapped and adjusted the microphone for the person who stood beside him, looking even far stranger than the man who was a purple wisp.

The man had an assortment of hands on his face and body. The hands obscured his face, leaving only shaggy grayish-blue hair visible. His lanky form leaned back casually against a metal chair. With long, lazy motions, the man moved forward, tapping the microphone.

"Harro, ah-vrey-wun," he said again, in rough English. "Hey, hey, Kurogiri, can they hear me? Is this mic broken?"

The wispy shadow of a man, Kurogiri, took what seemed to be a bow. "I believe they can all hear you, Shigaraki-sama."

"Arru Raito!" he repeated, smacking his hands together. "Welcome!" the man known as Shigaraki announced. "I'm very, very happy that all of you here decided to accept my invitation. I knew the forum was large, but even I didn't think this many people would show up." He gave a large, hammy laugh. "See, see Kurogiri? The internet has it's uses! I told you they'd show up. I told you."

"You said there'd be free food and drinks!" a girl, shouted out.

Shigaraki snapped his fingers. "That's right! Food and drinks!" He turned to the purple haze. "So, Kurogiri? Where are the refreshments?"

Thick, purple smoke emerged from different corners of the room. Tables appeared, stacked to the brim with boxes of pizza, fries, soda, and other western junk food. Shinso took note of the red cups that appeared to be labeled with paper-tape and scrawled handwriting 'BOOZE'.

"Now we're talking!"

"Awesome!"

Several people made their way to the food stands with more quickness than Shinso had ever seen. Within minutes, almost everyone was chewing on something, had something in their hands or in their mouths, and the air in the room somehow lightened.

Shinso wasn't sure if it was the introduction of the free food. He wasn't sure if it was the seemingly amicable sounding Shigaraki, and the even further mysterious Kurogiri beside him. His eyes glanced to the room, and to the change in atmosphere, and forced himself to take deep, sharp breaths.

"Are you in control?"

The default question triggered his Quirk. He checked. He needed to know. He found himself still in control. He felt no outside influences slamming into his mind. He felt nothing out of the ordinary that would cause him to be on guard. He, like everyone else was here because –

Because…

An uncomfortable sensation knotted in his stomach.

…Why am I here?

The uncomfortable sensation became worse as another question knocked into his mind.

How… did I get here?

An invitation. He'd been invited. How…? Online? Yes. Online. One of the forums he frequented. An online forum that was often labeled as 'toxic' 'hateful' and 'discriminatory.' It'd been banned time and again, but kept resurfacing under different names. First it was , then it was quirkhatersanonymous.com and eventually .

There was a thread posted by a user called HelpingHands. A long narration about the consequences of forcing expectations of quirks on people. A heated rant from a person who wanted to be a hero, but failed because of his quirk. Another heated, arguably toxic flood of replies from people who had terrible or outright villainous quirks, complaining about how much they hated others born better than them. He remembered commenting on the thread. Complaining, among the multitudes, about his own problems.

Then he remembered the strange link. Posted by HelpingHands. The question, asking, if they were willing to do what it takes to change things. Asking if they were sick of things.

He remembered clicking on the invite. Clicking on the invite. The invite had been a link.

And the next thing he remembered after that, was tossing aside his drink in a waste-bin, in a large hall filled with different people.

He broke out of his own mental hold, eyes immediately snapping wide as they shot desperately around the room. His lips opened to speak, but stopped immediately he felt a presence behind him.

"I would kindly advise you to refrain from taking any unnecessary actions," the man, he believed was called Kurogiri, landed a gloved hand on his shoulder. "I am aware of how your quirk works, Shinso-san. And do believe I can teleport you a hundred thousand feet over the Pacific sooner than you can utter a single word."

He swallowed the saliva slowly budding in his throat.

"Truly, you are a rather paranoid child," Kurogiri said with a hint of… sympathy. "I suppose it is understandable, considering your family background."

Shinso flinched.

"I almost marvel, to think, what sort of individual you would be had you grown up with ambitionless parents," Kurogiri shook his head. "But then again, such a thing was never possible. Adults have power over children, and to be an adult with power over a child with the power to command other adults? That power would be used, one way or another."

A soft sigh escaped the man's lips. "Afterall, what are children, if not living representations of one's self-serving desire?"

Kurogiri moved in front of him. Shinso noticed, for the first time, how tall the man was. His eyes were nothing more than two yellow floating flames within the purple-haze that obscured his face, yet, there was a strange, rich amount of emotion portrayed through those eyes.

"Alleviate loneliness, provide purpose or seek immortality through genetic transcendence… everyone in this room only exists because someone else was selfish. No one brings a child into this world for its own sake."

He didn't trust himself to speak. Didn't trust any words to come out of his mouth. He did not doubt the man's speed. Did not doubt that he would be elsewhere, within seconds, the moment he tried to use his Quirk.

"Kuurrrooogiiiirrrrri!" Shigaraki's cry cut across the room. "We need to get started!"

The strange wispy shadow of a man rose to full height, before casually adjusting his necktie. "Of course, Shigaraki-sama." A final gaze struck Shinso. "I was just making sure, there would be no… distractions."

The message was overwhelming clear. Shinso felt the sweat begin to drip from his brow. He understood, for a few seconds, that he was out of his league. Tremendously, significantly, and dangerously, out of his league.

"So," the man known as Shigaraki spoke up. "Who here loves videogames?"

Several hands, not occupied with food or drink, went up. Shigaraki clapped his hands. "Excellent! I'm a Gamer myself. HelpingHandsForAll is my handle. Feel free to watch my streams," he cleared his throat. "So, one of my favorite genre of videogames is RPGs. I always loved RPGs. Epic music. Tons of lore. Sweet gear. And the grind, the hours of grind is just so… rewarding."

Shigaraki hopped to his feet. "But."

The strange, hippy-looking hand-masked man began to scratch his neck.

"One thing I hate, one thing I really hate, is how the heroes… always win."

There were some chuckles and murmurs in the crowd.

"Come on, we all know the villains are cooler right?" Shigaraki said. "They're cooler. Better looking. They've got epic stats and great armor. Complete with heart-breaking motives and backstories as to how they found themselves as villains – but – none of that matters! They're about to get beaten by some goody-two-shoes who had everything from wise old mentors to ancient prophecies backing them from the get-go!"

Shigaraki's voice grew louder. "But who supports the villains?! Where the hell are the mentors giving wise tips for the guy who wants to blow up the planet, or the Lady of the Lake offering up an evil magic sword that deals double damage to good guys when wielded by those with hearts of darkness? Where are the prophecies that announce a villain's ascension and victory, and the fortunate deux-ex-machina that shows up at the moment when they're about to be downed?"

"Excuse me," someone spoke up, a boy with a black, bird-like head. "I thought this meeting was about quirks? How does this have anything to do with most of us having negative-looking quirks or quirks we don't want?"

Shigaraki let out a laugh. "Don't tell me you don't see it, kid?" Shigaraki's hands spread outwards. "We are all villains."

The murmurs grew exponentially. Several of which were disgruntled.

"What the hell?"

"That's not funny."

"We're not villains!"

Shigaraki rose straight. His presence seemed to change. He towered, over the room. So much that Kurogiri appeared like a backdrop beside him, despite the shadow-butler being physically taller.

"Stop me if any of this is incorrect," Shigaraki began, "From the start, you wanted to be a hero." He said. "You wanted, more than anything, to be like the heroes of your dreams. You looked up to one hero or another, but one day, you woke up, and realized the gap is insurmountable."

Shinso's lips dried, as he saw several people turn their gazes downwards.

"Or all you ever wanted was to live normal lives. To be given the same amount of recognition or treatment as people with fancier, flashier, or more powerful quirks. You never had far dreams. All you wanted was fairness – a bit of equality."

More people turned their gazes.

"Or, you're just tired of being told, 'you'd make a great villain' over and over again with your quirk. Or tired of seeing the light die out of people's eyes once you tell them your gift, and they realize that they were talking with someone who didn't hit the jackpot on the gene lottery. Or worse, you're someone who struck out on it entirely, and now, you're best known as a 'freak.'"

Shigaraki's presence rose. "Or, or, you just want to live life without having your quirk stopping you from enjoying its tiny pleasures. You'd rather be quirkless than live as you currently do. But you can't – and you hate it, you hate your quirk. You think you hate your quirk, but not really. You just hate how others have better quirks, how people value you based on something decided before you're born and can't change."

Silence. Profound, silence.

"Disadvantaged. Frustrated. Unfulfilled. Misunderstood. Mislabeled."

For the first time, they were able to see Shigaraki's mouth open wide in a smile.

"Like all proper villains."

Shinso grit his teeth. "Heroes –" There was a blur. A blur so fast he barely noticed it.

"Let him speak, Kurogiri."

"Shigaraki –"

"Let. Him. Speak."

The blur, he realized, was the world. He stood center stage. Stood in front of the man known as Shigaraki. His heart was beating, burning fast in his chest.

"Heroes – heroes also start, disadvantaged, frustrated, and unfulfilled." The words came out all at once. "There's no rule, that says it only applies to villains."

Shigaraki remained silent. His right hand scratched at his neck. It itched, continuously, the only sound making its way across the entire room. "Heroes… also start off, that way you say?" A sound like a laugh emerged from his lips.

"Do you have, any examples, of such heroes?"

Shinso opened his mouth, but he found no words forthcoming.

"Perhaps the No. 3 Hero Hawks? Let me see, he was picked up as a child and trained by the government since he could spell his name. Born with a versatile quirk so, he's out. Maybe, maybe the No. 2 Hero, Endeavor?" Shigaraki laughed. "He's known as one of the strongest flame quirk users. He didn't start from a disadvantaged position. So, maybe, maybe, you're thinking about the No. 1 Hero, All Might?"

Shigaraki's lips upturned. "Do you believe, a person who can clear the weather with a punch, started out, frustrated, unfulfilled, misunderstood and disadvantaged?"

Shigaraki didn't give him the opportunity to answer. He instead turned to the hall.

"No 'hero' has ever come from a truly disadvantaged position. Good genes, powerful parents, inherited wealth, a sage-like mentor, and in a lot of stories, a prophecy, all guiding their path."

The man turned back to him. "There are no heroes, truly born from nothing."

Shigaraki turned back, once more to the room. "But villains? Anyone can be a villain."

"Why would anyone want to be a villain?!" a girl shouted from the back.

At those words, Shigaraki snapped his fingers.

"Because it pays."

More purple portals opened from the ceiling. Money, thousands upon thousands of yen, flooded into the room.

"Because it's fun."

Toys. Games. Consoles. Jewelry. Gadgets. Wristwatches. More and more luxury items descended, and the room dissolved into chaos as people began to rush to grab item after item.

"Because you can do whatever you want."

He snapped his fingers once more, and another portal appeared, this one, sporting a large, printed banner with words emblazoned:

The League of Villains

Membership Now Open!

Become a Professional Villain (Pro-Villain) Today!

"Shigaraki-sama… you… you still printed out that banner."

"We both know it'll work out for the best, Kurogiri."

Shinso wasn't sure what to say when he saw the rest of the words the Banner.

THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS

Membership Benefits

[Level 8+] Membership Benefits:

Tax-Free Weekly "Royalties"

Quirk Training and Optimization

Quirk Removal/Bestowal

Black Membership Card

Underworld Connections

Full Medical Insurance

Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card

[Level 5+] Membership Benefits:

Tax-Free Monthly "Royalties"

Quirk Counselling and Guidance

Red Membership Card

Public Record Erasure/Cleansing

Entrance Exams Cheat Slips

[Level 3+] Membership Benefits:

Tax-Free Quarterly "Royalties"

Quirk Problem Support

White Membership Card

"I Joined the V-League and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt" Paraphernalia

Untraceable Cell

Rounds of laughter made their way through the hall. "They're joking!"

"Are these guys really villains?"

"As if! No real villains would ever do something like this –"

"Hey, wait, tell me more about those Entrance Exams Cheat slips!"

"Can you really remove people's quirks? Is – is that actually possible?"

"There's no way it's possible! This whole thing is totally a scam!"

No one was taking it seriously. No one could take it seriously. Sated with food, hands gripping money, gadgets and newfound pleasures, Shinso realized that no one was asking the real hard questions. No one questioned the sheer lethality of the air that both Shigaraki and Kurogiri carried themselves with. No one had felt the same uneasy pressure as he had, when standing directly in front of the man.

It was almost as if… as if… Shigaraki wanted them to not believe him.

"With the White Membership Card, you'll be able to order around any local thugs and mobs you see to do minor things like scare someone off, help you with groceries, and the likes –"

"With the Red Membership Card, you can do the above plus order gangsters and hoodlums to attack or mug people you don't like, but nothing too extreme –"

"With the Black Membership Card, you can have them do anything you want. Murder, arson, kidnapping – and there are also some other benefits –"

"There's no way that's possible."

"I told you, he's messing with us. This whole thing is probably some really elaborate prank –"

"I'll grant you all one White Membership Card to use as you wish for the next twenty-four hours."

"To increase your Membership Level, you'll have to complete certain missions and tasks for the League, all of which will be delivered via untraceable cells…"

"Alternatively, recruiting more members will earn you more EXP so you can Level faster, and you gain more EXP every time your recruits go up in rank and recruit their own recruits…"

"Finally – and most importantly… Kurogiri knows where every single one of you lives. Inform any Pro-Heroes or Policemen of anything that happened here will only end with you being dumped on some abandoned island to slowly unravel your sanity and starve to death."

That was the one that stuck with people. The one that began to hint, that maybe, just maybe, they weren't being pranked.

"Well," Shigaraki yawned. "My stamina bar is depleted. Thank you all for coming, and I hope you all choose to enjoy being in the Villain's party. If you have any questions, find me online. HelpingHands-senpai is always there to lend a helping hand."

Shigaraki for the final time, clapped his hands. "Goodnight."

Shinso didn't know it then. He didn't think about it then, nor would he think about it, hours later, when he'd wake up in his room, on his bed, the entire events of the strange night being somewhat wispy in his memory. He would only find himself thinking about it once more, when he would find a white aluminum card on his bedroom table, with the words "L-O-V" written on top.

He would find himself realizing, that there was a villain out there, with the ability to open portals to seemingly any location in the world –

And that man had his address.

XXXXXX

"…why?"

"What now Kurogiri?"

"You went ahead with that ridiculous plan, even after he said –"

"Sensei already has his own cult group. Why does he care if I make my own?"

"The methods –"

"My methods will work. And if they don't… I'll try another method. And another."

"…we could have simply recruited normally."

"There's no point in recruiting mobs Kurogiri. Mobs always get stomped by any halfway decent hero. The trick is to recruit potential heroes. Good-guys falling to the darkness. Or innocent bystanders that are way in over their heads. That way, they're like essential NPCs. And heroes can't kill essential NPCs, no matter how much they want to."

"…"

"Play some videogames Kurogiri. You'll learn something."

XXXXX

"How about this one ka-chan?"

The boy rose the instrument. The woman shook her head.

"No?" he returned it. "Maybe something smaller?"

Estinto footsteps. The first time she'd heard movements so silent. Footsteps unbelievably tsundere to the floor. Behind the counter, she obscured her face with a magazine. She'd read the contents three weeks prior, when the magazine first came out. Her eyes were stuck on the spaces between words as her earlobes dug into the ground.

"Oh, Izuku-kun, I really don't know. It's been years since I picked up an instrument. Decades."

"Let's start with something small. This should do the trick."

He withdrew another instrument.

"A harmonica?"

He waved it. "It's small enough that you can use your quirk on it." He held it out. "You can also carry it around in your purse and play it wherever you go."

"People won't like that."

"Everybody likes good music." The boy wagged his finger. "Even Kacchan still plays the drums in his attic once in a while."

The woman suppressed a laugh, covering her mouth. "Does he know Mitsuki-chan was in a band, back in the day?" She said. "She dyed her hair and had piercings and everything. She would grab a microphone and scream really loudly into it. She was all about the heavy iron music."

"Ka-chan, I think it's called Heavy Metal."

"Metal, iron, they're the same thing aren't they?"

She stopped herself from clearing her throat. Realizing she'd been staring too long at a single page, she flipped the magazine, plugging her ears deeper into the ground.

Estinto footsteps. Metronome heartbeats. Her lower lip folded underneath her upper teeth. Her brows squeezed tight. She checked again. Again, she confirmed it. His heart was beating at a perfectly measured pace. A beat steady enough to be a backdrop for a rapper's freestyle.

"The harmonica – "

"You're getting one as well, aren't you?"

"Ah…"

"Izuku-kun!" The woman's voice was slightly stern. "I thought the idea was for us to spend more time together, and have more common interests?"

"It is!"

"Then why aren't you getting an instrument?"

The boy scratched his head. "I'll get one. Just, not yet."

"When?"

"After you've mastered that one."

The woman's heartbeats were fluctuating. The boy's heartbeats were still steady. Perfect. Rhythmic. Against her will, her right foot began to tap the floor, matching the rhythm.

"I don't understand Izuku-kun."

"Ka-chan…" The boy scratched his head. "It's better if I showed you."

His footsteps reached a certain area. She heard him, sit. She heard the first key he pressed against the classical piano. The C5 chord echoed throughout the music shop. Abruptly, without warning, more chords began to play.

She recognized it immediately. Any student of music would. The first movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata floated through the music shop with a morbid somberness. Each note, struck a chord so accurately that her magazine slipped from her face, and her eyes, locked, for the first time, fully, on the boy who sat at the piano.

Green hair tied back in a ponytail. Sharp, beautiful features on a lithely muscled body. His form was immaculate. His posture unnervingly fingers slowly danced atop the piano, gaining speed and momentum. Other customers in the shop had paused their activities to stare. Her father, carrying new boxes of drumsticks, stopped in his tracks as well.

The somberness of the first movement brought time to a standstill. She would swear, later on, that she could see the notes dancing in the air. That her life had frozen, morphed into colors of black and white, as the music melted into the background and turned reality into an old-timey movie.

At once, he transitioned smoothly into the third movement.

Time sped up. Colors splashed back into reality. Notes danced and swirled aggressively in the air, as his fingers raced across the piano, from one end to another, hitting keys with more grace and speed than should have been humanly possible.

The tempo increased. Her heart raced. Her eyes swirled with newfound light. Her body fought the contradicting urges to rise and dance and to sit still and marvel. Music was being played, connecting directly into and beyond the physical.

The green-haired woman, standing behind him, stared as transfixed as the rest of them. Her eyes gleamed with open amazement, as music, amazing, beautiful music, brought a new dimension to the shop.

Almost as suddenly as the virtuoso began his performance, he ended it, the tempo dropping, the song reaching its peak, the suddenness of the music, coming to a slow end to which she found herself dreading.

Once the final chord was struck, it was like a spell had been lifted. There was abrupt, immutable silence.

Then ear-shattering applause.

Many moved over to the boy, congratulating him, eager to shake his hand and greet him. Her father was amongst them, bellowing a loud, large laugh as he clapped his hands with more force than she'd heard in a long time.

"That was brilliant! Amazing!"

"Marvelous!"

"I was moved to tears –"

She wanted to move as well. She wanted to meet the boy who looked to be her age but could play the piano at a world-class level. A musician whose very heartbeat was a steady rhythm.

"Oh, it's nothing really."

He laughed off the praise and set conflicting emotions burning in her chest. That wasn't nothing. One side of her desired to smack him over the side of his head for the utterance. The other couldn't help but marvel at the humility, and wonder if it was possible for someone to have a laugh so pleasant to the ears.

She covered her face with her book once more, peeking over to glance at the boy's face. The beautiful boy. Her face burned as she realized where her thoughts had gone. Her heart thumped at an irregular rhythm the longer she sat, peeking over.

"…daughter your age! She'd love to meet you!"

No! Her heart beat several times as fast. Stupid otou-san – I don't –

"Yoka-chan!"

Not the nickname! Tou-san!

She kept her breathing and heartbeat calm as her father, with his big annoying mug waved over to her, smiling at her and gesturing her over. She kept her heartbeat steady, as she walked over to the green-haired mother and son. She kept her heartbeat steady, as her father patted her on the back, making large boisterous exclamations.

"This is my daughter, Kyoka. She's a fantastic musician herself! Kyoka-chan, Midoriya-kun here is your age! Can you believe it?"

Green hair, sparkling teeth, asymmetrical freckles and blinding smile, the boy extended his hand towards her. "I'm Midoriya Izuku."

Her heartbeat went fortissimo.

She took his hand. "…I'm Kyoka. Jiro Kyoka."

The boy smiled, gently rubbing his thumb on the back of her palm. "Pleasure to meet you, Kyoka-san." His sharp green eyes landed on her earlobes, and marveled. "You have really beautiful ears."

Her heartbeat was fortississimo.

The ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum was obscured all other sounds she could hear.

"I – er… t-thank you." She stuttered, jerking her hand out of his as quickly as she could. She could see her father, his gaze landing on her out of the corner of his eyes with a mischievous, knowing glint.

Don't you dare –

"Mrs. Midoriya, I noticed you have a harmonica on you. We have the diatonic, tremolo and orchestral types available. We also have them in different color schemes and sizes – if you'll follow me –"

Oh, don't you dare –

"Oh, forgive me, I'm not too knowledgeable on instruments. Izuku-kun is the one who's helping me pick an instrument." She sounded dazed.

Her son perked a smile at her.

"Ka-chan, how about you pick one with your favorite color?" He regarded her father. "Do you have any with a nice green tint?"

"Certainly. Right this way."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the boy followed along, and she did as well. Her father's plans, all, fortuitously, one-way or another, were foiled as the boy refused to leave his mother's side throughout their stay in the shop. She tried to probe for some questions, but she couldn't get them out fast enough, or she got them out too fast, or she barely got them out at all.

The boy's attractiveness unnerved her. She didn't consider herself unattractive, but began to doubt that belief in the few seconds she spent in his presence. He had the type of beauty she'd believed could only be achieved through the lens of a camera assisted by heavy amounts of makeup and fervent digital editing. They walked past a mirror, and standing beside him, she looked plain. Forgettable and mundane.

It made her overly conscious of her every word and action. She found herself either stumbling over her words or mumbling them silently. It didn't help that his heartbeat was a pleasant rhythm that she enjoyed listening to. It made things difficult that his feet were so silent so she'd accidentally bump into him because she was reliant on her sense of hearing as her major tool for navigation than her eyesight.

"S-sorry!" she sputtered out.

The boy smiled at her. "It's fine."

Her unusual clumsiness only made her more self-conscious, to the point at which even the one topic of conversation she was certain they would both share, music, and she couldn't find herself in it to open her lips and say the words.

"You have really quiet footsteps!" she blurted.

His head tilted, brows, quirking in amusement. "Do I?"

"They're almost inaudible."

"All the better."

He did not elaborate, and she could not ask him to. Navigating instead further through the bookstore, his gaze never strayed too far away from the woman with green hair.

"Worried about your mom?"

He gave her an odd smile. "A little."

"My dad's great at this stuff. He'll find her the right instrument."

"That isn't what worries me."

She crossed her arms. Her father was happily chatting it up with his mother. Somehow, the topic of conversation had strayed from instruments to children and parenting tactics.

"So…" she cleared her throat. "Where did you learn how to play so well?"

His smile went even odder. "At a music store."

"Really?" she uncrossed her arms. "Must have been some music store. Is it somewhere around here?"

"Hm. Not too far actually."

"Have I heard of it?"

"You probably have," he said. "Probably know it like the back of your hand."

He was being unusually vague. "And how would you know that?"

"Just a feeling." His shoulders raised and dropped. "An educated guess."

She noticed for the first time that he hadn't looked at her throughout their conversation. For the most part, his gaze was fixated on the woman with green hair. His face was unreadable.

"Something wrong?"

"I don't know yet."

She tilted her head. "You don't?"

"Today," he ran his hand through his hair, letting out a click. "Today is supposed to be about her."

"Birthday?" she hazarded.

"We had a fight, a while back. I said some things in anger. Some things I can't take back. I'm trying to correct that. Find common interests between us. Or make them. But…"

He hesitated.

"But…?"

"I wonder if I'm just forcing things my way, again." He let out a soft sigh. He muttered words under his breath that no one but her would be able to catch. "I've been doing a lot of that lately."

She thinned her lips. Clearing her throat, she made to give the boy a light tap on his shoulder. He weaved out of the way of her hand before she could touch him. The suddenness of it all threw her off balance, only for a hand to jerk out grab hers. Stabilize, her, in moments.

"Are you okay?"

His face was close. So, so, so very close.

"Y-you have… great r-reflexes."

His lips went up. "I have to. I'm training to be a Pro Hero."

"Really?!" she blurted, before realizing she'd said that with far more enthusiasm than she needed to. "I – I mean… I'm applying to U.A. to become a hero also –"

"That's great," he beamed a smile at her. "So am I." He said. "Well, Kacchan and I – he's my friend – we're both going to take the exam this Saturday. So maybe we'll meet the venue?"

"That… that would be… nice."

Another brilliant, brightening smile disarmed her. "Best of luck, Jiro-san."

The mother and son departed with two harmonicas and a single flute. Her father, realizing she'd failed to converse with Midoriya, was left to the task of inviting him to join his orchestra. He politely refused, but did collect her father's card.

"Thanks for visiting Rockin' Music Stores! Hope to see you again!"

He waved, and cheered boisterously. She stood there, releasing an awkward breath she didn't know she was holding. Her father, beside her, turned, an annoying smirk on his face.

"What?" she bit out.

"My baby Yoka-chan has her first crush."

Her cheeks burned. "I do not!"

He tapped his ears. "Your old man has good hearing too. Your heart was fortississimo as soon as the boy complimented your ears."

Her face burned even hotter. She crossed her arms and avoided looking at him. "…you heard it too, didn't you? His heart."

"Steady." Her father said. "Beautiful." He declared. "The literal heart of a musician."

His hand landed on her hair, ruffling it. "I don't blame you. I could sit next to him and listen to that rhythm for days on. He's a rare gem, that Midoriya. His musical talent is one-in-a-million, no, maybe one-in-a-billion. I don't think even I could have played that song as beautifully as he did."

Her father rose a thumb up. "Your tou-san approves of your taste."

"Eh?"

"You have my blessing."

"B-b-bless –" she smacked his hand away. "Stop saying such embarrassing stuff tou-san! Jeez!"

She ignored her father's continuous, merciless teasing, knowing in the end that it was simply his blunt way of doing things. Musicians were a lot simpler in many ways than most people, and in the Jiro family, where everyone loved music as much as they loved each other, the only real requirement they possessed to like someone, was for that person to love music as much as they did.

She didn't know too much about Midoriya Izuku, but she could tell from the manner he played. Music had a way of translating feelings from the soul that couldn't be communicated with mere words or actions. It transcended barriers of language, age and sex, and delivered the meaning with heart.

Midoriya Izuku's music was beautiful, his heartbeat was steady, firm.

Thus she wondered why, when she remembered his face, striking upon the piano as he played the Moonlight Sonata, when she remembered the initial timber and tone of his performance –

Why does his music sound so…

Bitter?

XXXXX

U.A. High School

Principal's Office

The tea was made exactly as he preferred it. A slight tang of bitterness, a hint of sweetness, some spiciness to round up the flavor. Not an inch of saltiness or sourness, but the faintest drops of honey around the edges of the mug made it all the better to drink with his accompanying cigarette.

The day was coming, for the next set of valuable students and brilliant minds to join the institution that would reshape them as heroes of society. The ideal warriors of justice. Or at least, that was the marketed image the world needed to hear. Far more euphemistic than admitting that they were in essence training children to become frontline soldiers in a never-ending war against the enemies of the government.

Sipping lightly from his tea, he cracked his paws, placed his cigarette on an ashtray, and turned once more to his computer.

"My, so many promising children this year. So many."

Of course, he already knew who would be admitted in and who wouldn't.

He already knew what classes they would be in. What connections they would make. The friendships and alliances that would be formed based on the data he accumulated from their school records and personal methods of information gathering.

He had already decided their seating arrangements, lunch plans, class outlines. He'd already foreseen how they spent their off-hours, free time and private moments. He knew how their child-brains, still underdeveloped but rushing with pre-adolescent overconfidence and hormones would formulate reactions accompanying romantic or sexualized feelings for each other.

He could already see the dramas, heartbreaks, comedies and anxieties in the hearts of the students as they placed being a teenager and aspiring to be a celebrity soldier on a scale and performed a circus balancing act.

The Principal sipped his tea, slowly savoring the honey from the side of the mug. "Oh, it should be just about time…"

He turned to his phone, smiling at the device. He waited, ten seconds. Five more seconds. His brows narrowed slightly in annoyance. Two seconds later, the device rang.

"Hello. Principal Nezu?"

"I've been expecting your call Toshinori-kun." Two seconds earlier. "You have met and explained the situation to Mirio-kun?"

"Nothing ever slips by you, does it?"

He let out a soft quiet hum. "How did he take it?"

"He seems… determined. Strong. I believe… I believe he'll make an excellent Symbol of Peace."

"And have you made-up with Sasaki-kun yet?"

He hadn't.

"I… I have to go, Principal. There's a sludge villain at large –"

Nezu hummed. "Go on then. Be safe, Toshinori-kun."

The call ended with a soft click. Nezu hummed again, reaching for his tea. Humans were so predictably irrational at times. Toshinori and Sasaki's relationship of hero and sidekick gone awry, with both being too stubborn to resolve it was just another example. Nezu didn't mind. For now, there was no urgency in resolving their fractured relationship. He would continue to let the humans be as the humans were.

"Hmm… A Sludge Villain he says?"

The Sludge Villain would be defeated long before Toshinori got there. He wondered what Toshinori-kun would feel upon meeting the odd duo responsible for it.

Another chain series of events…

The major players of the city were coming out in full force. They were all making their moves and plans, placing their pieces on the board and gathering their strength. Nezu knew enough about nearly all the players. All, but One.

That One – the One – the man with the most mysterious and dangerous nature of all. Any time he acted, any move he made, completely shattered the board and sent all of Nezu's plans and predictions travel in entirely different directions.

If he could just account for that man in his calculations -

He tried, once more, closing his eyes and concentrating –

He winced back from the tremendous headache. The sharp, piercing pain that had him holding his head in discomfort.

"Well… that was unpleasant."

Nezu sighed. He really hated that human. To have given himself a Quirk that made him immune to precognitive abilities... it was so terribly annoying.

"Unto lighter matters then…" he checked his wristwatch. "Perhaps this thing is running slow again?"

As he uttered those words, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Good day, Intelli-san," he began cheerfully. "I've been expecting your call."